The Seeds of War- Omnibus Edition

by T S Hottle

  Originally published as part of Before Amargosa, (2016).

  For William Vodrey,

  Sound friend, longtime editor, fellow Trek head

  EPISODE 1

  The brunette stretched her body out like a cat as she lay on the bed, her black dress riding up to reveal more of her long legs. JT Austin nodded in approval.

  “So,” she said, “when your mother brings you into the company, will you need an assistant?” She playfully rubbed one stockinged-thigh against the other, her finger toying with the clasp that held her dress together at the base of its plunging neckline.

  Crawling onto the bed, JT placed a hand on her hip and ran it up the curve of her torso. She rolled to her back as he climbed over her and lowered himself until their lips nearly touched.

  “Of course,” he said. “Know anyone smart and beautiful I can use?”

  The clasp came undone to reveal a layer of gauzy lace beneath. “You can use me, Mr. Dazar. I insist.”

  “Gravity on or off?”

  She reached over her head and tripped a switch that created a null bubble within the suite, negating the effects of the resort’s rotation in space and any residual gravity from Earth. Gently, she pushed JT upward toward the mirror on the ceiling. The woman herself pushed up just enough to hover over the bed and roll in midair.

  JT watched in awe as the tight black dress floated away from her body, leaving only the lacey body stocking. He began removing his shirt. “You’re hired.”

  “I’d better be,” she said. “Why else would I wear a completely edible…?”

  The door to the zero-G suite opened, and centrifugal force pulled them both roughly back onto the bed.

  “Hey!” the girl shouted. “What is this?”

  A slovenly man stood in the doorway, his badge displayed on his palm tattoo. “Detective Tengku, Interpol, Low Earth Orbit Division. And you, ma’am, may either be about to commit a crime or be the victim of one.”

  “Do you know who I am?” said JT dryly. His eyes were bored, his expression suggesting he already knew the answer.

  Tengku turned his palm inward and began drawing his finger across it. “John Tybalt Dasarius Austin. Ma’am, how old did he tell you he was?”

  The woman struggled to pull her dress back on. “Old enough. Is there some sort of rule against hooking up in a private room?”

  “There is if you’re…” He swiped his finger across his palm again. “…Twenty-three, and he’s only fifteen.” For the first time since entering the room, he smiled. It did not look friendly. “Handsome bugger, ain’t he? Looks five years older than he is.”

  The woman backed as far away from JT as she possibly could. Now when her dress rode up, it looked more sloppy than sexy. “You lying little…”

  “Lying to an adult for purposes of sexual contact is a felony, Mr. Austin. And from age 14 onward, you can be tried as an adult.”

  “I want to file charges,” the girl snarled. “I want to file charges. He tricked me into sleeping with him.”

  JT laughed. “My mother’s attorney will…”

  “…Leave you hanging in the wind,” said Tengku. “Since Dasarius Interstellar owns this facility, Interpol has agreed to allow your mother to handle this privately. But you’re going back to Seattle, son.” He nodded toward the woman now trying to straighten her dress as she frantically looked for her heels. “Still, if you want to fight it, I’ll take this lady’s attempted assault complaint, and you can take your chances in an adult court.”

  JT pulled on his shirt. “I’ll come along quietly.”

  “Good,” said Tengku. “Because the admiral is waiting for you in the shuttle bay.”

  “Admiral?”

  Now JT knew he was in trouble. His father had come home.

  ***

  Lucius Kray fumed as the outskirts of Lansdorp gave way to countryside. As summer approached, the trees, grass, and native crops had all turned from yellow to deep red. From the top of the first foothill into the Misty Mountains, the Lansdorp Plain opened up, revealing patches of green that looked out of place in this crimson landscape. “Terrestrials,” the farmers called them. “Earth weed” Kray called them, but seldom aloud. Those so-called Earth weeds supplied much of Amargosa’s livelihood.

  Kray and his assistant Saja chased the sun eastward as they returned to Dagar Township in the Central Plains. They could have taken the maglev to and from Lansdorp, but Kray found meeting in the capital aggravating. The passengers on the transit system would only have made it worse, especially on the return trip.

  Now, Saja stared straight ahead as she guided Kray’s armored bat wagon into the mountains that cut off Amargosa’s capital from the Central Plains. Kray would have chalked up Saja’s rigid posture to his own mood, but she seldom showed any emotion or empathy. Saja was her job. It consumed her. For Kray, it resulted in near-perfect loyalty, but he worried she would never be able to succeed him as constable.

  Not that he expected to need a successor anytime soon.

  “What are they thinking?” he finally muttered after they had driven an hour out of the capital. “Don’t any of those idiots remember the Polygamy Wars?”

  Saja’s mouth twitched, the closest thing to a smile she would permit. “I think they’re trying to forget the Polygamy Wars.”

  That was true enough. Most people often wondered why the Compact had spent so much blood and effort in quelling a schism between religious fanatics and their parent faith. The answer, of course, lay in the fanatics’ ability to draw other worlds into their madness. Then it became everyone’s problem. Kray never believed it would be an isolated incident.

  “A piece of paper,” said Kray. “That’s what Mars is putting their faith in. A piece of paper.”

  “That piece of paper was signed on Mars,” said Saja. “For the most part, it’s kept the peace for a hundred and fifty years.”

  “Peace between Earth and Mars. Everyone else has to fend for themselves.”

  “Well, Amargosa is merely a colony. If we became a core world, we could be on equal footing with Mars instead of subject to it. Then you could have your citizens’ militia.”

  “What good would that do then? Amargosa signing the Compact would only require them to put a naval presence in orbit and build us a couple of modern hypergates.” Then Amargosa wouldn’t need a citizens militia.

  As they crested the ridge of the Misty Mountain chain, the western foothills and Lansdorp Plain disappeared behind them. Somewhere ahead, beyond the soaring peaks they now entered, the Central Plains stretched out before them, half a continent of unrelenting prairie, occasional rolling hills, and small rivers that flowed out of the Misty Mountains and the Amundsen chain to the north. From their position near the peak though, they could still see the next fifty kilometers of smaller mountains and foothills they would have to navigate. The sun hovered in the east over the farthest hills and would disappear long before they could reach the flatlands in the distance.

  As the road began its descent down the mountainside, they came upon a small tavern that provided food and lodging. If need be, Kray could get a free room for the night as a constable. He considered it, looking over at Saja as he did so. She would have to pay for her own room. He knew if he asked, she would spend the night with him. She had, in fact, offered to do so once when Kray and his wife had a rare fight resulting in Kray’s exile from his own home. He slept on Saja’s floor only to find her curled up next to him the following morning.

  “Pull over,” he said. “Let’s get some food before we go any further. It’ll be 0300 by the time we get home.”

  Saja complied, her face betraying no emotion as she parked the bat wagon. Kray did notice her gaze went to the upper floors of the tavern. The structure itself was nothing spectacular, a building probably extruded from a printer over three days with a wooden second floor added later. It served local produce and meat, including whatever game had been bagged that day. He hoped the house ale had been brewed locally. The last thing Kra
y wanted with his dinner was some weak lager imported from Tian, Bromdar, or Earth.

  Inside, they ordered their food and sat in silence. Kray frowned as he read the label on his bottle of ale. “Product of Munich, Germany, EU, Earth.” Why did it have to be Germany, of all places? It probably tasted of something called hops, which Kray could not stand. More Earth weed, he thought.

  “You know,” said Kray as Saja sipped her ice water and watched the other patrons, mostly farmers and mountain dwellers, “you would think they would at least import our ale from Mars. It is our parent world after all.”

  Saja took a small sip of her water. “I’ve had Martian ale. There’s a reason they import most of theirs from Earth.”

  Kray grumbled under his breath, something about being beholden to a backward world.

  “I heard that,” said a voice. It had a kind of lilt Kray found familiar but could not place. He turned to see a small man with a thin mustache and the most bizarre little smile on his face.

  “And I happen to agree with you,” the man continued. “I travel all over this Compact and sometimes beyond. Local ales are always the best.” He held up his bottle. “This just seems to taste better if you’re out in the Kansas desert or watching penguins in Antarctica. But if I’m not mistaken, Amargosa has no local ingredient for making a good native ale. I’d love to change that.”

  “Who are you?” said Kray, noting Saja’s sour expression out of the corner of his eye.

  The man shoved his hand at Kray. “Marcus Leitman. I work for a company called Juno. You’re Lucius Kray, one of the Plains constables. Am I right?”

  “How did you know?”

  “I was at today’s conference talking to your Agricultural Ministry.” He looked around, as though expecting to see law enforcement. Never mind that Kray was the law in his own township. “Dagar Township. Right? I have a proposition for you.”

  ***

  Like most wealthy residents of Seattle, Tessa Dasarius lived out in Puget Sound. Much of the city had relocated into the Sound after the eruption of Mt. Ranier in 2097. At the time, it was seen as a temporary move designed to allow the city to rebuild. Since the founding of Cascadia as a regional authority, it had not only become permanent but attracted both the city’s central business district and its wealthy elite, all housed on floating complexes that ranged from glorified house boats to literal skyscrapers anchored to the ocean floor. If anything, the Old City, the surviving sections of Seattle proper, had become a low-rent curiosity.

  From Tessa’s living room, JT Austin watched Boeing-Airbus’s headquarters bob on the waves, a seven-story structure that rocked despite housing over 2000 employees at any given time. Dasarius Interstellar’s headquarters dwarfed that of Boeing-Airbus, but then, the Dasarius headquarters had once been the city of Tacoma. None of that mattered. Only the argument between Tessa and the man in the military uniform mattered.

  “If you keep buying his way out of trouble,” said the military man, “he’s never going to learn. He’ll just keep stealing your cars and your money and flashing it at whatever girl is stupid enough to believe he’s twenty-one.”

  “Quentin,” said Tessa, “you can’t expect me to send my oldest son to that place. They’ll break him.”

  “That’s the point, Tess. He needs discipline.”

  JT had no idea what his father meant, but he knew it wasn’t good.

  “Those tutors,” said Tessa, “come from the finest schools. They can teach him what he needs to know to run Dasarius Interstellar someday.”

  Quentin Austin sighed and looked out the huge picture window toward the gently swaying Boeing-Airbus complex. “You want to give a multi-trillion credit operation to a kid whose main ambition in life is to bed as many women as possible before his twenty-first birthday?”

  JT watched his father closely. It sometimes was like looking into a mirror, especially now as his sixteenth birthday approached. Both he and his father had that strong Austin jawline. Both were tall. But where JT’s hair was an unmanageable mop of brown, common to Etruscans of northern European descent, his father kept his neatly cropped in proper military fashion.

  For the first time in months, JT witnessed his mother’s smile. “Hey, that kind of ambition gave us him, bucko.”

  Quentin waggled his eyebrows. “Yeah, but I’m in the Navy. It’s kind of a job requirement.”

  “Mom!” said JT, unable to stomach the thought that his parents did anything more intimate than hold hands when they weren’t fighting. “Dad!”

  Quentin finally turned to face his son. “What? Your mother and I still have feelings for each other, and you get upset? Ever wonder what you’ve been doing to us?”

  “‘Us’? You’re never here, Admiral. You’re always on Tian. Or out ‘exploring the unknown’. And you, Mom. When’s the last time you went more than a day without jacking into Dasarius? At least I’m living my life.”

  “You’re drinking too much,” said Tessa, “neglecting your studies. It’s a wonder you haven’t gotten some girl pregnant by now. How is that living your life?”

  “I’m free.”

  Quentin crossed the room and grabbed his son by the shoulders. “Staying out of jail does not mean you are free. It means your mother is bailing you out too often.” He looked over his shoulder where Tessa was giving them both a withering scowl. When she nodded back at Quentin, he continued. “You’ve been caught so many times trying to con some girl into your bed that it’s a wonder your mother’s been able to sweep it under the rug. If you’d succeeded, you’d be in jail right now. So we’ve reached a decision.”

  “I turn sixteen soon,” said JT. “What could you two possibly do to me now?”

  As soon as the cold smile crossed Tessa’s face, JT realized he had just crossed a line.

  “Cut you off,” she said. “Toss you out the door to fend for yourself. What skills do you have, JT? Even if you went to a communal world like Mars, you would still need to find a role. Do you think you’d be happy tending livestock in a vertical ranch? Chipping rocks off of asteroids, hoping the safety bots have your back?”

  “You can’t do that to me!”

  Quentin brought up his palm and swiped his finger across it, tapping it several times. “According to the United Nations Charter of 2132, a person is considered a fully responsible adult at the age of sixteen. He or she can vote, sign contracts, get married, and be tried as an adult in a court of law. Said person can remain a ward of his or her parents or guardian until eighteen or twenty-one depending on local law, assuming the parents or guardian agrees to carry the continued responsibility. Your mother is the custodial parent. She is declining the option, which, in a few weeks, absolves her of all responsibility toward you.” He closed his palm to dismiss the nanotat. “I, on the other hand, am a citizen of Demeter, which allows me to accept that option until you turn eighteen.”

  “You’re a citizen of a barren asteroid? I didn’t think anyone lived there.”

  “Watch your mouth, son. I mean the world in the Helios system. Now, I’m willing to carry on parental responsibility on one condition.”

  JT felt something cold settle into his stomach. He knew what the condition was. He had heard his parents argue about it. “Baikonour?” He meant the military academy on Tian, not the ancient launch facility in Russia.

  “Close,” said Quentin. “Virginia Military Institute.”

  The cold feeling in his gut now felt like a kick in the stomach. “You’re going to make me live in Dixie?”

  ***

  “Hear the latest from The Caliphate?” asked Leitman as the barmaid dropped off three ales.

  “They jacked up their hypergate fees again?” said Kray, not in the mood to talk politics, at least not core world politics. “Some mullah got caught putting money into a winery? What? We’re a little behind on news out here.”

  “Cubists,” said Leitman. “Brought the largest mosque off Earth down on a bunch of morning worshippers and tourists. The Calis are pissed.” />
  Kray covered his disgust by bringing his ale to his lips. He noticed Saja’s jaw set hard. Her own father had died in a Cubist bombing. “As long as those fanatics stay away from Armagosa. People in the Plains have been known to disappear over looking at someone’s livestock funny. I doubt a Cubist would fare much better.”

  “About that.”

  Here it comes, thought Kray. The pitch.

  Saja now watched Leitman with a stare Kray recognized. Woe to this man if she took his measure with that stare and found him lacking.

  “What is it you think I can I do for you, Mr. Leitman?” said Kray. “I’m the constable of my township’s main settlement. I keep farmers from shooting each other over petty disputes, go after crop vandals, and make sure my woods and streams aren’t over-hunted or overfished.”

  That weird little smile came back. “You also command the respect of your neighbors. They’ve chosen you constable ever since you came here from the Marines. They will listen to you.”

  So Leitman had done his homework.

  “And what would you have me say?”

  Leitman reached into a small bag and produced what looked like a mass of sea kelp from one of the more aquatic planets. “Ever see creeper?”

  Kray had not. Amargosa produced native grasses and Earth-sourced grains and vegetables. The oceans, while populated with enough sea game to feed the colony for centuries to come, proved unsuitable for the kelps grown elsewhere in the Compact. The green mass of leaves and vine seemed to writhe in Leitman’s hand.

  “Creeper is a vine that produces seeds similar to cashews,” Leitman continued. “Its leaves compare to lettuce and kale, and its stalk is better than broccoli. It has a sap that tastes very much like cheese. Juno invested nearly twelve years of research just to get approval for vertical farm production.”

  “Amargosa has no vertical farms,” said Saja in a tone that said, “Tread carefully.”

  “Correct,” said Leitman, as though taking a comment from an excited child in a classroom. “But it does have an abundance of flatland farming. And it does much of it with little interference from the colonial government or Mars. In fact, I believe the township constables are responsible for enforcing GMO regulations.”