by Daniel Gibbs
Demerits also meant punishments. Public shaming. Neighbors and friends forced to strike or mock each other to avoid their own demerits. Solitary confinement. And, for the genuinely defiant, exile back to the Orion Arm and the heart of League space.
Miri had a few demerits early on. They were necessary. Virtually everyone got them, and those that didn't stood out. And not in a pleasant way. The occupation and camp authorities were suspicious of those who didn't get demerits. They ended up getting picked up by the internal security forces. She knew better, because she’d been trained to know better.
So she got her demerits, endured the punishments, and presented the image she needed the League to see: an average Coalition citizen of Jewish descent, somewhat observant, and of moderate political opinion. Someone who, after a few demerits and a couple of months in-camp, would break down. Someone who would accept the Truth as told by the League, and be willing to become a loyal member of Society.
That meant better rations, including, as it turned out, some pretty good cuts of pork and bacon sandwiches in the morning. After all, a good member of Society doesn't waste food because of some ancient superstitious dietary law.
Which explained why, these days, Miri couldn't stomach pork.
"I don't want to remember those days," she murmured to herself. While everything she did paid off, she had to pay a price. A terrible one. And the things she did to get that far, to get where she needed to be…
No. She didn't want to think about it. If she did, she might start questioning if she deserved to be rescued.
3
Among the stars in the vicinity of the Trifid Nebula, TN-22198 was one of the least interesting. A B4-class star with only two planets—a distant small Uranus-class gas giant and a volcanic "hell planet" just inside the empty "Goldilocks" zone—and three distinct asteroid belts, indicating that the system might have had more planets if its development had been slightly different. The asteroid belts had some unusual minerals in them, of course, but so did the asteroid belts and moons of systems with actual habitable planets, where supporting and maintaining mining operations would be far easier to sustain.
For the moment, TN-22198 had an additional orbiting object, however, as the Shadow Wolf kept her lazy distant orbit of the blue star.
Aboard her, hooting laughter could be heard. The crew had gathered in the mess hall for a meal that had quickly turned into an explanation of their close call with the League of Sol's customs officers. Felix finished laughing, took a sip of the bottle of beer in his hand, and continued. "And I thought that little turd's eyes were going to pop from his head, he was so pissed!"
"Little pissant wanker," Brigitte Tam'si grumbled. She was one of two former citizens of the League aboard ship, descended from Congolese colonists of a world back in the Orion Arm who, in turn, had some of their number relocated to one of the new League colonies in the Sagittarius Arm. Her skin was a shade darker than Henry's, with her dark hair arranged in cornrows around a short, dyed mohawk of purple at the top of her head. It was an outward example of her rebelliousness against not just the League, but anyone who would place demands on her appearance. Her accent was more African than English, defying her choice of English swear words.
"I hear that," another voice declared. Pieter Hartzog's accent sounded Dutch to some ears, which was understandable; his first language of Afrikaans was descended from Dutch, marking him as a son of the Boer colony world of New Oranje. One of the independent colonies further Rimward, toward the Omega Nebula, New Oranje was a settlement of the broader Exodus from Earth in the 22nd Century. To this day, they maintained a fierce neutrality and an even more passionate suspicion of offworlders, one that often bordered on paranoia. That Hartzog was enjoying the company of the other crew betrayed him as having a more tolerant attitude compared to the vast majority of his countrymen. He was a lean man, clad in a green engineer's jumpsuit even here, with sandy blond hair that hadn't seen a comb in years and haughty blue eyes. "Captain, why did we let that… that little jerk come aboard in the first place? I had the drives ready. Cera could've out-burned them easy."
"Because Minister Vitorino is our best paying customer," Henry pointed out. "And he wouldn't be our customer anymore if we were permanently banned from League space."
"Especially since they know we work for him and would cut off his other ventures as well." This contribution was from Oskar Kiderlein. The oldest member of the crew, with dark brown hair graying at the temples, Oskar spoke with a faint German accent. Unlike the rest of them, even Brigitte, he hailed from Earth itself, the long-lost homeworld for those born among the Human-colonized worlds of Sagittarius. "And they would. Plus, they would hunt us clear across space."
"For a hold of lithium." Tia shook her head.
"It is not about the lithium. It would be for crossing the State and defying the duties of Society," Oskar clarified. "It is hard for Sagittarians like yourselves to understand how things work back in the Orion Arm, in the League…"
"There's not much to understand," said Felix. "They're a bunch of socialists. Socialism's been about controlling people for over six hundred years now. We even have them in the Coalition."
To that, Oskar barked out a laugh. "You do not know the meaning of the word 'control' if you compare those of your worlds who promote socialism to the League. If your Coalition's Christian Socialists, or Democratic-Socialists, ran the League, it would be a nicer place. I would’ve never left. There would be no war. Whatever their economic policies, they still see you as an individual sapient being with rights, privileges, agency. To the League, an individual is just part of the whole, a gear in a machine. Society is what matters. Society has rights, individuals only have duties, and it is the individual who must bow to the needs of Society… or whatever the Commissioners say are the needs of Society."
"Well, isn't there some truth to that?" Tia raised the question. "I mean, we all have some kind of obligation to society as a whole, right? Especially to our neighbors, since things we do can impact their lives as well. We can't just do what we want and ignore the consequences it might have for other people. That's why Earth got so screwed up in the 21st Century."
"There's a lot of reasons Earth got screwed up," Brigitte said. "The World Society was one of them."
"Maybe, but it was also a reaction to other problems." Tia picked at her food absentmindedly. Her eyes glanced toward Felix, who was saying nothing. "Problems, including the domination of the economy by an international oligarchy of corporations and banks. The Society was formed to fight that oligarchy."
"That's what the history books claim, but I don't believe a word of it," Brigitte hissed. "You're just buying League lies."
"To hell with the League!" Tia shouted. "I don't give a damn what they say. But it's not just the League that…"
Tia was interrupted by the sharp sound of a spoon smacking against a plastic glass. All eyes turned to Henry. "You all know the problem with talking politics," he reminded them.
"This isn't just about politics," Brigitte said. "It's about…" She stopped at Henry's sharp look.
"Right. I know. It's about more. It always is. And that's why we don't talk politics during the crew dinner." Henry dug his spoon into the pile of peas on his plate. "No politics…"
"...no religion," intoned most of the others, save Vidia and Felix.
"Thank you."
There was no further discussion for the rest of the meal.
After the meal, Henry walked to the control bridge at the front of the ship. Inside were the last two crew members, those whose turn it was to stand watch during the crew dinner. Nearest to him, in Tia's usual seat, was a young woman of bronze complexion in a blue all-purpose jumpsuit, her skin paled slightly as any long-term spacer's would be. Her brown hair was long, halfway down her back, and pulled into a braid. She was on the tall side, not quite one point eight meters, with a lean athletic build that took nothing away from gentle feminine curves. "Piper," he said.
Piper Lopez no
dded. Her light brown eyes looked up to him on a face with a shape more ovular than round. "Captain," she said in a toned soprano and slightly Spanish-sounding accent. A crystal hung from a silver necklace around her neck, given to her by her grandmother from the Tohono O'odham side of her family.
"How's our course look?" he asked.
"Just two more jumps to Lusitania, so we'll be burning in by the end of next watch," Piper said, confident in her astrogation skills. "And no sign of any pursuit, if you were worried about it."
"He wasn't," a rough voice stated. Seated forward of Piper, at the actual ship piloting controls, was Yanik S'srish. The blue-toned Saurian was at nearly two meters in height, and broader than any Human would be. Unlike many Saurians, he still had the vestigial tail that members of his species were born with, as his religion didn't involve removing the tail as a sign of devotion. Between his size and the tail barely fit into the control station even while sitting further back than any of the others. "Were he worried otherwise, the Captain would never have stopped for the dinner until we arrived at Lusitania."
"You know me so well, Yanik."
"Your patterns are familiar to me," Yanik replied while his right yellow eyes blinked twice. "Which means they may be familiar to others as well. You may wish to adjust."
"I'll take it under advisement, Yanik. Felix and Brig should be up soon to relieve you. I'll be in my office for a while if anything happens."
"Understood."
There were many universal constants—gravity, electromagnetism, light, insincere politicians.
Paperwork.
Henry suspected the last two might have links.
Granted, this wasn't like his time in the Coalition Defense Forces, where any command position of any kind demanded daily reports, after-action reports, finalized after-action reports, requisition reports, and all other paperwork used by the bureaucratic machine to annoy the men and women out in the field. As an independent captain, Henry could set his own paperwork requirements on his ship, which he kept to a minimum.
But that didn't eliminate the need. The Shadow Wolf might be independent, but he still had to file all sorts of paperwork with the governments controlling those places his ship hauled cargo to and from. Some governments were better than others.
Lusitania… was roughly ordinary by his standard. Slightly less paperwork than the Coalition—granted, that was due to the wartime economic laws—far less than the League and other more authoritarian statist governments in Sagittarius, but more than if he visited New Oranje, H'taka or Galt. Having the Minister of Trade as his customer meant Henry was less likely to get in trouble for an error, but Lusitania's semi-authoritarian government ensured plenty of work for its bureaucrats. His manifest and invoice had to be accurate to ensure they collected their due in custom duties, which even a Minister of Trade could not waive. And then there would be the itemized requests to the service companies at the spaceport to ensure the proper refueling, re-airing, and re-victualing of the ship.
In the middle of calculating fuel costs for his invoice, Henry glanced up when his door's chime went off. Since the hatch and bulkhead were soundproofed, he couldn't call out for them to enter. Instead, he tapped a key on his desk. The door slid open, and Vidia entered. "Dinner was… interestin', wasn't it?" he asked.
Henry gave him a sarcastic look.
Vidia smiled gently. "Your rules make sense. Otherwise… I think it might take a new Manifestation to figure out how to keep the peace."
"That's what I get for combining a libertarian, a thwarted socialist revolutionary, and a militant former League rebel in one crew," Henry remarked. "And a New Oranjer."
"Don't forget the Saurian draft dodger and the League military deserter," Vidia added, still smiling. "And I'll point out the libertarian is your friend and not a hired hand."
"I know it rubs Tia the wrong way," Henry began. "But we needed the help, and Felix knows ship operations."
"She doesn't like bein' likened to the League, for obvious reasons. Truth be told, I think she hates them more than Brigitte or Felix."
"I would agree, and I'll even say she's earned it as much as we have." Henry set his pen down and directed his full attention to Vidia. "But you're not here to talk to me about dinner, are you?"
Vidia shook his head. "I can see it in you, Jim. Ever since that close call at New Hathwell. You're thinkin' bad thoughts again."
There was a thin edge to the resulting smile on Henry's face. "I can't help but wonder about Montaine. Two thoughts and the first is: is he a boy scout or power-hungry? I mean, he's got that bright look the young and idealistic always get, but he loved the idea of throwing us into a gulag, and that tells me he likes having the power."
"With the League, I think those two are one and the same. As Oskar said, to them, it's all about the whole, not the man."
"And that means taking joy in hammering any nails that pop up." Henry nodded. "Yeah. The other half of my thought about Montaine is… how long until he turns into Donner?"
"You mean his chief, the man you and Minister Vitorino bribed with a bottle of wine?"
"A bottle of fine Lusitanian port," Henry corrected jovially. At Vidia's nod, Henry chuckled. "Yeah. How long until it's Montaine letting the League's precious laws slide for his own benefit. How long until that loyal cog in the Society machine starts looking out for number one?"
"Only God knows."
"I don't think God has anything to do with it," Henry said. "It's basic human nature. When it comes down to it, most of us are going to look out for ourselves, and the ones who don't, well…"
"They're the ones who end up bein' cashiered from the Coalition Defense Forces while the real criminals walk away with the money," Vidia said. He ignored the pointed, almost angry glare from Henry. "And it comes around to it again, Jim. You won't forgive."
"Forgive who? The corrupt sons-of-bitches making money off of our blood?" Henry asked. Heat filled his voice. "The politicians and generals who decide that it's better for the service if the whole thing is hushed? Don't want to rattle the boat; there's a war on. We'll ruin the life of the one guy who tried to do the right thing." Henry leaned forward at his desk. "In the Coalition, we go out believing God's on our side. Doesn't matter if you're Christian, Jewish, Muslim, or Bahá'í…"
Vidia nodded slightly, recognizing the listing of his religion among the larger ones. He wasn't new to this rant, but he still listened quietly.
"...that's what we're told, again and again. But it's not driven the League off our frontier. It's not winning the war. When you look into it, and you see the Coalition's got corruption just like the League. Hell, it's everywhere. That's what life out here has taught me. No matter where I've gone, it's all corruption and hypocrisy." Henry thumped his hand on his desk. "And here I am, running errands for Vitorino, who's just as corrupt as the bastards who threw me out of the CDF. So what's that make me?"
"A man tryin' to survive, like any of us." Vidia smiled wistfully. " I think God understands that."
A harsh little chuckle was Henry's answer. "It must be nice, having faith."
"You used to."
"Yeah. Then I realized something." Henry's voice had lost its heat. It had lost all but the barest hint of emotion. "I realized the truth about God."
"And you will enlighten me?" Vidia asked with genuine interest. This was new ground for them.
"If He's out there… he stopped caring about Humanity a long time ago." Henry leaned back in his seat. "And I don't blame him."
Vidia inclined his head. "Well," he said, "that is a breakthrough of a sort. But I still think you need to forgive if you're goin' to feel any better, Jim."
"And who do you think I should forgive?"
"Yourself."
And with that, Vidia departed, leaving Henry to his work and his thoughts.
4
For Miri Gaon, time was nearly out. Her second tank of air was down to twenty percent. Several hours of exhausted sleep may have given her an hour or two
extra from the lower breathing rate, but that was all. In about four or five hours, give or take twenty minutes, the oxygen content of her breathing air would begin declining. More and more of it would be the waste gases of exhalation built up in the suit. She would get light-headed, have trouble breathing, and everything would stop.
It was not an entirely unpleasant way to die. There were worse. It was why she was out here in the first place.
As her hours ticked down, Miri considered the choices that led her to this stay in the void. After Lowery and the commendations, the medals, the debriefings… she might have stayed on. Not in the field, as the League knew who she was, but she might have gone into training. She could’ve taught and guided others to match her accomplishments. It was what her superiors expected. As if she would put another human being through the same hells she'd gone through.
She chose retirement instead. Because of the scope of her accomplishments, they were kind enough. She received the full pension by special dispensation instead of the half-pension her early retirement would have otherwise mandated.
But pensions can't buy security that easily. The League knew who she was. They had agents in Coalition space as much as the Coalition had agents in League space. Agents who could be given the orders to have her executed, just as they went after defectors. She would forever live with an eye open at night and a gun under her pillow.