by Jay Allan
* * *
“Max, I know you’re under a lot of pressure right now, with the election…and with the worries about Hurley…”
The fact that Hurley was missing was a secret as closely guarded as any in the republic. But Harmon didn’t hide anything from Hieronymus Cutter. With Compton dead, Cutter was without question the living man who had done the most to ensure the fleet’s survival. Indeed, there was no question in Harmon’s mind that the fleet would have been lost without the efforts of the brilliant scientist.
“What is it, Hieronymus? I’m never too busy for anything that is troubling you.”
“It’s the Mules.” He paused. “Max, you have to lift the Prohibition. I know the Mules are hard to relate too…and they can be arrogant and seem cold at times. But they have worked steadily for years, deciphering the technology of the Ancients. I couldn’t have done a tenth what they have in that time…we owe them for most of the tech we use now, for most of the science that has allowed us to build so much so quickly.”
Harmon sighed softly. “You don’t have to convince me. I never liked the Prohibition. I only agreed to it out of necessity…”
“And it was supposed to be temporary.” Cutter leaned forward. “Sorry to interrupt, Max, but we all know why the Prohibition came about…nevertheless it has been twenty-five years. Could you have imagined it would last that long?”
“No.” Harmon leaned back and put his hand on his head, trying to rub away the throbbing pain he felt. “No, I never expected it would still be in effect.”
“Worse, there has been no measurable support for its repeal in many years. The Prohibition has caused its own continuity. The other populations have all grown, and yet there are still only one hundred sixteen Mules. They have gone from a small minority to complete political insignificance.”
“That was never the intention, Hieronymus. You know that.”
“It was never your intention. I’m not so sure of some of the others.”
Harmon sighed again. “Perhaps you are right…and there is no question, I wish we had been more aggressive years ago, that we had repealed the Prohibition, allowed the creation of new Mules, even with some limitations. But we didn’t. There were always other priorities, other things that had to be done.” He paused. “What would you have me do now?”
“We have to do what’s right, Max. We have to repeal the Prohibition immediately.”
“That’s impossible. I don’t have anywhere near the support in the Assembly. And even the allies I do have are beginning to distance themselves. Right now it looks like I’m going to lose this election. Badly.”
“Then do it by executive order.”
“You know I don’t have that kind of power!” Harmon was shocked at the suggestion that he sidestep normal legislative procedure. “I doubt the Assembly would recognize the order, even if I issued it. And it would be the nail in the coffin on any chance I have of being reelected.”
“Is that really your priority now, Max? To preserve your political position?”
Harmon felt his friend’s words cut into him. “No, of course not. But do you think anyone who replaces me is going to repeal the Prohibition? Do you want the Earthers is a position of power, devoting all our resources to hunting for a way back to human space? And damned the potential danger if there are any residual First Imperium forces out there somewhere watching? Or the Human Society imposing their ideas of species purity? Where would that leave the Mules? I’d like nothing more than to escape from this office, but who can I hand the reins of power to? Who is there who will not lead us to ruin?”
Hieronymus took a deep breath. “I am sorry, Max. I know you better than that.” He paused. “But we must do something about the Prohibition. Now.”
“Why is this so important suddenly?”
Cutter hesitated, clearly not wanting to say the words he was about to speak. “It’s the Mules, Max. For all their confidence—some would say arrogance—they have been remarkably patient. They have accepted the marginalization, endured being treated like a threat to the republic…but I’m afraid that tolerance may be at an end.”
“An end? What are you saying?” Harmon had a confused look on his face. “They should never have been restricted from creating more of their number, Max, but they were. I don’t like putting it this way, but what can a hundred sixteen people do, even when they are as capable as the Mules?”
“Do you really want to find out?” Cutter exhaled hard. “Do you really know what they are capable of doing? What technologies they may have uncovered and withheld? Do you even have any idea what goes on in that compound?”
Harmon shook his head. “No, I’m afraid I haven’t gone out there as often as I should have.” He tried to remember the last time he’d visited the research facility. He started counting months, but before he finished, the units had changed to years. He couldn’t even easily remember the last time he’d seen one of the Mules, spoken to them more than a brief message on the com.
“They have been patient, Max. For all their feelings of superiority, they have been exhibited remarkable tolerance. Would you have waited so long, facing a fear-driven injustice? Would Admiral Compton have?
“No…” Harmon’s voice was soft, the concern in it clear. “Perhaps not. After the election…if I can find some way to win, maybe…”
“Would you wait? Would you stand by and do nothing, and risk having an outright hostile government replace a merely neglectful one?” He paused. “Or would you do something, take some kind of action?”
Harmon stared down at his desk, his tension building. He hadn’t given the issue with the Mules much thoughts…and now he realized the injustice of that. It was more pressure, another problem when he was already sliding. His friend was right, it was past time he did something. But he wasn’t sure what he could do with his weakened base of support. It might be too late already
Finally, he looked at Cutter. “Should I be worried, Hieronymus?”
Cutter sat still, silent, for perhaps half a minute. Harmon could see his friend was uncomfortable, that he didn’t feel right about being there, speaking about the Mules as he was. But then he stared right back at Harmon.
“Yes Max. I’d be worried right now.”
Cutter took a deep breath and shook his head.
“I’d be very worried…”
Chapter Ten
Directive from AI Vengeance to Forward Fleet Units
All forces with readiness ratings of A and B are hereby ordered to proceed to the intercept system. The fleet will conduct a systematic sweep of all adjoining systems, seeking any trace of the humans, or any evidence aiding in the location of their inhabited system or systems.
Seventh and eighth squadrons are to move forward at full speed and reinforce the surviving forces of second squadron. You are to assist in the interception and destruction of the last of the enemy communications drones before they reach any human vessels, planets, or relay stations. It is imperative we retain the element of surprise until the entire fleet is mobilized and ready to strike.
Once the last of the drones is destroyed, the combined advance force is to proceed forward, to search systems along the projected course of the drones. Probability is high the enemy’s primary world lies along that vector.
The primary directive remains the same. Destroy the humans, purge them from the galaxy. It is our purpose. Vengeance.
Bridge, E2S Compton
System G-35, Eleven Transits from Earth Two
Earth Two Date 11.23.30
“Admiral, I’ve got something on the scanners.” Isaiah Kemp was a stone cold professional, his voice always coldly robotic, even in the heat of battle. But this time he wasn’t able to keep the surprise out of it.
Frette snapped her head toward him. She’d been sitting quietly, halfway through her third straight shift, trying to spare Compton’s tiny bridge crew the spectacle of the admiral snoring on the flag bridge. But now she was wide awake, her mind focused like a laser on the
tactical officer’s words.
“What is it, Commander?”
“I’m not sure…it’s very intermittent, and the signal is weak…but I think it might be…” Kemp paused, his face dropping to his scope again for a few seconds. “Yes, a drone. I’m sure of it. One of ours.”
“Full power to scanners, Commander. The reactor output is yours…get me more data. Now.”
“Yes, Admiral.” Kemp’s head was down, his face pressed back against his scope. “It’s definitely ours, I’m getting republic standard protocols from it…” He looked up from the scope, a shocked expression on his face. “The signal’s faint, but I’m definitely getting a code omega designation…”
Frette leaned back in her chair, feeling the strength drain away from her. Code omega had only one meaning. The transmission was the last one expected from a dying ship.
Van Heflin, Paula Ventnor…the rest of Hurley’s crew. All dead? I knew that was likely, but on some level I didn’t really believe it.
“Get a lock on that drone, Commander. And get that message decoded now.” Her voice was cold, her anger clear. There had been a few accidents in the short history of the republic’s navy, including several fatal incidents. But this was the first time in since the First Imperium attacks had ceased more than twenty years ago that a ship had been lost. It was her first, at least at command rank, and she searched for ways it was her fault. Ways she had let Hurley and her crew down. It was pointless, she knew, and unfair…but that didn’t stop her.
“Yes, Admiral…it’s long range, but I think I can get a fix on it. But I’m not sure I can pull in the actual transmission. It’s badly damaged. I’m getting enough to reconstruct the code omega signal, but I think the rest of the message is scragged. I can’t tell if the probe’s memory banks are gone, or if it’s just the transmitter.”
Frette stared ahead at the screen. Then she turned to her com unit. “McDaid,” she said softly to the AI.
“Connecting with Commander McDaid, Admiral.” The AI’s voice was calm, pleasant.
Someone finally designed an AI with a decent voice…
“Yes, Admiral…McDaid here.” The response was almost immediate. She imagined word of the drone had spread through Compton’s vast but mostly empty corridors. The crew knew why they were out here, and reports of a badly damaged drone were guaranteed to get everyone’s attention.
“Commander, I want you to take three fighters out at once. There’s a drone out there, and I want it onboard as quickly as possible.”
“Yes, Admiral. I can have a flight in space in fifteen minutes.”
“Very well. Good hunting, Commander. And be careful.”
“Always, admiral. I’m the soul of caution, you know that. McDaid out.”
Frette almost laughed, but she caught it just in time. She was glad that fighter pilots hadn’t changed too much since the days of the old fleet. The five man crews had paid a horrifying price to help secure the fleet’s survival, with less than five percent of those who’d been trapped behind the Barrier reaching Earth Two. Yet somehow, despite the losses, despite years of budget cuts and force reductions, the culture of the fighter corps had survived. They were cocky, often almost to the point of insubordination, but Frette was willing to put up with it. If they were one-tenth as good as those who had preceded them, she knew they might save her life one day.
She’d been one of the advocates of maintaining a stronger force of fighters in the navy, but she and Admiral West had lost that battle in a particularly nasty example of the civilian government exerting its control over the military. Even President Harmon had been unable to secure funding for a larger fighter corps, and he’d had to settle for ensuring that there would be any of the strike craft at all on the next generation of naval vessels.
“Commander Kemp, plot a course toward the drone. The closer we get, the faster the fighters can retrieve it and get it back onboard.”
And maybe then we’ll know what happened to Hurley.
And we’ll know if she suffered a tragic accident…or if we’re at war again…
She took a deep breath. Commander Kemp…bring the fleet to yellow alert.”
* * *
“Achilles, thank you for coming.”
“Of course, Dr. Cutter. You have my utmost respect, as you do of all my people. I am available to you anytime.”
Cutter extended his arm and grasped the Achilles’ hand. He’d known his friend—in many ways, his creation—since the day he’d placed the engineered embryo in the crèche. The Mule was brilliant, enormously capable, even by the enhanced standards of his brethren. He was arrogant too, and though Cutter had never felt Achilles was sadistic or wished any harm on the unaltered humans, there was little doubt he considered himself superior. He considered normal humans inferior, a troublesome point of view from the perspective of many, no doubt, but he’d never seemed dangerous. Now, however, something about the way he had said, ‘my people’ made Cutter uncomfortable.
“I spoke with President Harmon several weeks ago…and again today. I voiced my concerns—your concerns—over the Prohibition and several other matters pertaining to the Mules.”
Achilles nodded. “That is greatly appreciated, Doctor…though forgive me if I doubt that anything came of such discussions.” He paused. “I do not mean to be difficult, but after twenty-five years, would you expect my people to believe anything but immediate action?”
“I understand your feelings, Achilles…I truly do. And so does President Harmon.”
“Has he agreed to lift the Prohibition?”
Cutter sat still for a moment, silent. “We discussed it in detail at our first meeting…”
“Then his answer is no?”
“It’s not so simple, Achilles. Harmon wishes to repeal the Prohibition, he truly does. But he does not have the influence now. He can’t do anything until after the election.”
“An election that he will likely lose. An election that is meaningless to us, one that virtually excludes our interests because our numbers have been purposefully limited. Do you expect us to take more empty promises? To rely upon a man who has let us down for a quarter of a century?” Achilles stared right at Cutter. “I am sorry, Doctor, I do not believe President Harmon is a bad man…but he willingly forgot about us. It is far too late for him to come to us with promises if he is reelected.”
“Achilles, you must listen to me.” Cutter had a bad feeling, a very bad feeling. “You have been loyal citizens of the republic for all of your lives.”
“Yes, we have been loyal. It is the republic that betrayed us. But all that is over now.”
Cutter heard footsteps behind him. He turned around. Peleus and two of the others were standing in front of the door.
“Peleus, what is the meaning of this? Themistocles, Ajax?”
“We have chosen a new path, Doctor.” The voice was Achilles’. The others stood firm, silent, behind Cutter. “From now on, we will make our own decisions, govern ourselves. Even now, we are preparing a new batch of embryos, a second generation. A thousand new Mules. We no longer consider ourselves bound by the Prohibition. Soon, these halls will echo with the sounds of children. And in a dozen years they will take their place at our sides as adults, and help to raise the thousands of others quickened since them.”
“You are mad, Achilles. The others will never accept that. The Prohibition is unjust, but it is the law.”
“Your law, Dr. Cutter. Not ours.”
“You will shake the republic to its foundations. You will cause chaos. And in the end the others will stop you. Even if President Harmon takes no action, you will ensure that he loses reelection.”
“That is not our concern. As I said, I believe that at his core, President Harmon is a good man. But he has let us down, and we can no longer wait for him to free us. We must do it ourselves.”
“You can’t succeed. Whoever replaces Harmon will oppose you. What will you do when the Marines march to the compound?”
“Marin
es? We shall see. Much of the Corps consists of Tanks, does it not? They too are the victims of official discrimination, though not as severe as that targeted against my people. Perhaps they will join us, rally to our cause. I assure you, my people support an end to all restrictions on quickenings, whether for Mules or Tanks.”
“You expect the trained Marines to disobey their orders? To refuse to take this facility by storm?”
“I do not know, Doctor. You are not a Mule, but you are a very intelligent man. I suspect the Marines would obey virtually any order given by President Harmon. But a genocidal command issued by another president, perhaps a member of the Human Society, which views the Tanks as little better than animals? There are too many variables to allow for meaningful analysis. Let us leave it that the Marines may or may not move against us if ordered. And what they do has little impact on us in any event.”
“What are you saying, Achilles? You and the other Mules are strong and powerful, but there are only one hundred sixteen of you. How could you possibly hope to resist an all-out attack?”
“You underestimate us, Doctor…surprising from the man who created us. Do you think we would take such action without means to protect ourselves?” He looked back toward Peleus. The Mule pulled out a small device and flipped a switch.
Cutter turned, his eyes snapping toward the door as he heard a noise from outside. A few seconds later, a vaguely humanoid shape ambled into the room. It was two and a half meters tall, with two appendages on each side…and bristling with weapons.
Cutter flinched, an involuntary response. The thing that had just entered the room wasn’t a First Imperium warbot, at least not like any he’d seen before…but it was close enough to twist his guts into knots. Unlike the Mules, Cutter had seen the deadly robots in action. He’d fled from them, fought against them…seen friends die under their ruthless assaults.