The Seeds of War- Omnibus Edition

by T S Hottle

  In the weeks since he had stolen a tractbot, he had managed to get the wayward AI units to perform synchronized maneuvers, respond to other hands’ commands (the most common issue when Quan sent out a hand on his or her own), and essentially made the bots beholden to him. In addition to the sarcastic nickname of “Gosalope Slayer,” he had now acquired the more palatable title of “Bot Whisperer.”

  “They’re like big animals,” he explained to Quan, “just aware enough to be stupid, just sophisticated enough to have a bare-bones personality, but never smart enough to rise up against us.”

  “You know horses?” said Quan during that conversation. When JT said he had seen horses, but usually only in shows back on Earth, Quan continued. “Horses are just intelligent enough to follow commands, and they have personalities. Why don’t these things behave like horses?”

  “Because horses are organic. Something organic and that intelligent wants a purpose, even if it’s as a beast of burden or to bark at the doorbell. These things have all that, but they’re not organic. They’re not conscious. They have to be reminded that they’re machines built to serve. It’s not rebellion. It’s confusion.”

  It made Quan stare at JT as though he were some sort of wizard. “How’s a snot-nosed brat like you get to know all this?”

  JT shrugged. “I had a lot of time on my hands when I wasn’t annoying my mother.”

  Today, it seemed the bots could not understand the lay of the land they were to weed. They didn’t even seem to understand the weeding attachments they had mounted on either side. JT thought a unit like a room sweeper would have worked better, but Quan said those machines tended to get flakey and go rogue. Then a work crew would spend half the day combing the woods for lost weeding bots.

  So JT talked to the tractbots, tried to get them to run the lines programmed into their drive interfaces, told them how to avoid obstacles, cautioned them about the crops. The bots eventually listened and needed only one hand each to follow along and check for damage.

  As JT watched in satisfaction as the bots finally did what the work crew wanted, he spotted a small man approaching Quan. Quan did not appear happy to see the visitor. The man looked familiar to JT. He had seen him somewhere before, but he wasn’t sure where. It didn’t make sense, but maybe his mother was the connection? Then again, why would his mother, who controlled trillions in assets and commanded a vast commercial and public organization, have any dealings with a guy who talked to farm managers on a far-flung…

  They made eye contact, and the man’s eyes widened. If JT vaguely recognized him as someone he might have seen in passing, the man definitely knew who JT was. The way his expression hardened made JT’s stomach churn. The man began speaking more sharply at Quan and even pointed at JT. Quan responded in a way JT could recognize, even if he couldn’t hear what was said. The conversation was clearly over, and it would be unwise to waste any more of Quan’s time.

  The man set his shoulders hard and walked away.

  Moments later, as JT made hand gestures to get the bots to do some intricate turns at the near end of the field, Quan appeared at his side.

  “You know that guy?”

  “Looks familiar,” said JT, “but no. Who is he?”

  “Damned GMO huckster. Works for some company that can’t get a break because the old companies and public trusts own the market.” The grizzled farm hand flashed his teeth. “Sure didn’t like seeing you for some reason.”

  JT shrugged. “Maybe he hates my mother. Lots of people do.”

  “I don’t think it’s your famous mom, kid. It’s like you weren’t supposed to be here.”

  “What did he say?”

  “‘What the hell is he doing here?’”

  “Clever.”

  Quan slapped JT’s back. “He seems to hate you. That makes you okay in my book.” He glanced off toward the hands following along with the tractbots. “Don’t let them know I told you that.”

  ***

  The explosion happened just as the new group of recruits broke into the lower levels of the mine. There had been rumors that it was pockets of methane that had forced the closure of the mine, but Kray had dismissed them. Normally, on more sparsely populated worlds, such mines would be tapped for their methane for use as fuel. Now he wished he’d drilled a test shaft.

  “Seal the door,” he yelled over the sounds of his volunteers shouting. “Seal off that level. Keep the flames from reaching here.”

  “Colonel,” Kasumbo shouted back, “there are ten people down there! What about them?”

  “They’re gone already. Seal the level or we lose the whole mine.”

  Kasumbo glared at him, but motioned for three other men to follow him to the entrance to the tunnel that was now spewing smoke. As they started working the mechanical blast door, shouts came from inside. Four figures emerged, three men and a woman, all staggering. A second woman appeared, crawling and hacking from the smoke. She was followed by three more people, two carrying a third between them. As soon as the last group cleared the smoke, they lowered the unconscious man to the floor of the chamber. Kasumbo and his crew worked the hatch until it clanged into place, the sound echoing off the walls of the mine’s main chamber in the sudden silence.

  One of the first people out went over to Kasumbo and shoved him. “What about Maronn?” When Kasumbo did not answer him fast enough, he shoved the big man again. “I said what about Maronn? He was right behind us.”

  Kray stepped into the confrontation and quietly said, “I ordered the hatch closed. We would have lost the entire mine.”

  “Sir,” said the man, whom Kray recognized as a townie named Yaris, “you know we’ll follow you no matter what. But we can’t just leave Maronn.”

  Kray closed his eyes. “We will have to do far worse when Amargosa falls, things we might consider reprehensible.”

  “And Maronn?” asked Kasumbo. “How do we explain his death? People outside our group are going to ask questions.”

  “The man liked to hunt,” said Kray. “He ran into a rabid ursoid.”

  Both Yaris and Kasumbo looked away.

  ***

  The field buggy sat idling in the yard as JT returned from the field for the day. Lizzy hopped out of the passenger seat and bounded across the grass and into the house. JT glared at the boy behind the wheel. The boy caught JT’s eye, shrugged, and sent the buggy racing out of the yard and off the property, kicking up dust as it hit the road.

  JT’s hands shook. He felt his teeth grinding and his fists squeezing. And he could say nothing. The Valles Marineris would arrive in a few weeks. By then, JT had to decide whether he would stay here or leave. Leaving had started to look good.

  Inside the house, Sarah Parker flitted about the kitchen with pots boiling, and something roasting in the oven. She smiled broadly at JT as he came in through the kitchen. “Check your tablet. I think you got a hyperpacket.”

  Because Amargosa’s data feed with the rest of the Compact updated so sporadically, JT had not bothered to take his tablet with him. It would have been awkward in the field. Anyway, he still found himself checking his palm tattoo despite its uselessness since his arrival.

  The hyperpacket contained a single message bearing the logo of Dasarius Interstellar, identifying it as coming from his mother’s office. That could mean anything. His parents could have decided to put him on the next liner to come to Amargosa. The company could have picked up the tuition for Virginia Military Institute. Or…

  “Good evening, son.” His mother’s face appeared, the great room of her Seattle estate visible behind her. “So Constable Parker thinks you might make a good farmer. Or an AI hacker. Or whatever it is you did to impress him.”

  Here it comes, thought JT. I’m a disappointment.

  “I won’t pretend to be happy about this,” she continued. “In fact, I’m disappointed. I’m disappointed that it took flinging you to the very edge of human space for you to find a purpose in life. I’m disappointed you chose to run aw
ay when your father had come up with a plan for you. I’m disappointed you have rejected us.”

  This last his mother had never said before. He bit down on his tongue when he felt the tears starting to form.

  “Your father now has something more rigid in mind for you,” said his mother. “He felt you needed more discipline than even a military school would provide. I have agreed to Mr. Parker’s proposal, but if you set one foot on a world other than Amargosa, your father will have you drafted into the Marines as an Incorrigible.” Now tears appeared in Tedessa Dazar’s eyes. “No Dasarius has ever been a grunt. Not for several generations. Not even an officer, JT. You’re so young to be wasting your potential.”

  The message ended without his mother even saying goodbye. She looked old. Well, technically, she was old, but she had undergone rejuve only a few weeks before JT left Earth. In the freeze frame at the end of the message, she looked as though she had missed a couple of treatments. He had seen her go without sleep before, usually because of work, but this was different somehow. It was as if she had lost a certain energy. JT could only think that he had taken it from her.

  Someone slapped his shoulder. He looked up to see Lizzy beside him.

  “Hey, Earth man,” she said. “Only three more weeks to your birthday. Then we both can have our present.” Before he could muster up a reply, she bounded back out the door, heading for one of the barns.

  JT watched her go, realizing that they both would be the same age soon, both legal adults under Martian law. He watched her through the window. The sight of her in her grubby work clothes running across the yard transfixed him. He had forgotten all about the boy in the buggy.

  ***

  Kray walked the edge of Kasumbo’s field, marveling at how the creeper had taken over completely. The plant required little tending and seemed to feast on any weeds that grew. There had been complaints, however. It sometimes grew beyond the limits of the fields, sometimes interfering with more conventional crops. Near the maglev line, which weaved back and forth across the border between Dagar and Harlan Townships, it occasionally threatened to invade neighboring fields. The last thing Kray wanted was John Parker going to the governor or one of the big GMO concerns about the creeper. Parker minded his own business most of the time, but he also knew his duty. He would not be able to ignore the creeper if it came into his township.

  In a couple more weeks, they would harvest this green wave of unbridled growth. If Leitman was correct, the farmers had only to leave the field fallow for two seasons, turning it once a month to prevent new creeper from growing back, and then apply a mild herbicide on the last turn. Let the rains handle the herbicide, and the field would again become pristine. That was what Leitman had told them all.

  He had also told Kray that someone was going to invade Amargosa before too long. As Kray rounded the corner back to the main road, he found the man himself waiting for him.

  “You know,” said Kray, “if you’re wrong about turning the field for a couple of seasons, I’ve just agreed to the biggest ecological disaster in this planet’s history.”

  Leitman laughed. “By then, you’ll have bigger problems, my friend.” He shook Kray’s hand when Kray reached him. “Good to see you. Listen, I have very little time before I have to be on Belsham on some urgent business.”

  Now Kray laughed. “People go to Belsham because of the lenient tax laws. Did you skip out on your taxes?”

  “Something like that. I’m here, though, about a problem you have. Did you know your friend Parker has a ward?”

  Did he? Kray merely nodded in agreement. “A runaway. Turns sixteen soon, so he’ll be gone.”

  “Do you know who Tessa Dasarius is?”

  “Everyone does.”

  Leitman stepped in closer and put his hand on Kray’s arm, as though pulling him closer would keep the mass of tangled vine from hearing him. “That boy is Dasarius’s son.”

  A thin smile formed on Kray’s face, a mimic of Leitman’s own mocking grin. “I know all about him. And I’ll let you in on a little secret. I know all about you, too.” He waited a beat to let that sink in for Leitman and added, “Mr. Luxhomme. Or is Mr. Katergarus your most recent alias? You have so many.”

  For the first time since Kray had met the man, Leitman was speechless.

  “Oh, yes,” said Kray. “I know. I also know that authorities from three core worlds have gone back and forth on whether to arrest you or not. Bringing an alien slave into Compact space without informing her of her new legal status as a free being. Bringing said alien to the Compact without going through first contact protocols. Oh, and speaking of Dasarius, I hear they’ve been looking for a ship of theirs that you seem to have misplaced.”

  Leitman remained silent, his eyes wide.

  “The fact is,” Kray continued, “that you are useful to me and to Chakresh. If you weren’t, the two of us would be drawing lots to decide if we pack you off to Metis, The Caliphate, or Jefivah. That last one sounds interesting. They’ve turned a World War Era graphic girl into a sex goddess. I think I’d like it on Jefivah.”

  “No,” said Leitman, “you wouldn’t. But what you might want to do is take over young Mr. Austin’s custody and get him the hell off this planet.”

  “And why would I do that?”

  “Think about this planetary liberation you dream about. Do you think Tessa Dasarius will think you’re a hero if her son dies in an alien occupation while you had the means to prevent that from happening?”

  ***

  JT had to get up early as Quan needed all hands to take an entire field of specially-modified wheat to the maglev for eventual shipment off-world. Several hands had worked overnight to do the harvest. Since the hopper wagons had no AI or motor like the flat farm wagons, they would need to be pulled by tractbot.

  And JT had become the lord and master of the farm’s tractbots. He issued a complex set of instructions designed to cover any contingency. At their simplest, they would “follow Quan’s runabout” and “line-up near the maglev.” There would be a period where JT and another hand would have to tell each one individually what to do, but the bots would then follow Quan back home. He planned for everything, including bad weather, vehicle breakdowns, fire, one or more tractbots going rogue, and even unexpected road conditions.

  “I’m sorry,” said the maglev conductor as he stood on the platform, “but the GosaRail says we can’t load.”

  JT had not planned for that.

  “Why not?” asked a foreman from another Harlan Township farm. “We worked all night, and now we all have hoppers full of grain we’ll have to stow.”

  “I’m sorry,” the conductor repeated. “But the Port Authority just sent word from orbit. Gilead’s hypergate has gone silent. They can’t send anything through. And the brokers in Lansdorp won’t accept your shipments until they can make other arrangements.”

  The loading area erupted into a cacophony of shouting between farm hands and foremen, mostly directed at the conductor. Quite a bit of it was not in Humanic but in older languages JT recognized from Earth. He strolled over to Quan, who remained stoic through it all like an indigenous warrior from American legend.

  “We’re going to need a place to store all this,” he said.

  “That’s not the problem,” said Quan. “We have a township full of tractbots lined up here, and none of them know what to do with their hoppers. It’ll take all day to sort this out. Better get started writing instructions for them.”

  “I’ll do better.” JT stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled. The line of five tractbots of various models all turned their front wheels toward him. JT turned around and began whistling a song he’d heard as a young boy. He eventually had learned it was called “The River Kwai Song.” Upon hearing it, the bots extricated themselves and their hoppers from the line of waiting bots and started to follow JT. Once lined up, JT stopped. The bots stopped. He turned around and yelled back to Quan, “Are you going to bring the runabout around? I don’t want
to walk all the way back with these beasts behind me. They’ll lose their charge.”

  Quan shook his head in wonder and went to retrieve his runabout.

  ***

  By the time Quan, JT, and the other hands returned to the farm, everyone had started whistling the song. The bots only paid attention to JT, but by now, they were merely following the runabout anyway. They arrived in the yard just as John Parker parked his own runabout near the house.

  Constable Kray waited with that spooky woman at his side, both leaning against the fender of his bat wagon. Parker gave them a cursory wave but otherwise ignored them. The law could wait. His farm had a problem.

  “Why did you bring all that wheat back?” he asked as he walked up to Quan and the rest of the hands.

  “Hypergate to Gilead is down,” said Quan. “Can’t ship anything. Oh, and all your tractbots only listen to the kid.”

  JT just grinned and shrugged. What could he say to that?

  Parker gave a noncommittal grunt. “Assuming the bots will listen to you now, take them over to the winter hay barn. We’ll store the wheat there until the brokers figure out what to do with it. JT, we’ll talk later.”

  “We need to talk now.” Kray strolled across the yard tablet tucked under his arm and Saja in tow. “Hello, Mr. Austin.”

  JT did not respond, merely stared at Kray and his neatly trimmed goatee.

  “I have here,” said Kray, “a couple things you might be interested in, John. First, I’m formally requesting you transfer custody of Mr. Austin to me. I will put him on the next liner to Tian or Earth at my own expense and get him back to his parents. Second, I have his full record.”

  Parker barely glanced at the tablet. “The governor told me all about JT.”

  “Not all about him.”

  The field buggy appeared, bouncing up the drive like it would skid to a stop. Instead, it slowed suddenly, as though the presence of John Parker had changed the driver’s mind. Lizzy bounded out, barely acknowledging her male friend. “Hi, Daddy! Hi, Earth man!”