"Yes. Meat is murder."
"Catchy slogan. Are you a complete vegetarian, or just grown meat?"
"I don't eat flesh, even if it was raised in a vat. I don't eat foods that have dairy products in them if I can help it."
Lan shrugged. "To each his own. I'm on the no-face diet, myself; I don't eat anything that has a face. I get steaks from the vats occasionally, expensive as it is; I like steak. Anyway, the kitchen does serve some completely vegetarian dishes, though they don't have a lot of variety. Lots of corn. This is your room, 314." He palmed the doorpad, and the door slid aside. Another sign of its age; Denice did not think doors had been built in her lifetime that did not curl open and shut to conserve space inside the wall. "Callia and I are down the hall in 308, it's a double. There's a library with real books up in 205--did Callia issue you a handheld?"
"Yes."
Lan nodded. "You can't call out, and you'll only have the general access Boards available to you. If you need anything else, ask me and I'll see about getting it for you."
"Thank you." On an impulse, Denice said, "Is Jimmy Ramirez here?"
"Ramirez--oh, the lawyer. No, he's at another site." Lan looked at her with interest. "How do you know him?"
"He's a friend of mine. He's one of the reasons I joined."
Lan nodded. "We all have our own share of reasons; we've all been damaged by the Unification in different ways. I lost my mother in the Speedfreak Rebellion; I lost my father to Public Labor, and never saw him again. At any rate, you may or may not see Ramirez; I wouldn't know." He paused again. "I take dinner at six, in the cafeteria. Join me if you like."
"I will. Thank you."
The room was small, a single bed with a small desk, holo projector, and attached bathroom. The bathroom lacked a tub, consisting of nothing more than a shower, sink, and toilet. There was no Net terminal. The closet held two sets of brown fatigues like the ones Lan and Callia Sierran had worn.
She had been wearing the same clothes--evening clothes appropriate for L'Express--since yesterday afternoon, and had not, under instruction, brought anything except her personal infochips with her.
She pulled one of the jumpsuits free, laid it on the bed, and stripped to take a shower.
Lan was correct about the sparsity of choice; corn fritters, bagels, and salad with a lemon dressing were all that she was able to eat off the menu. Everything else, the waitbots told her, had some sort of dairy product in it.
She had a salad and a dry bagel and a glass of orange juice.
Lan sat across the long table from her, and worked his way through a chicken casserole and an imported GoodBeer from St. Peter's CityState. "A pair of orientation lectures Monday, starting at 8:30 a.m.--you're getting the detail orientation, along with a Reb operative named Aguirre who recently deserted from a Space Force Black Shadows commando team. More or less a need to know basis; we'll have about thirty people there for the first section of the orientation, covering what will be expected of them when we move. Callia will give that briefing. The second half starts at ten; that'll be you and Aguirre and Domino. A lot of the questions I know you have will get answered during the second half of orientation."
"Nobody has convinced me yet," said Denice softly, "that you have any great chance of success."
Lan grinned at her. "'Great'? What do you want, fifty percent? You won't get it. You want ten percent? That we can offer. A lot of things have to fall right for this to work, and an awful lot of people are going to die before we get there, possibly including both of us. We--the Claw, I mean--have one of the oldest, smartest, toughest replicant AIs in the System working with us on this; we've run simulations at levels of detail that would make your head spin. As of this morning's simulation, we're at twelve percent possibility of success. That's up from about three percent two months ago."
"What changed? Obodi?"
Lan blinked. "How do you--never mind, I forgot where you came from. You probably know things about the Rebs I don't."
"Could be."
"At any rate, you're right. Tommy Boone was a fool and an ideolog. Not a practical man." Denice had the impression Lan had just insulted the dead man with the worst condemnation in his vocabulary. "Obodi is--well, different at any rate. I've only heard him speak once." Lan was silent a moment, beer in one hand. Denice was not certain what he was looking at; certainly not her. He gave himself a shake. "Fascinating speaker. Persuaded us and our AI that he was the best chance we'd see this century."
"At the rate you're recruiting, you must be expecting to move soon."
Lan Sierran finished his beer, licked his lips and said simply, "Six weeks exactly. The date everyone expects."
It was Saturdaygooddate, May 23, 2076.
On Monday, at Elite Headquarters in Paris, France, Elite Commissionaire Mohammed Vance stood before a hall filled with better than a hundred PKF Elite. He wore his dress blacks, the black and silver uniform which nobody on Earth but an Elite might wear.
"There are occasions," said Vance quietly, the deep rumble of his voice grave and measured, "when it is appropriate to recall the purpose of the Peace Keeping Force. What the traditions are; why you have dedicated your lives, and, I know many of you feel, some measure of your humanity, to a world which often repays your dedication with hate and distrust.
"We were born in the heat of the Unification. The Peace Keeping Force which fought for Sarah Almundsen, fought under Jules Moreau, consisted of soldiers who saw in the Unification of Earth the only hope for the survival of humanity. Cast back to what you have been taught of those days. The planet's ozone layer was damaged, and no one country possessed the resources or political will to repair it. Species were vanishing into extinction at a rate unprecedented in geological history. The population of the planet was nine and one-half billion persons.
"The planet," said Mohammed Vance, "was dying."
"Why fight?" Callia Sierran stood in front of the crowd, laser rifle hung across her back, and looked out across the thirty-odd assembled rebels. "Why risk your lives--lose them, many of you, in combat with PKF--when things are, most places, most of the time, pretty good?"
Silence from the audience.
"Let's start with recent events before we get into history. Six days ago the Unification Council passed a bill you may have heard about. It's been called the AI Property bill. It had some questionable language, which those of you who read DateLine may know. Shawmac hit most of the relevant points, but here's one he missed; a close reading of the text reveals that, Eighth Amendment to the Statement of Principles be damned, genies are no longer human beings. The exclusionary language specifically defines anything designed before birth as non-human. This clearly includes virtually every true genie, and may include anyone whose parents had them modified genetically before their birth, even for trivial things like improving resistance to cancer, or giving the child perfect eyesight.
"This may not stand up in court, and it will certainly be challenged. However--" her voice cut like a whip "--the Right of Seizure provisions likely will stand up. As of Tuesday before last, the PKF can enter your home without so much as a Ticket of Entry from a Unification Circuit Court judge; can take the clothes off your back, the car out of your garage, the paintings off your wall and the food out of your kitchen field, without a court order, without any judicial review, without anything except some moderately trivial data entry to record their intentions. They can assert, without judicial review, that your home is the property of a replicant AI or other non-human intelligence, and without being required to prove it can confiscate your home and kick your worthless ass out on the street along with your wife and children, your aged parents, and your dog.
"Since last Tuesday the twelfth."
"This is why we fight.
"This is why we risk our lives."
The holos washed over the watching ranks of PKF Elite. Images of the great battles of the Unification War, of men and women marching into battle wearing the uniform of the Peace Keeping Forces; of
PKF dead on the fields of battle. An image of a Peaceforcer whose name would never be known, taken by a comrade who had joined him in death moments later; during the battle with the United States Marine Corps. for America's orbital satellites.
"The United States of America," said Mohammed Vance, "was once the greatest military power in history. Its population was armed as no population had been armed in all the history of the world. Only our seizure of the orbital laser cannon prevented them from unleashing a firestorm of nuclear retaliation upon the rest of the world. In that battle, and in the ground battles that followed, concluding with the Battle of Yorktown, better than two million soldiers of the Peace Keeping Forces died. They died in the belief that nationalism was a disease, a disease from the childhood of the race, a disease that was killing Earth itself. They were largely French and Chinese and Brazilian, but there were citizens of every nation on Earth; many of them were Americans, members of the American Air Force and Navy. Once under the uniform of the PKF, they became soldiers of the Unification, citizens of Earth. In their sacrifice, they saved a world. They saved us. Every person in this room is here today because the PKF who preceded us laid their lives down, often in combat against members of their own family who had chosen to fight on the other side of the question.
"Our function," said Mohammed Vance, "is to keep the peace, to prevent war. No more, no less. We do not administer justice; we do not right wrongs; we do not catch criminals. We prevent war.
"Today we are presented with a great dilemma. In the near future, it may be that you will be called upon to decide where your loyalties lie. I do not speak of loyalty to France; it is assumed that your loyalties to the Unification come first, and I will not insult your honor with that question you decided when you joined the PKF.
"There are," said Mohammed Vance, "enemies within the Unification itself.
"At the very highest levels."
"Okay. Why fight? You all have your reasons; I'll tell you mine." Callia was silent for a moment; Denice, standing toward the rear of the room with Lan, noticed the grim expression crossing Lan's features. "My brother and I are members of the Erisian Claw. We came into the Claw in the summer of '63, thirteen years ago. I was seventeen years old and my brother was ten. Our mother was a Speedfreak, an L.A. native who lived for her car. You may remember the motto: Faster, faster, faster, until the thrill of speed overcomes the fear of death. That was our mother in a sentence; her traveling name was Angel de Luz. She was a notorious Speedfreak. By contrast our father, Pedro Sierran, was a quiet man. He didn't like loud noises or fast cars. Angel de Luz survived the Speedfreak Rebellion; after Weather Control sent most of the '63 Long Run to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, the PKF rounded up and executed the 'ringleaders.' My mother was one of them. They executed her with the holocams running and then leaked the images to the Boards. I knew she'd been executed; but you know how I found out about the release of the holos to the Boards? My father and I woke up about six in the morning because my ten-year old brother was screaming at the top of his lungs. He'd tuned to one of the French news Boards that had decided to show the executions. He didn't even know his mother was being executed, we hadn't told him.
"Lan had fainted by the time we got to his room. We roused him, but he couldn't talk; he didn't speak for over a year after that. As a result of that he never got to say goodbye to our father; about two weeks later a pair of Ministry of Population Control agents and a PKF Elite came and took him away and put him into Public Labor.
"We never saw him again. Pedro Sierran hung himself with his shoelaces in a Public Labor cell.
"My parents were devout Erisians. The babyburners said they would come back for me and my brother; I didn't wait. I took Lan down to the Temple and told them what had happened, and asked for asylum. They gave it to us. Since then I have, with my own hands, killed two Peaceforcers and seven babyburners.
"I," said Callia Sierran, "am a devout Erisian. It grieves me that I have had to kill. I have never killed for revenge, and I have never killed for hatred. If those are your motivations for being here, you need to rethink your commitment. Why fight? I'll tell you my answer. We fight because injustice has been inflicted upon us. We fight so that it will not happen again. I am not much of a nationalist; I'm a poor American and that's probably why I'm a member of the Claw rather than a Reb. But the world we live in today is an unjust world; and it is growing more so.
"That's why we fight."
Vance said, "We will move on to practical matters.
"The likeliest time for an insurrection in Occupied America is on or about July the Fourth. We have begun moving troops into O.A. in anticipation of such an insurrection. Aside from isolated spots near Capitol City, notably areas such as the city of Philadelphia which are associated with some element of the original American Revolution, most of the genuine trouble we will experience will arise on the West Coast. Much of the West Coast has never accepted full TransCon Automated Traffic Control; an idiotic decision in the Unification Council, in 2065, stated that personally operable cars were an integral element of the indigenous culture of the West Coast, and should be preserved. Though they are rarely used except for show, virtually every vehicle sold on the West Coast possesses a steering wheel. It makes it nearly impossible for us to completely immobilize the populace as we would in most other regions across the world. This is the logical place for the Reb/Claw alliance to begin operations, and it is where our simulations generally place the beginning of hostilities.
"Troops are being moved into location throughout much of the American southwest in anticipation. Further, Space Force has prepared to drop ground troops from orbit on short notice. When the moment comes, we will be prepared."
"When the moment comes?"
Vance looked toward the rear of the hall, toward the Elite who had asked the question. "You are?"
"Elite Captain Luc Rinauden, Commissionaire." The tall blond Elite stood stiffly at attention as he addressed Vance. "I have, sir, served in Occupied America. In the past, when the Rebs grew at too swift a pace, we went into the organization and brain-drained Rebs one after the other until the organization was in such shambles that nothing useful could be done with it. Why, sir, may I ask, is this course which has proven so successful in the past, not being taken again?"
"Elite Captain," said Mohammed Vance, "before such a course can be embarked upon, the office of the Secretary General must give its approval. Surely you are aware of this."
"And has the Secretary General's office refused its permission?"
Vance spoke across the hall to the man. "As I said, Elite Captain Rinauden--let us move on to practical matters."
Callia Sierran paced restlessly back and forth in front of the group.
"We've analyzed the last real war extensively. That's the Unification War, and it's been over fifty years since that ended; but it is the only war fought with weapons anything like what we have today. In its basics the war we must fight is similar to the war our grandparents fought and lost. The Unification has the orbital laser cannon, and the Unification has the manpower, and the Unification has the thermonuclear weapons. And tanks and air power and waldoes and smart bombs and all the rest. Due to their small numbers, we think we can neutralize the laser cannon. We also think they won't dare use nukes on territory which holds loyal Unification citizens--and popular though our cause is, the territory we take will hold such citizens, make no mistake. They will make holding territory difficult for us--but they will make it difficult for the Unification to use anything but low-yield tactical nukes on us, and the Unification doesn't actually have a lot of tacnukes available. They've been preparing for a war with the SpaceFarers' Collective and the Alliance of Belt CityStates; the war we are going to bring to them is one they are not well prepared for. The miscellany--and that's what the tanks and aircraft consist of, though you'd have to work through our simulations to believe me--the miscellany we have means of dealing with."
Callia paused, took a deep breath, and plun
ged ahead. "There is one weapon the Unification possesses today which it did not possess during the Unification War. I am speaking of the Peaceforcers Elite. They're not impossible to kill; we've killed seven in the last thirty years. But--"
A man in the back interrupted her. "Seven?"
Callia could have kissed him for reminding her of something she'd nearly forgotten. "It's in the Unification's best interests to make the PKF Elite look invulnerable. They're not," she said sharply. "But as a result Elite deaths have always been hushed up. Until Emile Garon got himself killed chasing Trent the Uncatchable, back in '69, they'd successfully hushed up four Elite on-duty deaths. In Garon's case they couldn't hush it up; half the spyeyes in New York were watching when he came down off that spacescraper." She grinned suddenly. "If Trent the Uncatchable is to be believed, the number of Elite who've died in the line of duty is actually eight; he claims to have drowned one back in '62, when he was eleven years old. We have no documentation for that one, though, and Trent's a notorious liar, so we don't count it." The grin faded. "The fact remains; Elite can be killed, but it's awfully damn hard. The times we've managed it we've used high explosives; not very useful in a pitched battle. Trent may have drowned one and then did drop the other off a spacescraper, which is even less practical. If we are to have any chance against the Unification, we must be able to neutralize the PKF Elite." Without any change of expression she reached over her shoulder and slid the laser rifle strapped across her back from its shoulder.
The rifle was brutally chopped, shorter than any laser rifle anyone there had ever seen; the beam aperture was wider than normal, and slightly flared. "This weapon," she said softly, "is incredibly limited in what it does. It won't fire continuously. It fires in X-laser range, but unless you catch them in the eyes a normal X-laser won't do much damage to an Elite because of the superconductor webbing laced into their skin. So, in and of itself the weapon's frequency is nothing special. You get only six shots per minute, and when you've fired it between twenty-five and thirty times it turns into a stick. As a weapon it's badly balanced and difficult to aim with any degree of accuracy. It won't work in heavy rain and the beam's not very tight; get past about sixty meters and you're wasting your time even attempting a shot. At that distance you'll probably miss and if you do hit your target he'll just get pissed off. Forty meters is better and twenty is optimal, which, at the speed a PKF Elite moves, gives you about half a second to get a shot off before he kills you." She held the rifle up so that the people in back could see and said loudly, "But! Terrible though this kludged piece of crap is, it does one thing no other weapon in the System does, and it does it reliably, and it does it every time."
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