He could hardly forget Campbell’s urgent call less than twenty-four hours ago, asking on her behalf what the Dynasty policy was toward Myo. After the Prime attack, Campbell had also told him the Senator and the Investigator were requesting an urgent personal meeting. He wasn’t sure what it was about, but given what Nelson’s observation team had told him about Mellanie’s activities on Illuminatus, it wasn’t a request he was about to refuse. Only now was he starting to wonder what sort of connections Justine had with Wilson. One thing was for sure, that meeting was going to be a lot more interesting than this one.
“I think we can move forward now,” Doi said once the doors were shut and the screening back around the conference room. “I would like to propose Admiral Columbia to assume overall command of the navy, effective immediately.”
“I second that,” Toniea Gall said.
You would, Nigel thought. He caught Heather’s smile of approval.
“All in favor?” Doi asked.
Nigel languidly raised his arm along with everyone else. Alan Hutchinson gave him a fierce, sympathetic grin, which he ignored. If Heather was surprised, she didn’t show it. The argument that the Dynasties had engaged in three hours ago via ultra-secure links had been ferocious. Only a small part of the bad feeling had spilled into the first part of the War Cabinet meeting. Even the intensity of that had mildly scandalized the likes of Crispin Goldreich and Toniea Gall. But then, behind strong seals, Heather always did swear like a construction worker.
“I would like to thank you for your confidence,” Rafael said. He sounded most sincere. “I want to assure you that I am determined to end the Prime threat once and for all. Mr. Sheldon, you said you will make your weapon available.”
They all turned to Nigel. Even now, he thought wearily. For a moment he felt like storming out, catching up with Wilson, putting his arm around the man’s shoulder and the two of them heading off to a bar together.
The Commonwealth he’d created and led for so long now wanted his weapons. That’s not how it was supposed to be. The day he’d stepped out on Mars to laugh at Wilson and the other astronauts was the day he broke the old system: he and Ozzie had set everyone free. And now, I’ve helped build the most revolting weapon anyone has ever dreamed up. I wanted us to live among the stars themselves, not snuff them out. “Yeah,” he said contemptuously. How very like the old military officers Rafael was, audacious in their smart uniforms, sounding positive as they gave their briefings on precision attacks and minimal collateral damage. “Unless the Primes agree to negotiate a cessation of hostilities, I will use our weapon against their homeworld.”
“Will that guarantee their eradication?” Hans Braunt inquired.
“The weapon when fired into a star releases a nova-level energy burst, and destroys the star in the process. Such an event will envelop the entire Dyson Alpha civilization. As they have undoubtedly spread beyond their original star by now, my Dynasty tacticians have proposed a firewall strategy. We will run scout missions centered around Dyson Alpha, and nova every star where we detect their presence. It will, of course, sterilize all life on neighboring star systems.”
There was complete silence around the table.
“You wanted to win,” Nigel told them uncompromisingly.
“We have been reticent about genocide in the past, and rightly so,” Rafael said. “For that is what makes us human. But we can no longer indulge ourselves in this case. If the Primes are allowed to survive, they will forever be a threat to our existence. They have flare bombs, and no reluctance to use them. They have wormholes, and from that will be able to develop FTL ships. If that happens, they will spread through this galaxy like a virus, and endanger even more species than ourselves. We cannot allow that to happen. It boils down to a very simple equation: them or us.”
“Very well,” Doi said. “It is the recommendation of this War Cabinet that every means possible is used to rid ourselves of the Prime threat, up to and including their complete extermination. I propose this motion.”
“Seconded,” Rafael said.
“Please vote, ladies and gentlemen,” Doi said.
It was unanimous.
“Thank you,” Rafael said.
“How are you going to deal with the Primes left in Commonwealth space?” Crispin asked.
“The Lost23 will be the easiest,” Rafael said. “They have very few ships in those systems. We will simply pull our insurgency troops out, and use a quantumbuster against each planet. They will not survive that. The New48 are more problematical.”
“You reckon?” Alan Hutchinson snapped. “For a start, you’re not classing Wessex along with the rest of the invasion. Drop a quantumbuster on my world, and I’ll fucking nuke your Dynasty back into the stone age.”
“Nobody’s going to wipe out Wessex,” Heather said. “Calm down, Alan. It’s a Big15, it can recover from the flare radiation. Narrabri is protected under force fields, and the farmland can be replanted easily enough. The rest of it, the land you’ve left uncultivated, doesn’t count; it has no economic value, and no one living there.”
“You still need a functioning biosphere,” Justine said.
“Half of the land mass will be completely unaffected,” Hans said. “The flare activity lasted for less than an hour in total. And the impact the radiation will have on the ocean is completely minimal. The biosphere remains essentially intact on Wessex as it does on the other New48.”
“It’s not that simple,” Justine said. “The particle swarm will spread around the planet. You’ll get fallout everywhere.”
“By far the worst impact is the hemisphere facing the star during flare time. The rest is manageable. Look at Far Away; the flare lasted for weeks there, and we managed to regenerate the continents. That whole planet is alive again. You’re not going to have people running out of oxygen. The time it’ll take to restore the carbon cycle is insignificant on a planetary scale.”
“I’ve actually been to Far Away,” Justine said. “It is minimally habitable, and that’s after over a century and a half of grueling effort. It’s a huge mistake to class it among normal H-congruous worlds. These New48 will not be habitable; we have to get the populations off. I don’t know about Wessex, that’s exceptional, but the rest must be evacuated.”
“I am not proposing abandoning Wessex,” Rafael said. “However, there are now four and a half thousand fully armed Prime ships in the Wessex system. We don’t have four and a half thousand Douvoir missiles in our inventory, let alone the hundred seventy thousand we’ll need to eliminate Prime ships throughout the New48.”
“Did they really send that many through?” Toniea Gall asked.
“Yes,” Rafael said. “Which means we will have to evacuate the majority of these systems. The navy cannot deal with forty-eight armadas.”
“How many can you deal with?” Doi asked.
“Assuming the Moscow-class production continues unabated, we estimate we can clear five star systems before we face a loss of containment. We don’t yet know what kind of threat the ships pose. They have two options, both of which present unique difficulties for us. Firstly, they can head in to the H-congruous planets, and breach our defenses through sheer numbers, then land and establish an armed colony. It does of course mean that we can use quantumbusters against them when they are down and concentrated.”
“And the second option?” Crispin asked.
“They make a break for it. With an average of three and a half thousand ships in each system, they’ll possess enough equipment and manufacturing capability between them to put together an FTL drive eventually. Again, they will have to rendezvous to begin a manufacturing process, which will leave them vulnerable to a Douvoir missile.”
“How long will it take to manufacture a hundred and seventy thousand Douvoir missiles?” Toniea Gall asked.
“We could probably get them completed within nine months, providing we authorize a super crash-priority project. I’m not sure we have that kind of time available. If t
hey are still planning on colonizing the New48, they could be in orbit around each of them within a week.”
“You’re talking about evacuation regardless of the Primes,” Justine said.
“Yes. That is our preferred option. Let them all land and take them out with a quantumbuster.”
“We’ve already got a monstrous refugee problem from the Lost23, and most of them were low-population worlds. How many people live on the New48?”
“Not including Wessex,” Nigel said, “about thirty-two billion people.” This time the silence was even more profound.
“It can’t be done,” Hans Brant said. “Can it?”
“Physically removing them through the wormholes is possible,” Nigel said. “However, accommodating a diaspora of such magnitude within the remaining Commonwealth is totally impractical. There is nowhere for that many people to live; feeding them on basic rations alone would virtually bankrupt the rest of us.”
“Then we have to face that prospect,” Justine said. “I for one will not even consider any proposal that includes abandoning these people. Wars inevitably instigate societal change; it looks like this is shaping up to be ours.”
“A noble sentiment, my dear,” Hans Brant said. “But even if the Senate were to assume draconian powers, and force the refugees on the rest of the Commonwealth, some planets would resist.”
“We cannot turn our backs on thirty-two billion lives!” Justine stormed.
“There is an alternative,” Nigel said quietly. “A risky one, of course.” This time he felt almost nothing but contempt at the way everyone turned to him with hope and desperation in their eyes. “We open up forty-seven fresh planets, and simply transfer the populations over directly so they can rebuild their societies.”
“For Christ’s sake, man,” Alan said. “You can’t dump billions of people on undeveloped worlds. They need cities, and infrastructure, government…food!”
“I know,” Nigel said. “That would all have to be prepared beforehand.”
“But…we’ve got less than a week,” Toniea Gall spluttered.
“As Einstein once said, time depends on the relative position of the observer.”
When President Doi officially closed the War Cabinet session, Justine waited in her chair while the other Dynasty leaders went over to Nigel to offer their thanks and congratulations. Even Heather was conciliatory enough to congratulate him. As for Doi, Justine had never seen the President so pathetically happy; she almost ran across the anteroom to tell Patricia Kantil the outcome. Patricia’s face was soon beaming a huge, incredulous smile.
How stupid, Justine thought. It was as if declaring something were possible had made it happen. And everything they’d agreed in cabinet was dependent on nothing else going wrong. How’s the Starflyer going to react?
“You wanted to see me, I believe?” Nigel said. He’d come over to stand beside her chair. Justine looked up at him. And exactly how do I tell if I’m looking at the Starflyer’s number one agent in the Commonwealth? Her hand went to the slight bump in her belly. I need to secure a place on one of the lifeboats, just in case.
“I do,” she said.
“Excellent. On one condition.”
“What’s that?” she asked in trepidation.
“You and Investigator Myo bring Mellanie with you.”
Justine’s jaw dropped. “Huh?”
“Mellanie Rescorai. I’ve been wanting to meet her for quite a while now. She’s with the Investigator, isn’t she? They traveled back to Earth together from Illuminatus.”
“Yes,” Justine said, struggling to regain her poise. How does he know that? More important, why does he know that?
“Excellent. We’ll do it after we’ve all made this stupid public announcement. The CST offices at Newark should give us some privacy.” He smiled. “I’m glad you’re okay after the assassin’s attempt on your life. Tell Gore I’m impressed, as always.”
“I’ll let him know,” Justine promised.
***
Edmund Li knew he was being stupid staying on. He should have left Boongate weeks ago, when the loose collection of relatives and friends that made up his family all departed on a train to Tanyata. They’d called him every time a connection to the unisphere was available, a schedule that was even worse than the link to Far Away, showing him images of the tent they were living in, scenes from everyday Tanyata life. So he got a good sketch of them and fifty thousand others spread out in a makeshift township not far from the ocean, one of eight such townships centered around the CST station. Everybody was helping to lay down the grid of their new city, building up the infrastructure, doing the work normally left to bots. They all helped out, they all knew their neighbors. There was a pioneer spirit there that human worlds hadn’t possessed since the very first planets were opened up three hundred years ago. Despite the hardship, it looked like a good place to live.
Still, Edmund hadn’t left. The really stupid thing was, technically, he didn’t even have a job anymore. The Far Away freight inspectorate division had nothing left to do. Nobody on Far Away was importing anything. There was nothing for his team to scan and analyze; besides, the others had all left a couple of days after the navy intelligence people had visited; it was just him now. He’d watched all the other offices in the small administration block thin out and dwindle to nothing, which made him the de facto Boongate government official in charge of all travel to Far Away.
At first he kept doing it because of the navy’s Paris office, which had asked him to keep monitoring traffic to and from Far Away. It was important, Renne and Tarlo had said. After a while, he became intrigued by Far Away and what was going on there—that wasn’t a good enough reason to stay, he knew, and yet…The people leaving Far Away were nearly all the same; every Carbon Goose flight was packed full with migrants who’d sold virtually everything they had to buy a ticket. They arrived bowed under the weight of a world with a standard gravity, and burdened further with pitiful expectations of the Commonwealth. Edmund was doing well if he managed to collect all their names before they disappeared into the station terminal where they believed they’d find sanctuary. By talking to them he did manage to gather a picture of the strange turmoil afflicting Far Away, the criminal sabotage, the rise of the Institute in enforcing law and order in Armstrong City.
But it was the people who were still traveling to Far Away who sparked his real interest. Why anyone should choose to go there at this time was incomprehensible. Yet they kept turning up with their return tickets: technical staff for the Institute, security staff for the Institute, managers for the Institute. No Institute staff were on the flights coming back from Far Away; yet they would be the only people left on the planet with return tickets.
In his zeal to understand more of that benighted planet, he ran innumerable searches through the unisphere for information. For the first time ever he began to pay attention to what the Guardians were saying. Yes, they were a bunch of psychopathic terrorists, but put into the context of everything he was witnessing, their claims made unpleasant sense.
Last week even the Carbon Goose flights had stopped as the pilots and crews deserted to head for safer parts of the Commonwealth. Then the CST technical support staff began to slip away from the station. He was mildly surprised that the wormhole to Wessex remained functional, there were so few maintenance personnel left to operate Boongate end. A lot of everyday engineering was being carried out by remote from the Big15 world.
That should have been the right time to leave, Edmund knew. The RI controlling the gateway to Far Away would no doubt shut it down when enough components expired and preset safety limits were reached. It might last a day, or six months; Edmund was hardly an expert. Not that it mattered; without the Carbon Goose crews there was no way to get to Far Away anymore. He felt almost guilty thinking such thoughts; by now he considered himself the only person who cared about the fate of that remote planet, the lone watchman on the border looking out across the void.
Then th
ree days ago something else changed. The communications link between Half Way and Far Away opened at the correct time, but the message traffic flowing into the Commonwealth unisphere wasn’t even one percent of normal, and all of it was encrypted. Any messages or calls going to Far Away were bounced back, including his own official request for information to the Governor’s House. Far Away was now completely isolated.
For three days Edmund Li kept a solitary vigil in his lonely office, waiting to see what was going to happen. Then the Primes attacked.
He followed the invasion through the news shows and official government information feeds. The swarm of ships emerging three AUs out from the star. The flare bomb fired into the star. A secret navy superweapon that was terrifyingly powerful, extinguishing the flare bomb, but with such a high price. Then another flare bomb was fired into Boongate’s star. The navy was forced to blow it up again. Sensors on the satellites orbiting Boongate captured the oceanic waves raging through the star’s corona; they also recorded the sudden and deadly rise in solar radiation playing over the planet.
Without warning or explanation, every Prime wormhole into the Commonwealth shut down. Humans had won—if you discounted the thousands of warships gathering like stormcrows around forty-eight Commonwealth worlds.
It was the weather that probably saved Edmund. He’d spent a couple of hours sitting at his desk accessing reports and firsthand accounts of the invasion, with the occasional foray over to the vending machine for cups of tea. After the wormholes vanished, he started tracking Boongate’s satellite sensor data, seeing the direct impact the radiation gale was having on the planet. Electromagnetic energy was absorbed and weakened to some extent by the atmosphere before it reached the ground. Even so, the dosage was far greater than most animals and plants could comfortably withstand. The first wave of particle radiation arrived not much later, virtually wiping out the ionosphere in the first few minutes. It was much worse than the news studio experts predicted. Power supplies outside the cities and towns protected by force fields became erratic or failed altogether under the surges. All the civil satellites dropped out as they were exposed, leaving sensors on the planetary defense platforms as the only source of information. Borealis storms swept down from the poles, their pale dancing colors bringing a weird beauty to the destruction falling silently across the world.
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