Warlord 2: The Nobility

by CJ Williams

  Pioneer life, even with modern-day conveniences, was a lonely business. And besides, excitement abounded in New Rome. Advances in medicine at Hellinikon University, theories on the nature of the universe from Tiber Laboratories, and many other fields of research meant that Mars now rivaled the academic pursuits of Moonbase One. And of course, the hedonistic pleasures of the ancient civilization were not entirely unknown in its Martian namesake.

  Still, a few hardy souls preferred the isolation of the red planet’s outback. Carrie took the tram out of the city to Matt Damon Station, a small community that resembled a western township. From there she walked two miles down a dusty road to her destination. In one third gravity, it wasn’t much of a chore.

  On the moon’s low gee, one sixth of normal, Carrie had long ago mastered the bounding gait to get around on the surface. Here on Mars, it was more of extended skip.

  Once she left the township’s field barrier, her personal force field kept her comfortable. When she penetrated the farm’s protective barrier, the first thing she noticed was the scent of lavender.

  Who would have thought the evil Cesar Morán would wind up as a lavender farmer? Carrie mused. Samantha said that he had recently branched out into other types of flora. It turned out that even in the other worldly setting of New Rome, ladies still appreciated fresh flowers and lavender-scented soaps and perfumes.

  From the road, his crops were laid out in long violet rows of purple-stalked mounds. After reading his file, Carrie had wondered how he managed to grow the environmentally sensitive plant, but the heat inside the farm’s atmospheric barrier made it clear he kept the climate artificially warm and humid.

  Carrie turned from the main road onto his long driveway and laughed to herself. It appeared the man still had political ambitions, or at the very least, he harbored regrets. The house at the end of the drive was a miniature replica of the former White House in Washington D.C.

  As she approached his residence, he emerged from the house and waited under the awning of the circular driveway. He could not have known she was coming as he had no implant.

  Once the Commander approved the Nobility’s communication earpieces for general distribution their use quickly spread throughout the solar system’s Alliance population.

  Morán, however, was not an immigrant; he was classified as an involuntary exile. The truth was, as a personal prisoner of the Commander, he was never issued an earpiece. It was part of the forbidden technology that was excluded from the people of Earth.

  The general assumption was that at some point, he would be returned to his home planet. Unfortunately for Morán, as time went by that assumption was forgotten. After the Commander left to establish forward operating bases in another part of the galaxy, no one was willing to violate one of his past orders. It was easier to simply ignore Morán’s presence. Consequently, the man had been forgotten; an inconsequential bump in the road, cast aside in the fight against the Bakkui.

  Carrie was expecting to see some kind of nefarious figure as she approached the house; a diabolical fiend, plotting revenge against the man who had so off-handedly exiled him from his home planet. Instead she saw…a farmer. He was wearing jeans, work boots, and a comfortable cotton shirt. His close-cropped hair indicated a man without vanity, and of a more practical outlook.

  “Good morning,” he said cheerfully. “You’re out early today. The gift store’s not open yet but we can fix that. What are you looking for, some of our new soaps?”

  “Good morning to you,” Carrie replied. “Actually, Congressman, I wanted to talk to you about the US government.”

  His countenance changed the instant he recognized she was not a customer but here on official business. Here comes the man I anticipated, Carrie thought. His expression became suspicious, and a bit of his once famous conceit leaked through.

  He stared at her for almost a full minute as one expression after another crossed his face. Anger, humiliation, curiosity, and finally, resentment. “What government?” he snapped. “It’s gone, thanks to your precious Commander.”

  Carrie sighed. The trip to see Morán may have been a waste of time. “Could I have something to drink, please?” she asked. “The walk out here isn’t difficult, but it is dusty.”

  Morán’s bitterness faded, replaced by resignation. He turned away and stalked toward his house, “Come on in,” he said on a sigh.

  She followed him around to a side door that entered into a large, country-style kitchen. He gestured to a round table set in the corner against wraparound windows that overlooked his land. It was a much grander version of the kitchen in her dad’s farmhouse in Kansas.

  Morán filled a tea kettle from an old-fashioned kitchen sink and put it on the stove. While the water heated, he got two mugs from his cupboard and two slices of a crumble cake out of his fridge. In Carrie’s world of replicated everything, the congressman’s mundane preparations were incongruous. He had not been restricted from using modern technology so she assumed it was a statement of some kind.

  The kettle whistled and he poured the boiling water over two handmade tea bags that produced a faint lavender scent. “It’s hot,” he muttered, putting the kettle on the stove’s back burner. He put a fork and a plate with the crumble cake in front of her. He set one for himself but ignored it while staring at her. His expression was one of defeat.

  “Why so melancholy?” Carrie asked. “You have such a beautiful place here. And I hear nice things about your products in town.”

  “You’ve never been exiled, have you?” he said glumly. “If you had, then you would understand.”

  Carrie suppressed the urge to wince at his question. The fact was it was exactly how she felt. True, Annie had sent her packing for her own good, but it was not what Carrie wanted. Now she was forbidden from contributing, forced to let others face the Bakkui while she relaxed on the Moon.

  Her situation helped a little to understand what the man in front of her was feeling. “How do you mean?” she prompted him.

  “You volunteered to go into space,” he said. “Everyone volunteered, but I didn’t. I was literally dragged away from my family, my home, from my very planet. Can you imagine how that feels?”

  Carrie understood his point but was not sympathetic. “Have you ever asked yourself why?” she asked. “Do you not see the bigger picture?”

  “I do now, but it doesn’t change how I feel. How could it? There’s nothing I can do about anything. I’m not accepted here; I’ve been forgotten back there. So what? What’s your question?”

  “Why are the States so dead set against us?”

  Morán shrugged. “Xenophobia. Politicians fan that flame; have done for decades. Down there, they call it nationalism, patriotism, any other -ism you want to use.”

  “How can we get past it?”

  “Why do you care?” Morán asked. “You already have everything you need. These damned replicators make life so easy it’s insane. But you keep them all for yourself. You don’t want to share.”

  “We can’t share,” Carrie said earnestly. “I would love to, honest. But I’ve read about dozens of attempts to transfer the technology to other planets and it never works out unless there’s a single planetary government in place.” Carrie fixed an accusatory glare on the congressman. “It’s because politicians get greedy. They use the technology as a weapon against their opposition.”

  “I know,” Morán said. “At first, I thought your Commander was being a jerk, but I’ve read the same material. But again, so what? Do you honestly think that doesn’t build up resentment?”

  “Is that why the government won’t talk to us? Or is it because of the Bakkui strike?”

  “Both. I watch the news. Things are really messed up down there and everyone is afraid. No one knows what the future holds anymore so they’re grabbing what they can.”

  “We’ve tried to speak with them,” Carrie explained. “But it seems like no one is in charge these days. Why won’t they work with other countries at
least? The Commander wanted to support the United Nations and bring the world together.”

  Morán scoffed. “That’s a waste of time and it doesn’t help your case any. Americans look down on the UN. You should already know that.”

  Carrie silently agreed. It was one of the few areas that she felt differently than the Commander. Sometimes he was blinded by his ideology for world peace.

  “Then what would help?” Carrie asked.

  “I’ll ask you again,” Morán said. “Why do you care?”

  “We need people. Smart, talented, aggressive people and lots of them. The States were our best recruiting ground. We’re still getting a few American immigrants, but they have to sneak out through other countries. It’s not enough. We want recruits from an education system that rewards daredevils and innovative thinking. The US is still the best at that. We get plenty of brain power from the rest of the world, but not as many entrepreneurs and fighter pilots as we need.”

  “Why should I help you steal our brightest and best?” Morán demanded. “What does that do for us?”

  “Us? You mean us in space or us as in the US?”

  “I’m not one of you guys. I’ve just explained that. I’m an expatriate here. No one has ever said one thing that made me feel like I’m one of you.”

  Carrie leaned back in her chair and regarded the congressman. The first thing she had to do was get him on her side. For that to happen, he needed to believe her. She pulled a small box from her pocket and put the contents on the table.

  “What’s that?” Morán asked suspiciously. “Is that one of those Bluetooth things? I never used them.”

  “It’s an earpiece,” Carrie replied. “This will make you one of us. We only give this to people who immigrate from Earth. Even if they go back, this is the one thing they can take with them. It might help you get back what you lost.”

  “What’s it do?”

  “It lets us talk to our AIs and to each other. It also improves our health.”

  “And you’re just giving this to me? No strings?”

  Carrie nodded. “No strings. You’ve been here a year and a half. If nothing else, you certainly deserve this one benefit. But I need to warn you—wait!”

  Morán had scooped it up and jammed it in his ear. “Feels funny,” he said.

  “I told you to wait!” Carrie said with exasperation. “It needs to be customized, or it’s going to hurt!”

  “How much? You said—” Morán screamed in pain and fell backwards out of his chair, clawing at his right ear and writhing in agony.

  Sadie, I think it’s killing him! Sandy thought desperately.

  Sadie was unperturbed. He’ll live, I promise. But he’s going to be upset. Stay on your guard.

  Morán stopped his squirming. “What was that for?” he growled, struggling to his feet. “You’re no better than that sick bastard you call your Commander. I should—”

  Carrie’s fist caught him off balance, and he sprawled across the tile floors. He lay still, groaning.

  “Don’t call my boss names,” Carrie said angrily. “Not if you want any help from me.”

  “I don’t want any help from you,” he moaned. “You came to me.”

  Carrie winced mentally. That was a fair point. She shouldn’t have hit him. After all, he had more than enough justification to be bad-mouthing everyone, her included. So far the meeting was not going all that well. Her anger vanished.

  “Does it hurt?” she asked.

  Morán struggled once again to his feet, this time cautiously keeping his distance from the hammer-fisted woman. “Are you kidding? I think…” He moved his jaw from side to side, and a look of surprise slowly crossed his face. “I thought it did,” he said. “I thought you broke my jaw there for a minute.”

  Carrie relaxed. “I told you it had medical benefits. More than you might imagine. If you use it right, it can take care of your body under almost any circumstances. It can heal anything except this,” she finished, pointing at her head. “If you won’t open your mind to what’s going on in the galaxy, nothing can help you. Tell him, Sadie.”

  Congressman Morán, I assure you that Admiral Faulkner is telling you the truth. She would very much like to help you regain the world you have lost.

  Carrie waited for the impact to sink in. The first time George had spoken to her mentally had been quite memorable. It was like having an angel on your shoulder, ready to give advice when you needed it.

  “Demeter,” Carrie said. “Please introduce yourself to the congressman.”

  Greetings, Congressman Morán. I am Demeter, the artificial intelligence assisting the colonists of Mars. As long as you are on Mars, I am at your service. Just speak aloud and I shall respond. When you are ready, we can establish your preferences for routine communications. Do you wish to do that now?

  Morán wore an incredulous expression. “Not really,” he mumbled.

  Very well, Demeter continued. I am available twenty-four-and-a-half hours a day, six hundred and eighty-seven days a year. I also have tutorials available at your leisure.

  “You’ve got a lot to think about,” Carrie said. “I’m going to be visiting some friends over the next couple of days and I’ll be staying at the Aqueduct Hotel in New Rome. Tell Demeter if you want to hear my offer.”

  Carrie left Morán, still speechless in his kitchen, and started back to town. She gazed wistfully across the beautiful fields of lavender. He had a picked a great location and turned it into a paradise that she had not seen on any other planet. She almost felt guilty trying to lure Morán away from the Garden of Eden he had created. If he was smart, he would never show up at the luxury hotel.

  *.*.*.*

  Carrie was having her morning coffee when Demeter announced Morán had entered the grand hotel. She waited in the restaurant for his arrival. He spotted her right away and walked over quickly.

  “You said I could get back what I had lost,” he said before even sitting down. He looked ready to bolt. “What did you mean by that?”

  “If,” she said emphasizing the point. “If you help us, I’ll send you back to Earth and you can resume your seat in Congress.”

  “There is no Congress. Not to speak of. They can’t even decide whether to rebuild or move the capital to a new location. Everyone is squabbling about getting it for their state.”

  Carrie gestured at the seat across from her and glared at Morán pointedly. With a reluctant “harrumph,” he plopped down.

  “Have you noticed the skyline here?” she asked. “Don’t you think these buildings are wonderful? Haven’t you ever wondered how we build them?”

  “I live here,” he replied blandly. “I know how you build them. You’ve got floating replicator machines and they can put up a building in a day or two. So what? You said you won’t give us the replicators. Or are you changing your mind?”

  “I won’t give you the replicators,” Carrie said. “But I’m willing to use them on your behalf and rebuild Washington DC. I’ve already spoken to my engineers. We’ve got the blueprints for almost every building in DC. I’m offering to build it back, just as it was, or at least as close as we can make it.”

  “You mean the capitol building?” Morán asked, incredulous at her suggestion.

  “I mean all of DC. The capitol, the White House, the Lincoln Memorial, the Washington Monument, and all the rest. All the government buildings and landmarks. And we’ll put in utilities and a useable roadway system too. Enough to get you started.”

  “What about living space? Where will people stay?”

  “I’m not talking about every residential house. Most of those people died and I have no interest in rebuilding slums with a million row houses for absent landlords. But we’re pretty good at building apartments.”

  “The row houses are not slums!” Morán retorted angrily. “They date back to the 1850s and are part of the city’s history. Starting in 1791, DC was designed as a planned city. If you’re going to do this, do it right.”

&n
bsp; Carrie was startled by the vehemence of Morán’s objection. “I thought you would be glad we were going to rebuild the place.”

  “You want to get American’s on your side? Then don’t throw up a bunch of ugly apartments because it’s easy. Use the original plan of L'Enfant. That will show people you’re serious.”

  “Who is Infant?”

  Morán rolled his eyes at her ignorance. “Pierre Charles L'Enfant. He was a French city planner that George Washington hired to design the capital.”

  “You mean like the George Washington?”

  “Yes! The father of our country, George Washington. That’s what I mean. Rebuild the capital with respect, and the citizenry will appreciate it. Anything else and you may as well hang it up.”

  Carrie considered the idea. Riley Stevens had said something along those lines but hadn’t pushed it. Carrie didn’t think it was that important because she was in a hurry. But Morán had a valid argument. This was something that was going to last for centuries. It wouldn’t hurt to put the same effort for aesthetics into DC as Roth and Samantha were doing for Alliance metropolitan areas.

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll have Riley do it your way. But there is a limit. We’ll rebuild the capital area and provide enough housing for government employees and their families.”

  “How long will that take?” Morán asked.

  “Couple of months, maybe a bit more. You’ve seen how fast we can build things.”

  “What do you want from me? You don’t need me for that.”

  “I want you to take the credit and in doing so, acknowledge the Alliance. Sign our mutual protection agreement that we’ve signed with all the other nations.”

  “I don’t have that authority.”

  “Sure you do. I’ll stand next to you on a stage as the representative of the Milky Way Alliance. I’ll acknowledge you as America’s diplomatic contact and we’ll promise to defend you from the Bakkui from here on. We’ve got that worked, out by the way. We know how to beat them if they try a repeat attack. In return, you open your doors.”