by Jay Allan
He thrust his hands up again, and the crowd went wild, cheering, chanting his name. He turned his head, looked down the street toward the executive building, his eyes focusing on the northeast corner of the top floor. The president’s office. Max Harmon’s office.
For another month, at least…
* * *
“Hieronymus!” Ana Zhukov ran across the room and threw her arms around her longtime comrade. She’d long considered Cutter like a brother, even closer. The two had worked together almost every day for more than thirty years.
“Ana, what are you doing here?” Cutter returned the hug, but there was concern in his voice. He stepped back. “You shouldn’t have come.”
“Mother, welcome. It is most gratifying to see you.” Achilles walked into the room, followed by half a dozen of the other Mules…and H2. The Mules didn’t call Zhukov ‘mother’ as frequently as they addressed Cutter as ‘father,’ but Achilles did so pointedly, and she could hear the warmth in his voice.
Achilles looked toward Cutter. “You needn’t be concerned, Father. We would never harm either of you, no matter what the circumstances.”
“Are you going to imprison, Dr. Zhukov as you did me, Achilles?”
“No, of course not.” Achilles looked over at Zhukov. “You are free to go whenever you wish, Mother…or to remain with us.” He turned toward Cutter. “As are you, Father. It was necessary for us to keep you here only until we revealed our defensive capabilities. You may leave whenever you wish, though of course, we would rejoice if you chose to remain with us.”
“Achilles…” Zhukov moved toward the Mule, put her hand on his arm. “I have come to try to reason with you.”
“I know what you have come to argue, and it hurts me to reject your wishes, Mother, but we must look to our own preservation. We have already begun the quickening sequence…the next generation is even now coming into being, cells dividing, specializing. Indeed, we have built on your groundbreaking work, and the children we create will be superior to us, indeed perhaps vastly so.”
“Would you stand your weapons down if President Harmon repealed the Prohibition? He knows it should have been done long ago, and he is truly regretful that it wasn’t.”
Achilles was silent for a moment. Then he shook his head slowly. “Nothing would please us more, Mother, but I do not believe that is possible now. Indeed, perhaps against my best judgment, I would take Max Harmon’s word…but he does not have the power to deliver on such a promise? We have been monitoring the speeches and statements of the candidates with growing concern. I fear President Harmon’s prospects for reelection are rapidly diminishing…and we must prepare for whoever replaces him.”
“This rebellion of yours is destroying his chances…and his failure to take decisive action against you is costing him votes every hour.”
“I would help President Harmon if I could, Mother. But I will not expose my own people to the terrible risks if someone like Jacques Diennes should win the election. A man like that would imprison us at the very least…and very likely worse. There is nothing I can do.”
“Do you really think you can hold off the entire Marine Corps here?”
“You underestimate the effectiveness of our defensive systems. If the Marines assault this compound, they will suffer tremendous losses. Our analysis suggests that an all-out attack has a thirty-two percent chance of success, and a ninety-four percent probability that casualties would exceed fifty percent of engaged forces.” Achilles extended his own arm, putting his hand on Zhukov’s shoulder. “I am sorry…I know your husband commands the Marines.”
Zhukov sucked in a deep breath, but she didn’t say anything.
“We have also heard several of the candidates for president suggest using high-yield weapons to destroy our compound. Yet this as well is the voice of ignorance. Quite apart from the close proximity to the city and the inherent danger of using nuclear weapons in such a circumstance, our power source is a thirty gigawatt fusion reactor. If this facility is destroyed by a nuclear attack, the resulting core breach would almost certainly destroy Victory City.”
Zhukov was fighting back frustration, tears. “How can you speak of causing such devastation, of so many people being killed?”
“I do not threaten to invoke such a catastrophe. I merely state that any attempt to annihilate us would, by extension, also destroy the city. Indeed, the magnetic containment system under the compound also stores the relatively minor amount of antimatter we have been able to produce. While this is only several kilograms, the results of its escaping containment would be disastrous.”
“I tried to warn you, Achilles, that this would get out of control.” Hieronymus Cutter walked across the room, moving next to Zhukov. “Your grievances are legitimate, no one here questions that. But so is the fear you have instilled in the people. Did you think you could unleash robots that looked like First Imperium combat units and not create a backlash?”
“Of course we realized that the similarities would cause discomfort. But there was no other way for us to protect ourselves. Without the bots, we would be one hundred sixteen against thousands. We would be mostly unarmed scientists against armored Marines. We had no choice.”
Achilles stood still and looked at Zhukov and Cutter. “You are our creators, the two of you, and always we shall think of you as father and mother. You are torn between your loyalty to your own kind, and your affection for us. We understand this…which is why you are both free to go, and to return whenever you choose. You shall always have a home with us, and we shall do anything you request, save continue to accept our place as second class citizens. Perhaps we will lose this standoff, perhaps the Marines will attack and destroy our robots and storm the compound. But if we had done nothing, we would have died out anyway. Even if our lifespans are longer than those of normal humans, as we suspect they will be, one day the last of us will die…and we will not do so quietly, penned in and marginalized and prevented from procreating in the only way we have available to us.”
The Mule stood motionless for a moment, looking at the two people responsible for his existence. “Please forgive me, but I have duties to attend to.” He turned and walked out of the room.
“Let’s go, Ana…H2…there’s nothing we can do here.” Cutter’s voice was soft, his tone one of defeat.
“No, Father…I am staying here.”
Cutter turned toward the first enhanced hybrid. “H2…it is very possible that President Harmon will have no choice but to order the Marines in…and with the losses they suffer there is no way to know what will happen when they break in. It will be very dangerous.”
“Perhaps. Indeed, almost certainly. But that is of no account.” He paused. “I have occupied a unique positon all my life. Yet, I have spoken long with Achilles…and I have watched the speeches in Victory City, the demonization of the Mules, nary a word of the injustice that has been maintained against them for so long offered in defense of their actions.”
He looked at Zhukov and then back to Cutter. “I love you both, and I always will, no matter what happens. But I must be with my people now, whatever fate awaits them. I have found myself, and for all the confusion I have endured, it is in the new generation even now coming into being that the answer awaited me. For I am the first of the Mules, though my abilities do not match those who came after me, and I have watched as my brethren worked to produce more of our kind, laboring in every way to make them superior to themselves…stronger, healthier, smarter. That is the creed of the Mules, to strive to better ourselves. I am proud to have been the first, and I no longer resent those who came after me, who exceeded my abilities.”
He stepped forward and hugged Zhukov…then Cutter. “Go, for there is no reason for you to be here if things go badly. Return to your people. As Achilles said, you will always be welcome among us.”
H2 paused for a few seconds. Then he turned and followed Achilles’ path.
* * *
“We can’t allow a man like Jacq
ues Diennes to become president. We must stop him, at all costs.” Erika West felt odd in the civilian clothes. For forty years, she had rarely gone out wearing anything but her uniform. But the garb of the navy’s commander was too conspicuous for a clandestine meeting…and no one could know what was being discussed here, no one but her companion.
“I agree. It is an uncomfortable thing for me to say. My life has been one of discipline, of obedience. I do not lightly interfere with the democracy of the republic. But Diennes will lead us down the road to destruction. He will have the NBs and the Tanks at each other’s throats. That will tear the Corps apart…and then the republic.” Connor Frasier was also dressed in a civilian suit. He was uncomfortable skulking around, but West had insisted they meet in person, and he had agreed. There was no guarantee that any com link was entirely secure. And what they had to say now was for each other’s ears only.
“President Harmon is worried. He thinks he is going to lose.” A short pause. “And he probably is.” West moved toward the door, and punched one of the buttons on the access panel. The small screen displayed the hallway outside. It was empty, deserted. The apartment block was new, and its inhabitants hadn’t moved in yet. It was the perfect place for a quiet meeting…and anyone who saw them would take the pair for lovers having some secret affair. Not the republic’s top two military commanders plotting a coup.
“What is he going to do about the Mules? The standoff can’t go on forever.” Frasier’s voice was a bit halting. Ana Zhukov was at the compound, even then trying to negotiate some kind of end to the logjam, and West knew Frasier was worried about his wife.
“He wants to repeal the Prohibition…I’m sure of it. But the Assembly will never go along with it.”
“That is another reason we must take action. We must secure control of the republic, impose the repeal of the Prohibition, make peace with the Mules…and ensure that President Harmon remains in office, at least for the foreseeable future.”
“That violates our oaths of office, Connor. It makes us traitors.” West had initiated the meeting, but now doubt was creeping into her voice.
“Only if we fail.”
West was startled by the matter-of-fact statement from the straight-laced Marine. “Success makes it right?”
“History would suggest it does. At least in one sense. But here is another justification. What is the alternative? To allow democracy to operate unfettered…and destroy itself? Because I don’t see any option. I am reluctant to suggest there is anything my Marines cannot do, but there is dissension, and widespread sympathy for the Mules among the Tanks. I like to think training and Marine pride will be enough, but I truly don’t know what will happen if we are ordered forward, and the fight turns into a bloodbath.”
“Well, here’s another question to ask yourself. Will your Marines follow your orders to overthrow the government?”
“We are not seeking to overthrow the government. Only to keep the status quo in place…and eliminate the dangerous opposition.”
“It sounds almost patriotic when you put it that way.”
Frasier stared back at West. “We are trying to save the republic, Erika. There is nothing more patriotic than that. Unlike the politicians now maneuvering for position, we do not seek power, nor do I believe Max Harmon does. When the deed is done, we will return to our normal command structure…and when the current crisis has passed and the radical elements are suppressed, I have no doubt President Harmon will step down as well.”
“Except we will have created a precedent, one that makes it acceptable for the military to step in and suspend elections and arrest troublesome elements of society. Do you think that damage will quickly fade, that the next president, and the one after, will ever look to his Marine and navy commanders without a certain mistrust?”
Frasier sighed. “No, perhaps not. But there is only one question that needs to be answered here. What choice do we have?”
West shook her head sadly. “None.” She reached out her hand. “So we do this?”
Frasier returned her gaze, reaching out and grasping her hand. “Yes…we do what we must.”
Chapter Twenty-One
From the Log of Admiral Frette
It has been several weeks since I dispatched Cyclone with the warning that we have encountered and defeated a force of First Imperium warships. I had very little intelligence to include in the message…indeed, I do not have much more now, save for the increasing likelihood that the microscopic remains we have discovered are indeed from Hurley.
I find myself increasingly unnerved, though I have made certain to hide it from my staff and other members of the fleet. I am consumed with the belief that we are moving forward into a deadly encounter, perhaps even a trap. But I have no evidence to support my feelings, and while intuition is recognized as a component of command decisions, it cannot be the only factor. My memories of the fleet affect my judgment, but I have no reason to expect we face a situation as grave as that Admiral Compton led us through so long ago.
I have imagined Erika reviewing the message, wondered about her reaction. She is more courageous than I, calmer and cooler in a crisis. We are fortunate that she succeeded Admiral Compton as fleet commander, and that Max Harmon is still president. Had this encounter occurred later, if Harmon had lost the election and been replaced by someone less capable, less trustworthy…whatever we are about to face would have been a hundredfold worse.
I fear what awaits us out here…but I am buoyed by my confidence, in my own people, and in those still on Earth Two. Whatever is about to happen, I believe the fighting spirit that carried the fleet to triumph three decades ago will sustain us…and take us again to victory.
I hope…
Flag Bridge – E2S Compton
System G47
Earth Two Date 12.09.30
“I can’t be sure, Admiral. The AI is still chewing on it, but the best it’s been able to offer is a solid maybe.”
Frette stared across the flag bridge at Kemp. The tactical officer had spun around in his chair to face her, and she could see in his eyes what he truly thought. “Your best guess, Commander?”
Kemp sighed softly. “Admiral…” He sighed again. “I think it’s Hurley. What’s left of Hurley.” His tone was grim, but there wasn’t much doubt in it.
Frette nodded. They hadn’t found much, only a few tiny bits of metal, microscopic traces of what might have once been a spaceship. The chemical composition tests were inconclusive. The analysis was effective at ruling out the possibility the small bits of debris were from a republic spaceship, but far less so at conclusively proving it. And so far, every test had failed to exclude the possibility. Frette knew the mathematics, and at some point the lack of a negative result became something close to a positive. And if they weren’t there yet, it wasn’t far off.
“I concur.” Her voice was somber. She turned, speaking to everyone on the flag bridge. “It shouldn’t be a surprise. We know there are First Imperium ships out here, we’ve fought a battle.” She hesitated for a few seconds. “I know we all told ourselves maybe Hurley was just damaged, maybe she’d managed to escape, to hide somewhere. But we all knew the likelihood that she was gone. I don’t underestimate what we are all feeling about the loss of our comrades, but we have to remember now, what we have discovered is a far graver problem than the loss of Hurley. Indeed, our own fleet has lost more personnel than Hurley’s complement, and unless the force we fought was alone…” She frowned. It was clear that she didn’t believe that, not for a second. “…we are facing the worst crisis since the days of the old fleet. That is not to suggest that Hurley’s loss is not a tragedy.” She paused. “It is just one we cannot afford to dwell upon. Not now. Not when the survival of the republic may be at stake.”
She regretted the last part the second it came out of her mouth. She had been thinking that of course, and she suspected most of the few remaining Pilgrims in the fleet had as well. But the younger generation, those born on Earth Two, ha
d never experienced the kind of unending sequence of disasters the fleet had somehow survived. They had never faced not just defeat, but total destruction. And, frankly, she didn’t know how they would handle a struggle like that.
The flag bridge was silent, every eye on her. She sat quietly for a moment. Then she took a deep breath. “Very well…I want this system searched from end to end. I want intense scans of every meter from the primary to the outer reaches. We’re looking for warp gates, stealth ships, probes, even energy trails…or hints of something that might have been energy trails.”
She stared at the display. The fleet had only found one warp point other than the one they’d entered through, but Frette was too old a spacer to think that was anywhere near conclusive. And if there was a warp gate leading to more First Imperium forces, she damned sure wanted to know where it was.
“I want four search groups sent out…a cruiser and four frigates in each.” She stared down at her workstation, her fingers moving across the screen, dragging icons representing ships of the fleet. She glanced toward Kemp. “Sending you the breakdowns now.”
“Yes, Admiral.” The tactical officer turned back to his board, his hands moving over the keyboard, implementing the orders Frette had given him.
“The battle line, and the rest of the fleet, will assume station twenty million kilometers from the primary. All ships will remain on yellow alert, ready to respond to any threat.”
“Yes, Admiral Frette.” Kemp’s reply was quick, sharp. But there was the slightest hint of concern there too.
Frette picked up on her aide’s uneasiness. She knew keeping the fleet on alert would gradually wear her people down, and if it went on long enough they would be exhausted if they ended up in battle again. But she wasn’t taking any chances. She didn’t like splitting up the fleet, sending small, vulnerable squadrons to the far ends of the system…but it was the only way her people could complete a thorough scan without it taking weeks. And, if anything was out there she had to know it immediately.