Tales from Kalgachia - 7

Seven years after the Garden of Kalgachia had been established as a sovereign state, the amount of migrants streaming into it from the Minarborian Shrublands had steadily decreased. The sheer numbers on the move had been too great for the early government to accomodate, and most had camped in the foothills of the Octavian mountains while they tried to convince the Kalgachi authorities to grant them entry. In the end Kalgachia had come to them - what began as roaming cossack patrols offering nominal protection for a 'voluntary' fee had escalated into an expansion of the Kalgachi frontier itself, driven chiefly by the dire necessity to acquire suitable agricultural land and the labour force to go with it. With this annexation of more temperate slopes, almost everyone who sought to enter Kalgachia was now incorporated within its borders; all that remained beyond them were 'brigands and apostates', as the Credents of the Kalgachi Church had somewhat arbitrarily decided. All that was good and holy about old Shrubdom, all that held within itself the light of hope for the Benacian continent and defied its cynical order with a recalcitrant jollity, now lay within the Garden of Kalgachia alone.

The reality on the ground, as it happened, had not quite caught up with the official line.

The Lignin border post in the southeast of Lithead Lieutenancy had been hastily established - little more than a burrow in the ground with a wooden guard tower above, overlooking a rudimentrary pole of fresh-cut fir laying across two anti-tank obstacles that narrowed the oncoming road into a single lane's width. In Minarbor's day the road had been well-maintained, but the cumulative effect of neglect and the weight of refugee vehicles had rendered it into a sea of crumbling potholes. The holes on the Kalgachi side had been patched up with occasional applications of compressed rubble at least, but the stretch that wound its way outside Kalgachia, down the bluffs into the glades of old Whisperwood, was a sorry reminder of faded glories that induced a tinge of melancholy in all who gazed upon it.

The effect was amplified in the occupants of the border post, who were locally employed. Despite the attempts of the Perfecti to corral Kalgachia's assorted ethnicities into a homoegenous whole with a view to forging some kind of Gnostic master race, the inevitable tendency of people to gravitate to their own kind was a strong one; the Laqis had migrated to Schlepogora and Abrek, and the Ashkenatzim of old Siyachia had flocked west to the Lieutenancy of Bergburg where the local Church Credents were all too happy to revert the Byeday Shabbat back to Thanksday, as it had been in the Minarborian Shrubagogues, if it got people back through their doors. For its part, the Lieutenancy of Lithead had once been the preserve of the Deep Singer race; a masterpiece of biomic engineering which had fast descended into a state of mutant terror in the absence of its 'gardeners'. Their descendents, named the Nezeni after their serpentine dialect, nonetheless found comfort in the presence of familiar lifeforms and, in the absence of anyone else willing to settle around Lithead, had been restored as the dominant ethnicity in the area. The faces of these local people were a sea of gently-iridescent complexions, repitilian eyes and other physical quirks, partially bred out of them since Minarboria's collapse but retaining a dogged resilience in certain well-anchored strands of the humanoid genome.

The fish-skinned folk at the Lignin border post were enlistees of Kalgachia's newly-established border service, part of the national police organ known as the Prefecti - a name deliberately assigned to confuse them with Kalgachia's ruling Perfecti, to whom they directly reported without mediation by the Church or any other provincial authority. On the ground they were known as the Prefects - the three most senior at Lignin were comfortably ensconced in their burrow's guardroom when, toward the end of one quiet morning, their radio set crackled into life:

"Lignin, Lignin, this is Buzzard one six. Come in."

The Prefect at the radio put down his newspaper and slid the desk microphone toward him. "Buzzard one six, Lignin. Go ahead."

"Lignin be advised, we are tracking one civil motor vehicle heading toward your position with two Tee-als in pursuit, late juvenile. Ten clicks out. Preparing to assist."

"Copy that one six, all received," said the radio operator as he watched the Inspector in charge dashing out of the burrow. "Taking shelter now."

After some shouting outside, the Inspector returned to the burrow followed by the three guards from the surface, who hauled the stout timber hatch shut behind them. The commander furiously turned a hand crank to lift a periscope out of its well and clamped his eyes to it. He scanned the glades beyond the frontier for the unfortunate incomer; in addition to facing the giant carnivorous flying cricetid known to taxonomists as Tyrannocricetus Aliger - Tee-al to the layman - their visitor would have to negotiate a pothole-filled ascent up the bluffs of the Octavian mountain range which marked the Kalgachi frontier. The Inspector spotted the Tee-als soon enough; great lumbering balls of fur the size of small buildings, leaping into the air under great batlike wings. In the distance they were swooping low over their target which was concealed in a wooded portion of the road, unseen from the Inspector's vantage point. Instead he turned his attention to the rather smaller object which shared the sky with them; the Whirdlebirb helicopter of the KDF which had made the initial radio call. Now it was trying to get into a position from which it would attack the giant creatures without endangering itself.

Suddenly one of the Tee-als dropped into the woods like a striking peregrine, its impact felling trees and causing the rest to sway in a radiating shockwave. More trees shook as it charged along the ground in pursuit of its prey.

"It's got him, I think," said the Inspector.

The radio operator flicked on his microphone again. "Buzzard one six, Lignin. We have partial visual on the situation. Vehicle's position appears hopeless. Confirm?"

"Uh negative Lignin," crackled the voice of the Whirdlebirb pilot. "Road is currently blocked by fallen trees but I have a visual on the vehicle, it's making a detour across a clearing. Off road at this time... stand by... vehicle has returned to the road and is accelerating. Tee-al on the ground appears to be confused. Alright, we're going to deal with the one in the air, get it out of the picture."

The inspector watched as the Whirdlebirb wheeled around in a dogfight with the airborne Tee-al, eventually gaining a position behind it and waiting for the utmost spread of its skin-clad wings to release a volley of 40mm rockets. Rods of white smoke punched a sea of holes in the creature's wings, instantly giving them the air resistance of a tennis racquet and causing the bewildered Tee-al to crash to the ground. Being covered in subcutaneous bone plate of a thickness impervious to most anti-tank weapons, it recovered from the impact but was now relegated to charging along the ground until its wings healed. More to the point, it had come down some distance away from its target vehicle which was now out of the woods, momentarily bouncing along a patch of open road before moving behind a dip in the ground which concealed it from the Inspector's periscope once more.

"I saw him for a second," muttered the inspector to the other guards. "Small car, quite fast... Uh oh..." he noticed the first Tee-al come bounding out of the woods, leaving a wake of felled timber. Now on open ground, it was able to charge along at a speed which gave it ample time to close on the fleeing car. "Come on, Whirdlebirb," the Inspector willed aloud. "Put a stop to that damned hamster... come onnn..."

"I doubt he'll waste a Malus on it," said one of the guards.

"Malus?" said the radio operator, looking up from his signal meter.

"Anti-gravtank missile. It's the only thing that'll take a Tee-al down in one hit, but the KDF doesn't want to waste them."

"Going for the other one," crackled the Whirdlebirb over the radio. Through the Inspector's viewfinder, the helicopter's rotors tore through the air to bring it low over the woods in pursuit of the nearer Tee-al. "Commencing harrassing fire." No missiles emerged from the helicopter, only the flickering yellow muzzle flash of its twin 20mm cannon pods as it hurled a stream of mildly-irritating lead at the Tee-al's rump. Flying sideways, the Whirdlebirb skirted far enough in front of the creature that it was able to aim for its beady bloodshot eyes. This finally enraged the creature enough that its attentions, abruputly and furiously, were switched to the Whirdlebirb in a hurricane of claws and gnashing teeth. Being still capable of flight unlike its downed companion, this Tee-al beat its wings and surged skyward in pursuit of the helicopter.

"Alright, it's onto us," crackled the radio. "Crap, we're barely outrunning it... I don't know who's in that little car but he'd better be worth my life. Eeeegh!" Through the Inspector's viewfinder the flying Tee-al flicked its tail forward, ejecting a salvo of keratinous spines which barely missed the dodging Whirdlebirb. "Wait," said the pilot as the helicopter finally made some distance. "It's flagging a little. I'll keep buzzing around and lure it away from you, Lignin."

"Copy that one six, thank you," said the radio operator. "Request status on the other Tee-al?"

"Currently sat licking its nether regions about fifteen clicks from your position," called the Whirdlebirb pilot. "Looks tired. Upwind of your position so you should be safe. Inbound vehicle is now one click from your position but he's still hauling ass. I can't say I blame him. I'm out of here. Buzzard one six."

While the radio operator replied with gratitude, the Inspector and the other guards scrambled back out of the burrow and fixed their eyes on the road which came up from the south, rolling into view over the crest of the ridge. Within seconds a cloud of dust emerged from behind it. At its head came the fleeing car, springing up from behind the ridge and going briefly airborne before settling onto the level road which lead to the border post.

At the sight of the car itself, the jaws of the guards hung open. This was no off-road truck or high-power limousine. It was a 'Revalidator' - one of several thousand microcars issued by the Minarborian health service, the Hall of Prunings, to handicapped drivers. Fifteen horsepower, paper composite bodywork painted in a single colour option of Shrub Green, and a single seat. Now, lurching under the top-heavy stack of suitcases on its roof rack, it raced flat out toward the checkpoint with the determined gurgle of a biodiesel engine run into the red. Behind its wheel was the equally determined visage of its driver, a greying old man who permitted himself a subtle smile of wrinkled jollity as he slammed on the brakes and came to a screeching halt only a metre from the barrier.

For a moment, none of the guards moved as the breeze enveloped them in a cloud of airborne grit and biodiesel fumes. Being the first to break out of the trance, the Inspector straightened his uniform and marched smartly over to the car window which the old man was cranking open.

"Propiska please," said the Inspector. Without delay a Minarborian internal passport was slid into his hand. This document was the primary means to register Minarborian refugees until they could be furnished with Kalgachi documents, although most of the Inspector's visitors had been far less reliable in producing them. He went over its details with a studious eye: Maurice Lyguff, born in Lynik. Occupation, agricultural worker. A surprising lack of official stamps from visits to other Minarborian provinces. The Inspector looked over the suitcases, stacked on top of a folding wheelchair and a set of crutches. They were expertly lashed to the roof rack with an almost nautical flourish.

"May I ask the purpose of your visit to Kalgachia, Mister Lyguff?" he said.

"Oh lots of reasons, I suppose," said Lyguff in the rich Lywall accent, bubbling with a jollity that could have - and at one time had - raised the dead. "But I suppose the main one, at this moment, is to get away from those fluffy rascals back there."

As he spoke, the inspector spotted out a suspicious wooden stump protruding from the door pocket at the driver's feet. "What's that?" he said. As he rested one hand cautiously upon his pistol holster, he watched as Lyguff took the item out and confirmed his suspicions; it was a sawn-off shotgun, albeit more lovingly maintained than the usual criminal variant.

"Don't worry," said Lyguff. "I ran out of cartridges for it a while ago. That's why I came here. Can't plink naughty robbers without any plinky chips, can I? They would have bumped me off in my bed if I'd stayed."

"Do you have a permit for it?"

"Oh I have several," said Lyguff, scrambling around in the clutter of the car's foot well to find a bundle of papers which he stuffed into the Inspector's hand; an old military ID card with an honourable discharge, a Minarboreal church partisan membership certificate, and finally an agricultural pest control permit.

"Keep these," said the Inspector. "You'll be able to swap them for Kalgachi ones and keep your weapon. A man of your... limited mobility needs all the defensive advantage he can get. Speaking of which, how did-"

"Shrapnel lily," came Lyguff's answer, evidently worn by frequent use. "My own stupid fault. I was clearing an irrigation ditch on my farm, didn't check the ground beforehand and stepped on the thing. The legs are mostly paralysed now. You know I was booked in to see a very clever surgeon, one of your Nezeni kind, to restore them good as new... but then our dear Minarborian Shrubbery got all wilted and it never happened. Still, they did give me this car before the government fell apart." he slapped the car door with a smile, causing its resinated paper ply to wobble so hard it almost fell off its hinges. "It's a fine little machine. Got me here in one piece."

"Very well," said the Inspector. "On the face of it I'll be happy to authorise you for an indefinite stay to get your affairs in order, but the regulations say I have to ask you some more questions."

"Fire away, young man!"

The Inspector produced a notebook and began reading from it. "Have you been to Kalgachia before?"

"Oh no, it's my first time here. First time out of Lywall, in fact."

"Did you have any criminal record in Minarboria?"

"Well I was picked up by the Lichniks once, for brewing lich gravy in my barn without authorisation. In the end they were happy that it was for my own consumption, so they dropped the charges."

"Well we don't count offences against the undead these days," said the Inspector, tipping his cap to scratch his eyebrow. "Are you related by blood or marriage to the head of state of any foreign power?"

"Not that I know of."

"Do you, or have you ever practiced the rites of the Vanic Temple?"

"Oh dear Shrub, no."

"Are you related by blood or marriage to anybody who does?"

"I have no family at all, I'm afraid."

"Are you or have you ever been affiliated with the Church of the Divine Icebear?"

"Who?"

"Are you or have you ever been affiliated with the Nationalist and Humanist tendency of Elwynn?"

"Never heard of them."

"Are you or have you ever been affiliated with the Ayreonist tendency of Elwynn?"

"No."

"Are you or have you ever been affiliated with the Coven of the Sun of Malarboria?"

"Oh! I ran into some of those fellows on my way up here. Very nice they were. Invited me to join them, but I declined."

"Are you or have you ever been affiliated with the Tegong of Jingdao?"

"Dear man, you don't make it to my old age by consorting with that lot."

"Very well," said the Inspector. He handed the documents back and motioned to his guards who began to haul the barrier aside. "I would advise you to keep to the roads until you get into Lithead city limits. The critters are a little tamer up here but there's plenty of risky plant life around... I think you've lost enough capacity to that already. If I were you I'd keep moving until Jollity or Katarsis... with all the old Lywall folk over there, you might meet a few old friends. Enjoy your stay in Kalgachia."

"Oh I will, young man!" said Lyguff. "You've been very helpful. So long!"

The inpsector jumped back as the Revalidator's squealing wheels kicked up another cloud of dust and the clatter of its little engine resounded off the hillsides. By the time the dust cleared enough to see, the car was gone.

"So who was it, chief?" called one of the guards.

The Inspector's eyes lingered up the empty road, watching the last of the dust cloud swirling away into the trees. For the first time in a long time, he found himself smiling.

"I do believe," he said, "that was the last Minarborian."