Miranda's Demons

by Ian Miller

  "What?"

  "How?"

  "Let me explain," the Chairman continued. "Recently in the Tasman, a GenCorp vessel was going about its own business of disposing of unwanted independents and was harassed by two police helicopters. They ordered the ship's crew to surrender themselves to arrest, which presumably means facing a labour camp. So what would you do?"

  "Shoot down the stupid police," someone offered.

  "That's exactly what happened," the Chairman said evenly, then he went on harshly, "Then, from nowhere, a Defence warplane turned up, and sank the GenCorp vessel."

  "No!"

  "Yes. And there was nothing the vessel could do. It barely saw what hit it. The ship was automatically transmitting all sensor readings to base, and apparently it was hit by a plane travelling at over Mach four at an altitude of fifteen meters, for Christ's sake."

  "But that means . . ." There was a silence.

  "That means it was all set up," the Chairman grated. "It means Justice sacrificed two police helicopters and four men while Kotchetkova covered the situation with a fully armed warplane. They were both ready for what happened, which means Justice is prepared to sacrifice its own staff so that Garrett can get Kotchetkova's backing."

  "But Kotchetkova ignores Garrett," someone protested. "Everyone knows there's always sparks flying between them. To suggest they're plotting together defies all the evidence."

  "Only the evidence you see," the Italian cautioned. "Perhaps there's whatcha don't see that's more important?"

  "Well, if that's true," the big German said, "what can we do? Where can we go?"

  "Put the question the other way," the Chairman said. "What can't we do? I say we can't just let events take their course, because if we do, the corporations will be reduced to being simply large, if not oversized, businesses. We can't let that happen."

  "That's all very well," someone else interrupted, "but look at the difficulties. The corporations can't fight Defence. Some corporations have been building up their own forces, but their weapons are too light. Even if we could match Defence in numbers, we'd miss out on firepower."

  "It's even worse on Mars," another offered. "Sure, there're few weapons on Mars, but what there is, they have 'em and we don't."

  "But we do have some advantages," the Chairman said. "Most of the weapons are in storage. If we strike boldly, we can get the bulk of them."

  "But there're too few of us," came a protest. "Ten men can't hold a planet."

  "Then we have to recruit."

  "But that's dangerous," came a protest. "Someone will spill the beans. You can't enlist hundreds of men with no loyalty to the corporations to a cause like this without someone deciding to go to Justice."

  "It's also stupid," the man from MinCorp said gruffly. "You can count me out of such a losing strategy right now."

  "And what's so stupid about it?" came an irate protest.

  "Revolutions need a focus," the man from MinCorp replied in a tired tone, as if he resented having to explain the obvious. "What are you offering the people? Efficiency? That'll really set them alight! Like it or not, a lot of people volunteered to come to Mars in the firm knowledge of the hardships to get away from the corporations."

  "Surely you're not criticizing the corporate philosophy?" someone interjected. "You've been on Mars too long. They're getting to you!"

  "Grow up and face facts!" the MinCorp man retorted. "Sure, we say the corporations are great for the large majority of the people on Earth, but there's always some who won't join in. Do you know what per centage the population of Mars is compared with Earth?"

  There was a silence.

  "Now you see it, don't you? It takes only such a tiny fraction of those on Earth to make up Mars' population. Now, stop and think," and the MinCorp man got to his feet and began to wander around the room. "Why do people come to Mars? Why would a person happily involved with the fruits of corporate life want to come here?"

  "Then you think it's a lost cause?"

  "I didn't say that, although I'm beginning to wonder. What I'm getting at is that these people will have to be led, persuaded, or forced. If you wish to seize power, you must do at least two things. The first is to give the people a focus, and a very firm lesson. Unless the people realize things have changed for good you'll have a never-ending series of counter coups to defend. If I were doing this, I wouldn't even have the corporations up front. I'd have some other straw man, and I'd stay very much out of the limelight until everything is finalized. Take power quickly, under some guise or other, but corporatize very slowly."

  He stopped, and looked back at his chair. The Chairman's hand was retreating from the folder, and the MinCorp man immediately realized that the Chairman had been attempting to look at the MinCorp position.

  "Then," the MinCorp man continued, a level of irritation now showing clearly in his voice, "there is the second problem. Just suppose for a moment you succeed. You can last for a certain length of time, then Earth will send a military force, and you will have no answer. Remember Defence not only controls space; it is the only force in space, except for the odd report of pirates.

  "But the real futility of this exercise raises another question. Why are you even discussing such a losing strategy? You know as well as I do you haven't any show at all of pulling this off. You all know the Mars settlers have had bad experiences with your corporations, and they won't flock to your standard."

  "And presumably MinCorp is the exception?" somebody remarked sarcastically.

  "As a matter of fact, I believe that MinCorp will always find a place on Mars, because while we may be hard, we're always fair, and there's nobody here who deeply resents us. Sooner or later the local leaders will realize that our skills are needed here."

  "Isn't that just too much!"

  "Perhaps some of you could learn from our approach. You start by accepting your mission, and not being greedy and always wanting more. But if you're thinking of learning, start by keeping your grubby fingers out of my folders."

  "I resent that!" the Chairman shouted.

  "I've already resented that."

  "This isn't getting us anywhere," someone remarked. "If we can't unite, then we're in real trouble."

  "We may be in worse trouble than you think," the man from ComCorp spoke quietly.

  "What d'ya mean by that remark?"

  "That computer over there's running."

  "Well?"

  "I was in the first group here, and none of us have touched it."

  "Someone must've left it on," the chairman grunted.

  "This model automatically turns itself off after five hours without a specific instruction. It's never programmed to operate unattended because it's an information model. It has no control function for this base at all."

  "And what's that mean?"

  "I would have thought that's obvious," the man from MinCorp remarked coldly. "Whoever was using that is still in the complex."

  "What was being accessed?" the chairman asked, a touch of fear mixed with aggression sounding in his voice.

  "I'll tell you," the man from ComCorp said, as he sat at the console. He keyed in a few instructions, and the screen became covered with writing. "Well, I didn't expect that," he said at last.

  "What?"

  "It's the World Encyclopaedia," he said in a startled tone. "History of technology."

  "What section?"

  "Unified field theory and elementary particles."

  "Who'd want to read that?"

  "More to the point," the man from MinCorp said gruffly, "who would want to come here, camouflage their vessel, because that must be still out there, just to access information freely obtainable in any library?"

  "There's one way to find out . . . " the chairman started.

  "Quiet! Don't say it!" the man from ComCorp commanded. "This intercom's live. Presumably we're being spied on."

  "What do we do?"

  "For starters, I'd suggest pressure suits," the man from MinCorp said quickly. "
This whole complex can be depressurized. Since they know we're on to them, whoever they are, their best defence would be to vent the air."

  "Good thinking," the Chairman said, with a reluctant nod of approval.

  "Not necessary!" a high-pitched voice cut through the room. The corporates turned in unison towards the second door. Standing in the open doorway was what appeared to be a humanoid figure, but even this could not be said with certainty, as the figure was totally covered in a black suit, complete with darkened visor so it was impossible to see the face. The hands were clasped, weaponless, at his front.

  "Who are you?"

  "Name unimportant," came the reply. "Species M'starn."

  "What d'you mean, species?"

  "I believe you would call me alien. Forgive me if in error. I speak your language not well."

  "You speak good enough," someone growled.

  "Better than you," someone else added as an aside.

  "You were using the computer?"

  "I assess your level technology, yes."

  "And?"

  "I see."

  "Well, I don't," a larger man got to his feet. "What, exactly, do you want?"

  "What I want?" the figure almost shrugged. "I want metals. I want things made. I want work done. Perhaps we trade."

  "You got weapons?" the chairman almost grasped.

  "Yes. But we have better."

  "Better weapons?"

  "Better things to trade. Fix our ships, we fix planet. Then you very important."

  "Fix the planet? How?"

  "Give you atmosphere. What everybody wants."

  "Give us weapons," the chairman said. "Weapons to knock out space ships."

  "You wish fight? You prefer people hate?" The alien seemed quite surprised.

  "We want power," the chairman said. "Can you do it?"

  "Almost certainly," the alien said, "but why? Why not fix planet, receive eternal gratitude –"

  "That might solve the Martian problems eventually," the Chairman shook his head, "but it does nothing for us. If you want metals, if you want things made, you have to deal with us."

  "You represent mining and making?"

  "Yes. Only the corporations do that. Check if you wish."

  "And you want weapons?" the alien mused, almost to himself, as if he did not believe it. He thought for a moment, then almost seemed to shrug as he continued, "You wish us control space? I give you these, teach you fight, give you planet; you provide me metals, labour, make things I want. You really prefer this to atmosphere?"

  "Why should we believe you could do this?" the large man asked. "You're unarmed. You're defenceless. You're bluffing."

  "I not defenceless."

  "Then defend yourself," the man shouted. He drew a weapon, pointed it at the black figure, and fired. Light flashed between the two, and the large man fell back, blood pouring from wounds in his chest.

  "Satisfy you?" the black figure cackled. "The rest, not fear! I here to deal, not kill."

  "To deal?" the Chairman said, a crafty look starting to appear over his face.

  "To deal." the black figure replied. "So you want power. I provide that. I need metals and some primitive manufacturing. You represent the agencies on Earth that do this. We deal?"

  "How do we know you'll keep your side of the bargain?" someone asked.

  "Metals and goods come from Mars," the black figure replied. "We not control Mars, we not get goods."

  "The best manufacturing's on Earth," Baromei noted, "but you don't want to go there. Why?"

  "Air too dense," came the reply. "Great space ships not designed enter thick air. Fear not. M'starn battle fleet totally outclass Earth."

  "Suppose I want to deal?" the Chairman said. "How do I know you've got the authority?"

  There was a pause, while the M'starn figure appeared to be lost in thought. "Wait!" he said finally, and turned and left. Through the open door the figures could see him disappear into a room at the left end of the corridor.

  "Where's it gone?"

  "Into the workshop with the plasma torches," the man from ComCorp said. The black figure re-emerged, carrying a strange object about a quarter of a meter long. It had some quite ornate markings on its side, and on one end was what appeared to be a small parabolic dish, with a small knob on a piece of metal holding it at the focus. The side of the staff was glowing when it was first seen, as if someone had attempted to cut into it, but there was no mark on the object to indicate there had been any progress.

  "This," the black figure said, as he held it high, "is the staff of M'starn authority. Only three exist, for the three great commanders in our fleet. He who carries this has the authority to deal."

  "Why have you been trying to cut it," the man from MinCorp asked.

  "To assure us most powerful cutting tools of your technology cannot touch it," the M'starn countered. "Proof these genuine. Proof your technology tiny compared M'starn. If not believe, try yourself."

  Another black figure emerged from the room, and knelt beside the first figure. He bowed his head and spoke in a strange cackling language. The leader held up his hand, and the plea stopped.

  "What did he say?" the Chairman asked.

  "He said you all unreliable, too weak," the black figure said. "He wants no deal."

  "Suppose we don't want to deal?" the man from MinCorp asked.

  "Then no deal," the black figure replied.

  "Then excuse me please, but I'm going," the man from MinCorp said, as he gathered his belongings and got to his feet. As he started to walk towards the door, the Chairman stood up, raised a weapon, and fired. The man from MinCorp was flung against the wall, blood and flesh pouring from the back of his head. The Chairman quickly walked over to the body, and picked up the case of folders.

  "Wait!" another said. "Those papers belong to MinCorp."

  The Chairman turned and raised his weapon. "Really?"

  The protester showed the palms of his hands, and slowly returned to his seat.

  "Anybody else think these don't belong to me?" the Chairman asked. Nobody spoke, so he placed his weapon back under his jacket and turned to the black figure. "That assertive enough for your advisor?" he asked. "Do we deal?"

  "We deal," the black figure said harshly, "if you have authority."

  "Assuming you're all in," the Chairman said, after turning to the remaining corporates, "I suggest you all leave and go back to your bases. Keep your Comscreens open for input. We shall use code seventeen and I shall send instructions." He stood still as the other Corporates quickly gathered their belongings and left. He then turned to the black figure and showed a card.

  "This," he said, "is a GenCorp identity card. My name is Tony Munro. The Munro means I have the authority."

  "I see," the black figure said slowly. "So you wish assistance to take power on Mars?"

  "Yes."

  "I give assistance," the black figure said, "but you provide soldiers. I only help, and control space. Not take power myself. Understand?"

  "Yes."

  "You can do this?"

  "Yes."

  "I think you not understand problem," the black figure said. "You must learn fast."

  "Learn what?"

  "Much sense said before. You provide focus. Find period of your history where few men ruled with much strength. Copy methods. Organize men. Must have system to impose authority and order. If M'starn help you take power, you have system in place immediately. You understand?"

  "Of course I do. Organization's –"

  "You not understand," came the harsh comment. "You learn! You not have system, I kill you. Understand?"

  "Yes," came the quiet reply.

  "Better! You now see little what power is. You have organization to rule strongly, at once. People will be dazed. Quick and strong, authority in place, immediately power secured. Keep things happening! Then, no time for revolt. Show weakness, stupidity, and it all collapse. Understand?"

  "I'll be all right."

  "You not
weak. But stupid? We see. Now, when take power, keep corporates under cover. Understand?"

  "But why?"

  "People may follow lead imposed by alien power when not follow corporate. Understand?"

  "I think that the corporate philosophy –"

  "You stupid. Do what I say!"

  "Yes."

  "Better! Take this communicator. I give instructions. Now go!"

  As Tony Munro left, the second M'starn looked at the first, and said in his own language, "I've got a feeling this is not good."

  "I know," the first shrugged, "but what else could I do? Knowing what's nearby, do you really want to stay here, with our ships in their present condition?"

  "Of course not."

  "And knowing their history, what do you recommend?"

  There was an awkward silence.

  "You see it now, don't you. Since their discovery of writing, they've spent most of their time devising new ways of killing themselves. They're completely without a concept of honour. You just saw it. They invite people to negotiate, and sneak in weapons to kill those who disagree with them. Maybe the mass killing's stopped, but only because the society they have now is totally repressed. If they hate each other that much, what'll they think of us?"

  "They can't do anything to us," the second pointed out.

  "No?" he shrugged. "If we do nothing, sooner or later they'll find a way. We've got to repair our fleet, and reasonably quickly. I think it was a near miracle that none of our ships fell to pieces getting here, and we can't risk going back up to near light speed without completed hulls. The metals have to come from a rocky planet, and we're soldiers, not miners."

  "We could try dealing with Earth?"

  "And we purchase our goods with what?"

  "There must be something . . ."

  "There is," the leader pointed out. "All we have that they don't is military technology. The trouble with that is that if we gave humans that technology, the Ranhynn would send a battle fleet here as soon as they could. This civilization could not advance sufficiently on its own inside 25 years to protect us, always assuming they would keep their word, and we have little evidence that they would do that. For all we know, those treacherous Terrans would take our technology and turn against us first."

  "We could leave before the Ranhynn could arrive."