Callisto Deception

by John Read

  “I’d like to say a few words to the people of our fine town,” H3 said, placing a hand on James’s shoulder, his words half picked up by the microphone, half resonating off the walls.

  “Of course,” James said, and stood back.

  H3 centered himself on the podium. “My name is Henry Allen,” he paused to place the ball cap on a shelf within the pulpit then said, “the Third.”

  There was a commotion as people whispered to each other.

  H3 looked around the room, took a deep breath, and continued, “As you can tell, I’m new here. And not just to Clydesdale, but to Callisto. My spacecraft is docked right outside your fine town.”

  More commotion. H3 smiled and put up his hand before continuing. “You probably want to know my story.” He rested a hand on each side of the podium and leaned forward, eyes scanning the now silent crowd. “After the impact, I went to Mars to save my colony. I wanted to make peace, but I failed and barely escaped with my life.”

  He paused, letting people’s imaginations fill in any gaps. “I’m familiar with your local issues, the stray animals, the zoning rules, time-credit inflation and all the gobble-dy-gook, but that’s not why Dr. Thomson and Dr. Orville nominated me. They nominated me not just to represent Clydesdale, but for the betterment of the entire colony. We’ve got bigger issues than just this town. We live on a world where only four inches of flex-glass separate us from the vacuum of space, and Jupiter’s radiation. It’s a dangerous universe out there. We need leadership willing to face those challenges head on.”

  “Are you a Doomsdayer?” someone yelled.

  “Yes, I was,” H3 said. “The wealthiest of them all actually, which is why I went to Mars, to be with my people. The residents of the Harmony Colony were my employees. I was responsible for them. It was only right for me to join them.” He paused, as if giving his former employees a moment of silence. “But as I said, I failed. The Alliance ships entered Mars’ orbit with their detachment of ‘survivors’.” H3 paused to make air quotes. “These weren’t common people like yourselves, but the CA’s entire elite class, and their guards! They sent a scouting force to the surface and blew up one of our domes, killing thousands.”

  H3 leaned forward, his lips millimeters from the microphone. “Here’s the deal, citizens of Clydesdale. The Communist Alliance won’t be content to stay on Mars. Mars has no universal constructor. It has overcrowded domes. They’re going to want to come here, and we’d better be ready for them.”

  Hoshi had told them to fear the AI, taught them to fear space. Now, H3 was giving them a new thing to fear, and he would use that to his advantage. He let the commotion grow then silenced it with few taps on the microphone.

  “When you vote, don’t just think of Clydesdale, think of who will keep you safe. We’re in space, people, and there’s no place to hide.”

  Dozens of people spoke at once, raising their hands and shouting. James stepped forward, and yelled, “One question at a time, please.” He held up his arm, until the people in the room who wanted to speak did the same.

  “I want specifics,” said a woman.

  We’ll keep tabs on the Alliance,” H3 said. “We’ll send reconnaissance ships to spy on Mars. And if they try to take our colony, by God we’ll defend it! A vote for me is a vote for your very survival!”

  “This colony is huge!” a man shouted. “We should welcome all humans here with open arms!”

  “Why yes of course we could, and in any other situation, of course we should,” H3 said, “but you need to understand the reality of the current situation. The Communists will be happy to share this fine colony with you, but on their terms. There’ll be no more democracy, and no more freedom. You and your children will serve their flag. Your values will be their values, or you will die. Don’t you remember what happened on Earth, when the Alliance republics cut themselves off like North Korea before the Great Reunion? Defectors watched their family’s deaths broadcast over the internet. Towns were burned to the ground! You don’t need to be reminded of what the Alliance is capable of.”

  H3 breathed heavily before slouching back, his rant exhausting at least some of his energy. He stepped off the podium, walking down the aisle with the confidence of a CEO. A murmuring returned as the people of Clydesdale contemplated their fate under a cruel dictatorship.

  James returned to the podium. “I don’t quite know how to follow that,” he said. “Are there any other orders of business?”

  “Open the polls,” someone yelled.

  James glanced at a clock on the wall, looking for some reason to delay, but there was none. “Ah, yes, please, ah, go ahead.” He nodded to a clerk in charge of overseeing the election.

  Around the room watches buzzed, and citizens stared at their screens and scrolled through the ballet. Marie did the same. H3’s name was listed at the bottom, having been added at the last moment. She took a breath, still stewing in anger over the truths she knew James held secret. She tapped H3’s name and confirmed her vote.

  H3 himself pulled out a gold pocket watch, on a six-inch silver chain, and watched something on its screen for the next five minutes as votes poured in. It was as if he was so sure of winning, he didn’t even bother to watch the tally of votes appearing on the projection behind the podium.

  As the last votes trickled in, the result was uncontestable: Henry Allen the Third would represent Clydesdale.

  H3 stood at the helm on the top-deck of the pleasure craft. Marie stood at his side, the wind blowing the curls from her face. The yacht was ornately decorated with fiber-wood paneling, while tables and chairs rose from a bamboo floor. Aerodynamic awnings covered the cockpit, made from interlocking sails. This gave the boat the look of a sailing ship whose mast had folded in on itself, as if designed for supersonic flight.

  They berthed at Newport marina and walked toward town on cobblestone streets. Several hundred citizens whizzed by on hydrogen Vespas while others peddled fixed-gear bicycles.

  Marie and H3 strode to Government House, subjectively the nicest building in Newport. The building was made of stone, taking two years to build, versus the days it took to print a typical structure. They stepped into an elaborate lobby with a red carpet running up parallel staircases, and climbed to the session chamber located on the second floor.

  Double doors opened to an auditorium, its walls decorated with portraits of old world leaders. A domed ceiling of Renaissance art and wood carvings rose fifteen meters above the floor. Rows of desks on arching levels surrounded an oval platform. At the front of the room, three executive desks rested on elevated pedestals. A holovision behind the central desk, Hoshi’s, displayed the agenda for the day’s council meeting.

  Hoshi sat alone as Marie and H3 entered. The reserved woman leaned over a leather notebook, making notes on her tablet.

  "You're early," Hoshi said, without looking up. "Session does not begin until nine."

  "I'm always early,” H3 said. “It helps me finish before others have begun."

  "You two clearly know each other," Marie stated.

  Hoshi stopped writing, but did not look up. “Your theory about an Alliance invasion precedes you.” As if at great expense, Hoshi lifted her gaze.

  "I learned from the master," H3 said.

  The other representatives filed into the room, locking eyes with H3 as they took their seats. A camera broadcasted the meeting to any interested colonists, while a holovision off to the side, projected a mirror image of the chamber. Marie looked at HV, and was thankful she appeared as one among many.

  At 9 a.m., Hoshi banged a gavel, silencing the room with one loud crack. “The meeting will come to order.” She scanned the room, and then said, “Are there any changes to the minutes from our last meeting?”

  Marie looked over at H3, who was rolling his eyes.

  “If not, I’d like to welcome, and congratulate, all the new members to the council; please give them a round of applause.” Hoshi let the applause ring for no longer than five seconds, before
hitting the gavel again. Marie wondered how this woman maintained power. Apparently, the citizens of her home district, Newport, respected her efficiency.

  "First order of business, establishment of zoning rules for Newport’s waterfront—"

  "First order of business,” H3 interrupted. “I’d like to put forth a motion.” His voice echoed across the walls, followed by a silence that made Marie hold her breath. Hoshi’s eyes burned with anger; she reached for her gavel, then retracted her hand for there was no need of a gavel in a silent room.

  There was a reason no one broke the silence. They were expecting a speech.

  H3 scanned the room. “I've read this colony’s laws, laws that were written in this very room, laws that were supposed to ensure the good governance of this civilization. However, these laws are insufficient."

  “This can wait, Henry,” Hoshi said.

  “No, the zoning can wait,” H3 said. “I’d like to work as soon as possible to provide our citizens with peace, security, and prosperity. I was elected to insure the good government of this civilization. And that includes its safety.”

  “You haven’t even been sworn in,” Hoshi said.

  “A technicality,” H3 said. “In the interest of expediting matters, I recommend we suspend these archaic formalities, indefinitely.”

  "Agreed," said a man to Marie’s left. “Motion to skip the ceremonies. We’ve got more important things to discuss.”

  The name plate on his desk read “Sherman T. Matthews, Lakeview District.” He continued, “I heard what he said in Clydesdale; if he’s right, we’ve got no time to waste.”

  “Seconded,” said a woman whose desk plate read “Sarah Collins, Florence District.”

  “Well congratulations, Henry,” Hoshi said. “You’ve overthrown one of the only traditions we have, not to mention Robert’s rules of order. Are you going to keep interrupting, or can we get on with new business?”

  “New business,” H3 said. “Motion to let me have the floor.”

  “Approved!” Sherman yelled.

  “Seconded!” said Sarah Collins from Florence District.

  There was a commotion, and Hoshi banged her gavel three times. “That’s not how this works!” she said.

  “It is now,” H3 said, letting his gaze wander, making eye contact with the other representatives. “I’d like to direct your attention to the display for a moment. I want to show you something.”

  H3 retrieved something from his pocket. He held the object up for the room to see. It was a gold pocket watch, connected by a six-inch silver chain that formed a loop around his thumb. He placed the watch on his desk, which lit up as it received data from the device. With a sweeping gesture, H3 transferred a video to the holovision located above Hoshi’s head. Hoshi directed her eyes to her desk which mirrored the presentation.

  “This is video from a security camera on Mars,” H3 said.

  The projection showed a wide-angle view of a pavilion. Debris from some unknown source exploded onto the floor, covering mosaic tiles with a crest that read “Alamo”. Two crushed police cars sat with punctured tires and crushed roofs. Suddenly, bullets ripped into the vehicles, and one of the doors fell off. The scene was so vivid, it took Marie a moment to realize there was no sound.

  Police officers took cover behind their cars, while civilians ran diagonally to the line of fire, several of them taking hits. They ran toward a set of doors held open by a rectangular wedge. The words “Tram Station” were embedded in marble above the door.

  A police officer went down, his weapon sliding several feet along the ground. Even with the officer clearly incapacitated, bullets continued to score the surrounding floor and walls, as if the attackers acted from vengeance.

  Marie checked the community feed. The view count had spiked north of 4,000. Over half the colony was watching.

  “Look here, and here,” H3 said, tapping his desk, highlighting one quadrant and zooming in. Soldiers in military spacesuits took up position behind pillars, firing shots at the police and civilians running through the scene.

  “Those officers are using cross bows! The civilians have spears and bats,” Sherman said, pointing at the display. “This is unreal!”

  “There were no guns on Mars,” H3 said. “Not until the Alliance arrived. We printed these defensive weapons from primitive designs before they shut off the power.”

  “This has to be fake!” someone yelled.

  “Run a VR detector. I assure you, this video has not been tampered with.”

  “It checks out,” said a young man seated next to the Lake View Representative.

  On the screen, a barrier rose, sealing off the pavilion from the rest of the colony. A solider in a spacesuit tore away the panel that had propped the Tram Station door. Seconds later, the remaining civilians held their necks, and fell to the ground.

  “The Alliance suffocated them,” H3 said. “All of them. The attacking force wore spacesuits. When they were done, all they had to do was clean up the mess. The colony was theirs. As long as you didn’t resist, you were allowed to live. I stayed on Mars for a while, trying to negotiate from my safe room. It was useless. I used my escape pod to rendezvous with my spaceship, hidden on Phobos.”

  Marie glanced once more at the feed. 6,000 people had tuned in.

  H3 removed his watch from the desk and put it back in his pocket. “Now, as I’m sure you realize, one thing is clear …” he paused, half expecting someone to complete his sentence, but the room maintained its awestruck silence.

  “And what’s that?” Hoshi said, feigning boredom, the only person in the room seemingly unmoved by H3’s presentation.

  H3 stood up, and looked around. “Callisto needs an army.”

  “Absolutely not!” Hoshi shot back.

  The room erupted in shouts. “Why not?” several representatives shouted at once.

  “Because the Doomsdayers were pacifists,” someone taunted.

  “They’re not all Doomsdayers!” another representative shot back.

  Hoshi banged her gavel until the room quieted down, then spoke, “The founders of this colony would never have agreed to this.”

  “And by founders, you mean yourself!” said the representative from Lakeview, before continuing, “There are a thousand reasons we need an army, and your only objection is, ‘the founders would never agree’?” he paused. “Motion for a referendum on the creation of an army.”

  “Seconded,” someone shouted.

  The room went silent.

  “How are we supposed to pay for this army?” said a small old man from the back of the room. “Last I checked, we can’t print time credits.”

  H3 turned to face the small man, and looked at him over his glasses. “You collect taxes, don’t you?” he said. “Treasury Secretary, how much are our taxes?”

  “Flat tax, ten percent time credit,” said a middle-aged lady dressed like an accountant. “One hour per day for each working citizen.”

  “Make it fifteen percent,” H3 said, doing some mental math, a skill refined by all the best CEOs. “We have five thousand working people here. The extra half hour will more than fund our little army.”

  “You make it sound simple,” Hoshi said.

  “This is war. It is simple,” H3 said, calling up a spreadsheet application on the primary display. “We’ll pay our volunteer soldiers two credit-hours per day.” He paused to add in a few figures, with a steady hand. His fingers twitched like typewriter arms smacking inked letters onto a fresh manuscript. “Budget another credit hour for miscellaneous expenses ... A standing army of four hundred soldiers should cost us less than,” he paused to finish his calculations. The fully itemized entire budget appeared on the screen. “... twelve hundred credit hours per day.”

  “Your economic analysis is naive,” Sherman said. “War has never been this—cheap!”

  “I have simply modified the economics to fit our unique situation,” H3 said, “We’re the underdogs here, like rebels fighting the empire.
” H3 sat down, having given the council members much to contemplate. The room erupted in murmurs, and once more Hoshi was forced to use her gavel.

  “We’ll take a three-hour recess while you prepare the statutes,” Hoshi said.

  The council members stood and began moving toward the exits.

  “An army requires soldiers,” Marie said. “You’re going to have to recruit.”

  “Nothing unifies a people like the prospect of war,” H3 said with a smile.

  “I expect our enlistment numbers will be overwhelming.”

  The council reconvened after the recess. “Are the statues complete?” Hoshi asked the room.

  “Statues are complete, and the publication is ready for distribution,” said the secretary, a young man seated in the corner of the room.

  “Let them vote,” said Hoshi.

  “Opening the polls,” said the secretary, glancing up in anticipation of a response from the room. A moment later, everyone’s watches chimed in unison. “Poll’s open,” he confirmed.

  Around Callisto, the population stopped what it was doing, with watches overriding any “Do not disturb” modes.

  Democracy would not be interrupted.

  Marie extracted the screen from her wristwatch and scrolled through the proposition labeled:

  “Referendum on the establishment of the Callisto Defense Force.”

  At the end of the document, which was perhaps a dozen pages long, there were three buttons: green, which was marked “yea”, a red box marked “nay”, and grey box marked “abstain”. Marie looked around the room and saw the others casting their votes.

  Did she fully understand what they were about to do? Did anyone? Marie thought back over past wars. She was at George Washington University when Gulf War Three raged in the Middle East. The school had taken in several hundred refugee students, many of whom were the only ones left of their families.