“Brothers and sisters,” he said, pausing to clack his beak. “Um, hope is not lost. Hope…hope is never lost. It’s only ever discarded by those unable to spot it in the dimness.”
Oh, God. This is a disaster.
“I’m no great speaker,” the Winger said, and now his screechy voice seemed to gain a little more confidence. “I’m not a politician to fill your head with empty words. But I have always fought for our species. Everything I’ve done, Wingers have been in my thoughts. I ask you: what’s in your thoughts, now? Yes, Spire has been destroyed, yes the Fins are gone. But we are not.”
Keyes shifted in his seat. Okay. Getting a bit better.
Blackwing spread his wings so that the tips moved off-screen, one of them nearly batting Ensign Werner in the face. “What would the Fins counsel us to do, if they could? Would they tell us to lash out across the galaxy, helping no one but ourselves? Or would they tell us to take up arms for what we have left? We will never forget the Fins, and yes, they will be avenged. But it does not have to mean casting ourselves into the jaws of fate. Back in the Bastion Sector, there are fledglings in danger from the Gok. Our colonies are under threat. But you can help restore order. Go back to them. Use your stealth to launch attacks the enemy will never see coming. And seek out other pirates who can help you do the same. The Wingers can live on to do good in the galaxy. We can use our strengths to restore balance and justice. Or we can use them to harm the defenseless, and bring shame to our species forever. It’s your call.”
Blackwing lowered his wings, and Keyes motioned for the Coms officer to stop the video.
The Winger’s head whipped toward Keyes. “How did I do?”
“You…that actually wasn’t bad, Blackwing. Dismissed.”
Blackwing saluted again and left the CIC.
And now we wait. Traveling at the speed of light, the recording would take a few minutes to reach its recipients.
“The Wingers are attempting to board the monitor ship, sir,” Werner said.
“Acknowledged.”
The Providence sailed through space, her engines straining. Nav had managed to reduce the time it would take to reach the darkgate down to less than two hours. Nearly an hour into their journey, his helmsman informed him that they’d need to start decelerating soon in order to avoid shooting past their target.
“Give it another few minutes,” Keyes said. If the Wingers continued their attack, he intended to launch a salvo of Ocharium-boosted kinetic impactors before deceleration.
His sensor operator looked up from his console, wearing a wide grin. “Sir, the Wingers are disengaging!”
Keyes released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Excellent. Thank you, Werner.”
Before long, they’d drawn near enough to send the Tumbran a real-time transmission request. Piper accepted, and he appeared on-screen, looking harried but uninjured. “Captain Leonard Keyes.”
“You remember my name.”
“Yes. Do you recall mine?”
“Piper.”
The Tumbran lowered his head slightly, his chin sack drooping.
“I’d like to invite you to my ship,” Keyes said.
“Does that have anything to do with the condescending way you feel we Tumbra speak to you during transmissions?”
Keyes felt a smile make its way across his face. That takes me back. Sitting in Captain Warren Husher’s CIC back then, hearing him say the words Piper had just spoken…everything had seemed so complicated and fraught at the time. But Keyes had had no idea what the future held in store for him.
“No, actually,” he said. “It’s because after the beating your ship has taken, I’m doubting its ability to keep you alive for much longer. And because I’d like you to come with us. We need your help.”
Chapter 26
Also a Cretin
Captain Keyes seemed lost in thought while they waited for the Tumbran to join them in the conference room. Glancing around the table, Husher realized that this was the first time they’d met in here since before he’d led a strike on one of Spire’s orbital defense platforms and then plummeted to the surface in a poorly functioning Darkstream reentry suit.
It was also the first time the officers of the Providence had held a proper meeting with Senator Bernard. Somehow, that didn’t seem right.
Fesky also sat at the table, along with Caine, Arsenyev, and Laudano. Husher’s attempts to catch Caine’s eye had failed. She seemed to have returned to ignoring him, despite what they’d experienced together on Thessaly. Maybe because of it.
At last, the Tumbran arrived, escorted by two marines who closed the hatch to wait outside the conference room.
Immediately, the alien’s gaze fell on Husher. “I recognize this one.”
“You do?” Keyes said, apparently having finished with his reverie.
“He bears characteristics similar to your old captain, Warren Husher.”
“This is Lieutenant Vin Husher. Warren Husher is his father.”
Provided he’s alive, Husher would have added.
“Is the son also a cretin?” the Tumbran said.
Husher exchanged looks with Arsenyev, who shrugged.
“Lieutenant Husher is an exemplary officer,” Keyes said. “It’s been a great boon to have him serve on my ship.”
“Hmm,” Piper said, waddling around the table, his sallow, gray skin shifting around its body. “I suppose I’ll just take a seat, since you obviously aren’t going to offer me one. Typical.” He pulled himself onto the chair, and when he sat, his oblong head barely cleared the table’s edge.
Seemingly undeterred, Piper studied the assembled officers, one-by-one. “What sort of help do you think you need?”
At the head of the table, Keyes leaned forward, toward the alien. “We hoped you could help us tap into the Tumbran network. If we could access the sort of intelligence you gave us during the First Galactic War, we’d at least have some advance warning when the Ixa decide to strike.”
“You discuss our old arrangement openly with your crew?”
“These are trusted officers. But regardless, the time for secrecy is long past. No offense, but this is no longer about the Tumbra’s theories for balancing galactic power. It’s about the survival of life in the galaxy.”
“I see. So, humanity is on the precipice of extinction, and you turn to a Tumbran. Should I be flattered that you sought my help over that of the children?”
“We no longer trust the Kaithe,” Keyes said. “The Ixan Prophecies predicted they would betray us, and indeed they did. They gave us the coordinates to find Ochrim, who they described as an old friend, and then Ochrim went on to destroy half the human fleet.”
“Interesting,” Piper said. “The Prophecies.”
“Yes. They have a disturbing way of coming true.”
“Hmm.” The Tumbran looked at Husher, at Fesky, and then back at Keyes. “Have you considered that the children may not have known Ochrim would do what he did?”
“The Kaithe’s behavior seems fairly incriminating all around,” Husher put in.
“Let me ask it another way. Have you considered that the Prophecies may not be intended as an accurate forecast of the future, but as a tool to deceive and intimidate you? The tool may look a lot like such a forecast, but that may not be its actual purpose. After all, if the Prophecies really do provide a reliable map to the future, why would the Ixa ever give it to their enemies?”
A silence fell over the conference room as they digested Piper’s words. At last, Keyes spoke: “That’s a very interesting way of looking at it.”
“I should think.” Piper slowly raised its thin-fingered hands to touch its cheeks, as Tumbra sometimes did. Husher wasn’t sure what the gesture signified. “I will attempt to restore your access to our knowledge of Ixan movements. There’s a fair chance I’ll be able to do so. But I believe I have a more significant contribution to make. This should interest you, Senator Bernard.”
Bernard blinked, looki
ng shocked. “Um…yes?”
Husher felt similarly. Tumbra barely ever appeared to take an interest in human affairs, and the fact that Piper knew Bernard’s name did come as a surprise.
“Yes. For years, you have fought Darkstream’s growing influence on your government. And for an equal amount of time, I have spent my spare time working on a tool for doing the same.”
Piper paused, and Bernard gave him what he clearly wanted: “What is it?” she asked.
“My tool consists of a set of algorithms designed to operate in tandem in order to calculate how close a population is to toppling their government and replacing it with a new one. You might call it a gauge for revolutions. If given access to your micronet, it will access historical data, social networks, and news outlets both mainstream and independent. I have tested the tool using countless simulations, and I am confident in its ability to accurately assess the progress made by a revolutionary movement, within a certain margin of error. It gives that assessment in the form of a percentage, and the margin of error is plus or minus two points.”
“Okay. How do you see your tool being applied?”
“That shouldn’t be hard to understand, when you consider how many revolutionary efforts have sputtered out just before they achieved victory. The task at hand seems impossible, and so the people give up, never knowing how close they came to success. My tool will give them the courage to continue fighting, with the knowledge that if they apply enough pressure, they’ll win.”
“Your tool sounds a lot like AI,” Husher said.
“It is. Just not a strong AI.”
“How do we know that?”
“Because I’m telling you. You came for my help, not vice versa. Listen, human, I’m not trying to represent my tool as safe. It’s dangerous. Very dangerous, to those in power. But I assumed you didn’t come to me looking for safe.”
“We’ve asked you to be an intermediary between us and your species,” Husher shot back. “We didn’t ask for this. This sounds like just more alien plotting against humanity. The type that’s been happening in increasing amounts since the First Galactic War.”
“You’re wrong,” Piper said. “The Tumbra remain humanity’s ally. But your species has strayed from the virtues that make it great, and a true ally cannot support that. I want to see humanity rediscover its virtues. My tool is a way to help you do it.”
Chapter 27
Drama Queen
Police Sergeant Doucet surveyed the scene outside the Ocharium refinery through binoculars from atop an armored personnel carrier. The refinery was one of only a handful on Mars, and its output was small, so the demonstrations happening outside it had only symbolic value at best. If you can call it “value.”
Complicating the matter was the fact that the protesters weren’t actually blocking access to the facility. The surrounding area technically counted as public land, though most political analysts expected President Hurst to auction it off to the highest bidder within her first year.
Still, the protests were spreading, and Darkstream market valuation was taking a hit. Facilities where protests sprang up outside the door, like this one, even saw spikes in employee absenteeism, though the company didn’t waste any time firing those employees and hiring more willing workers to replace them.
“Sir, we’ve driven the protesters into the stream, but they’re holding firm, the bastards.”
Doucet lowered his binoculars to study the man who’d spoken. Corporal Bradley’s uniform looked like it had just come from the dry cleaners. That’s what I like to see. A man who could stay looking sharp in a situation like this was a man poised to rise through the ranks.
“Turn the hose on them. See how long they last under that.” Technically the hose was a water cannon, but they’d been trained not to use that term, lest it leak to the media. Official police protocol did not condone the use of water cannons.
“Yes, sir.” Bradley saluted and then spun on his heel, marching off to implement his sergeant’s orders.
The thought of getting soaked to the bone in this weather made Doucet shiver involuntarily. It was nearing winter in Mars’ northern hemisphere. For a crowd of lazy freeloaders, they sure have balls.
But what else could they be? Hard-working Martians would be at jobs on a weekday, not out stirring up trouble for the galaxy’s most profitable corporations.
Worse than lazy, the protesters were stupid, even though you could tell they thought they were so smart. They were what his father would have called “useful idiots,” and they’d swallowed this conspiracy theory about dark tech destroying the universe whole. It was just like President Hurst said: the Ixa hated humanity’s freedoms, and this was their attempt to take those freedoms away.
Although, Hurst also said Captain Keyes had partnered with the Ixa to spread the lie, and Doucet wasn’t sure he bought that. He’d always admired Keyes, and while dark tech was wonderful, keeping a ship around that didn’t need it made good sense. In fact, Doucet would have kept a lot more than one, but then again, it wasn’t his job to make those decisions.
His job was to squash this protest.
He climbed down from the personnel carrier and made the short walk to the front lines, where his police had already turned the water cannons on the freeloaders standing in the stream. Doucet saw one get knocked underwater, but she popped right back up to stand her ground and glare up at the police.
Incredible.
The protesters had taken to calling themselves defenders, and for the first time, Doucet could see how seriously they took that name. Clearly, they didn’t plan to give in anytime soon.
Not unless something changed.
“Bradley,” Doucet barked.
The corporal marched over from where he’d been standing nearby, coming to attention two meters away and snapping off a smart salute. “Sir.”
“I told you to have the concussion grenades on hand. Did you see to that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Deploy them.”
Doucet took up a position higher on the hill so that he could observe the grenades in use. All along the ranks of police, trained officers hefted launchers onto their shoulders.
“Fire!” Corporal Bradley hollered.
The grenades arced into the crowd of protesters, and a second and a half later, they exploded, sounding like kernels popping—if kernels were as loud as gunshots. Engulfed in smoke, the protesters fell into disarray immediately, their panic hitting them nearly as hard as the grenades had. Doucet watched as one man, in an attempt to keep his head above water, pushed the woman beside him below the surface.
How quickly their solidarity crumbles. Doucet permitted himself a small smile.
He raised his com to his lips. “Again.”
“Fire!” Bradley screamed, and another volley launched.
The grenades blew, and this time they were followed immediately by shrieking that started and didn’t stop. Doucet raised a hand to his forehead and scanned the crowd of protesters, trying to spot the source of the noise through the smoke. Who’s the drama queen?
Then he saw her: a woman whose arm hung limply by her side, with the soft tissue between her elbow and wrist completely blown away.
Slowly, Doucet lowered his hand to his side.
“Sir?” Bradley’s voice came through Doucet’s com as crisp as ever. “Do you see that?”
“I see it, Corporal.”
“What do you advise?”
Doucet drew in a deep breath. He was having trouble piecing together exactly what he advised. Think, Doucet. What’s wrong with you?
“Sir?”
“They’re terrorists, Corporal. Economic terrorists, just like President Hurst says. If that lady didn’t want this to happen to her, she shouldn’t have taken up terrorism.”
“So, then…”
“Fire another volley.”
Chapter 28
In Good Conscience
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come to the meeting?” Co
rporal Simpson said, studying Bernard’s face over her mug of steaming coffee. “I know what makes senior officers tick.”
Bernard smiled. “I know you do, Trish. But Captain Keyes isn’t much like most senior officers. I have a feeling he and I will get along just fine.” She stood, abandoning her half-drunk tea. “I’d better go. Somehow, I doubt being fashionably late gets you a lot of traction on this ship.”
“Good luck, Sandy,” Simpson said.
To Bernard’s surprise, her and Simpson had become fast friends. Their relationship had started rocky, with a long stint living together aboard a combat shuttle, followed by sharing adjacent cells in a Roostship brig. But now that they had their personal space back, they discovered that their trials together had actually caused them to bond. Bernard ran all her ideas by the corporal, finding that Simpson actually had a pretty sharp mind for political analysis. She would have made a good senator herself.
She found Keyes poring over something on his desk console. Stowing it, he clasped his hands on top of his desk. “Please, have a seat.” The captain wore his characteristic bluff-faced stare, but it wasn’t entirely without warmth. “You were somewhat coy about the purpose of this meeting, if you don’t my saying, Senator.”
“My apologies. It’s a bad habit, left over from meeting with Darkstream’s stooges and not wanting to give them too much information in advance.”
“A fine strategy. What is the purpose, then?”
Bernard let out a long breath, collecting her thoughts. She resisted the urge to sweep her bangs out of her face, which she still hadn’t had the time to get cut. “I believe humanity needs your help.”
“I agree. However, I’m currently doing everything I can to help humanity. I can only be in one place at once.”
“That’s what I’m getting at, actually. I’d like to request a loan of one of your shuttles. I think that if I was on the ground with the protesters, I could help them coordinate, and maybe even inspire more to join the movement against the Commonwealth’s reckless policies. I could also take Piper’s revolution gauge with me and upload it to the micronet the moment I reach a planet.”
Juggernaut: The Ixan Prophecies Trilogy Book 2 Page 9