He tossed it back to Viekko who smiled. “It takes some gettin’ used to.” He raised the flask and said, “Here’s to a successful mission. To nobody gettin’ killed and...to a new member of the Human Reconnection Project.”
Cronus blinked. “You mean it? What about Isra?”
“She has a way about her, but she don’t always mean what she says. Besides, you did good at the end. She can be reasoned with.”
“Viekko!” yelled Isra through the open hatch of the hibernation chamber.
“In the same way one might reason with a sandstorm,” said Viekko. He took another drink since being caught was inevitable.
Isra shot through the hatch and caught herself on a handle attached near the door. “Viekko, are you in here?”
Viekko raised the flask. “Isra, good to see you. Hell of a mission, eh? Join us for a drink?”
Isra glared at the little metal container as if it had personally insulted her. “No, thank you. I do not want to know where you got that. Anyway, I am here to give you an order.”
Viekko ran his hand down the length of his queue. “Oh good. I was floating here worried that—”
“Viekko Spade, I hereby order you enroll in and complete a triple-T rehabilitation program upon your return to Earth. What happened down there was unacceptable and I will not have a man I brought on for security running around strung out on some super-drug. You will enroll, you will complete it and you will submit to a complete screening and physical assessment before you are cleared for another mission. Is that clear?”
“As a brilliant, starry night.”
Isra floated forward until she was too close to his face. “I mean it, Viekko. Clean up your act or I will toss you out and leave you to die in some gutter on Earth. You have the occasional ability to make situations slightly less dangerous and that is the only reason I did not shoot you myself.”
Despite Isra’s proximity, he managed to get the flask to his lips. “Understood.”
Isra spun around to face Cronus. “As for you, once we get back to Earth, I want you to report immediately to Ministry security for clearance and a background scan. You will also schedule a medical examination as quickly as possible. We will be scheduling a new mission soon and I expect you to be better prepared than you were for this one.”
Cronus nodded so fast that his head was in danger of disconnecting from the rest of his body.
Isra looked both men over and, satisfied with her work, spun around and launched herself toward the hatch.
She grabbed the handle at the door. “Cronus, one more thing.”
Cronus gulped.
Isra spent a moment looking at the little man floating in front of her. “You are not entirely useless.”
Cronus relaxed.
“But if you ever cross me or otherwise undermine my work again, I will throw you out an airlock and see how long you can hold your breath.”
Cronus's entire posture again had the tension of a guitar string. “Yes…yes. I’m sorry. Absolutely.”
With that, she pulled herself out of the hibernation chamber and went about her business of terrorizing some other hapless victim.
Viekko shook his head. “Coming from Isra Jicarillo, that was a hell of a compliment. It was beautiful. Seriously, I might cry a little.”
Cronus watched the hatch close behind Isra. “I suspect that is the nicest thing she will say to me. But that is okay. I should go; I should retrieve the data I saved from the pyramid in case someone stumbles across it.”
Viekko raised the flask as Cronus left. “What are the chances they find it?”
Cronus smiled. “Almost zero. But why take a chance if no chance is necessary? Besides, if I can download what I have now, I can start the processors on it during hibernation. I should have results before I wake. See you on Earth, Viekko Spade.”
Viekko watched the man open the hatch and pull himself through. As he did, Althea came from the other direction.
She pulled herself inside and looked at the flask. “Oh you’ve got to be bloody kidding me Viekko.”
Viekko tried to relax again. “That’s why I’m in here. Didn’t think anyone would come lookin’. Turns out I might as well have posted a kharaasan sign outside. Care for a drink?”
Althea sighed. “Sure. Why not?”
Viekko tossed her the flask. She took a couple hefty swallows from it.
“Something on your mind, Althea?” asked Viekko, watching her.
She screwed the top back on and coughed a little. “Nothing much. I just…I wonder if we did the right thing.”
Althea tossed the flask back to him. He started to unscrew it. “Couldn’t say what the right thing is. We completed our mission, that’s all that matters.”
“Come on, Viekko. You heard what Laban said, so don’t play dense. Trading labor for passage back to Earth? You know as well as I do what is going to happen. They will demand thousands of tons of methane, ethane and propane for a single ride. People like Halifaco and the Houston will secure their own freedom first. A few leaders will follow. Meanwhile, the Corporation will import more desperate people onto the moon and force them into indentured servitude that they will never pay off. When we arrived, roughly half the population of Titan were slaves. Now that we are leaving almost all of them are. Bloody good job if I do say so myself.”
Viekko shrugged and took a drink. “They worship the Corporation. I understand that being a servant to a god is one of the great pleasures in life.”
Althea had to laugh as Viekko tossed the flask back to her. “I knew you were cynical, but…his is not the same thing at all, and you know it.”
“I suppose that’s a matter of theological debate. I wouldn’t worry about it, Althea. The Titanians drove off the last invaders before the Fall. The Corporation knows that or they will know it soon enough. The Ministry wants to conduct their own operations there as well, and that means that the Corporation will be on their best behavior for a few years. Just until the money can find the right pockets, at least.”
Althea took a drink. “You know what I love about you, Viekko? Your sunny disposition.”
He smiled, “There will be another Halifaco someday. Some upstart kid will gather a force and fight the Corporation. They’ll win too. Nobody has figured out how to fight a war over a billion kilometers away, regardless of how powerful they are. If there is one thing history shows, humans have the powerful urge to misbehave.”
Althea smiled. “There is that.”
“There’s always hope Althea.”
She raised the flask. “Here’s to hope.”
Viekko raised his empty hand. “Here’s to the rebels and maniacs that keep it alive.”
While Althea took another drink, Viekko added, “And, depending on how megalomaniacal those rebels get, who knows what exciting new oppressive regimes await this world?”
Althea sighed and tossed the empty flask. “Good night Viekko.”
For Viekko, home was an apartment in the Ipanema neighborhood of Rio de Janeiro. At least it was for one more night. Viekko packed a bag in the darkened room while the bright lights and sounds of perpetual celebration floated through the open window. Rio might not be the city that doesn’t sleep, but it's definitely a city that’s gonna have to sleep off what they did the night before.
Part of him wanted to go out one more time. Say goodbye to the hustlers and bartenders and the daughters of the wealthy upper class. They would be sad to see him go and they would express their grief through gallons of alcohol and no small amount of illicit substances. It was how they expressed most every emotion, come to think of it. He opened a drawer and dumped everything into a canvas bag. What he wanted was one more shard of triple-T. So he stayed upstairs.
He just finished removing all his fine clothes from the closet when a ringing drew his attention from the bedroom into the main room. He walked out and stood in front of a screen embedded in the wall. He waved his hand in front of it and c
alled, “Hello?”
The screen in the main room was a couple meters wide by a meter tall, and Cronus's face filled every millimeter in rather horrifying detail. From that distance, he could see every one of the little hairs still hanging on Cronus's balding head. His eyes were hidden behind his glowing goggles. He had a manic grin on his face, but that was nothing new for him.
Viekko sighed. “Cronus, good to see you. I see you got back to…wherever it is you live.”
“I live in the Signal. The code is my senses. I hear everything, I see—”
Viekko stopped him. “That’s great, Cronus. Really. Great. Listen, I don’t have a lot of time to talk. I’ve got to pack what I can and catch a sub-orbital in the morning, so if you could just make this quick—”
“Have you ever heard of the Hereclese Project?”
“Nope. Can’t say that I have. Good talk Cronus, now—”
“It’s some kind of obscure project from the mid-twenty-first century. There’s only one mention of it in any document on the Neuvonet.”
Viekko took off his hat and ran his fingers down the length of the queue. “So?”
Cronus cocked his head and leaned closer to the camera. “I have a small sample of communications from that time period from Titan. It’s mentioned in almost every single one. Talked about constantly on Titan, but nothing on Earth.”
“I don’t understand,” said Viekko getting impatient, “What a project on Titan got to do—”
“No. It was a project somewhere else. A big one. But there is no mention of what it was. Only that people left Titan to be on time for Hereclese. Others spoke of jobs related to the project. No details, but it’s big.”
Viekko rolled his eyes. “Right, a big project that nobody knows nothin’ about it. Cronus, what has all of this got to do with me?”
Cronus paused and looked around a moment as if to make sure they were alone. “How long have you known Isra Jicarrio?”
Viekko sighed again. “She was on the crew of the first expedition to Mars. She wasn’t in charge then, just a Ministry wonk getting her feet wet in interplanetary relations. Cronus, is this going somewhere because I’ve got a lot to—”
Cronus's face disappeared and was replaced by a document of some kind. “There are no records of Isra Jicarrio of any kind anywhere before she was twelve years old. This document is the first record of her existing at all.”
Viekko peered at the document on the screen closely. “Where did you get this?”
“Leaked documents. Part of a deep Ministry slice. Highly classified knowledge. The kind of thing where if you know about it, they kill you.”
“Then could you please take it off my screen?”
“Don’t worry. My communications are secure. Bounced through the old Internet cables so nobody could track it. Now pay attention. Remember how I said there is only one mention of Hereclese anywhere on Earth? It’s right here.”
The document zoomed in and a particular passage was highlighted. Viekko leaned forward and read out loud. “Isra’s origins before her recovery are unknown. Several hypotheses have been proposed, however. From her testimonial and the advanced nature of the technology she arrived with, it is possible that she is a product of the Hereclese project.”
The document disappeared and was replaced with Cronus looking more manic than normal, an effect enhanced by the shapes and numbers moving across this goggles. “The only record of the Hereclese project on Earth is directly related to Isra Jicarrio. What…what does that mean?”
Viekko stared at the screen for a few moments. Isra never talked about her past. In fact, he couldn’t pinpoint a single moment when she brought up life before the Reconnection Project. So what did this mean? Probably a whole mess of trouble.
Viekko stepped back. “It don’t mean nothin’, Cronus. Not yet, anyway. Take care of yourself. I’ll see you on the next mission.”
Cronus started to say something but Viekko waved his arm and the strange little hacker vanished.
There was too much to do right now. An apartment to pack up, a life to put back in order. As he went back to the bedroom to put away the last of his things, the nagging thought still echoed in his head.
Isra Jicarrio and the Hereclese project. It probably made sense in some way, but nothing that would be apparent. And nothing that Isra would talk about.
The past should remain the past. Best to focus his mind on the here and now. Outside the window, the perpetual party of Rio de Janeiro screamed on. He stuck his head out of the open window and breathed in the air. The space above the streets was filled with strange glowing shapes; holograms that turned the warm Brazilian night into a constant light show along with laughter, shouts, and music. Down below, a group of women dressed in their shortest tight-fitting clothing looked up at Viekko and waved. He recognized one. She reached into her pocket and held up something small. Even this far away and with that many bright lights, he recognized the little blue capsule.
The past is only the past when one decides to make a change. Otherwise, tomorrow just becomes another today.
Viekko waved back and closed the window.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The dirty little secret about self-publishing a book is that there is nothing ‘self’ about it. The only reason that this book exists and is looks as good as it does is because of the help of a small group of extremely generous individuals.
Particular thanks to Shaun Vincent for producing and editing the Ruins of Empire Podcast thus far. Not only was he the first to listen to me read this book all the way through, but he had to listen to the hundreds, if not, thousands of screw ups along the way. Also to Tyler Murphy for lending his voice to the project as well. They both have, in one form or another, been partners in crime with me for years and it was awesome to hammer this project out together.
To Madison Hansen for taking on this project and helping me turn about 120,000 words into something that actually looks like a book. And also Nick Martin for lending his artistic skills for the cover art. I don't know what I would have done without them, but the results would have been messy and unsatisfying.
And, finally, to everyone who was nice enough, during this whole process, to saddle up next to me at the bar and ask, ‘Hows the book going?’ Having so many friends engaged during this publishing process meant a lot and I hope this book was everything you thought it would be.
JEREMY L. JONES
Writer. Brewer. Traveler. Slightly crazed human-person.
He is the author of the Ruins of Empire Series along with hundreds of other books that, for the moment, only exist in his own head. He lives in Boise, Idaho with his wife, a cat named Mist and an office where he can lock himself away and write down the crazy stories he dreams up. He can be found wandering the craft beer scene sampling the fermented arts created in his home town, or in his garage making his own.
Seek him out online at www.sagaofinsanity.blogspot.com
Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
; CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
JEREMY L. JONES
Saturnius Mons Page 37