Department 9 Page 2

  I stop and listen hard. I know I’ve gone too far.

  The guard outside is breathing heavily.

  I think they’re angry.

  I should be boiling with rage at my story, but I’m too weary of it.

  If the guard is raging on my behalf, though, then maybe it’s something…

  I hurry back to the door, up against the sight line. “Do you believe my story?”

  “I do.”

  My heart skips. I can hardly breathe.

  “Please. Please, I beg you. Will you help me?”

  The guard laughs. “Help? You’re a stupid Zhoogene slut who led on a group of human boys out for hijinks. You deserve all that’s coming to you. No, I will not help.”

  I can’t move.

  I’m rooted to the cold stone floor, so thoroughly un-personed that I might as well be carved from stone myself.

  The guard walks off. I listen to the sound of his boots receding to silence. Then I am condemned once more to solitude.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 2: Lily Hjon

  “This planet’s seriously fucked up!”

  Enthree lifted an antenna Lily’s way, but Vetch and Sward showed no sign of noticing.

  She stormed through the guardroom, dodging around the stack of barely drained battery packs the warden had advised them not to notice, and planted herself where the other three were playing cards—Pryxian skat by the look of it.

  For a moment, she considered tipping over the wooden crate they were using as a table. But even with her hands trembling with rage at the story the prisoner had told, she stopped herself short of committing what she had told her troopers was a cardinal sin.

  Instead of interrupting a game with money on the table, she yanked Vetch’s beard and yelled into his ear, “Did you hear what I said?”

  Vetch flinched at the sonic assault, blinked a bit, and then laid his cards on the table. Face down.

  “Did you get our prisoner to talk?” he asked innocently.

  “You know I did.”

  “And I suppose, now, you want us to rescue her.”

  “Her plight is a dammed disgrace,” Lily declared. “An outrage. There’s not much we can do to change the Federation in what little time we’ve got left. We’re convicted deserters, only being kept alive for a little longer, so we can take someone else’s place in the meatgrinder. But we all swore oaths. The Militia and the Amilxi People. M.A.P. and all that bollocks. The girl in that dungeon is a citizen, and that means we swore to protect her.”

  She glanced up. Sward was looking for a chance to get a word in. Enthree was so agitated, she was throwing s-curves along her spine.

  “This could be the last thing we do,” Lily said quickly, throwing a raised eyebrow at Sward and daring him to interrupt. “Make it count. Show the Federation how people should act.”

  She took a short breath, but she’d run out of steam. Why weren’t they arguing with her?

  Vetch picked up his cards and studied them. “You sure this girl is worth making a stand for?”

  “She is.”

  He played the five of moons. “We figured you’d get her to talk. Thought this would be your reaction too.”

  Sward tossed a card on the table, leaned back, and gave Lily a stiff Zhoogene smile. “Vetch has been hatching a plan.”

  Lily looked Vetch clear in the face. Damn that stupid beard. He’d been grinning all this time. Asshole.

  He soon lost his grin when Enthree played her card and scooped up the money on the table.

  “Nice play, Bug,” Vetch said, recalculating the value of his remaining cards after the last play.

  “Well,” Lily demanded. “What’s the plan?”

  “For tonight, we act normal. But in the morning, we bring forward the girl’s execution.”

  It took Lily a moment to realize what Vetch was saying.

  Then she parted his silly, shaggy hair and planted a kiss on the crown of his head.

  “Neat,” she said, pulling up a stool to join them at the table. “I knew you’d make a good trooper one day, Vetch Arunsen. Now, stop gloating that you’ve finally popped a good idea out of your hairy head and finish the round so you can deal me in. I’ve got a feeling we won’t be playing cards again any time soon.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 3: Major Lyssin

  Militia Major Lyssin heard the knock on the painted wooden door that cut through the high brick walls of his garden paradise. After a few moments’ hesitation, the visitor pushed his way inside and took a dozen hesitant steps along the outer path.

  Then he halted.

  Lyssin didn’t open his eyes, preferring to imagine the man’s shock as the warm humidity of the garden’s microclimate warmed his skin. His gaze would be piercing the concealing outer covering of blooming vines and seeing beneath the high terraces of miniature trees. There he would discover the bubbling streams of nutrient-rich water draining along miniature stone aqueducts, the tinkling water flow already prominent in the man’s acute hearing.

  If it weren’t for its people, Eiylah-Bremah would be a lovely world. Lyssin’s hanging garden was, as far as its owner and creator cared, its greatest wonder.

  Lyssin opened his eyes and regarded his visitor with sudden curiosity. Lieutenant Deroh Ren Kay was a Zhoogene. He looked immaculate in his smart blue jacket with its silver lieutenant’s bars on the epaulettes and the Demon Wolf Brigade insignia on the collar. Combined with the natural upright rigidity of his people, Ren Kay looked so effortlessly martial in his bearing that Lyssin took great pleasure in showing off the junior officer at public functions and private meetings. Yes, Ren Kay was a perfect demonstration of what a fine unit Lyssin commanded.

  Zhoogenes were a photosynthesizing race—a concept that had always fascinated Lyssin. Did that mean Ren Kay appreciated these gardens at a deeper level than any human could hope to?

  Or, perhaps, the artificial herbal scent carried by the spray mist and the buzz of insects engineered to be stingless struck false notes with him.

  The advancing lieutenant ducked beneath a vine rope stretched from one wall to the other. It was the main highway of battle between rival nests of leaf cutter insects.

  He came to attention and saluted. “An honor to be here, Major.”

  Lyssin waved the salute away. “We’re off duty now, Deroh. And if it’s an honor, it’s one you’ve earned. I’ve had my eye on you for a while, and I think it’s time for you to move on to more specialized tasks.”

  The smile left Lyssin’s face. Ren Kay remained at attention, and Lyssin decided that, within the walls of his prized garden, the Zhoogene’s martial look did not please him.

  He had a sudden fantasy of stripping the man down to his bare green skin, cutting out his vocal cords, and feeding him drugs to keep his hydraulic bands tight, which would lock him rigid in the prison of his own body.

  “Sir?”

  He could plant him against the east column, with climbers running up the lieutenant’s flanks and arms to bloom into flowers over his head. His chest and back would remain bare so he could photosynthesize, thereby keeping himself alive. Lyssin bore no particular malice against his subordinate, but he’d always been fascinated by rumors of the curious things you could do to living Zhoogene flesh. And now that the idea had been planted…

  Ren Kay coughed politely.

  “Forgive me.” Lyssin waved to the vacant force chair beside his. “It suddenly struck me that, as a Zhoogene, you might be able to help me enjoy my garden in ways I had never previously conceived. But…that’s not why I invited you here this fine summer’s evening.”

  Ren Kay looked uncertainly at the force chair.

  “I know. I know!” said Lyssin. “My apologies. Here I am, in my silly human head, thinking I have created a natural paradise, when I’m reclining against a ladder of force bands. You must think me ridiculous.”

  “Not at all.” Golden eyes like fresh corn husks regarded him coolly. “It is an honor and a privilege to be invite
d to your home, Major.”

  “Yes. Yes, it is, Deroh.” Lyssin beamed with delight as his visitor settled into the force chair and relaxed his body.

  But always, he thought to himself, a visit here brings obligation. Lyssin grinned. Sometimes, pleasure too. My pleasure, at any rate.

  He indicated the marble-topped occasional table that stood between them. “Help yourself, my good man.”

  Ren Kay looked uneasily at the box of cigars and the bottles and glasses.

  Good, good…You’re being offered a step up in society. Don’t take it for granted because it can be removed just as easily.

  The lieutenant poured himself a glass of Bin-37 Melburnians brandy from Halcyon-3. After a long sip of the liquor that cost more than his annual salary, Ren Kay began to relax.

  “You’re here so we can get to know each other a little better,” Lyssin told him. “But first, I’m afraid I have a little matter of business. Those penal troopers I gave you last month…how are you finding them?”

  “Less trouble than I had expected, sir. I think they just want to keep their heads down.”

  “I bet they do.” Lyssin laughed. “The question is, are you letting them do so?”

  Ren Kay licked his lips while he selected his words. “I am aware these troopers are to be considered particularly expendable.”

  “Well-chosen words, Deroh, but there’s no need to be so circumspect here.” He took a cigar from the box and used it to indicate the extent of his hanging gardens. “We’re so secure, we may as well be in our own private world.” He snipped the end off the cigar.

  “I want those expendables expended, and soon. But carefully. The one who was such a disgrace to the officer corps still has her supporters, and, strangely enough, one of them might be the sector marshal herself.”

  “Sir? But they were sent here from JSHC as convicted deserters. Surely the marshal knows this?”

  Lyssin ripped off the heating cap and watched the magic as the roll of finest synth-bacc glowed, releasing its riches. “The wealth of this star system derives from its sources of exotic materials. But here on the planet of Eiylah-Bremah, the greatest export market is ritual humiliation. I think it amused the marshal to have your deserters sent here rather than execute them immediately. Where better to demonstrate the fate of those who defy their superiors before eventually contributing to our military campaign’s unfortunate attrition statistics?”

  “I understand,” said Ren Kay. “We don’t want to be seen as having deliberately thwarted the sector marshal’s…pleasure.”

  “Quite so.” Lyssin puffed his cigar to life. “How have you managed to balance our deserters’ lives on an appropriate knife edge?”

  “They spend most of their days in the prisons, working the filthiest dungeons. They also provide prisoner escort for lunchtime executions. I dress them in smart uniforms, kept clean for public duty, and they wear Militia berets sporting In’Nalla’s red cockade to show their alliance with the dictator.”

  “What brave troopers they must be to proudly wear what the rebels regard as symbols of oppression. It’s almost as if they were daring disgruntled citizens to strike at them.”

  “Indeed, sir. And acting as lightning rods for dissent is a vital task because it is difficult to draw out the rebels who have infiltrated the city. I have rooftop sharpshooters posted around Execution Square and the approach roads. If anyone were to fire upon the escort troopers, my snipers would take them out. For any lesser signs of defiance, the police will make arrests.”

  “Do the crowds know of your trap?”

  “I’m sure they do, sir. It is good to let the citizens know how powerless they are. Nonetheless, hotheads will inevitably test the system before long and then my expendable penal troopers will start to be expended.”

  “An admirable approach, Deroh. However, weapons fire into a crowd of civilians can cause panic and confusion. In such moments of chaos, who can say for sure where the shots came from or even their intended targets? Tomorrow lunchtime, I would like to hear of an incident in Execution Square. A heinous assault on authority by the rebels that, regrettably, results in the deaths of five brave troopers, newly arrived on our planet.”

  Ren Kay opened his mouth in horror.

  Lyssin, too, began to feel regret. One of the penal troopers he wanted skragged was another Zhoogene. The others needed to die tomorrow, but if there was a way to abduct the trooper who was half plant, he could help Lyssin conduct an interesting experiment over by the garden’s east column.

  He sucked in a sharp breath. Suggesting that notion to Ren Kay would be a little too ambitious. Should have thought it through properly before inviting a Zhoogene to be his assassin.

  “I’m not sure, sir.” Ren Kay didn’t look unsure. He looked like a Zhoogene with his mind made up, and they could be such stubborn bastards. “To use deserters as bait and plasma fodder is one thing, but to order my troopers to outright murder them…”

  He caught Lyssin’s raised eyebrow and pivoted his choice of words. “I’m just not sure I can convince them of the legitimacy of that order.”

  “Then permit me to give you a good reason.” Lyssin paused to roll a draw of smoke around his mouth. “Better still, let me give you twenty thousand good reasons.”

  “Twenty thou?” Ren Kay’s head growth trembled. “Bylzak! Somebody sure hates those deserters.”

  “That’s none of our business, Deroh.” Lyssin watched the young Zhoogene calculating in his head. How much of the twenty thousand credits would he have to pay his troopers to become murderers? And how much would that leave for him?

  And…there you go, Deroh. Lyssin could see the moment, written plain as day across the lieutenant’s face, when he suddenly wondered how much money was changing hands. If he was being bribed twenty thou, how much was his superior being paid? And how much more could he wring out of this?

  Lyssin shrugged and offered the first of a long list of potential sweeteners. “You know, Deroh, you remind me of myself when I was an ambitious young lieutenant. I was in such a hurry for promotion that I developed an antipathy toward a certain Lieutenant Dorothy Peng. She was a fine officer, but she had better connections than me, and a longer length of service. I felt certain I would always be in her shadow throughout my career. Forever second in line for promotion.” He topped off Ren Kay’s brandy. “It would only be natural for you to feel the same about Lieutenant Atiff. Especially with an opening for senior lieutenant coming up soon.”

  “Not at all, sir. Atiff is a good officer and would make an excellent senior lieutenant.”

  “Well said, Deroh. Indeed, Atiff would also be a good choice for the asteroid defense stations, and their CO has been making such an irritating clamor for reinforcements recently, that it would seem churlish not to send her someone. Funny Atiff should come up in our little chat, because I’m conducting his annual review next month.” He paused for effect. “Anyway, have you come to a decision about our little matter?”

  “I have sir. My troopers will get the job done. You can trust me.”

  A victory smile slid over Lyssin’s face. “I know I can, my boy.” He eased deeper into his force chair, the sensors understanding his intent and reclining. You belong to me now, Deroh.

  Lyssin felt his gaze drawn toward the east column and licked the sweet taste of brandy off his lips. One way or another.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 4: Lily Hjon

  “You’re a disgrace!” shouted a man from the balcony bar.

  “Cover your head,” yelled a woman sitting at the same table, followed by a confusing jumble of jeers, threats, and cries of “Shame!”

  The bar was doing a brisk business this lunchtime, as were the stallholders of Restitution Street who lined the broad, tree-studded sidewalk—a miniature plaza on the north side of the road. They sold pastries, holo hits, and the local specialty—spiced cider punch. The stalls formed a kind of proxy security cordon to keep the crowds away from the road where the Militia troope
rs escorted the condemned to her death.

  Execution Square—where the real crowds were already baying their excitement—was still two hundred yards away, and the noise was building by the second.

  “Your entertainment hasn’t even begun,” Lily murmured as she marched. She looked out into the crowd beyond the stalls. “Just wait till you see what we’ve got in store, skraggs.”

  Vetch thought she had lived a life of cloistered privilege before being busted to the ranks, but she let the cuddly Viking believe a lot of shit that wasn’t true. She’d seen scum baying for blood on scores of worlds, but this…this was different.

  These weren’t cutthroat gang members who were sipping fine wine on balcony seats that cost twice the normal price during ‘execution hour.’

  And the people below on the sidewalk weren’t the impoverished lower classes being fed bread and circuses as the old Earth expression said.

  No, this bloodthirsty bunch of chod-skraggers wore the half-brimmed hats that were the latest fashion in the capital city of Kaylingen. Their clothes were freshly laundered, and their wrist slates were the latest models. They had plenty of credits to enjoy the street wares hawked at inflated prices.