Chapter Ten – Room Nine
“And ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free” – the Gospel according to St John, Chapter 8, verse 32. Inscribed in the foyer of CIA headquarters.
Kat underwent treatment with Agnes and emerged from the structure with her arm in what looked like plaster, wide-eyed from the encounter.
“Those were the dudes in the structure all along,” she said to Gideon when she saw him at the visitor’s centre. “The one that helped me spoke English.”
“Their own language sounds like a bird song but they don’t seem to have trouble with any other language. How’s the arm? How long do you have to keep the plaster on?”
“Much better thanks, maybe two weeks for this fracture, Agnes said.”
“Two weeks isn’t long for a fracture.”
“Got treatment with some machine in there. Agnes said she’s still trying different things, but what she did helped a lot.”
Gideon thought that he should not be happy that Aliens were experimenting on humans, but Agnes and the structure’s machines had proved remarkably effective in treating the wounded and sick to date. Aloud he said, “How come I had to pay ransom to get you back? What were you doing with Boothroyd?”
“Me and my boyfriend Vincent were looking for you. We wanted to join the fight. But we got lost.”
“Is Vincent around anywhere?”
“He died defending me.”
“Oh – did Boothroyd kill him?”
“Yes, it was him.”
“Wish I’d known that. I wouldn’t have let him go. He’s a no-good piece of shit but I didn’t think he’d stoop to murder.”
“It was a fight. Vincent lost.”
“Whatever. Sergeant Monster!”
“Yeah, colonel.”
“If ever we lay eyes on Boothie again we are to bring him back here for a fair trial and then a proper, judicial execution.”
“Paperwork is shit,” grumbled Monster. “Just kill the fuck.”
“Have to go through the motions, even for Boothie.”
Monster said what he thought about going through the motions for Boothroyd.
Ignoring his provost marshal Gideon strolled on, chatting to Kat.
“If you want to join up…”
“I sure do – I want to start shooting at stuff.”
“…Then find the logistics guys,” (a few of the non-combatants had been gathered together in what had been grandly dubbed ‘Logistics Command’), “and they’ll get you set up. You’ll have to wait before shooting stuff.”
“Huh! Why can’t I start shooting now?”
“You’ve still got the plaster on, you have to be trained and, in any case,” Gideon pointed out, “there’s nothing to shoot at. The Midis aren’t coming, not yet anyway.”
“When are they expected to come?”
“When they come, I guess. I’ve got forward posts and scouts out, but there haven’t been any sightings.
“Sounds like you don’t know what’s happening.”
“There’s no ‘sounds like’ about it – I don’t know what’s happening. Are you always this annoying?”
“Annoying is what I do,” said Kat. “I haven’t had a chance to annoy anyone for a while. Now I’m back in civilisation I can get back to what I do best.”
William then took Kat away, leaving Gideon thinking that would be the last he would see of their newest recruit for a time. She was back in half and hour with another female musketeer – older to the extent that she could be an under graduate rather than a school leaver.
“Excuse me Mr Gideon, colonel, sir,” Kat said.
“Until you’re sworn in colonel will do,” said Gideon bemused. “I thought I’d gotten rid of you.”
“This is Olivia.”
“Sir,” said Olivia standing to attention. The musketeers had no salute.
“Do you have a surname, musketeer?” asked Gideon.
“Ballantine, sir.”
“Well Musketeer Ballantine, why has Kat dragged you away from training?”
“She said you wanted to know what was happening with the Midis, sir. They’re assembling a large force in Haven City, but they’re having trouble getting together the carts to bring food for them.”
Gideon’s jaw dropped. “How many Midis?”
Ballantine shrugged. “Several thousand as far as anyone knows. They’re building carts.”
“How do you know all of this?” Gideon’s voice rose as he spoke.
“Well, sir, um my mother is still in Haven City. She’s still got her phone and manages to keep it charged. She calls me whenever the family that owns her is not around. She talks to the other slaves and tells me any gossip.”
“Your mother is being held as a slave and still has the use of her phone?” Gideon thought there were some parts of campaigning against the Midis he could not believe.
“She keeps it hidden in a sort of covered over area out the back of the house she sleeps in. She gets cold at night sir, she is sometimes hungry and they work her hard. That’s why I’m here.”
“I understand, musketeer. It’s why we’re all here. But… I have to ask, you didn’t think to pass on this military information to any of the officers?”
Olivia was taken aback by this. “I thought everyone knew, sir, and I’m just a musketeer. Why would it be up to me to tell anyone?”
Gideon sighed. “Never mind, musketeer. Thank you for the information. You can now return to training.”
“Yes sir.”
Olivia departed, leaving behind Kat grinning triumphantly.
“Being annoying is not all you do it seems,” said Gideon.
“It’s a lot of what I do,” conceded Kat, “but I have other uses.”
The revelation engineered by Kat led to a fraught confrontation between the musketeer officers and Gideon who demanded to know why no-one had thought to pass on freely available information directly relevant to the military situation. Two of them said they had heard rumours but it had not occurred to them to pass those rumours on. Gideon ranted at them for a time while they all hung their heads and then ordered the formation of what amounted to a military intelligence agency.
A few musketeers with an interest in such work would be put into a room in the visitor’s centre and they would set up a network of humans with phones like Olivia’s mum. This network would be strictly about gathering intelligence. It was not to do what intelligence agencies of previous ages might have called “wet work” such as blowing things up or murdering hapless Midi sentries. This agency would also interrogate prisoners – no, there would be no torture – and possibly run deep scouting missions. But above all its operations would be kept a secret. If the Midis realised what was going on, there could be huge problems for the many slave humans in Midi hands. Anybody who broke that secrecy would be sent back to the Summer Camp.
The room in the visitor’s centre chosen for this new secret organisation was one of a series of numbered storage areas on the top floor at the back. There was a nine on the door so it was called Room Nine, and that’s what the organisation came to be called – Room Nine, eventually Rm9. Although it did little more than collate information from various sources to pass on to Gideon, when the Midis eventually became aware of the phrase “Room Nine” the secrecy with which it operated resulted in the organisation taking on a sinister mystique.
Human things they could see and had some chance of understanding killed many of their brethren, their reasoning went, so this thing they could not see or understand must be deadly indeed. Eventually, just as Roman matrons use to scare their children into obedience by declaring “Hannibal ad portas” (Hannibal is at the gates), Midi mothers would say “Room Nine! Room Nine!” and their children would run to bed squealing.
While number nine storage room was still being cleared out, Gideon had to deal with a different sort of terror in the form of his newest recruit.
Kat emerged from the visitor’s centre just as Gideon, standing on the veranda, had finished discussing training schedules with senior officers. “Colonel.”
“You again,” said Gideon, without heat, thinking that he really should set up an office with a proper staff whose job would be to keep casual visitors away. “I thought I’d given you a job in our new organisation, until the plaster came off.”
“You did, and I’m doing it. I’m seeking information. What is your romantic situation? Do you have anyone waiting back on Earth?”
“You mean do I have a girlfriend? You’re being annoying again.”
“It’s what I do. Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Well, I was dumped just before.. what am I doing? What business is this of yours?”
“The Room Nine people thought that while they were setting up, they’d fill in time by working out someone you could date.” Two musketeers had been appointed to the new, secret agency, both women.
“Room Nine is about military intelligence not my personal romantic affairs. Tell them from me that if I hear about the matter again, they’ll be doing continuous laps of the structure. Come to think of it, have you been introduced to our punishment of jogging around the structure?”
“You can’t punish me; I still haven’t taken the oath,” Kat said, completely unabashed. “That’s why they sent me, to see if you wanted to look at the list of possibles.”
“Wait, there’s a list?”
“We’re still thinking about it and, no, you can’t have Angela on it. Your mooning over her has been noticed, you know, but she’s taken and too young for you.”
“I do not ‘moon’,” retorted Gideon. “I take a healthy interest in the doings of my musketeers.”
“Healthy interest? Is that what they call lechery on earth now?”
“I’ve decided I’m going to create a new military offence for civilians called ‘annoying the commanding officer’.”
“We thought one of the younger widows – also, there are a couple of teachers back at summer camp..”
They both heard a noise that Gideon had not heard for weeks, the sound of a vehicle approaching. In the distance, on the road that ran beside the structure and all the way to the Summer Camp, they saw an enclosed, jeep-like vehicle with large tyres driving towards them.
“Oh crap, I think that’s Bishop,” said Kat. “I was never here.”
Before Gideon could retort that he wished she had never been there, Kat had gone and the car had stopped in front of him. A man perhaps in his forties with a new testament beard, scraggly, dark hair and wild eyes, dressed in jeans and a tee shirt unfolded himself from the driver’s side of the vehicle. Gideon then saw that Dr Evan Poole was in the passenger seat. The doctor had set out on the road to the summer camp with food for the journey several days previously. Gideon had considered his departure a mild irritant disposed of – the good doctor’s specialty was ethics and he had no use for an ethicist. The driver soon proved to be more of a problem.
“I need to speak to the lunatic in charge of this shit shower,” said the newcomer.
“That’s me,” said Gideon. “Colonel Gideon Swift.”
“You’re no colonel,” the newcomer sneered. “You’re a part time storekeeper sergeant.”
“The term is quartermaster sergeant and I have four companies here, plus artillery and support groups. That force can be commanded by a colonel so I’ve given myself the rank. Calling myself a general seemed over the top.” Gideon thought that the newcomer could outdo even his old friends at the HEO on Earth in charm and tact.
“I’ve come to get my senior classes back. This,” he waved his arms to indicate the new extensive encampment of lean-tos, tents and sand bag huts that made up the sleeping accommodation of the musketeers – they had run out of space in the structure and visitors centre long ago – “is dangerous nonsense, upsetting the negotiations. And I want the horses back.”
“Horses?” said Gideon.
“Don’t ‘horses’ me. I want them back.”
“I don’t know anything about horses.”
“Bullshit! Our entire herd and the riding society is missing. We want them back before any of the them get hurt playing your stupid soldier games.”
“If you see them,” said Gideon, “send them this way. I could form cavalry units.”
“Where are they?” the newcomer looked around. “And where are my students? I know they’re here.”
Gideon realised that although the road had been busy with musketeers marching back and forth and various units had been training within his sight just a minute before, now there was not a soul to be seen.
“They were around before, now you’ve turned up they’ve all gone. You might take that hint.”
“Ha!” said the newcomer without humour. “I’m tired of this nonsense. I let it go for a while because the students wanted to play soldier and I couldn’t seem to stop them, but people are being hurt, Evan told me.”
Evan had also gotten out of the car. “Um, Gideon, this is Owen Bishop, he’s sort-of principal of the summer camp.”
“A none too-popular principal it would seem,” said Gideon. “His senior students have run away, and now his horses. If you see these horses and, I assume, their riders let me know. I’d like to have them.”
“Don’t play games with me,” said Bishop. “You’re in a lot of trouble Sergeant Swift.”
“Just trouble? I thought I’d left trouble behind long ago for mortal, terrifying danger. You know your Dr Benson basically shanghaied me and a few others to come here as a soldier unit.”
“Against the express direction of the HSC.”
“HSC?”
“Haven Settlers Committee,” said Poole.
“You guys really like acronyms.”
By that time Monster and Honey had turned up, to see who the newcomer was, and work out why all the musketeers had suddenly vanished. Honey had brought her sword which she held two-handed, blade resting on her shoulder, as if she intended to chop off Bishop’s head, but just grinned at him. Monster was wearing wrap-around sunglasses he had found in the visitor’s centre on the first day and was his usual unsmiling self.
“Nice wheels dude,” said the Provost Marshall. “Electric?”
“As a matter of fact it is,” said Bishop. “Can be refuelled at any power point by clean renewable energy – who the hell are you?”
“Biker brothers called me Monster.”
“Monster is another of Dr Benson’s unwilling recruits who is now my Provost Marshall,” said Gideon. “He’s very effective in settling disputes.”
“Disputes have to be referred to the disputes resolution committee,” said Bishop, stiffly. I’ll send you the procedure manuals. The emphasis is on a peaceful settlement.”
“Monster isn’t into procedures or paperwork,” said Gideon. “Or peaceful settlement of anything much.”
“Last committee meeting I was at cops had to break up,” said Monster.
“The lady with the sword is Honey…”
“I ain’t no lady,” said Honey.
“.. who was also shanghaied by Benson and so is none too fond of anyone involved with the Haven hierarchy.”
“Haven office dudes can kiss my slim, Asian ass,” said Honey.
“Okayyy,” said Bishop, taking a step back. “Take the matter up with Dr Benson. He sent you here. I didn’t. As I said we told him that negotiations would work. Now I need to see these creatures you call Witches and ask them what they mean by this protection business.”
Poole caught Gideon’s eye, shrugged his shoulders and raised his arms as if saying ‘I tried to tell him’.
“Sure,” said Gideon, a plan forming in his mind. “Just give me a moment to tell them we’re coming.” He stepped inside the Visitor’s Centre to find his senior officer, Captain Toms, waiting out of sight, along with many of the musketeers who had been busy until training until Bishop arrived.
“So this is where you’ve all got to?” said Gideon. “Mr Toms.”
“Sir?” This was said tentatively.
“Can you drive that electric vehicle? I didn’t see Bishop using any keys.”
“Summer Camp got lots of those things. Bishop locked them up in case anyone tried driving here. You push a button to start.”
“Excellent. You’ll use it to drive back.”
“Sir?” This was even more tentative. None of the musketeers had any stomach for a confrontation with Bishop.
“I’m taking your principal to see the Witches. Tell Monster that I said to sit in the back seat with Bishop for the return trip under strict orders to push the man out if he causes you grief.” Toms cheered up noticeably at this. “Take armed musketeers and grab those other vehicles by force if necessary, although it’d be good if you didn’t hurt anyone. Waving the muskets around and showing them Monster should be enough. Also take whatever supplies you can find, particularly medical, but use discretion – can’t leave the others to starve. If there are others of the right age who want to sign on, you can make return trips.”
“Yes sir – um, are we going to use those cars to fight?”
“No, no,” said Gideon, “I doubt they’d be of much use close to the action. Even a Midi spear might go through the hood and mess up the engine. But we need to transport supplies, evacuate wounded, maybe we can even move small commando teams close to target, and we can recharge them. This world will open up.” Gideon considered adding that no one had thought to tell him that there were vehicles of any kind at the Summer Camp but decided to let the matter go. Maybe he should have asked. “Now get busy.”
“Yes sir.”
“Where is Sam?”
“Playing cards out the back with Dean.”
Gideon walked through the centre to find Dean instructing Sam in how to bid in a bridge game.
“Now you say two clubs,” Dean told Sam, after looking at his cards.
“Two clubs.”
“Cards have to wait,” said Gideon. “Sam come with me.” The android dutifully followed the colonel back to the roadway to find Bishop in a stilted conversation with Honey and Monster.
“The committee meeting that got broken up, what was it about?” Bishop asked Monster.
“Dollars, man, or drugs,” said the biker, shrugging. “Brothers did four kegs. Shit kinda got confused.”
Bishop then saw Sam.
“What is that?”
“An Android on loan from the Witches,” said Gideon. “The facial features are the same. Thought it might prepare you for meeting with them.”
“You think I’d be put off by mere differences in appearance,” sneered Bishop. “The Haven settlement is all about inclusiveness and acceptance of diversity.”
“That’s a shame because the Witches don’t give a damn about diversity one way or another. They’re also all one gender, take them or leave them, in case you’re wondering.”
“Which gender?”
“Never asked, but I think of them as female for convenience. There’s a male one somewhere in Haven City, we think.”
The Witches were lined up in the usual order when Gideon led Bishop to the meeting chamber and proved to be in fine form.
“Why would we go to the trouble of creating the Star Gate, unless it was so that humans could keep this planet safe?” said Tabitha, when Bishop questioned her about the need for security. “We didn’t consider humans to be violent, but we didn’t think they’d be so .. peaceful.”
“Why didn’t your people fight these creatures or call for soldiers before this?” said Agnes. “If it was not for Gideon and the other humans we found, the Midis would have come in here.”
“You didn’t say what you wanted,” Bishop pointed out, “or warn us that these creatures were on their way.”
“We didn’t know these creatures were coming,” said Sabrina, “until they were almost here. We thought we’d escaped from our rival, but we also thought that if something did happen humans would take care of it – and they didn’t.”
When they finally emerged from the structure Gideon thought that Bishop seemed subdued, but he forgot about the principal when he saw the horses. A herd of them, maybe forty or so with their riders. These were the usual run of students dressed any old how, except for the leader, an older broad-shouldered man with a full beard wearing a broad-brimmed bush hat and what appeared to be an Australian dtriza-bone. His appearance was reminiscent of a Confederate cavalry commander. Perhaps not a JEB Stuart who had been a young man, but maybe a Nathan Bedford Forrest with a touch of the eccentricity and intensity of Stonewall Jackson.
“Been looking ‘fur a Colonel Swift,” said this apparition. “Fixing to join up.”
“Geoff is this where you got to with the horses and your students,” said Bishop. “I thought we’d agreed on negotiations. Talking is still the way.”
Geoff leant forward on his saddle.
“Time for talking is over,” he said.
“Just stand over in the car park, you’ll see the line, and we’ll give the oath,” said Gideon.
“’Been practising charging in line on the way down but need weapons.”
“We’ll sure see what we can do,” said Gideon.
“Geoff you cannot do this,” said Bishop, raising his voice. “This is against the express direction of the committee..” Geoff swung off his horse, “We agreed that there is no place for military action..” continued the teacher. Geoff advanced on Bishop, “..this settlement will not be about violence and fighting..” Geoff hit Bishop hard on the jaw and the principal went down. The mounted students cheered.
“Been meaning to do that for a time,” said Geoff. “Where do we line up?”
Gideon had his cavalry.