Department 9 Page 14

  Bronze whispered to Zavage to come over, and together they joined Fitz on the mech. Zavage used the position as a vantage point to peer through the flame and smoke of the village as best he could.

  Other than the same red-and-white neck cloth, which he thought was a clumsy contrivance, the human driver looked plausibly like a Panhandler, if that was what you had been told to think.

  A pretty beaten up one. One puffy eye was swollen closed, his face was raw and bloodied, and his left shoulder had been crushed.

  Guess my Hunter punched harder than I thought.

  Bronze had no sympathy for the man lying there smugly in his harness.

  Fitz turned to Bronze and scratched under his cap. “Do you think it’s too soon to start shooting limbs off to make him talk sense?”

  “I’ve a better idea.”

  Locking gazes with the driver, Bronze unwrapped the loose folds of his head covering, pulling apart the flaps of false neck skin to expose the bronze plate beneath.

  The man’s eyebrows shot up at the sight.

  Then he shrugged and reassumed his mantle of arrogance. “So, I’m in the presence of the Hero of Azoth Zol, the mysterious Hines Zy Pel. You know, when they found you fighting alongside the real Panhandlers, I thought you were being expedient. Yet here you are again, fighting on the side of the rebels.”

  “I’m doing no such thing. You’re massacring innocent civilians in a conflict you care nothing about. I just happened to get caught up in your atrocity.”

  “Atrocity?” He spat bloody spittle. “As if you haven’t done far worse, Zy Pel.”

  “Once. Maybe. Haven’t you heard, though? I’m retired.”

  “No one retires from SpecMish.”

  “So I keep hearing. I’m also hearing a lot about Department 9 these days. What is it you want with Fitzwilliam?”

  “You’ll learn nothing from me.”

  “Don’t be so sure. I have talented friends.”

  Zavage and Fitz took the hint and peered down at the driver. Zavage flexed his empathetic dreadlock-like tendrils, and Fitz took off his glasses to reveal his mutant eyes.

  The driver’s good eye went wild, staring at his three interrogators. He twitched violently, jerking in his harness as if powerful electric shocks were running through him.

  Then he lay still, white foam bubbling out of his nose.

  “Damn!” Bronze roared in frustration.

  “What happened?” asked Zavage.

  “Suicide implant,” explained Fitz from within a cloud of cigar smoke. “It’s a simple AI. If it detects waking brain patterns consistent with its host about to divulge secrets…Pfft! The brain melts.” He raised an eyebrow at Zavage. “Funny how a worldly-wise SpecMish operative seemed to believe a Kurlei could read his mind.”

  “You got that wrong,” Zavage responded, untroubled. “It’s the mutie eye he was scared of.”

  “Movement in the trees. Five o’ clock,” warned Sybutu. “It’s…the Muryani. It’s Enthree.”

  “Finally,” said Fitz with feeling. “The team is reunite…ted…Oh, turds!”

  As she cleared the trees, it became clear Enthree was on her own. And the way she waved one of her forelimbs at them looked frantic.

  “Take cover behind the mechs,” Sybutu shouted. “Prepare to give covering fire.”

  Rounded black fuselages nosed out of the trees, red crosses painted on the tips. Hover fliers. GAC-19s.

  “Let’s give them a hot welcome,” said Sybutu.

  “No,” said Fitz. “At this range, you won’t penetrate their armor. Hold your fire. Give their imagination a chance to ponder why there are two wrecked mechs here, and what was powerful enough to take them out.”

  “Do you recognize the markings?” Bronze asked.

  “REEDs,” said Fitz. “Re-Education Enforcement Division. Swept through the woods from A-10. They were waiting for us in force. Knew we were coming. But they didn’t know about the mechs. Watch…”

  The GAC-19s eased back into the forest, never having fully emerged. Bronze didn’t blame them. The entire area was covered in a thick layer of ash, except for the ruined metal of the mech carcasses. That meant the enormous metal machines had only recently been destroyed, and whatever had done that could still be around, waiting for the fliers to leave the cover of the trees.

  “They’ve captured the others,” Enthree cried, as she drew close.

  “Keep running!” Fitz shouted at the Muryani.

  Enthree did exactly that, easily bounding over one of the Hunters in a single leap and continuing in the direction of the village.

  “We run too,” Fitz said. “Don’t look back.”

  * * *

  They escaped through the village and then deep into the trees, detecting no signs of pursuit. Enthree reported her party had been surprised by six of the GAC-19s, without infantry support, and offered the opinion that they had encountered the limit of the REED pursuit for the moment.

  “If they can march some prisoners back to base,” said Sybutu, “that’s an easier mission conclusion than attacking the village against unknown forces.”

  “Was anyone hurt?” Fitz asked.

  “No. We hadn’t yet retrieved the weapons Ren Kay made us abandon. Vetch, Darant, and Lily are at their mercy. We must save my comrades.”

  Fitz put a hand to her face and stroked a mandible. “They’re our comrades too, Ms. Enthree. The boss ordered us to get the team together, and that’s precisely what we shall do.”

  “Thank you. And please, Captain Fitz, to clarify, the boss is Kanha Wei?”

  Fitz grinned. “I’m glad someone has been paying attention. Now, Enthree, I had the pleasure of hitching a ride when you were climbing over the buildings of Bresca-Brevae like you were wearing a rocket pack. Am I right that dense forest is like a highway to you?”

  “I travel faster through the branches than across open ground.”

  “Good. Follow our captured friends. Observe without being observed. Assess. Then return safely to us. We’ll be at the rendezvous point at the caves near Shinala Parva. If my guess is correct, that’s where I’ll find Commander Slinh, and I think I speak for all of us when I say I’d like to have a few stern words with her.”

  Enthree nodded. She raced up the nearest tree and disappeared within seconds.

  “As for the rest of us, we need allies to get our comrades back, and that means the Revolutionary Forces of Reconciliation. My father raised me never to strike old ladies with glasses, or Gliesans. Commander Slinh is both. But in the case of that hollow-boned treacherous ass, I intend to make an exception.”

  “Are you serious?” asked Sybutu. “You’re going to punch out the leader of the revolution?”

  “Damned right I am. This revolution is a shambles. The only solution is for me to lead it myself.”

  Sybutu growled. “I hate it when you make me sound like the damned voice of reason, but if you go up to the leader of the military forces in this zone and punch her out, won’t the rebels shoot you?”

  “We’ll never learn the answer to that if we stand around yapping, will we, Sergeant? Come on, everybody. Time to beat feet.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 29: Sasmita Aelikaur

  The day had seemed a triumph on so many levels. Major Sasmita Aelikaur had led the Enforcement Division’s elite unit, Strike Force Purity, in the counterattack against the rebels and driven them from the A-10 facility.

  The damned Militia were forever mocking her enforcers. They called them prison guard brutes who hid behind faceless masks, not real soldiers. It was ironic, because that’s pretty much how the Legion poured scorn on the Militia.

  But she’d proved them wrong today. Strike Force Purity had fought a battle without Militia aid. And they’d won convincingly.

  And yet…

  Her forces were still winning, of course. She’d driven her enforcers on relentlessly in their pursuit, never allowing the enemy respite.

  Now, as dusk closed in, she was about
to converse with the Revered Leader herself on a direct line to the capital.

  It should be the ultimate personal triumph.

  And yet…

  The rebel attack had collapsed moments before she launched her counterattack. Why?

  Whatever the reason for the Revered Leader’s call, it surely wasn’t to praise the conduct of her enforcers.

  No, Aelikaur and her strike force were too obscure for that. In’Nalla was only interested in the sickening scenes around her in the ruins of Krunacao, scenes repeated in every settlement within twenty miles, though Krunacao was the largest.

  Her wrist slate buzzed an alert. Incoming call.

  Aelikaur checked the angle of her beret, took a deep breath, and tapped Accept.

  The Revered Leader’s face regarded her through the slate’s surface. Her features were pinched as if pained by the burden of steering an entire world into becoming a more enlightened society, freed of its bigotry and willful blindness to its own corruptive elements. To her relief, In’Nalla didn’t seem as angry as Aelikaur expected.

  “I have seen online footage of so-called RevRec insurgents invading Krunacao and firing indiscriminately.” The Revered Leader leaned into the camera. It felt like she was opening up Aelikaur’s soul. “The implication is that this was an act of inter-factional fighting. However, I want you to forget what’s being claimed online for the moment. You’re my eyes and ears on the ground, Major. Tell me what happened there. What did your enforcers actually see?”

  “Bodies everywhere, ma’am. The entire village slaughtered, its buildings burned. But it looks like the civilians fought back, because there are three war mechs here that were destroyed in the attack. They’re enormous machines. We’re trying to establish precisely what they are and how they got here. We have a suspect too. A patrol group spotted the counter-progress leader known as the Trucker. I think he’s a populist responsible for further degrading the morals of the willfully cancerous dissenters until they’re now capable of…” Words temporarily failing her, Aelikaur tilted her wrist outward and panned the slate across the scene of slaughter.

  “Major,” barked the Revered Leader. “Complete your report.”

  “Forgive me, ma’am. Our forensic teams are en route and will supply further information. So will the prisoners we captured. They’re Militia deserters from the capital. Our interrogators are readying to pry their secrets from them.”

  “Tell your interrogators to stand down. I want the public to see their trials and confessions, but they are not to learn of the prisoners’ accounts. Anything they have to say now would be deemed highly significant and risks becoming unsanctioned news. They’re not even WCDs. They’re nothing more than gutter-scum deserters, so they will know nothing of importance. I repeat, they are not to be interrogated. Not even questioned.”

  “I…understand, ma’am. They are not to be questioned.”

  But Aelikaur didn’t understand. Surely the captives knew something of value. Unproblematic people had a powerful instinct to immediately publicize anything related to a suspected misdeed, but there were special interrogators who could be trusted to break society’s strongest taboos in defense of righteous authority. They knew how to keep a secret. How could she make In’Nalla see that without appearing to contradict the Revered Leader?

  “The villagers, ma’am. They were known to harbor WCD insurrectionists, but this…this bloodbath was not the way to re-educate them. After being forced to confront the inappropriateness of their thoughts, some of them could have been rehabilitated as Class-3 citizens and led the remainder of their lives inoffensively. This was mass murder! A barbaric act.”

  “Calm down!”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you can’t see what I do. You can’t smell the scorched bodies. The rebels have to pay for this massacre.”

  “I can assure you, they will, Major. To that end, you are to secure the site. Take footage but leave the scene undisturbed. I will have one of my professional teams there at first light to capture the brutality of this terrorist outrage and make sure the correct messages are clearly presented to the public. The people must know that acts such as the Krunacao Massacre are the only alternative to following my way. And when we have made them understand, they will rise in my name and wipe out the irredeemable WCDs who stand in the way of a liberated society. It will be a brutal bloodletting, but you must understand how necessary this is.”

  “After Krunacao…I do, ma’am. You can rely on me.” The REED major looked around at the devastation. Tears began to stream down her cheeks. It was such a wicked waste of life. And wickedness must always be confronted with force.

  “We have to purge this world for its own good, ma’am. It’s the only way.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 30: Gethren Wen

  Gethren Wen flicked his gaze at the heavy door and prayed salvation would come that way. But how could rescuers find him? He didn’t know where he was, himself.

  “That’s right,” said the masked woman. “Take a good look.”

  His captor nonchalantly reached into the leather bag by her seat and brought out a metal canister.

  What was that?

  “I told you to look at the door!” she barked when she caught Wen staring wide eyed at the canister.

  The woman’s anger was so sudden, so brutally intense, that Wen flinched and almost toppled the chair he was tied to. Wen made himself stare at the door, but his attention was on the cap she was unscrewing from the cannister. What was inside?

  “It’s coffee, you piece of filth. Now, the door, damn you! The door! Tell me what you see. Where do you think we are?”

  “Er…it’s rusted. Metal. Looks heavy. It was originally painted blue, but it’s mostly primer and bare metal now.”

  “More!”

  Wen heard coffee being poured into a plastic cup and breathed in the rich aroma. It was expensive real-caff, not synth.

  “I’m waiting…”

  “Yes, the door. Sorry. The air’s dank. Musty. There’s mold on the walls. I…I think we’re underground.” He looked at the rows of metal filing cabinets, but any identifying information had long ago moldered away. The cardboard boxes on the shelves by the metal door were thoroughly rotted.

  The woman pulled down her face mask to widen the gap over her lips.

  Wen watched her drink her coffee. Good coffee. Suddenly, he squeaked in fear. If help didn’t come through that damned door, he would never taste coffee again. It felt as if his life was falling away from him, shedding the little details of mundanity first.

  “Not very imaginative, are we, Gethren?”

  He frowned at the coffee drinker, suddenly struck by the way she’d spoken his name.

  It was familiar. He couldn’t place her, but if she knew him…this was personal.

  What could he possibly have done to deserve being kidnapped?

  The masked woman nodded as if to say she was aware of every thought passing through Wen’s head. And that she approved.

  In fact, she seemed to be drinking up Wen’s fears as much as the coffee, savoring the exquisite taste.

  “Regrettably, I have an appointment later,” she told him, “so I’ll have to chivvy you along. Perhaps you’re nervous? Are you? Are you nervous, Mr. Wen?”

  “Yes. I’m scared. It’s a mistake. I can’t think what I could have done to deserve this. Let me go now, and I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

  “Very well, Mr. Wen.”

  “Really? You’ll let me go?”

  “No, of course not. What would be the point of bringing you here, then letting you leave before we’ve properly started? I merely mean that I accept that anxiety is clouding your analytical mind.” She laughed as she poured herself more coffee. “And I have to accept some responsibility for your mental state. So, let me help you along.”

  She walked over to the door and rapped on it with her knuckles, which produced a dull thud. “This place is rotted and forgotten, but the door and its surround remain th
ick and strong. We’re underneath the oldest government complex in Kaylingen. Like most of the earliest buildings in what was then a fledgling colony, it had to do double duty as a shelter. These rooms once had their own independent air supply. The corridor out there leads to another door like this. Technically, it isn’t actually a corridor. It’s an airlock.” She rapped on the door again. “And this faithful old hatch was probably repurposed after a career on a colony starship. So, please, I invite you to scream, Gethren. No one will hear.”

  She walked over to him and squatted down so her face was inches from Wen’s. “I want you to fully appreciate the hopelessness of your plight. After all, I have gone to considerable effort to bring you here. And at no small risk, I can tell you.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “For now? I want to tell you a story, Gethren.”

  She took a sip of her drink. “It starts with a man. His name was Cornflower.”

  Cornflower…Gethren racked his brains. He didn’t know anyone of that name. He’d worked at the Ministry for Offworld Mining most of his life. It had never been a big department; In’Nalla believed in keeping government small. He would have known if there was a Cornflower. This had to be a stupid, damned mistake.

  “We met at work. Five years ago, it was. We were far from teenagers in years, but the intensity of the way I felt for him…it was as if I was in love for the very first time. I contrived reasons to walk past his work pod. To arrange meetings, projects, and, in time, significant government expenditure…all for the chance to be near him.

  “But he was a subordinate. A relationship was strictly forbidden. Which is why we almost never called each other by our real names.

  “Maybe if Cornflower hadn’t felt the same way, I’d have taken a long fishing trip to the polar region with a case of brandy and forgotten him. But his beautiful corn blue eyes lit up with delight whenever I passed, and he was even less guarded than me. People began to notice. All those furtive glances…We needed to end that. I told him so.”