A House United

by Caleb Wachter

  “Or they’re genuinely committed to this cause—and have been for longer than we have—and they want to see this mission succeed as much as we do,” Tremblay finished. “That they returned Winters and the others to us—completely unharmed, I might add—before offering to let us use Largent is about as much of a show of good faith as we could ask for.”

  “That doesn’t track,” she shook her head as her teeth clenched angrily, “if they abducted Winters and the others then they did so for the purpose of derailing our mission before we reached the Conduit. This smells like a backup plan.”

  “It does,” Tremblay agreed, much to her surprise, “which is why I had Guo run the numbers on the Mode’s computer system—and on a small sub-network we’ve built for the purposes of monitoring the mainframe for the very types of breaches you suggested. They all come up with the same result,” he held her gaze as he finished, “the highest probability—by better than an order of magnitude over the runner-up—is that this ‘Bellucci’ figure is every bit as invested in destroying MAN as we are.”

  “But why?” McKnight pressed. “House Bellucci is one of the three most powerful Great Houses in the Empire of Man, and MAN-worship is on the rise throughout the Empire. Why would they want to move against such an abundantly popular pillar of Imperial society?”

  “That part’s easy,” he said dismissively, “they’re using us—and, almost certainly, Lynch before us—as stooges. They’ll turn a blind eye here, throw a highly-skilled operator our way there, but they’ll never step out of the shadows.” He snorted in what seemed like overt approval as he added, “The projections even show that if we go public with their involvement, as that involvement was described by Chief Winters during her debrief, they’ve already laid the groundwork for a propaganda campaign that will almost certainly succeed in painting them as the victim of a vast, right-wing conspiracy aimed at discrediting them. They’ll probably pick up two or three extra star systems’ support in the process of squashing the ‘rumor’.”

  “Games within games,” she sighed.

  “House Bellucci looks like they’ve been playing at the highest level for over a century,” Tremblay said with admiration. “From where I’m sitting, it’s pointless trying to outmaneuver them. We’ve got a simple choice before us: trust Bellucci by using their operative, thereby avoiding the risks outlined in the mission brief. Or…”

  She ground her teeth loudly enough that even Tremblay seemed to hear it. “Or we risk killing up to five thousand civilians to achieve our objective.” The civilian casualty projections were part of a complex probability calculation which, essentially, showed they would need to hijack a prototype—and ultra-secretive—batch of nanotech drones in order to breach the target facility's security systems. That theft, while far from difficult given the resources available to them, introduced two undesirable possibilities: first, the four percent chance that Lu would fail in retrieving the nanotech; second, that they would need to fight off the corporate security forces assigned to guard the nano-drones' storage facility. The Mode was more than capable of laying an ambush for the Corvettes assigned to guard that facility, but the potentially unnecessary deaths of those security officers weighed heavily on her mind.

  Largent, however, claimed to possess the access codes to the target facility. This rendered the need for another operation, and the potential failure point it represented, irrelevant. To McKnight's mind, Largent possessing the very access codes they needed was far from coincidental—and provided yet another piece of evidence supporting the thesis that House Bellucci knew their plans as well as they did.

  “But whichever way we go,” Tremblay said pointedly, breaking her from her reverie, “the odds look the same.”

  “If we can trust Largent.”

  “Yes,” he allowed mulishly, “but to my mind that’s no longer a question.”

  “Then it’s a good thing you’re not the one with operational command over this phase of the mission,” she sniped.

  “Indeed.”

  She drummed her fingers on the desk as she considered the situation from as many angles as she was presently capable. “I need to consult the XO,” she finally declared, “but I’m inclined to approve this third mission variant.”

  “We’ll keep resources working up Plan Two, which permits the collateral damage, along with Plan Three as outlined there,” Tremblay gestured to the data slate.

  “Dismissed,” McKnight waved him away, and a few seconds later she was alone in her office. She reached for her wrist-link in order to summon her XO, then hesitated.

  She thought long and hard about the magnitude of the situation, weighing that factor against her XO’s current one day emergency leave—which was only two hours old, and which she had granted prior to learning of Largent’s full capabilities.

  “You’re getting soft, Mel,” she muttered, keying in Engineer Horgan’s channel instead of Spalding’s, “I guess I can give him the rest of the day.”

  A few seconds later, “Horgan here, Captain.”

  “Are you available for a meeting?” she asked.

  “Can do,” he affirmed, “I’m on my way.”

  “See you in five,” she acknowledged before cutting the connection, taking one last look at the link, and finally smirking. “Those two have earned a little reprieve,” she sighed before prepping for the meeting with her likely-soon-to-be Ex Chief Engineer.

  Their bodies were trembling in the dark after the near-continuous exertions of their reunion—one which had turned physical far quicker than Tiberius had expected it to.

  “I can’t believe you’re back,” he said between panting breaths.

  “Well, believe it,” she nuzzled against his ribs.

  “I…we all thought,” he stammered, but she placed her hand over his mouth.

  “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

  “I understand,” he said, giving Penelope’s narrow shoulders a tight squeeze with his arm as they lay there for a long while in his—now their—dark, silent quarters.

  “I’m a little surprised the Captain let us in,” Penelope eventually said.

  “I might have had something to do with that,” he said, recalling the heated debate with Captain McKnight from just a few days earlier.

  “I’m glad you did,” she said, but something in her voice made him think she had more to say.

  “Do you think we’re being played in all of this?” he asked bluntly.

  “Honestly,” she sighed, “I don’t care. If it means we can all do what we wanted to do in the first place—and that we can do it together—that’s enough for me.”

  He quirked a wry grin, recalling that his own argument—while possessing significantly more colorful language—had been built on that precise reasoning. “Me too,” he said, stroking her hair absently.

  Normally, such a moment would have been the ideal one from which to drift off into blissful sleep in each other’s arms. But it soon became clear that neither of them had much interest in sleep—or in talking.

  Tiberius wouldn’t have had it any other way.

  Chapter XVIII: The Heist—Prep

  “I’ve made a decision,” Captain McKnight said after Lu had been seated, “I’m going to authorize Largent’s involvement in your upcoming mission.”

  “I think that would be wise,” Lu Bu nodded, having learned—usually the hard way—just how capable Largent was during their multiple sparring sessions aboard the Mode.

  “Good,” McKnight said, proffering a data slate, “here’s the latest plan, with revisions made to incorporate Largent’s peculiar capabilities.”

  Lu Bu scanned the document for the next minute or so before nodding agreeably, “We will not fail.”

  “These projections only put this at a seventy two percent success rate,” McKnight said heavily. “And the odds of both of you coming back alive are less than fifty-fifty.”

  “This is not my first suicide mission, Captain,” Lu Bu said matter-of-factly. The past sev
eral years had effectively beaten most of her youthful arrogance out of her, so she felt not one whit of smug self-satisfaction when she asserted that she was ready to succeed or die trying.

  McKnight’s gaze seemed to pin her to the chair for a long while before the blonde CO nodded, “You’ll depart in forty two hours and you’ll have two weeks aboard the Mode to fine-tune your teamwork. I suggest you spend as much time with your family as possible during the next two days.”

  “I will,” Lu agreed, hesitating before finally saying, “I have one request, Captain.”

  “Of course,” McKnight said invitingly.

  “I would like my children to come with me,” she explained. “It may be my last opportunity to see them.”

  “You don’t think it will compromise your focus?”

  “No, Captain,” Lu shook her head resolutely, “I think it will enhance it. I have…my thoughts turn to them when we are separated. It may be selfish, but I wish for them to accompany me.”

  “You know the risks, Lu,” McKnight said dubiously. “I’m disinclined to agree to this…but I’m not going to argue with you. Too much hinges on this mission’s success for me to hold any of my people back from doing their level best. Permission granted.”

  “And may Helena accompany us?” Lu pressed

  McKnight nodded slowly, “I’m going to have to consider that before giving you my answer. The base’s auto-doctors are top notch, but she’s the closest thing we have to a living, breathing physician.”

  “I understand,” Lu Bu nodded, “I will respect your decision.”

  “Dismissed,” McKnight gestured to the door, and Lu Bu made her way to the cell where Largent had agreed to be housed during Captain McKnight’s deliberations.

  It took her a few minutes to arrive there, and when she did she found that the guard had been expecting her—and had already received the Captain’s orders to release Largent.

  The door swung open and Largent emerged into the corridor, stretching his arms high above his head luxuriously, “That was a good nap.”

  “You are in,” Lu Bu said matter-of-factly.

  “Of course I am,” he said with that same measure of infuriating smugness that she had come to both appreciate and despise during their brief time together. “But I imagine you’ll want to spend time with your kids for now, so if it’s all the same to you I’ll just rustle up some chow—“

  “Walk with me,” Lu Bu beckoned, and to her surprise he did so without any display of protest. “I need to know something about you…about us,” she amended, choosing her words carefully as she spoke. She was unaccustomed to beginning conversations in this fashion, and a sliced glance his way confirmed that he recognized—and seemingly enjoyed—her momentary discomfort, so she pushed through it and got to the point, “Why were we made?”

  “Why does anyone create art?”

  Of all the replies which she had anticipated prior to asking the question, she had never expected that one. “You compare us to paintings?”

  “More like living, breathing sculptures,” he said casually. “See, an artist is usually limited by the perspective of those who behold the art. Even interactive art like holo-vids can leave a tremendous amount of ‘meaning’ up to the audience to decide for themselves. What better way to make an artistic statement than by making a thinking, feeling creature whose actions will have undeniable consequences?”

  She scowled, “Are parents merely artists to you?”

  “Merely?” he recoiled in surprise. “I’m surprised you seem to take it as derogation. To me, artistry boils down to an attempt to influence the minds of others by exploiting the available mediums. It’s about spreading truth—or untruth, as it were—the most effective way an artist can, but to do so without long-winded statements on the relative merits or flaws of a given thing.”

  “You are insufferable,” she growled through gritted teeth, drawing a laugh from the enigmatic man.

  “You’ve got that right,” he agreed. “But that doesn’t make me wrong. Seriously, though,” he shook his head, “I don’t see us as anything more complicated than walking statues—or possibly dominoes in a long chain that was set up by someone a whale of a lot smarter than either of us tank-bred monkeys.”

  She considered that for a few minutes as they walked before concluding, “You think we are what we are, that we will do what we will do, and that we cannot claim ownership of our actions?”

  “Everything but the last bit, sure,” he shrugged. “If we don’t own our actions, who does?”

  “Even if you are right,” she resisted the urge to roll her eyes, “what is our purpose?”

  “To do what we do, and to be what we are,” he replied matter-of-factly. “And to think what we think, to feel what we feel, and to be honest to ourselves about who—and what—we are. Never apologize for your flaws because, much more so than your strengths, they’re what define you. Perfection’s overrated—you can go ahead and trust me on that one,” he said with unvarnished arrogance as he mimed the buffing of his fingernails on an imaginary lapel.

  “You are infuriating.”

  “I know it,” he flashed a false smile. “But it’s who I am, and I will apologize to no man for it.”

  “I am not a man.”

  “Now ain’t that just the cutest little retort I’ve ever heard,” he said with such condescension that she wanted to knock his teeth down his throat. Then they arrived at her quarters, and she bit back the dozen angry things she wanted to say to him.

  “Would you like to meet them?” she asked, watching his features intently as he seemed genuinely confused.

  “You mean your fellow militiamen? No thank you,” he said with an arrogant, dismissive gesture. “Had plenty of contact with their ilk in my time—none of them acquitted themselves all that well, if you know what I mean.”

  Now it was her turn to flash a false smile, “I thought you might have wanted to meet my children, but if you do not…“

  He looked taken aback at first, but quickly recovered, “Now that’s what I call a right proper ambush, Girly. Good for you,” he said approvingly before awkwardly adding, “I mean…yeah, I’d love to see them.”

  “Behave yourself,” she chided, turning her back and opening the door before he could get off yet another in his seemingly endless string of one-liners.

  The door opened and Lu Bu saw Helena within. The Tracto-an woman appeared to be studying some medical texts, while nearby all three of Lu Bu’s children were fast asleep.

  Helena looked up and place a finger in front of her lips, sparing a brief but patently unimpressed appraising look in Largent’s way, and Lu Bu silently nodded her thanks as she ushered the operator into the room.

  For his part, Largent moved with absolute—and uncanny—silence as he followed Lu Bu to the side of the childrens’ playpen-slash-crib, and when they arrived he drew a sharp breath which was only just audible.

  “It’s true…” he whispered as a dozen different emotions visibly flashed across his features. “Honestly, I thought you were playing some kind of game…but the telltales are all there,” he gestured to Su’s forehead, “slight protrusion of the cranial ridge; heavier cartilage in the ears; and the wide palms all indicate an accelerated growth rate.” Then he frowned, “This one’s growing faster than the others…how old are they?”

  “One year plus,” she replied.

  He cocked his head dubiously, “I guess it could be that some of the father’s junk material messed with the growth pattern—“

  She grabbed him by the ear—literally—and dragged him away from the playpen before hissing, “Do not speak of their father that way!”

  She released his ear and he feigned righteous indignation while clutching at the side of his head, but eventually he chuckled, “You misunderstand. You and I,” he gestured back and forth between them, “have zero extra DNA. Everyone else—including her,” he pointed to Helena, who looked on with apparent interest, “who I’m going to go ahead and guess is a g
ene-slave from one of the hidden MEN colonies—packs more ‘junk’ DNA than active DNA. It must be,” he mused, his eyes snapping back and forth as he spoke, “that some of the father’s junk—sorry, ‘extra’ DNA is interfering with their growth and development.”

  “How do you know about this?” she asked skeptically. “You are a mercenary.”

  “I am,” he grinned, “but I’m also something of a geneticist—or at least a genetics aficionado. We—meaning every single freed clone in the Empire,” he explained heavily as he cast his gaze back toward the children, “have been waiting a long…long time for this day.” He turned to Helena, only fractionally raising his voice as he continued to speak barely above a whisper, “Do they have any internal organ abnormalities?”

  Helena was clearly surprised, and gave Lu Bu a searching look to which Lu Bu nodded. “Kidney malformation,” she tilted her head toward Su, “but it is being treated.”

  “External growth stimulation treatments coupled with auto-stem-cell grafts,” he nodded. “Are you using CASE methodology or ICR?”

  Now Helena—and Fengxian—were thoroughly impressed, and the Tracto-an healer stood from the chair and replied, “ICR. CASE was contra-indicated due to—“

  “Due to the hyperactive nature of his endocrine tissues,” he finished for her with a quick nod. “Go monkeying around with CASE in a developing tank—sorry,” he caught himself and shot a muted look of apology Lu Bu’s way, “‘tank’ is just what we call ourselves. But yours are free-range and woman-born,” he whistled appreciatively. “Anyway, you made the right choice in selecting ICR. CASE would have done irreparable harm to this little guy’s pituitary, adrenals, and pancreas. Good call.”

  “It was not my call,” Helena said, sharing a brief but solemn look with Lu Bu as they recalled Dr. Middleton explaining the reason for employing the more invasive ICR procedure.