No sooner had Sky asked the question than the answer came; Mym had a son. He had joined a small telepath network in Shackleton and had lost touch with her. Months later her health insurer called to say that her son’s network had been hacked and he’d been infected with the Tellinii virus. Mym kept him alive by paying for the expensive stasis. Could Sky blame her? Mym had merely put those she loved before others, a primal program which had helped humanity survive for eons.
As Mr. Polat had expected, Mym refused to contribute to the repair of the wall.
Sky disconnected, leaving Mr. Polat and Mym to their lives, and returned her awareness to her own body, the sounds of her breathing inside her helmet, sitting on top of a caterpillar wheel in the lunar desert.
The swarm wheel began to roll, headed for a new destination, and an impossible plan.
13:4
The VOL news networks went into overdrive: three Apollan frigates had captured the Earth ship, the Scarlett Tours. The frigates’ major sponsors were making the most of the free advertising. Many a commentator saw this as evidence of the value of the voluntary Defense Fund which financed the private military, and highlighted their own generous history of contribution to the fund. They also made sure to thank the prime investors—the trillionaires among them—whose overall contributions made up eighty per cent of the fund (naturally, as they had the most to lose if Earth attacked).
The offending Earth vessel, the Scarlett Tours, had refused to power down its weapons and permit a contingent of Apollan marines to board. It was a live standoff that sent ratings (and profits) through the domes.
The news switched between the capture of the Scarlett Tours and the impending arrival of the hero who had sent the distress signal from the telepath colony’s caterpillar. The two jets—which had guided the caterpillar to Shackleton City—had been replaced by armored vehicle escorts. Locals and reporters tussled for space at the Shackleton Central train station. Sim studios were already bidding for the rights to adapt the survivor’s memories.
The caterpillar’s sole occupant had not responded to communications since arriving at Shackleton’s doorstep. The hero may have been asleep, or injured. Medics were on standby on the platform, just in case.
The battered caterpillar rolled onto the Shin-level train platform surrounded by hordes of coiffed lower-middle classers and their cheers. Reporters, who had paid for the prime positions, jostled for better ones.
When the caterpillar came to a stop and the cockpit door opened, the Shackleton Freedom News Network’s mini cameras buzzed inside (the network would have paid a pretty lune for first-view rights). The crowds watched through the camera’s eyes as it scanned the length of the cockpit.
It was empty.
Rem Singh, CEO of Feldman Okonkwo Finance, watched the circus through the wisps of smoke from his cigar, sitting in his Shackleton City penthouse.
As expected, he received a call from CEO Thomas Lysander. The man sat grim behind his antique mahogany desk and matching banker’s lamp. His office was furnished with antique wall screens, as he distrusted both the Holonet and the Neuronet. Other antiques lined the office; a grandfather clock, a Persian rug, and tapestries from bygone Earth eras. It was windowless, so Rem could not determine Lysander’s location. Rem’s spies had thus far been unsuccessful.
‘It appears that our hero wishes to remain anonymous,’ Rem said to Lysander’s lifeless two-dimensional image.
‘Doesn’t matter. We have the Earth vessel and we will soon be mining the crew’s memories. We both know what they’ll reveal—Earth attacked a peaceful telepath colony. The question is: what are we going to do about it?’
As usual, Rem allowed Lysander to rant, as Lysander was prone to do. Rem found it a useful tactic which helped to develop trust (in the non-contractual sense), and further his brand as a corporate mediator.
However, at this moment—and quite out of character—Rem felt compelled to challenge Lysander. The courage for this task appeared out of nowhere, as if granted by some unseen fairy godfather.
‘I think you overestimate Earth’s abilities, Thomas.’
‘And you underestimate the motherland, Mr. Singh,’ Lysander retorted. ‘Defeated in war and indebted; humiliated but still proud. History has shown that to be a dangerous combination.’
Rem stood by the window and stared across the city. His penthouse was one of the few structures so close to the uppermost dome that protected against deadly cosmic radiation. It provided a grand view of Shackleton City. Views were luxury. He could see the upper domes, the outer burbs, the gray beyond, and the blue-green planet that had once been humanity’s crib, now ever watchful. He took a puff from his cigar, savoring the taste of wood and soil. It was an Earth cigar. He preferred them to the local product. To harm one’s body was a statement of prestige, because it meant you had the wealth to repair it. He blew smoke across his reflection. His fairy godfather urged him on.
‘Let’s not jump to conclusions. Earth’s security council claims the ship is a rogue element, part of a corporate dispute.’
‘Rogue element?’ Lysander scoffed. ‘A bird-animal can’t build a nest on that planet without State approval.’ Lysander’s unruly eyebrows furrowed. ‘First you have no objection to Earth defaulting on our loans, and now you’re comfortable with it attacking the property of VOL individuals? I always took you and your Apollan colleagues for Terraphiles—perhaps orbiting Earth makes one sentimental—but of late I have begun to wonder where your true allegiance lies.’
‘The same as yours; to my business. You’re not asking for patriotism, are you? I didn’t pick you for a socialist.’
Lysander responded with a beady-eyed stare… beadier than usual. Rem regretted his bad manners, but—in his defense—Lysander had pushed the wrong buttons. ‘My ancestors suffered under Earth’s regime as much as yours, Thomas.’
Lysander leaned forward with his fingertips resting against each other in a pyramid. ‘If it turns out Earth authorities are responsible for this terrorist attack, what then?’
Everyone knew Lysander was a conspiracist. You couldn’t argue with a conspiracist; you would only end up convincing them you were either blind or part of the conspiracy. ‘If Earth is responsible for the attack, then it will have breached the Mars Declaration,’ Singh answered, playing along.
When Thomas Lysander smiled, his mouth was the only part of his face that moved.
Rem Singh stroked his beard. ‘No one wants another war, Thomas.’
‘I’m not talking about war. States wage war. I’m talking about enforcing our contractual rights under the loan; I’m talking about foreclosure. We have the right to recover the debt.’
‘Call it what you will; the end result is the same.’
‘How? Foreclosure merely requires that we seize the resources and assets Earth agreed would be taken in the event of default—’
‘And you believe Earth will hand them over without a fight?’
Lysander shrugged. ‘If it uses violence to prevent the legal execution of an agreement, Earth would be the one starting a war, not us. And we would subdue them as we did in ’36.’
Rem Singh shook his head, ‘The hack of ’36 was a mistake. We should never have inflicted such—’
‘Rubbish. It brought Earth to the negotiating table. Many more lives would have been lost if we hadn’t acted.’
‘Nevertheless, I can’t support a foreclosure on Earth—’
Lysander banged his fist on the table. ‘Earth signed the Declaration of its own free will; peace for loans; a contract signed, sealed, and delivered. But,’ he said, pointing a finger at Rem, ‘if they have withdrawn their peace and breached the Declaration…’
Though Rem was loathe to admit it, Lysander had a point. This was a contractual dispute, and in the absence of an independent arbitrator, the parties could decide their own…
Rem’s mind went blank, as if the next step in the chain of logic was too great. Instead, he reached for something closer. ‘Milita
ry conflict is rarely a good long-term investment. The gains made by a handful of industries are outweighed by the loss of returns in others.’
‘Are you forgetting the five quadrillion we contribute annually to maintain a standing military? We wouldn’t have that expense if we could pacify Earth.’
‘I don’t like that expense any more than you do.’
‘What do you propose then? Ignore Earth’s breach of the Declaration? And the next one? And the one after that? Is that how you run your businesses? I think not, else you would be without a lune to your name. Why do you apply a different standard for your business relations with Earth?’
Something told Rem that he need not reply.
Lysander went on, ‘Our fellow individuals are being enslaved on Earth as we speak. They are scanned day and night, reprogrammed at the behest of the State, and otherwise distracted with bread, circuses, and elections. They cannot choose, let alone think for themselves. Is that living?’
‘So now you’re a crusader?’
‘Contrary to popular opinion, Mr. Singh, my heart—though replaced four times over—is still biological.’
‘And your latest one appears to be a little sentimental, or so I hear.’
Lysander raised one of his bushy eyebrows, ‘Really? What exactly have you heard, Mr. Singh?’
‘I understand the Som cartel has collapsed from infighting.’
‘Has it?’ Lysander asked, as if blameless. He leaned back in his Victorian chair, arms folded. ‘How did that come to pass, I wonder?’
‘Someone chopped off the Som’s ugly head, which sent a well-timed chain reaction down the hierarchy. Whoever planned it must have set up those dominoes carefully, and paid off the right insurers. They even compensated the families of Razer’s body backups. Such an endeavor would have cost a pretty lune and generated little, if any, profit. Quite the sentimental act, don’t you think?’
Lysander cocked his head, blasé. ‘Live by the sword, die by the sword. The Som imposed their will on others with no regard for consent. They controlled over a third of the involuntary slave trade. Those who breach the One Law threaten the entire VOL project. I won’t miss them, will you?’
The news mayas continued to play footage of the Scarlett Tours from a thousand angles. ‘And what of this domino?’ Rem asked. ‘It appears reluctant to fall. We could use it as a bargaining chip.’
Lysander shook his head with the self-assuredness of a victor. ‘And give up a potential treasure trove of information? No, it’s time to board that ship and bleed every last drop of data from their brains.’
13:5
Sky travelled across the lunar desert to the nearest rail station, two hours’ journey in total. There she stowed aboard the cargo carriage of a tube-train headed for the equator.
She hopped off near Copernicus mining facility, a district shrouded in a dusty haze out of which rose a graystalk rail, the lunar industrial stalk that transported mineral containers offworld. She came across a sign as she approached the town:
WARNING: This is a restricted area. Authorized personnel only. Visitors must register their purpose. Neuroscanners on site: all individuals will be scanned for intent.
Sky had no desire to be scanned. If they discovered her true intentions…
< Ma’am, I think I can help. I’ve been analyzing Geppetto’s features. Looks like it’s got the ability to fake neural signals, and even block your neurals from scanners. >
‘That explains how Dr. Yukawa avoided the scanners back on Earth,’ Sky said. ‘Let’s try it.’
Seconds later Uncle Jesse responded, < It’s done, ma’am. Seems to be workin’. Your neurals shouldn’t come up on any scans, though you won’t know for sure until you get into town. >
Sky did not feel any different. Uncle Jesse confirmed there were no detectable side effects.
She hitched a ride into town on one of the monolithic mining trucks, explaining to the driver that her rover had broken down. She fashioned her swarm into a toolkit, the sort she had seen the miners carry.
Sky wondered how her empty caterpillar had been received, so she turned on the news channels. The media’s talking heads were full of conjectures: maybe there never was anyone in the caterpillar, maybe it was a decoy, maybe the real Earth spies had got away, maybe the spies were walking among them, maybe rival telepaths had attacked the colony and wanted to shift the blame to Earth?
When she got into town, Sky found a lunesuit store. She refuelled her oxygen and purchased a backup suit which was compact enough to carry as a backpack. Then she heard the breaking news: VOL frigates had cornered the Scarlett Tours.
She imagined what was going through Tester’s mind as he was surrounded.
Welcome to my world, she thought.
13:6
Once it was clear that nothing would persuade CEO Lysander to release the Scarlett Tours, Tester withdrew his attention from Rem Singh’s mind.
The Scarlett’s captain called again, ‘Sir, how long do you intend this stalemate to continue? We can’t outgun or outrun them.’
Tester watched the surrounding frigates. A shuttle slid out of the nearest one. The boarding party, he thought.
‘So many sacrifices,’ Tester muttered to himself.
‘Sir?’
An alarm wailed and lights flashed, catching the captain by surprise. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked his crew, who seemed just as perplexed.
Tester was calm. ‘Captain, your family and those of your crew will be well compensated for the sacrifice we are about to make.’
‘What sacrifice?’ were the captain’s last words before the Scarlett Tours exploded in a self-devouring fireball.
13:7
Sky was watching live news footage of the Scarlett Tours when the ship exploded. There was a sudden flash of fire, spherical like the seed head of a Dandelion flower. Then there was nothing.
The private agencies who owned the frigates denied having attacked the vessel, and the footage replays confirmed it. The Scarlett had self-destructed, they said. No escape modules had jettisoned. The entire crew had perished.
Jeong-soo Tester was dead.
Her father. Dead?
She should feel something, Sky told herself.
The Apollans would not have chased the Scarlett if she had not sent the distress signal. Did she regret it? No and yes.
Memories of her childhood invaded her mind’s eye. A family camping trip. A fair. He had shown her how to use a maya. He had read Green Eggs and Ham to her so many times that he would sometimes stop mid-sentence to see if she could complete it, and more often than not, she could. He had been so pleased when she recited the entire book while he flipped the pages. She would tell people her name was Sky I Am.
It would have been easier if she could hate him without a part of her loving him.
Sky stumbled into an empty alley and curled up against a dumpster. This way and that, her mind pulled, and when it could not resolve her warring emotions, she wept inside her helmet. Her fingers wiped at her visor in vain, unable to reach her tears. It did not matter, for the lunesuit’s water reclamation system made sure her tears evaporated almost as soon as they fell.
13:8
Rem Singh and his 2D-screen guest, Thomas Lysander, watched footage of the Scarlett Tours bursting into shrapnel.
Rem felt a sudden, though unexpected, relief.
He had argued against boarding the vessel, he had argued for diplomacy, but when the Earth ship exploded, he felt—for a moment—a weight lift from his chest, though he could not explain why.
Lysander was uncharacteristically silent. His elbows were perched on his desk, fingers entwined. He looked ready to explode, just like the Earth ship.
Rem attempted to head off his rage. ‘The insurers may yet uncover evidence to support your claim, Thomas. And if it turns out you are right, and Earth has breached the Declaration…’
‘This is just the beginning,’ Lysander croaked.
‘What do you mean?�
�
‘They’ve played their first piece, and played it well. Apollo is what burns them most. They still think it’s theirs. They still call it The Moon. They’re planning to take it back.’
‘They wouldn’t dare,’ Singh waved a hand, dismissing the notion. ‘They know we’re no longer a disorganized group of colonies.’
‘And if they dare? What if they’ve been developing and stockpiling weapons? I would have, if I were them. What if Earth is a greater threat than we have been led to believe?’ He snorted, ‘We should have finished the job when we had the chance and freed all humanity, instead of parlaying with these Statist dictators. We should strike before they do.’
‘Our fellow prime investors are unlikely to agree with you.’
On the news maya, train station guards shooed the camera flies away from the telepath caterpillar while an insurance team scoured the vehicle for clues.
Lysander leaned in, ‘Once we find whoever sent that distress call from the caterpillar, once we have evidence of Earth’s interference, I’m confident the prime investors will see things my way.’
13:9
Sky felt as if a load of lunar rocks had landed on her chest. Her father’s death had affected her more than she ever could have imagined. She sat against the dumpster, in the shadows, away from the main strip and the mining employees that walked it.
He’s dead.
Why should it matter? Tester had never been part of her life, anyway. Nothing and everything had changed.
Get up, she told herself, the NIA are looking for you. Half of Apollo is looking for you.
She heard a click-clacking, which turned out to be a security bot. The thing looked like a metal insect; six legs and a coffin-sized body (a compartment for offenders).
‘Do you require assistance?’ it asked.
Sky stood, brushed herself off, and then walked past the bot, ignoring its question. She had to refocus. Her mother was dying, and Sky was the only one who could help her.
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