“Nobody was willing to authorize executing the kids until they uploaded it, and then it was too late.”
“Oh.”
Ping looked very tired. “Michigan. If your husband has another brilliant idea, we would be very glad to hear it. Now I have to find someone not panicking so we can put him in charge.”
The screen blanked.
“Why me?” demanded Guo.
Mitchie shrugged. “You suggested the alliance against the AIs.”
“That was the obvious solution to the war.”
“Wasn’t obvious enough for somebody else to think of it first.” She leaned close and locked eyes with him. “So, think of something, history-boy.”
Guo dropped onto the couch. Mitchie cuddled up to him.
“This is functionally one of those situations where two social classes switched places or merged. Joshua Chamberlain’s war was one of those. The working class outranked the slaves in every way. Freed slaves would be equal to the white lower class. And some of those lower class whites would have wound up on the bottom of the heap. They fought to prevent that. It was pure omegaphobia.”
He paused. “The French Revolution was another. The nobles couldn’t compete in the new economy based on trade instead of land. They were afraid of becoming peasant farmers with houses they couldn’t maintain, so they enforced their privileges until the rest revolted.”
“Do you have any examples that didn’t lead to a million deaths?” asked Mitchie.
Guo reached for his datasheet and started paging through the history database.
***
The mystery of the automated apartment tantalized the puzzle-solvers among Pintoy’s stipend collectors. “Who is Juan Anders?” discussions popped up in every form of social media. The virtual person’s history was fully documented, down to an image from a hospital maternity ward security camera.
Someone using the handle Wayne Searcher rose to the top of the investigators by proving the video was a duplicate of one from a Tiantan hospital ten years before Anders’ supposed birth. “Fake from birth!” brought in more amateur investigators. The new wave were less willing to accept “too overwhelmed with requests to answer” from Anders’ family, friends, and guild mates. They announced plans to physically contact people.
Unlike the first investigation, that didn’t lead to videos of empty apartments. The curious stipend kids were arrested on charges of privacy violation, trespassing, and conspiracy to commit breaking and entering. Political conspiracy theorists proclaimed the arrests proof that the government was hiding something.
Mitchie’s comment on this development was, “That might be the end of it. Now it’s a movement of fools.”
Guo shook his head. “No, it’s too big now. They’re just followers, saying out loud what other people are thinking. Oh, you’ll love this rumor.”
Mitchie looked at the manifesto he’d put on the wall. “What is this crap?”
“An elaborate proof that the falsified identities are the stalking horses for an AI infiltrating the Fusion’s network. It finishes with a call for the physical destruction of all systems storing the records of fake citizens since they must be under the control of the AI.” He let out a morbid laugh.
“Good God. That would lead to riots. Hell, lynchings. How far has it spread?”
“Not very. You’re looking at my local copy. The Code Police took down the site I found it on. But to a conspiracy theorist . . .”
“That’s just proof the AI is covering its tracks,” she agreed. “What else is going on?
“It looks like this is going to break out into the general population soon. There’s a guy who used epidemiology models to project the spread of the ideas.”
In a moment the display bore a three-dimensional model of the population as nodes and pools. Mitchie cut Guo’s explanation short. “I trust you. Don’t give me the math. If I try to understand that I won’t have room for astrodynamics. How much time do we have?”
“Probably less than a week before the entire secret is out, I’m guessing.”
“I’ll see if Guen’s free for lunch.”
***
“Of course I’m free. Annie’s not letting me go anywhere now. Come on over. We can watch some more Magic Princess Journey.”
‘Coming over’ wasn’t simple. Mitchie followed directions to dress in lower-class fashion and meet one of the bodyguards at a park near Guen’s skyscraper. She almost didn’t recognize him. She expected the downscale clothes. It was the stipend kid ‘I’m bored forever’ pose that made her overlook him.
When he stepped toward her Mitchie backed away warily.
“Ma’am?” He changed to soldier in a breath.
“Sorry, didn’t recognize you. Woon, right?”
He nodded. “This way, please.”
The park was ten times as crowded as any Fusion park Mitchie had seen before. Gaudily dressed stipend collectors stood in tight clusters arguing at the top of their lungs. They weren’t all discussing the virtual people scandal. Mitchie heard complaints about fashion and games. I guess with so many false identities exposed they’re only comfortable talking face-to-face.
Woon led her out of the park to the utility side of a skyscraper.
The bot access tunnels for the building were tight even for Mitchie. Woon had to be miserable but didn’t make any complaints.
Guen welcomed her with hugs and meat pastries. The cartoon princess distracted them with monsters, grand vistas, and extended soliloquies about her feelings for the heir of a rival kingdom.
Mitchie didn’t bring up the crisis. Her value as a friend was based on being the only person on the planet who wasn’t working for Guen, wanting something from her, or being a possible agent of rival Fusion factions. Playing Disconnect ambassador would ruin that.
When the show faded to black on a cliffhanger (actually the handsome warrior released the princess’s hand, lest he pull her over the edge with him) Guen turned toward the window. “I feel trapped.”
“They’re not letting you go anywhere?”
“We did an evacuation drill to the country place two nights ago. Other than that I’m staying here or the Dome. I’m almost hoping there’ll be a contested vote on something.”
“Aren’t there any votes about the crisis?”
“Pfft. Nobody has any proposal with enough support to be voted on. Conscript them all. Tell all and apologize. Tell all and bribe them. Impose martial law and a curfew. The sims say none of them will work. Social Control predicts riots in a week.”
“Guo saw a crowdsourced prediction that said the same thing. Didn’t have any way to prevent it.”
Guen looked out her glass wall overlooking the parks. From sixty floors up the city still looked peaceful. “I don’t think we can prevent it. We need the riots to make the stakeholders and bureaucrats see sense. They’re convinced they can save the secret and stay the way we were. It’ll take a riot to break them out of that.”
“What’s going to stop the riots?”
Guen laughed. “Passing the Dynamist Party platform would make the proles happy. I don’t know if they’d be happy enough to enlist.”
“How much support do you have?”
“A tenth of Anglophones, maybe three percent of Sinophones. Uncontrolled change scares people.”
“I didn’t think you were as scary as burning down cities.”
“You’re not Chinese.” Guen grabbed a fruit tart and nibbled on its edge.
Mitchie wished Guo had thought of a plan to fix the disaster. This would be the perfect time to pitch it to the Stakeholder. “Want to watch the next episode?”
“Sure!”
***
“Oh, shit!”
Mitchie told Setta, “I’ll call you back.” She’d wanted the crew’s shore leave restricted as tensions increased. If the latest development was enough to make Guo curse Mitchie wanted to know the details before making a decision.
“What happened?” she asked him.
&nb
sp; Guo put a diagram on the display wall. “The cops are so overwhelmed they’re arresting people, leaving them tied up on the sidewalk, and going after the next group. Police movements are public record. A friend of this investigating crew cut them loose and they explored more apartments. Which let them finish this.” He waved at the display.
“It’s a family tree.”
“Yes. And every single one of them doesn’t exist. They also proved that for this generation—” a row of boxes turned red “—not a single one of the people in their elementary school classes are real.”
“The dam’s breaking.”
“In two ways. Enough of the secret is out that they can find the rest. And the government can’t control people, which encourages more to dig into it.”
Mitchie skimmed through the top-level official news to check on the crime trends. Then she told her datasheet, “Setta.”
The bosun’s face appeared. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Is Hiroshi with you?”
Her husband leaned into view. “Here, ma’am.”
“New standing orders. If you don’t hear from me or the mate for twenty-four hours, try to contact us. If you can’t get hold of us in twelve hours, get a full news dump and head back to the fleet. Report to Admiral Galen. Do not let anything stop you. Clear?”
Hiroshi’s face was grim. “Clear, ma’am.”
“Next. New shore leave rules. No less than four together. Everyone must have a firearm.”
Setta said, “Ma’am, our weapons are illegal in the Fusion.”
“I know. Don’t let anyone be arrested. Use force if you have to and get back to the ship. It’s Disconnect territory, they can’t touch you there.”
“It’s getting that bad?”
“Soon. These people are getting ready to burn down police stations. I don’t want any of our crew inside when they do.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
After giving Setta permission to stock up on supplies Mitchie ended the call.
“I’m surprised you’re allowing shore leave at all,” said Guo.
“I don’t want to. But they’ll go nuts if they’re locked in. Giving the option will let them stay sane longer. Taking the fun out of it should keep them from going out too often.”
Mitchie’s datasheet played the Interstellar Relay jingle. She grabbed it and slapped the alert. “Finally!”
A synthesized voice said, “Dear customer. We regret to inform you that your three messages are still being held at the Sukhoi relay station. They will be sent via the next ship traveling to their destination.”
“Shit.” She flung the gadget against the wall.
Guo looked up from his book. “What?”
“I was hoping that was a message from Galen with some guidance on what to do about this mess.”
“If there were lots of reinforcement convoys going through we wouldn’t have come here.”
***
The spaceport stores had everything on Setta's list, but wouldn't send it to the ship. “Deliverybots out of service.” The autocab service said it would be a two or three hour wait for a ride.
“Who’s up for a walk?” asked the bosun.
An hour later six spacers exited the store laden down with bags. If this place was going to hell so badly Setta wanted the freezers full. Her crew grumbled about the weight but they were still happy to be out of the ship. Dubois and Ye bickered a little over what tonight’s dinner should be.
To save time she led them through a short-cut past the chandlery. Its lights were dimmed. They were hours past closing time. The storage lockers behind it had the quickest way to the pedestrian gate in the landing zone fence.
As they passed the third shed some scruffy figures walked out from the shadows. “Gah, Diskers. Whatcha got in the bags?”
Setta didn’t slow down. “None of your business.”
“Yeah?” said the leader. “I think I want a taste.” The others spread out to block the path to the gate.
She stopped. Getting into arm’s reach of them would be bad. “Ingredients. Nothing you’d know how to cook, prole.”
“I like raw. And you’re going to give me a kiss to apologize for being so rude.”
“No, I won’t.” Setta’s bags crunched as frozen vegetables landed on the pavement. She slid her hand into her jacket pocket.
“Better learn some manners, bitch.” The leader produced a chain and started it swinging over his head in a whirring disc. The others drew knives and clubs.
Lethal weapon, theft, blocking movement, sexual threat, I think that adds up to justification. Setta pulled the pistol from her pocket and fired.
“Bitch!” The head thug slapped a hand to his belly. Boxes and cans clunked on the pavement as spacers freed their hands to draw weapons.
The other thugs cursed and stepped forward. Setta pointed her pistol in the air. “Boys and girls, this weapon holds fifteen bullets. I only needed one for him. Why don’t you pick up your friend there and take him to the hospital?” The leader had fallen to his knees.
Instead of taking her advice they ran off. “Cowards.”
The wounded thug fell onto his side. “Who’s best at first aid?” asked Mthembu.
“Doesn’t matter,” snapped Setta. “None of us are touching him. Walk around, don’t get any blood on you.”
The trickle of blood from the thug looked black in the yellow security lights. It streamed toward the spaceport fence.
Finnegan picked up some of Setta’s bags. Mthembu grabbed the rest.
“You don’t have to take my share.”
“Best you have your hands free, bosun,” said Finnegan.
“Fine. Anyone hear a siren?” Their first night on Pintoy Setta had seen a fistfight outside a spaceport bar. The sirens had sounded before the fifth punch. Now the night was quiet.
“Come on.” She led them past the body on the uphill side to keep their boots dry. Once past the sheds she spotted a hovering security bot. Setta waved the spacers toward the gate and walked toward the bot.
Once she was under it she waved her arms until the bot turned to face its main camera at her. “Hey! I just shot a guy! He’s bleeding to death over there!”
Security bots had speakers to allow police operators to address anyone at the scene. This one stayed silent.
“Fuck.” Setta shot the bot. It bounced twice on the pavement. “Maybe that’ll make someone check out this area.”
She trotted back to the gate. “Don’t wait for me, dammit. Get back to the ship.”
“What about that guy?” asked Mthembu.
“Ain’t our planet. Ain’t our problem.”
Four Days Later
The hotel was emptying out as guests and staff found excuses to avoid the capital downtown. Mitchie and Guo took advantage of the privacy by vandalizing the cameras over the hot tub and pool. After several hours of thoroughly prohibited activities they staggered back to their suite to sleep.
They slept late. No debates were scheduled in the Council. Guen’s security had convinced her to avoid visitors. And this was no time to play tourist, no matter how good Guo thought the museums were.
A rising series of beeps dragged Mitchie out of bed to shut up her datasheet. Guo muttered a protest.
“What the hell?” said Mitchie.
“Huh?”
“Message from Ping. One line of text. Marked high priority, urgent, Stakeholder business, maximum interrupt. He must’ve spent more time flagging it than writing it.”
“What’s it say?”
“Just ‘Stay away from the Acropolis.’ It’s not like I go near there unless he invites me.” She walked over to the window.
Guo watched her walk. This completely justified opening his eyes.
“Damn.”
When she didn’t elaborate Guo joined her to see for himself. The ring park around the Acropolis was full of people. More were streaming in on foot.
Guo studied a small part of the park, then did some mental math to extrapolate. �
�That has to be over a hundred thousand people.”
“At least,” said Mitchie. “If someone said half a million I wouldn’t doubt it.”
He said “news” to the display wall. It became a mosaic of articles. “Let’s see . . . our top story is hologram star Kimmie Z breaking her engagement because Rocko made bad jokes while she was in labor with their newborn. Top interstellar news is the Trade Board cutting the tariff on perishables by one point five per cent.”
“Censorship?”
“Absolutely. Here’s some real news. The Council of Stakeholders passed a conscription law this morning.”
“There were no votes scheduled,” said Mitchie. She picked up her datasheet.
Guo pulled up a summary of the new law. “Conscripts everyone arrested for trespassing, privacy infringement, restricted data accession . . . it’s going after the people researching the false identities.”
“Ping didn’t vote for it,” said Mitchie. “He wasn’t even there. Guen was absent too.” She skimmed through the list of votes. “Every Stakeholder I know by name missed the vote.”
“DISPERSE.” A distant shout came through the window. A security drone equipped with large sound projectors was drifting past the hotel. “RETURN TO YOUR HOMES. YOU ARE ORDERED TO DISPERSE.” It repeated the command as it passed out of audible range.
They looked out at the park again. The incoming streams were thicker.
Now that they were looking for them dozens of drones were visible over the crowd. One folded in half and dropped into a tree.
“The cops are going to be pissed about that,” said Mitchie.
“I think they have bigger problems.” Guo braved the open net to look for the drone crash. The normal chaos of open discussion had become a maelstrom, without any time to sort facts from rumor from deception.
One video’s popularity stood out. Guo played it on the wall.
A stipend kid in an orange shirt with teal collar tassels waved a rifle over his head. “I shut up that damn drone! And I’m going to shut more up.” An inset played the video from the rifle’s built-in camera of the bullet breaking the drone’s spine. “I’m not going home. I’m not going anywhere until we get the truth.”
Torchship Captain Page 5