by Chad Huskins
“ ‘Anti-Expansionist’ is an ugly name for the bill,” Kalder said slowly. “A name that you and the rest of the Corporatists slapped on it to chase everyone away from the table. It’s not ‘anti’ anything, but rather a multi-staged, controlled approach to future expansion projects—”
“Which everyone and their fucking dog knows is just the first step in your multi-staged plan in getting the Senate to put a stop to all corporate ventures and hand all power of industry back over to the government—”
“I’m merely suggesting we conserve what resources we have and use them more judiciously.”
Cenagul snorted contemptuously. “ ‘More judiciously.’ Can I take that to mean you’d like our military and surveying resources to be used in searching for your fucking Scrolls?”
“As well as repairing infrastructure to those systems in need as we go along, sure,” Kalder said, leaning over to refill Cenagul’s cup. “But take it however you like. The truth is, all I want is for the human race to survive this slow but sure incursion.”
Cenagul shook his head. “I might as well be talking to the Brood, for all the progress I can expect from these talks.”
“If you knew my stance, why did you ask for this meeting?”
“Call me an optimist. I’d hoped that the unbendable Kalder might finally have started coming to his senses and give us a knee, seeing as how in recent months you’ve seen your circle of influence shrink.”
“Shrink?” Kalder thought about that word for a moment, decided he didn’t like it. It wasn’t accurate enough. “No. Certainly I’ve weeded out those who aren’t serious, and I’ve concentrated my time and effort on those bold enough to listen.” He nodded. “I believe I would use the word ‘focused.’ Yes, we are a more focused group of thinkers now.”
“Call it whatever you like,” Cenagul said. “But you of all people should know, it’s not how you define it that matters, it’s how others define it. You can call your shrinking cabal a ‘focused group’ of impassioned thinkers all you want, but if others perceive it as a desperate bunch of rats clutching one another on a sinking ship, then your influence is effectively zeroed.” He smiled. “Which is something you know all about.” Cenagul smiled wider at his little jape, then held his cup out and wiggled it.
Kalder nodded. He leaned forward, refilled his guest’s cup, and then set the bottle down on the floor beside his foot. “You’re a child rapist, yes?”
Cenagul had just touched the cup to his lips when he looked up suddenly.
The two men stared at one another. For the longest time, neither one spoke, and Kalder just looked at his guest patiently, awaiting his response.
“I’m…you…I’m sorry, what?”
“A pedophile,” said Kalder. “A pederast. This is the exclusive club you belong to, am I right?”
Cenagul smiled, but then his smile diminished as he digested this first bit of real danger. “That’s a most…unusual approach to negotiation,” he said, the smile tentatively returning. He was attempting deflection by humor. “And quite beneath you, I’m sure. Let’s stay focused on something that more befits a man of your mind.” And now flattery.
“As you pointed out to me not thirty seconds ago, you can call it whatever you like—above me, beneath me—but I am right, aren’t I? You’re a child rapist.” It was no longer a question.
“I’m not sure what you’re—”
Kalder gestured towards the wall. “Julian, would you come over here, please?”
The assistant detached himself from the shadows on the other side of the room, where he had been waiting the whole time. Tall and lean, Julian moved as light-footed a dancer, gracefully hovering over to his employer. He wore long robes of the darkest green and with many folds. Around his waist was the golden band that denoted the beginning of his Course of Honors, which all aspiring senators must undergo after their minimum six-year military service.
As Julian came to a halt in front of them, Cenagul looked up at him the way a man looks upon a viper that has just slithered into the room. Of Kalder, people knew two things: that he did not bend, and that Julian was his creature in all things.
“This is Julian, my apprentice in the Course of Honors. You’ve met him before, yes?” Cenagul didn’t nod, and Kalder didn’t wait for him to. “Julian has all the relevant recordings in order for this blackmail to take place. They were made earlier this year. You’ll recall those dates, I’m sure? The dates where you arranged to be on Sopol Station. You were meeting members of the Collegium. You were there to discuss their possible donation to your investors, and to coerce them to back the unions and the Guild. What you didn’t know is that Sopol’s factions are enthralled to me for reasons I won’t get into. Needless to say, they arranged for a recording of the activities they provided for you while you were on station.”
Kalder did not make a show out of it—he wasn’t that kind of a performer—he just waved at Julian who played the holographic vid for Cenagul. Kalder shielded his eyes for a few seconds while it played, then waved to Julian once he felt the point was made.
Cenagul’s expression had gone blank. The blood had drained from his face and he gulped unconsciously. Kalder saw Cenagul’s millennia-old legacy being set aflame in the man’s eyes. His family name, so pristine, left in disgrace. He tried to find his voice, but Kalder waved him off.
“I could have gone to the Vigiles with this, but I didn’t,” he said slowly. He knew that he needed to speak slowly just now. Kalder recalled being an emotional human being once, he remembered what it was like to be thoroughly crushed by a horrendous revelation. Information was slow to process in those moments, so he knew he had to be articulate now. “I understand that in this Republic’s decadence, such crimes are not all that uncommon—we aren’t as vigilant as we once were. We don’t monitor our enemies nearly enough, and our friends not at all. However, even as, eh, common as this crime has become, you will find no mercy in the court of public opinion.
“My old friend,” Kalder said, leaning forward and opening his hands in a show of peace, “I need your help. You still hold a significant foothold with the Corporate Arm, so I need your support. I need you to make an announcement tomorrow that you have reconsidered the ‘Anti-Expansionist Bill’, that after reading the new version you feel it’s been unfairly maligned by the Corporatists, and that you think there’s room for bipartisanship here. Give me that, and no one need ever know about your sexual proclivities.”
Cenagul’s face had now transformed into some species of terror. He saw the truth now, writ large. He licked his dry lips, and started to answer.
“However,” Kalder added, lifting a finger. “I am thoroughly disgusted by these crimes, so I do still require some punishment. You will do as I have asked, and in three weeks’ time, you will resign your Senate seat and quietly withdraw from public life entirely. You will return to your villa on, eh, Asteron I believe it is?” he asked Julian, who nodded quietly. “Yes, on Asteron. And you will never leave it again. Julian will keep tabs on you for the rest of your life, which I am certain is not long. If you ever touch a young boy or girl again, or invite any of them into your home, I will release this data to the proper authorities. You are to become a hermit. You are to behave like one. You will order what foods and goods you need to survive from delivery services, but you will turn away all visitors that are not adult family members. Am I understood?”
His lower lip beginning to quiver, Cenagul nodded. The cup of spirits was still in his hand, utterly forgotten.
Then, Cenagul started blubbering, and begging. The words came out in a stream of nonsense. He besought Kalder to recall their old friendship, how it had not always been so fraught, how, at times, it had even been companionable.
Kalder held up a hand, silencing him.
“Take your drink,” Kalder said calmly, “and then say these words, ‘You have my support.’ Say only those words, for I do not care to hear anything else come from your disgusting lips.”
Cenag
ul did as bidden, a tear falling down his cheek. When he was finished with the spirits, he looked into Kalder’s eyes. “Y-you have my support,” he whispered.
Kalder nodded. “Then let me walk you out.”
Cenagul rose waveringly from his chair and walked to the door. So dazed was he, that he took the cup with him.
Kalder opened the door to his office, which led into a long rocky corridor filled with puddles of brackish water. There were a few plastic chairs outside, upon which sat half a dozen lobbyists, all vying for a word with Kalder. One of them was a bald man in complex red and green robes, with strange runes tattooed across his face and clattering jewelry dangling from his neck and wrists. As Cenagul walked out, this tattooed man approached Kalder.
“Senator Kalder, might I have a word—” he began.
“Direct all inquiries to my assistant,” Kalder said, pointing at Julian behind him.
As Kalder started to close the door, others rose and began shouting at him.
“Senator Kalder!”
“A word please, Senator—”
“Senator, I come on behalf of the Brotherhood of Contrition, they wish to talk to you about the Church of Everlasting Penance—”
Kalder turned to his apprentice. “Julian? If you would please?” He left Julian to handle the lobbyists and went back into his office.
The tattooed man pressed him. “Senator Kalder! I come bearing news of d’Arhagen, and his World Serpent that can save—”
Kalder shut the door and stepped into the back room, into his private sanctum where decorations were spare. Only one chair sat before a single flickering candle. He took a seat in the chair and stared at the jagged edges of the rock wall, his mind moving eel-like over the next series of moves he needed to complete in order to achieve a desirable outcome. He meditated, as the Buddha man had taught him all those years ago when they were stranded together on that miserable planet.
Once Julian had dealt with the lobbyists, he came marching directly into his mentor’s sanctum and shut the door as lightly as possible. Kalder was still meditating, stripping himself of the layers of burden that reality had set upon his shoulders.
“You’ve got a lot of people beseeching you for favors out there,” Julian said. “There are more every day.”
“What was that one fool talking about?” Kalder said. “Who is d’Arhagen? Is he some member of the guilds, or the Collegium?”
“I’m not sure,” said Julian. “He promised a ‘coming’ of Magonogon, the World Serpent, whoever or whatever that is. I think he may be another religious zealot hawking some new religion.”
“It is to be expected, here at the Fall of Man. We are at the nadir, and people will invent any reason to cling to hope.”
“Yes, sir,” said Julian. Then he switched the subject back to important business. “Cenagul’s support of your bill won’t defeat the caucus entirely.”
“We already knew that,” Kalder said, still facing the wall. “But he’s a stalwart old soul with deep roots amongst the Corporate Arm. Getting him to part from the herd will shock the rest of them and cause a divide.”
“Temporarily,” his aide astutely pointed out.
“Quite right. We will have to act quickly after Cenagul makes his announcement. We will have a week, two at the most. After that, the Corporate Arm will have recomposed themselves and culled Cenagul from the herd. Once he’s ostracized, he’ll wither on his own and the caucus will find new leadership to fill the gap.”
“Who are you thinking?”
Kalder tapped his chin. “Daggon Lotrip is a natural choice, but I expect he’ll be discounted once he’s vetted. Gambling problems. And they won’t go for Herst, he’s too open to negotiation—the Corporatists like their leaders to be staunch, especially here recently where they want to appear as ‘unbendable’ as me. There’s Pennick, though, he’s a real contender. A long military service with firsthand experience with both the Brood and with mining ventures. The guilds will definitely push the Corporatists to elect him. But the Corporatists have always preferred a member from their own caucus, with years of experience in legislative control.”
“That’s going to be either Ackol or Gringer,” Julian said.
Kalder shook his head. “Gringer’s out, he’s announcing his retirement in two months.”
“I had no idea.”
“He hasn’t told anyone yet. Failing synthetic organs, same as Cenagul, he can’t get the regen meds he needs to replace organ cells.”
“Most unfortunate,” Julian observed.
Kalder lifted an eyebrow. “Oblivion awaits.” It was an old saying, and as close to a mantra as Zeroists ever got.
“So that leaves Pennick and Ackol.”
“Yes,” Kalder said, turning to look at his aide. “It will almost certainly come down to those two.”
“Start making overtures now?”
Several drops of water dripped on Kalder’s head. The pipes running along his ceiling, like much of the asteroid’s infrastructure, were in much need of repair. He wiped the water from his brow absentmindedly, thinking. “Yes, but not directly to either of them.”
“What do you have in mind?”
Kalder looked up at his apprentice, who in recent years had become more like a friend. Julian stood with his head tilted to one side, unblinking and curious. Kalder had found him after a thorough search of ex-soldiers freshly entering the Course of Honors. The application of Julian Cas den Fomas read well. Trained in the Mars Militia, following his parents’ footsteps before totally rebelling and joining the Republican Navy, where he shot up through the ranks. He was seriously injured in a random training exercise. Of all the applicants Kalder had interviewed, Julian had stood out the most.
At first, he had used the eager young man like a blunt instrument—having him force his way into meetings where he was not invited and forcefully gathering information from the aides of other senators—but more recently Julian had proven himself savvy and subtle in ways Kalder had not predicted. A creative mind, capable of both linear and lateral thinking, with a loyalty streak light-years long and a knack for keeping secrets.
“What I have in mind,” Kalder said, “is first getting to know who will be the most receptive without having to make too many promises that will come back to bite us.”
“How do we do that?” asked Julian.
“By ensuring we know what they’ll come to the negotiation table for,” Kalder replied, moving over to his desk and activating his holotab.
“But how?”
“Julian, have you ever heard of a man named Abram Linkkin?”
“No, sir.”
“He was a President of the United States of America, and he said that I destroy my enemy when I make him my friend.” Kalder opened a file on his pad. “We can’t stop the Corporate Arm from keeping its majority power, it’s just too idealistic to think they’ll suddenly lose it all now. They’ve been far too savvy to lose what they’ve carefully gained. So, if we have to have enemies standing in the way of the Bill, then let’s at least make them our friends. What do you say?”
Julian was following now. “Get to both Pennick and Ackol before anyone knows about Cenagul’s plans to break from the herd. Arrange a meeting with each of them separately, before the division starts, and see which way they’re leaning. Offer them both something so that when one of them assumes the leadership role, you’ve got an ear in the Corporate Arm that will listen.”
“Correct.”
Julian looked a little doubtful. “Both Pennick and Ackol have been openly vocal in opposing you in the past, though,” he said. “And I think it’s safe to say they have no special love for your recent claims about the Moon Scrolls, sir. What can we offer that will even make them receptive to a meeting?”
Kalder looked at Julian. “I’ll give them something no one else can,” he said. “The opportunity to be the one to make Kalder bend.”
: Kennit 184c
They stuck to the tactics they knew, and it worked.
For a while, anyway. They lost two of their own in the first few minutes. One hewed in half by a slashing tendril, which extended from the Queen of Mothers’s mouth, and the other exploded into paste when a turret, mounted on the back of one of the husks, opened fire on them.
In the pitched battle, Lyokh shoulder-barged his opponents and swung with every ounce of power left in his STACsuit. At some point, between hacking one enemy and skewering another, he remembered to use his NUI to send a signal up to Lord Ishimoto, letting them know they’d found the objective.
For what good it will do, he thought, throwing himself into the wave of husks.
Lyokh tried to advance, tried to be his group’s rallying hero again, but his ankle got snagged almost immediately by a tentacle growing out from the floor, and he was dragged down. Tentacles and fingers pulled at his helmet, wrapped around his throat, squeezed his chest…
Until Heeten, bellowing inarticulate rage, came to his rescue. Her warhulk’s foot came down on the tentacles, and its massive claws tore at the limbs that were holding him. She screamed “The wall!” as she peeled him free, and Lyokh shouted “Eulekk!” as he pulled his sword out of the muck and began hacking at anything that moved. Meiks, his rifle barking as it spewed out unholy death, came up beside him. Together, the three of them advanced into the storm of husks, splashing through the muck and hearing others dying all around them.
Tentacles spewed out of the husks’ mouths, and they sprung forward at speeds that belied their size. Serpentine tails whipped at the soldiers’ feet, shoved them to the ground, and pawed at their visors.
Lyokh skewered the Queen of Mothers without thinking. She had come at him meaning to kill. She had made up her mind, listened to the Harbingers, and come to this place of her own volition. They were here partly because of her, and his people had died trying to save her. All because of what she symbolized. But she was dead now, killed by Lyokh’s glowing blade, and he found himself at peace with that.