9
The War properly ended when Fleet employed its gravity disruptors against the remaining Brumallian warships and their orbital support industry. The near-genocide committed thereafter from orbit and through the deployment of ground troops underlined that ending of conflict in so sordid a fashion as to begin a major shift in Sudorian public opinion. There are only so many broadcasts about Brumallians being conquered that any civilised human being can cheer. We grew uneasy at seeing images of yet more quofarl being incinerated in tunnels or disc-gunned into bloody fragments in forests. Seeing ordinary Brumallians trapped on shores or river-banks, and then shelled into non-existence, increased that unease. "They won't surrender," we were assured. "We have no choice," said those GDS troops and Fleet marines, their expressions haunted. We grew sick of seeing piles of worm-riddled corpses being pushed by bulldozers into pits. We grew increasingly suspicious of Fleet's censorship of certain broadcasts. But, even then, many of us had grown desensitised to the images, and the real turn in public opinion was instigated by a simple audio recording that was smuggled out. There are few of us, as a result, who have not heard the terrible sound that ensued after phosphor bombs were dropped into an underground Brumallian town with a population of ten thousand. It was a sound often reproduced in the protest songs that followed; that concerted shrieking rose like a symphony of Hell recorded from the Pit.
— Uskaron
McCrooger
The quofarl first surrounded us, then closed in. Two grabbed Rhodane, thrust her down on the floor and pinned her there. As two grabbed me, I allowed them to shove me to the floor, and as I went down I felt something rip across the back of my hand, probably the edge of a quofarl carapace. They searched us, thoroughly, then grudgingly hauled us back to our feet.
"What's going on?" Rhodane finally demanded.
The quofarl responded only with an irritated clicking of their mandibles, and aimed their weapons more deliberately. Now Rhodane began to look really worried as she observed other Brumallians spreading out through the surrounding area. It was not just quofarl arriving, but others laden with equipment. Abruptly lights set into the walls came on, and the hum of power permeated the air. Some of the biomechanisms around the bases of the ships began showing signs of movement, the pumps accelerated, and light and heat began to emit from the ships themselves.
"Are you picking up anything from the Consensus?" I asked.
"Something is definitely going on," she said.
"No shit?"
She held up her hand, listening intently to the chatter of the other Brumallians here. I guessed she was also trying to interpret the chemical messages in the air.
"Perhaps you should never have brought me down here?" I suggested.
"It's not that. Something about Fleet…and an evacuation. I think the Speakers—"
The quofarl abruptly parted.
"Come—"
"— with—"
"— us," they said, and a couple of the hand gestures I read indicated: Move now, urgency, danger, outsiders, protect citizens. The butt of a weapon smacked into my back and I started to turn in anger, but Rhodane grabbed my arm and began towing me after the two quofarl who led off. "Keep moving, don't question their orders, don't disobey—and don't do anything stupid."
"Danger?"
"They are confused and scared, so will kill us at the slightest provocation. There's a threat to—"
"Silence," ordered the quofarl, and that's what they got.
They did not take us out the way we had come in, but into a tunnel to one side, then at its end through two sets of heavily armoured doors and out into the open air. The ground lay hard underfoot—mud frozen solid and blistered with shell-ice—and snakes of aubergine cloud occluded the starry firmament. To my right I observed more quofarl shoving ahead of them another figure in an envirosuit like Rhodane's. I also noticed that one of them carried a similar figure slung over his shoulder. So it was not just us, and I guessed this was some instinctive or preplanned reaction to threat.
Finally they brought us to the edge of a canal where a massive cargo barge sat on the steadily freezing water. By now Rhodane had put on her helmet and gloves, so looked little different to the other Sudorians being forced into the barge. Typical: round up the aliens and intern them. I guessed some things would never change.
It was crowded inside, people sitting with their backs against the outer walls or scattered in groups about the cold alloy floor. I estimated there to be at least 200 people gathered here. Frightened chatter filled the area, but it always dropped to silence when the doors opened and more people were shoved inside. I supposed these Sudorians were used to dealing with Brumallians and well aware of how dangerous quofarl could be, but I also wondered how many had died already, for the one I had seen being carried over a shoulder had not been brought here with us but taken towards a barge moored further along the canal. Standing head and shoulders above everyone else, blatantly not wearing protective gear and evidently neither Sudorian nor Brumallian, I became the focus of much attention.
"What's he?"
"That Consul Assessor from the Polity."
"I thought he was dead."
"Looks very much alive to me."
"Is he anything to do with this?"
Finally seals thunked down in the doors, fans started running, and the temperature began to rise. After a little while someone called out, "It's safe!" and people began to remove their atmosphere helmets.
"Have you any idea what's going on?" I asked Rhodane once she had taken off her own.
"Not yet." She raised her hand in greeting to a woman just across the room, who began to make her way towards us. "Shleera will know."
"So this is him." Shleera looked me up and down, and I studied her in return. I realised that her bulk was not all due to her envirosuit. She was overweight and wore spectacles—both of which were never seen in the Polity unless as a matter of choice.
"It certainly is," Rhodane replied. "Shleera, meet the Polity Consul Assessor, David McCrooger."
"I would rather have met you under different circumstances," she said.
"Do you know what's going on here?" Rhodane asked.
"Fleet," Shleera spat. "What do you think?"
"Have they attacked?"
"Not yet." Shleera glanced around at those who were gathering closer. "Consensus Speakers have been in contact to deny any responsibility for the missile strike on his ship" — she gestured at me. "They investigated and retrieved enough evidence to refute Brumallian involvement but, before they could pass it on, Fleet cut communications. Now Fleet are pulling their personnel out of the ground bases."
"I have heard nothing about this." Rhodane was looking puzzled.
"Perhaps you're not as close to them as you would like to think," Shleera replied.
"We did hear something about an evacuation," I interjected.
"Evacuation," Shleera shook her head. "That's not the ground bases, that's Vertical Vienna. It started in secret shortly after the missile strike, and is now being conducted with some urgency."
"Fleet wouldn't dare," said Rhodane.
"Parliament has allowed Fleet to take the caps off its guns. You do realise the Carmel space station is working again?"
"Shit," said Rhodane, or rather used some nearly untranslatable Sudorian equivalent.
"Vertical Vienna?" I enquired.
She glanced at me. "The subterranean city nearest to the missile's launch site."
I considered that, and found my hand straying to the tiger pendant on my chest. After a moment I coughed into my hand and said, "Tigger."