Bishop’s Gambit

© 2019 by Walter Reimer


Thumbnail art by  rabbi-tom


The young canine woman glanced at the door of the fabric shop as it opened. “Oh! Hello, there!” she said brightly as a kam stepped in. “Oh! Excuse me. Narchak,” she said, almost getting the pronunciation right.

The kam gave her a human smile and nodded. “Narchak, young woman. Do you object if I look around?” His Basic was only slightly accented, and he was dressed in a loose-fitting suit of muted grays and browns - remarkably subdued colors for a shlan in mufti. His fur was a sandy color.

“Not at all,” the terrier replied, and the kam thanked her before browsing around the shop. He would occasionally pause and ask her questions about certain bolts of cloth; whether they had been paw-woven or machine-made. After replying to one question she said, “I haven’t seen that one girl – er, vir lately. Has she left?”

Another smile. “No, she’s just taking a few days off. I think I heard that she was going to Port Armstrong on Selene.”

The terrier grinned. “I’m from Tsiolkovskigrad, over on Farside. I hope she has a good time.”

“I’ll let her know that you were thinking of her,” the kam said. He bought a bolt of cloth, paying with the Embassy’s credit, and the terrier sealed it in a plastic envelope to keep it from getting too dirty in Terra’s air. The kam left the shop after exchanging a few more pleasantries.

The small earphone tucked into his left ear was connected to the sensor net under his baggy suit. The net had picked up the virus, and his slow progress around the shop had helped him pinpoint the highest concentration – the bolt of cloth he held in his hands.

He’d been vaccinated, of course, as had every shlan in the Embassy.

How Naren had been infected was simplicity itself, the Security officer reflected. A simple aerosol device to spray the cloth, and the shop’s air circulators would do the rest. Any Terran customers would, naturally, be completely unaffected. The cloth he held casually under his arm would be proof, and he was grateful that Naren was able to recall which shops she’d visited.

The kam wanted two things now; to see this evidence deposited with his superiors, and to get a drink. Preferably skrivat, diluted one part water to ten parts of liquor.

To wash the taste of Terran Basic out of his mouth.

His superior officer had sent him on this assignment, and assured him that 'atgrihadhātjir was being contemplated by the Ambassador and the senior staff. Like many Kashlanin words, it had variations based on stress and the location of the long vowel. It was related to the word variously translated into Terran as repayment or recompense.

Its actual meaning was much closer to retribution.


***


The Imperial Foreign Ministry’s formal protest about the attempted murder of an Embassy staffer and the possible infection of the entire Embassy was not addressed to any Cabinet minister, but to President Chao-li himself. The musk deer read it again and glanced through the hologram at the other furs in the room.

The new Foreign Minister, a capybara, merely said placidly, “My staff had nothing to do with this.” He gave a tiny smile, the barest lift of his lips. “We don’t have the resources,” and he gave the Admiral-General a sidelong glance.

The leopardess’ ears went straight back. “Are you accusing me?”

“No.”

The head of Terra’s planetary police force tugged at his collar. “Our investigation is ongoing, Sir,” the bear said. “The scene’s nearly five days old now, but we’re making progress.”

Chao-li nodded and turned to al-Sakai. “Well, Admiral-General? Anything from Military Intelligence on this?”

The feline sat back and crossed her legs, her tail’s agitated twitching belying her air of nonchalance. “General Parsons reports that the virus was not obtained legally. What his operatives have found point to a terrorist group.”

“A terrorist group?” The police chief asked. “The Ears have heard nothing about a new group.”

The leopardess smirked. “Perhaps the Ears need to acquire some brains. I’ll have the file sent to you.” She turned to Chao-li. “It’s called Mother Terra, and it appears to have originated on one of the colony worlds. How they got their paws on the Burning virus is still a matter of conjecture.”

“Hmm,” the musk deer said. “I have a meeting with the Presidium after lunch. Give me a copy of your information, Sarafina, and I’ll see what the Colonial Senators have to say about this.” He jerked his chin at one of his bodyguards and the wolf opened the door. “Thank you for coming, everyone.” The others stood and left the office, their aides and guards meeting them at the door. Al-Sakai was the last one to leave, two burly panthers falling in on either side of her as she headed down the hallway to her next meeting.

A meeting that she hadn’t known about until after she’d been ushered into the President’s office.

She left the guards at the door, which whisked shut behind her as she stepped into the dark room. “Well?” the leopardess snapped. “Show yourself.”

A single light snapped on, revealing two hooded figures. It was, as usual, impossible to say who they were, even by scent. “We serve the cause of Holy Terra,” the one on the left said.

Bullshit, al-Sakai thought. “Like everyone, you serve your own interests,” she said testily, “but we can save that argument. Right now, our interests coincide. Now,” and her claws extended, “tell me: Did the Order have anything to do with this?”

The two hooded figures glanced at each other before the one on the right said, “A Monsignor acted . . . rashly.”

The one on the left added, “The penance for failure is death.”

“I had rather hoped it would be,” al-Sakai said, and her claws retracted. A pity, really; she’d applied a new type of poison to them and had really wanted to see how it worked. “I’ve told that fucking leafeater that it was a terrorist act. The group’s a phantom that has been used before as a convenient excuse for suppressing dissent. Hunting them down will divert attention from me – and you.”

“As you say, our interests coincide,” the one on the left said. Another light illuminated the door. “Thank you for coming to meet with us.”

The leopardess gave a soft snort and turned toward the door, and as she did the light over the two hooded figures went dark. She knew that they were gone.

Once back in her office she sealed the chamber and opened a coded channel. The display cleared to show an older male, a painted wolf. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“General Parsons, I want you to start putting together a list of colonials that are judged politically unreliable,” al-Sakai said with a slightly feral grin. “Nothing too long or too fancy; just enough to be a distraction.”