by Jason Gurley
I don't know, sir. Probably.
Fuck, Marcus. A little optimism wouldn't poison you, would it?
My apologies, sir. But they did detonate a moon. If anybody anywhere is still alive, I might be surprised.
Speaking of survivors, Mirs says. Have they found anything?
I've heard a rumor, Marcus says. Let me gather some facts.
Marcus nods curtly and leaves, pulling the door closed behind him.
If they're fucking alive, Mirs shouts, I want them to stop.
The door remains closed.
Goddammit, Mirs mutters, and leans back in his chair again.
• • •
The first time that Mirs was called before the Grand Council, he was asked to betray his mentor. He did so without hesitating, and was asked to assume responsibility for the Operative Corps. The Council was in its sixth iteration then. It was now in its eighth, with the passage of Councilman Jans.
Councilman Jans was perhaps Mirs's only friend on the Council.
His replacement was not so kind. Councilwoman Delah believed the Operative Corps's methods were primitive, violent for the sake of violence. What she didn't understand was the need for violent enforcement. When an operative is nine hundred million miles away from the Citadel, and faced with local revolution, violence is the only solution.
When the locals rebel, you put the locals down.
Mirs is called into the council chambers just after breakfast.
He turns to Marcus, who hands him a screenview.
If you hear gunfire, you come get me out, Mirs says, but the joke falls flat.
He leaves Marcus on the bench and heads inside.
The council chamber is the most opulent space on the Citadel. It smells of history and power, and is lit dimly enough that only the gold in the room glitters. Mirs is greeted just inside the doorway by Councilman Barat, who leads him across the grand foyer to the gallery.
The other three councilpersons sit behind high desks of marble and gold. The lighting in the room has been designed to leave their faces in shadow, while exposing the subject of their investigation -- today, Mirs himself.
Please, Barat says, indicating the marble seal in the center of the gallery.
Mirs stands there, exposed, while Barat disappears behind the desks. The councilman's footsteps echo in the chamber as he ascends the short staircase to his own desk. Once Barat is seated, Mirs fights a chill. The ostensibly friendly councilman, now draped in shadow, looks as cold as Death himself.
You're looking tired, Mr. Korski, says Councilwoman Delah.
Mirs bows his head. I sleep little these days, he confesses. There is much on my mind, and much to do.
Let's dispense with the chatter, says Councilman Orczyk. Mr. Korski, a report will start us off nicely.
Mirs nods, and produces the screenview. It illuminates and he opens the document Marcus has prepared for him.
Councilmen and women, Mirs says, nearly twelve weeks have passed since the event on Deimos. As you know, in the immediate aftermath, details were hard to come by, and my teams have worked around the clock ever since. We've taken quite a blow in the Operative Corps, as you all are well aware, and it is my expectation that the numbers will only grow larger in the coming weeks.
Quite a blow, you say, Delah says. How large now?
As of yesterday evening, Mirs says, we have four hundred forty-two confirmed deaths in the Corps. There are still some one hundred sixty operatives unaccounted for.
The unaccounted-for operatives, Barat says. Were they all assigned to Deimos?
About a third of them, Mirs answers. The rests were local operatives on Olympus.
All active-duty? asks Orczyk.
Most, says Mirs. Three were retired, and one was hospitalized and about to be decommissioned.
Councilman Lasiliac interrupts. These numbers are sobering, to be fair, but they pale beside the character assault that the Citadel has been subjected to. This attack -- this awful, malicious, unholy attack -- has weakened the good name of the Citadel throughout the system. The Operative Corps may be in dire straits, Mr. Korski, but this blow will spark uprisings -- very probably extremely violent uprisings -- throughout the entire goddamned system. We'll be feeling these effects for a very, very long time, and what I want to know, sir, is why your men weren't able to stop it.
I'm aware of the ripple effect this attack causes, sir. I'm also aware that the detonation of a moon -- particularly the moon in question -- seems like a very powerful demonstration, Mirs says. Might I point out, however, that Deimos was quite structurally unstable, sir, due to the mining operations ordered, if I recall, by your very own staff.
What are you saying? Lasiliac demands.
I'm saying, sir, that if you'd given me a single grenade, I could have found just the right place to pull the pin and blown up Deimos with little effort or calculation at all. What's more, sir, is that we don't fucking -- excuse me, I didn't mean to curse -- we don't know yet that this was an attack at all. We greatly suspect that it was, of course, but it could just as easily have been a terrible mining accident.
Councilwoman Delah leans forward. You think there's still a possibility this wasn't a planned attack?
No, Councilwoman, Mirs says. I think it's very likely we were attacked. I just don't have any proof.
You don't have any suspects? No leads at all? Lasiliac spouts.
Sir, Mirs says, there's no forensic evidence to go on. The moon itself is in pieces on the surface of Mars, and half of Mars is still under the deepest dust cloud anybody has ever seen. If there's evidence, it could literally be years before anybody is able to find it.
I don't know what to say, Councilman Barat says.
If I may, sir, Mirs says, this doesn't mean my men and women aren't actively pursuing leads. If someone did intentionally blow up Deimos and obliterate our capital city, I guarantee that there are others who know who did it. We'll find them. And I personally have sent my best team after the likeliest suspect.
The likeliest suspect, Orczyk repeats. And who is that?
A demolitions expert named Hatsuye Hayami, Mirs says. We've tangled with her before, and she's drawn blood. If there's a rebellion effort behind the explosion, then that bitch -- shit, pardon me again, please -- then Hayami is probably the woman behind it.
And if you find her?
Well, we won't spare her life, Mirs says. I can promise you that.
No, says Delah. If you find her, you'll bring her here. She'll stand right where you are now, Mr. Korski, and be accountable for her crimes.
Mirs laughs. I don't think so.
Delah looks surprised. What do you mean by that?
Hayami is not only a talented demolitions expert, Mirs says, she's also quite possibly insane. Seriously, verifiably insane. We've actually spoken to the man who built explosive prosthetics for her. Explosive prosthetics! The woman has blown off parts of her body before, and she replaced those parts with bombs. So no, I don't think I'll be bringing her to the council chamber, Councilwoman Delah. All due respect, that is.
Barat says, Mr. Korski, do you have anything else to report that the council would find valuable?
Mirs consults his screenview, then looks up. Yes, Councilman. Just one more item.
And that is? Barat asks.
Mirs stands a little straighter. We believe we've located Tasneem Kyoh's ship in the belt, sir.
• • •
Marcus falls into step with Mirs as he exits the chamber.
You didn't tell me, Mirs says.
No, sir, Marcus replies. I thought it might come as a pleasant surprise.
How did we find her?
The two men step rapidly through the council hall and out into the open. While other lawmakers bustle about, Marcus leans a little closer, and talks a little lower.
Flight data and a little mathematics, Marcus says. We picked up a flight log on Saffron for a woman believed to be part of Kyoh's crew.
What woman?
/> Marcus snaps his fingers. Newman, Newburn -- New-something, I forget.
Newsome?
That's the one, Marcus says.
Catrine Newsome, Mirs says. She's Kyoh's closest thing to a first officer, we think. You found her off-ship?
She landed at Saffron nearly four years ago, Marcus says. The docking data was rather interesting.
Four years ago? Jesus. Stop teasing me, Mirs says. Get on with it.
She was in a transport pod. Limited fuel to begin with, but she was on a dry tank when she docked.
Mirs nods. So you reverse-calculated her range, then checked Saffron's belt proximity logs from that period. Yes?
Marcus says, It's a little less surprising when you guess correctly.
Go on, then. You finish it.
That's what we did, Marcus says. We established a likely object as the Kyoh ship, then projected that object's current location. And we've got a similar readout on the object.
Give me the finisher, Mirs says, grinning.
Object has mild radiation bleed, Marcus says. It's a ship, alright.
After four fucking years, Mirs says. God damn. You've crewed a boarder, I assume?
Just needs your approval, sir.
Put Samir and Wallace on it, and get them out there now, Mirs says. If we can't find the bitch responsible for Deimos, the least we can do is bring Tasneem Kyoh in for war crimes. Nice work, Marcus. I don't know if you've noticed, but look closely -- I think the spring might just be back in my step.
Sir, Marcus says. I've got one better.
Mirs stops. Better than Kyoh?
We were able to trace Newsome's departure from Saffron, sir. She had four hops over the next four years -- a supply freighter called the Nero, then a satellite outpost over Phobos, then Skyresh.
That's three. You said four.
Sir, Marcus says. Newsome's fourth hop is the last one we've got.
Deimos?
Deimos, Marcus says. Three weeks before the event.
God fucking damn, Marcus, Mirs says. So Kyoh's behind it after all. Peaceful warrior, my ass.
It's likely, sir.
Bring her in, Marcus. And when you do, keep it quiet. I'll want a little chat with her before the council gets their hands on her.
Of course, sir.
Tasneem goddamn Kyoh, Mirs says. Champion of the Machine class, nightingale of revolutionary bullshit, and murderess of millions. Immortality won't save her this time. Go get her ass, Marcus. And don't be gentle. We've got an image to rebuild. Send a message with this one.
Marcus nods curtly, then trots away, a pleased blush spreading across his cheeks.
THE MACHINE
Deimos roused the Machiners, and in the months following the destruction of the moon and Olympus City, rebellions surged throughout the system. Tasneem listened aboard the Maasi, and protested the violence in her broadcasts, pleading with Machiners to spare the lives of the men they rose up against.
But this time nobody listened.
Citadel outposts began to fall, and fall hard. Blood was spilled, and primitive instincts surfaced. More than one Onyx head was piked and presented at the entrance to a moon base. Bodies were piled into crates and shipped to the inner system, where other Machiners made sure they passed through checkpoints all the way to the Citadel itself.
Tasneem's messages were ignored.
The Machiners sent their own messages, stamped and sealed with blood and bits of bone.
The chant was taken up on space stations and deep in mine shafts, on freighters and in spaceports, in cities and towns from the belt outward. Feed the Machine, they cried. Feed the Machine. Feed the Machine.
The Machine rebellion had truly begun.
EVELYN
BOOM.
The deep vibration stirs Evelyn from sleep.
Catrine is already awake, pulling her slippers on.
Was that one closer? Evelyn asks.
Catrine nods. A lot closer.
I'm not getting used to them, Evelyn says. Are you?
No, says Catrine.
Where are you going?
Out.
Wait, Evelyn says, sitting up. I'll come with you.
It's alright, Catrine says.
No, hang on, I'll --
It's fine, Catrine says, and she steps out of the compartment, sliding the door shut behind her.
Outside of the compound, the distant eruptions send continuous shock waves across the moon's surface. The compound is located in a vast plain, lonely and out of range of the nearest volcanoes. Evelyn doesn't trust this knowledge. On a moon with hundreds and hundreds of volcanoes, life seems anything but permanent.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Evelyn sighs. She gathers the blankets in her arms and pulls them around her, smothering herself in warmth, and tries to fall asleep.
• • •
There are two places that qualify as the last place anybody would think to look for anybody else, Evelyn says. Do you know where they are?
The child looks at Evelyn, wide-eyed and quizzical.
I'll take that as a no, Evelyn says. The first is the asteroid belt. Your Aunt Catrine knows something about that place. Right, Catrine?
Catrine ignores her.
And the second, my dear, is right here on Io. Did you know that?
The little girl shakes her head.
That's right, Evelyn says. You live in the best hideout in the entire solar system. That means you can do anything you want to, and nobody will bother you, or even know.
The girl smiles broadly.
You shouldn't make friends with them, Catrine mutters.
Go on now, Evelyn says, and the child scampers away. To Catrine, she says, And why not? What does it hurt?
They're getting attached to you, Evelyn. It's not good for them.
Evelyn frowns. Why not?
Children take loss pretty hard, Catrine says. Maybe you don't know that, since you grew up without ever losing anything.
That's not fair.
Well, then, I'm sorry.
You don't sound sorry.
Yeah. I'm not really sorry.
Evelyn rubs at her tired eyes. You want to tell me what's chewing you up?
Catrine takes a long swallow of water, then shakes her head. I really don't want to talk.
You're still mad about Hatsuye dragging you into this, aren't you.
Catrine levels her eyes at Evelyn. Nobody dragged me into anything, she says.
Then what --
Nobody told me anything, Evelyn. How hard is that to understand?
Evelyn leans back. What would it have changed? Would you have stayed behind?
Catrine says, I don't know. I certainly wouldn't have come along.
So you'd be dead now. You're okay with that.
It's better than being responsible for killing a few million innocent --
You didn't kill anybody, Evelyn says. That was Hatsuye. And me, if you need someone to blame who's actually, you know, breathing. We're responsible.
Catrine slaps her glass of water, sending it skittering off of the table. Jesus, Evelyn. You, then. They were innocent goddamned people! There were children! There were ordinary citizens! There were Machiners there, too. In fact, there were Machiners everywhere!
Every revolution requires loss, Evelyn says.
Oh, fuck you and your revolution, Catrine says.
Those losses meant something, Evelyn says. They mean everything, Catrine. They sent a message to the Citadel, to the Council.
Right, Catrine says. Just what did four million screaming people say?
Evelyn scoots closer. They said that we're serious, Catrine. They said we are so intent on winning our freedom that we are willing to sacrifice our own lives to achieve it.
But you didn't, Catrine protests. You didn't. You sacrificed someone else's lives, and you didn't give them a chance to --
Hatsuye did, Evelyn says. Hatsuye sacrificed hers.
Catrine grits her teeth. Hatsuye fucking deserved it.
Evelyn exhales slowly. I'll give you a moment to reconsider that.
I don't need a moment, Catrine snaps. If only someone had killed her before she had the chance to --
Evelyn launches herself at Catrine, and the two women tumble to the floor.
The fuck off of me, Catrine bellows, jumping to her feet.
Take it back, Evelyn shouts. Take it back!
Evelyn gets an arm around Catrine's neck, then leaps, wrapping her legs around the other woman's midsection. Catrine grunts, then plants her feet and lurches backward. Evelyn cries out as they slam against the wall, and both women stagger, then fall apart.
Would you knock that shit off?
Evelyn, breathing hard, lip bleeding, looks up at the man in the doorway. Sorry, Reverend, she says.
Catrine, flat on her back, arms splayed, agrees. Very sorry, sir.
The man's brow furrows. If I have to break up one more tussle, he says, you're both on the next cargo ship out. Understood?
Catrine looks at Evelyn, then up at the reverend. Understood.
He turns to Evelyn. Understood?
Evelyn nods her head. Yes, Reverend.
Good, he says.
When he is gone, Catrine says, If there is a next time, you better kill me.
Don't tempt me, Evelyn says.
Does he know? Catrine asks.
Evelyn shakes her head. No.
What did you tell him?
Evelyn struggles to catch her breath. The usual sob story, she says. You've got a shit husband, and I'm helping you hide out.
You think he suspects --
Of course he suspects, Evelyn says. That's the problem with usual sob stories.
But he doesn't care.
Not yet, he doesn't, says Evelyn. But that doesn't mean he won't later.
We gotta stop the fights, Catrine says. We can't afford to get kicked out.
You save your shit about Hatsuye, we won't fight.
I never asked, but -- you and Hatsuye, Catrine says. Did you -- were you --
As if you give a shit, Evelyn says. But yes. Sometimes.
Me, too, Catrine says. With Tasneem.
Evelyn raises herself up on her elbows. I didn't know that. And she threw you out?
Something like that, Catrine says. We don't have to talk about it. I just -- we're not that different.