War Games Part 14

The second-in-command of the Nineteen liked things neat. No loose ends, whether a sc.r.a.p of thread...or a Perlim junior officer. Across whatever distance separated them, she knew it was his fist she felt in her abdomen, partner to the pain radiating from her head. Too late, she appreciated the total precision of his thinking. If her capture was part of a plan to get rid of Colonel Sie, then wouldn't it make a tidy little present if everyone in his plot came to untimely ends? She wondered if the two rebel soldiers knew they were acting as proxies for one of their most hated enemies.

She couldn't let that happen, couldn't let the duplicitous b.a.s.t.a.r.d win. Choking amongst the gritty floor of an underground chamber, Lith battled to draw breath.

"Maybe we should call in the rest of the crew," one of them said. "No reason why they can't join in the fun."

"N-no." Her voice was thin and choked. An incessant scratching at her throat made her cough as two sets of booted feet approached. She couldn't- It hurt too much- She had to- "Few," she croaked urgently, still doubled over on the floor. Thankfully the boots paused. "Fu-sion." How could two syllables hurt so much to say? "I'm Fusion." She repeated the words as if they were some kind of mantra. "Fusion."

"What did she say?"

"Just some lies from a Perlim b.i.t.c.h. Go get Juar and the others."

Lith swallowed, trying to get as much saliva down her throat as she could. She tried again.

"Fusion," she croaked. "Reward. For you."

She didn't know if she could negotiate anything, didn't know if the Fusion even cared that one of their own had deliberately placed herself in the middle of a war zone, but Lith would have said anything to stop the physical abuse. With a Perlim uniform on her body, the Fusion was the only card she could play.

"f.u.c.k her," the second one said loudly. "She's lying."

"What if she isn't?" The objecting voice was strident in its doubt.

"What if she is?"

"What if she isn't?" the voice repeated, louder.

"Yeah?" The answer was shouted. "Well what if she is?"

Lith didn't know how long the argument would have continued if they weren't interrupted by a third rebel. She heard the door open. Thankfully it remained open this time. Looking up as much as she dared, Lith saw another set of boots quickly join the original two.

"What are both of you up to?" a harsh female voice demanded. "What are you doing here?"

"It's this Perlim b.i.t.c.h," the second thug said, prodding Lith's body ungently with his boot. "She says she's Fusion."

The resulting silence was charged.

"Do you think she's telling the truth?" the woman asked.

"No. She's just trying to save her own skin."

"Yes," the first one cut in. "I think she's telling the truth. The sc.u.m don't like the Fusion. No right-minded Perlim would ever admit belonging to them."

Lith kept as quiet as possible, swallowing convulsively to stop the scratching in her throat from growing into a coughing fit. She had never felt so helpless in her life.

"Take her to one of the meeting rooms," the woman finally decided. "Get the new medic. He can run some tests on her."

"Telkin, you can't be serious! Would you take the word of some-"

"Drel would have our heads if she's telling the truth." Two hands reached down and dragged Lith to her feet. She stared into the dark expressionless eyes of the woman who had temporarily spared her. "We'll give you a chance, b.i.t.c.h. But if you're lying, I'll throw you to the men without a moment's hesitation. And it won't be pretty." She shook her, and Lith's head bobbed around alarmingly. "Do you understand?"

The junior Perlim officer kept her mouth shut. And nodded.

Day 1,533 of the War: The guard was rough but Lith knew she could have been rougher.

After the aborted a.s.sault from the two heavies the previous day, Telkin put her in a meeting room to await the medic. When he arrived, he took a blood sample and some tissue swabs with a minimum of conversation. Telkin also ordered that Lith be provided with two small meals and an equivalent number of toilet breaks, a command that elicited much grousing from several rebels.

The next day she was led, by a bunched up collar and on her tiptoes, along a series of short corridors before being unceremoniously shoved into a room. n.o.body said a word to her along the way. The door slammed shut behind her.

Lith stumbled as she was pushed, then regained her balance and straightened. The room was large, the largest she had yet seen, with a curved ceiling above her head. After a cursory glance, her attention was drawn to a long table centered in the s.p.a.ce. On it, Lith saw detailed maps of the Nineteen and surrounding territories. It seemed incongruous that such information was in physical form rather than on giant displays. At HQ every piece of data was a bright pinpoint of light on one of many panels. Then it occurred to her that hard copy was easier to move around and evacuate with.

There were no seats around the long table but as she lifted her gaze, Lith saw a small metal desk shoved against a rough rock wall in the far corner. From one of the three chairs surrounding that small desk, a figure stood.

"Come here and have a seat."

The voice was guttural but the tone was pleasant enough. Not knowing what else to do, Lith walked over to him, keeping her steps slow and deliberate. From a distance, the man at the desk looked short but ma.s.sive. Close up, he was also one of the most unattractive men she had ever seen. His eyes were lopsided. His eyebrows were stiff, wiry and bushy. His lips were thick and fleshy. But there was a gleam of razor-sharp intelligence in his gaze.

"Sit down," he said when she was within arm's reach. He gestured to a chair.

Primly, Lith perched herself on the edge of a bare metal seat. She felt grimy and her body ached, but she refused to brush the errant strands of hair away from her face or wipe down her obviously dirty uniform.

"I'm Drel," he told her, lowering himself into an opposite chair. Dispensing with the niceties, he launched straight to the core of their conversation. "You told my soldiers you're Fusion."

She nodded feeling nervous and distracted. "Yes, I'm Fusion."

Wasn't this where she wanted to be? In the safe arms of the rebels? Why was she so jittery then?

And what happened to the Colonel?

It appeared that it was everybody's sworn mission to kill Cheloi Sie. Hers, the rebels, even Grakal-Ski's. Did the woman stand even the slightest chance of getting out of this alive?

"The medic forwarded me the results of his tests," Drel said slowly, his eyes watching her intently. "He confirms your story. He tells me there are traces of Fusion biogenetics in your blood. But also older Perlim traces."

Lith tried to stem her obvious relief.

"My parents escaped from Laeyek Omni B when I was a child," she explained. "We were processed by the Fusion and given their standard medical treatments."

"Yes, that would explain some things," he agreed, "but not all. If you're Fusion," his gaze flickered over her jacket and the markings on it, "Senior Lieutenant, what are you doing on Menon IV in that uniform?"

The words, so easily formed in her mind, were too difficult to speak. They just wouldn't emerge. Drel's strange eyes narrowed in impatience and Lith took a deep breath. Where could she even begin?

"There's a body that's trying to help bring down the Empire," she finally said. "They call themselves the Free-Perlim Council."

Drel shrugged, indicating that he had not heard of them.

"They, well, a small section of them, decided that the best way to make that happen was to sabotage the empire's efforts on Menon IV."

"How?"

Lith swallowed. "By killing Colonel Cheloi Sie."

Drel sat back in his chair but it wasn't a sign of relaxation. He continued to watch her face.

"You were sent to get rid of my arch-enemy? That seems...very convenient."

"It's, it's all part of a larger plan. I was originally supposed to kill the Colonel. Then it changed to delivering her into your hands."

"By whom? The Fusion? This Council of yours?"

Lith licked her lips. "No."

Drel remained quiet and silence filled the room.

"Colonel Koul Grakal-Ski," she finally whispered, her voice barely carrying across the table.

Drel rocked back in his seat.

"Sie's second-in-command wants her dead? So he gets a Fusion a.s.sa.s.sin to deliver her to me in one convenient package?" The shouts of laughter from deep within Drel's chest echoed in the empty room.

Lith, nervous and strung out, jumped at the sound. She was so far out of her depth she felt like she was drowning. Her chest was tight and painful, squeezing her lungs to tiny points.

He stopped laughing but a smile still hovered on his lips.

"The Perlim animals will eat their own young," he told her sagely. "They can't help themselves. But this is still a little too convenient, Senior Lieutenant. A Fusion agent conveniently appearing in the middle of a war zone, handing me my greatest enemy on the orders of the Butcher's second-in-command? Can you see how unlikely it all sounds?"

He spread his hands. "Convince me you're telling me the truth."

It was difficult at first, but eventually the entire story tumbled out. From Lith's parents fleeing the brutality of the empire to her burning desire to do something that would hurt the Empire. From meeting Nils to her placement on Menon IV. From her work as the Colonel's aide to the blackmail plot of Grakal-Ski. She told him about everything except her physical intimacies with the woman she was betraying. And the feeling of being shredded with each sentence she uttered.

Her own feelings thickened her recital, sometimes even stopping them. She was forced to take shuddering breaths in order to continue. A voice in her brain shrieked that she should not be doing this to a woman she feared she had fallen halfway in love with, but she closed her eyes and continued with the narrative.

Drel, who interrupted her with questions from time to time, was nodding by the end of it. The grim lines of his face relaxed into softer ones as he eyed her with interest.

"And where would you like to go now, Lith Yinalna?"

She stared at him dry-eyed and he shrugged.

"You've completed your mission. The notorious colonel is now in our hands and justice will be served. Your part is done. Would you like to go back to the Fusion? I'm happy to offer you what a.s.sistance I can as a reward for handing the Butcher to me.

"I can contact a counterpart in another, less heavily guarded territory and organise an offplanet stealth-lift but that will take some time. Until then, you're welcome to stay here as my personal guest. I'll organise a room for you, share what little hospitality we have and, er, something a bit more appropriate to wear."

Lith was only half-listening. Did she want to go back to the Fusion? Yes, of course. Back to her family, to safety and a predictable life, proud of the fact that she had finally done something to avenge the cruelty that had led thousands to flee their homeworld.

"What will happen to the Colonel?" The question was ripped from her.

Drel smiled. "I think you already know the answer to that."

Day 1,534 of the War: It was eerie how similar Lith's room at Drel's base was to her quarters at the Nineteen's HQ. It didn't have the private attached amenities but the amount of s.p.a.ce available to her was almost equivalent. Her new quarters had been used as a storeroom and a four-bed cell in the past. She could see this by the dark dusty outlines against three of the walls, black against ochre. For now, the room only held one narrow bed and a small dark cupboard on uneven legs and Lith half-expected to see the regulation Perlim military-issue laundry basket sitting sedately in one corner.

After their meeting, Drel had personally taken her to one of his subordinates. The rebel got her some nondescript clothing to change into and she was told where the toilets and canteen were. But there was no mistake that she was anything more than a tolerated, still mistrusted, guest. She wasn't shown around the entire underground complex, for example. And many doors, open on her way to Drel's office, were shut on the way back again.

She clutched at the clothes, their rough texture digging into her hands, and stood just inside the doorway.

Where is the Colonel?

She felt as though she had just bartered an armful of textile and a few nights on a thin mattress for somebody's life. The weight of it dragged at her feet, making it impossible to take one further step, either into the room or out of it completely.

What have I done?

Someone walked past her in the corridor at her back, breaking the paralysis. With a quick movement, Lith stepped forward and turned to swing the incredibly heavy timber door shut, giving it one more push with her elbow even after the primitive lock latched shut with an audible click. The privacy wasn't complete, she could still see the shadow of movement under the door and hear the gravelly shuffle of feet, but it was the best she was going to get.

She was going home!

Surely that should fill her with elation? After a year on Menon IV, she would be seeing her parents again. And Nils. What would she say to them?

I've done it! I struck a blow against the Empire by turning the Butcher of Sab-Iqur over to the rebels on Menon IV!

No, that wasn't true. If it hadn't been for Grakal-Ski's machinations, she wouldn't have got this far. But once the news got out onto the planetary nets, she knew the honour would be hers. Grakal-Ski, safe in the promotion he hungered for, wouldn't gainsay anything that left his own hands spotless.

For a change, she would be the one held responsible for the death of another. Was this what people meant when they spoke about fighting destruction with destruction? Orators appeared so strong, so invulnerable, when they p.r.o.nounced upon such matters. Even Nils, during his fiery and ultimately unsuccessful speeches to the Free-Perlim Council, had used such language. Had any of these people actually taken a life to know what it was they were talking about? Did Nils know what it was like to hold someone's existence in the balance? To snuff out a life with only one word or gesture? Or, even worse, by doing absolutely nothing?

Lith stumbled to the bed, drawing shuddering breaths into her body. Under the pile of thick clothing flopping over her arms, her fingers were frigid and shaking. Her legs trembled with the thought that Cheloi Sie would soon be dead and her stomach churned with bile.

She had no doubt that Drel would eliminate his Perlim enemy. That was his role and she noticed the glint of happy antic.i.p.ation in his dark, heavy-lidded eyes at the prospect of it. But what was her role? At one time, she thought it was destroying the Colonel. Then it segued into comforting her. And now, it seemed to have seesawed back to retribution.

Where was the accompanying feeling of triumph? She clenched the clothes with strong bitter fingers. Nils would have been turning celebratory cartwheels and composing triumphant speeches by now. But Lith felt sick and hollow. Just the thought sent bile rising up to her throat.

How would they kill the Colonel? Would they form a squad of weapon-bearing rebels to shoot her? Inject her with a poison? Suffocate her in an hermetically-sealed cage? Leave her to dehydrate and die under the harsh Menon sun? Would they execute her in public? Or record it in private? Lith's imagination conjured up an alarming number of images, a relentless barrage of unspeakable options.

And she was responsible. Not through words, but by agreeing to Grakal-Ski's scheme in the first place.

He would have killed me.

That was the only excuse saving her sanity. Not the justifiable shock at the callous way the Colonel had dissolved their relations.h.i.+p, nor even the simmering anger afterwards, but the mortal choice. Her life against that of the Colonel's and she was so desperate to keep living. Did that make her a bad person?

Was there really a better option waiting for her? Didn't she deserve this chance to return home? And if so, were the tears running down her cheeks ones of relief? Or something else?

"Does the Perlim Empire know how stupid it's been?"

Drel paced the floor of the interrogation room in front of a standing, swaying Cheloi. She wasn't in very good shape and she knew it. One side of her face was bruised and swollen and she suspected that she was now definitely sporting several broken ribs. Despite the pain, she felt exhausted enough to go to sleep right there on the hard tiled floor.

She knew she wouldn't last another few days of similar treatment. Her jacket was long gone, probably being touted as a trophy or demoted to dishrag duty. Her gold scar-raptors, symbols of her rank, were probably dented and crushed under someone's contemptuous heel by now. Her pants were filthy, covered in dust and dirt and stained with blood and patches of perspiration. Her feet were still bare, leaving her psychologically naked.

"Where's my driver?" she croaked for the tenth time. She had tried everything to get news on Lith, from asking Drel a plain question to shouting in the face of every rebel that came near her. Neither tactic had yielded any concrete results.

"Your driver?" He finally paused and seemed to consider something. He opened his mouth then closed it again and shook his head with a smile. "Never mind. She's in far better shape than you, Senior Colonel."

"Let her go."

"In good time. Once we explain the situation to her."