“This, coupled with the refugee crisis, means that the Resistance Armada is the only viable possibility. Until we can restore the quantum entanglement relay stations, communication across the Trades is extremely limited. There may very well be other resistance forces out there, but for the time being, we must assume we contemplate the only one.”
The subtext here that nearly made Drexler salivate was potential for thousands of very lucrative shipping contracts and other service agreements. Shooting up some Reptilians was just a means to an end. Drexler wanted the contracts. If he played the game well enough, he believed he had a good chance of managing all of it, making Fleetfoot Interstellar the most powerful company in the Trades overnight.
“Yes,” Harvard said. “We also have word from the Three Pillars and the Pan-African Federation City Ships. The Reptilians attack all space-faring Human nations. The Human Diaspora is willing to join the fight. We have little choice.”
“I have worked with the space-faring humans in the past,” Fourseven said. “But the Reptilians fight in a new way―ship against ship. What use are ground soldiers, if we are not able to land on the ground?”
Harvard paused. Members of the High-Mind standing behind him had unfocused eyes. Drexler knew that meant they conferred among themselves on the thought network. “This is a problem our security unit and engineers struggle with. We believe the solution is to take as much of the Trades with whatever force we can improvise, as soon as possible.”
“So I had the right idea for once, eh Harvard?” Drexler subvocalized to his old friend. It was a bad move. Harvard was linked with the High-Mind, so shooting quips to Harvard reached the leadership body of New Detroit. The combined nasty look from the High-Mind rocked Drexler back on his heels. Harvard said nothing.
“Why do you bring us here?” Cila asked. Her bluntness was not lost on all present.
Drexler surprised himself by reading Fourseven’s body language. She was about to apologize for Cila. Drexler turned toward her and shook his head. Fourseven restrained herself.
“If I may,” Daemon Vasiliev said, stepping between the Armada Delegation and the High Mind. The other four officials in his party remained strangely aloof and silent. “We brought you here to discuss matters in a secure location. We believe the Refugee Cloud may leak information.”
“Leak?” Cila asked, not understanding the metaphor.
“Yes,” Drexler replied. “It means that important information is leaving the cloud.”
“What makes you believe this?” asked the old Termite Monk, who spoke for the first time. “I understand the quantum entanglement communication relays are either captured or destroyed.”
“We have evidence of some secondary network,” Daemon Vasiliev said, “other than the secret tangler device aboard the Fleetfoot I. The Hunot are known for their engineering and science skills. They are here to discover the leak, among other things.”
Drexler could not hide his surprise. “You know about the encrypted tangler?”
“We are in the information business, Captain Fleetfoot,” Harvard said. “We are aware of the BJP device used by the former soldiers and have been for quite some time. It was developed with technology from New Detroit, after all. But we are speaking of other communications that appear on the quantum realm that we cannot place at all.”
“So,” Cila said. “This group is trusted.”
“Or suspected,” Drexler replied.
“No, Captain,” Vasiliev replied. “Our Arachnid ally is correct. We believe this group represents the safest elements of the Armada.”
“The purpose of this meeting,” Harvard said. “Is to make contact, introduce ourselves, and prepare a play.”
“You mean, a play beyond Medina 3,” Drexler said.
“That is exactly what I mean,” Harvard replied.
“There are a lot of moving parts here,” Drexler said.
“Yes, there are,” Vasiliev answered. “We need to be ready to work with other parts as they join the system.”
“Such as the other Human City Ships,” Harvard said.
“A united front,” Drexler said, catching on.
“I do not understand,” Fourseven said.
“We need to come to an agreement now, to commit this group to mutual support. Because we don’t have access to the Trade Union as a whole, we have no idea what else is being done. We need some kind of binding agreement so that we can take meaningful action.”
“I could not have said it better myself,” Harvard said. “Are you sure you are not part of the Hive Mind?”
“If I were,” Drexler replied. “You would not like what I am thinking.”
What New Detroit proposed complicated matters. Having the City Ships behind the armada meant access to great power and resources. It also presented a major political problem. What Harvard proposed would change the power structure in the Trade Union. If the Human Diaspora managed to liberate the Trades with Drexler’s help, they would essentially control the Trade Union itself.
Drexler’s head reeled imagining how the BJP would feel about that, not to mention the other non-human species who were all-too aware of the Human capacity for aggression. The trades were a very delicate balance among species. Drexler wanted to return the Trade Union back to normal and grab all the business he could in the process. He did not want to be a lever in some kind of political power play.
“Nevertheless,” Harvard said with a pale smile stretching his thin lips across the gleaming ivory of his teeth. Drexler wondered how much the skin of that face still contained unmodified human cells. “You have the full support of the Human Diaspora―the Three Pillars, the Pan-African Federation, and the Federated Americas.”
“You supply the crews and resources,” Drexler said. “And I’ll provide the ships. Is that it?”
“No,” Harvard said, “but it is a start. I’d like to keep you with us for a while. We will bring you back to your ship. Our insectoid friends will meet with the Hunot and Daemon Vasiliev while you and I talk.”
The Daemon and his group already guided the Insectoid delegation away, with the Hunot leading them all deeper into the ship. Boljak lingered for a moment, looking back at Drexler, who gave him a curt nod. The spider was smart. He knew something more was afoot, as did Drexler.
“OK, Harvard,” Drexler said. “But I’m sure you mean your High-Mind friends will be with us.”
“Of course,” Harvard replied. “This is an official meeting, but it must remain between us. Even the electorate is excluded from the results of this meeting, but there is someone else who will take part.”
Drexler followed the High-Mind back down the ramp and into the hangar. The footsteps echoed off the stone chamber walls and bounced off the spaceships. Drexler noticed one ship in particular looked familiar. He stopped short when the group headed towards it.
“That looks like one of my shuttles,” Drexler said. “It’s heavily modified, but…”
“Hello, Drexler,” called a familiar voice down the shuttle ramp.
Gordon Fleetfoot stood at the shuttle entrance, leaning against the outer bulkhead.
“Don’t know what to say, for once,” Gordon said. “That is a first.”
Drexler rushed up the ramp, and the brothers shared a brief, rough embrace. Gordon held his younger brother by the shoulders and looked him over.
“You’ are looking lean,” the larger man said.
“These are lean times. You look great. Healthy. Happy, too, in spite of everything,” Drexler replied.
“That’s because I’m happy to see you, little brother,” Gordon replied.
“It’s been twelve years,” Drexler said.
“More,” Gordon replied. “Twelve years and three months, but who’s counting?”
“Me,” Drexler said, “I’ve been counting.”
Gordon sighed. “I know. You’ve always been a score keeper. You’re still angry with me.”
“A little,” Drexler replied. “But I can’t tell you h
ow good it is to see you, even with everything that’s going on.”
“And with you right in the middle of it,” Gordon said. “Just as it should be.”
Drexler laughed at the comment, but Gordon did not. He was just about to pursue the strange joke that suddenly seemed like not a joke at all when Harvard prodded the brothers to enter the ship.
“We should start the meeting,” Harvard said.
Drexler found himself walking along in his gray flight suit surrounded by white robes. Gordon wore the black uniform of a New Detroit Medical Corps officer. Drexler snickered as the sudden thought occurred to him that the group resembled some a microscopic cell with him and his brother as an organelle, and the High-Mind as the cell wall. They made their way to the rear of the enlarged and expanded shuttle to a small room with a table just large enough to accommodate them all. Drexler waited for the High-Mind to file in and sit so that he could place himself closer to the door. He had no desire to be jammed in without a ready escape route.
The High-Mind made him uncomfortable. Drexler spent a lot of time in New Detroit over the years, much of it as a child and young adolescent. He was accustomed to the strange appearance of humans and other aliens with linked minds. The High-Mind was an entirely different story. They moved in unison. When one person scratched his or her nose or shifted in a seat, the rest did the same, whether they had a nose or not. They were linked on a level Drexler had never before witnessed.
“They are freaky,” Drexler subvocalized to his brother in Ancient English.
“It is the head of the New Detroit Government,” Gordon replied. “And they are probably monitoring transmissions, so show some respect.”
Drexler cast a side-eye toward one of the Mind members to check for signs of offense. He couldn’t detect any. “They’re freaks,” Drexler said. “I call them like I see them.”
“Captain Fleetfoot,” Harvard began. “What we discuss here, I prefer to broach with our Insectoid friends at a later date.”
“But you want to keep whatever this is about from them for now, why?” Drexler replied.
“As you know,” Harvard answered, “we have little experience dealing with the Insectoids. There is much about them we do not understand. There is also much about their Lost Colony Prophecy that we don't get, either.”
Drexler froze. He could not read the shared expression on the faces of the High-Mind. He was in a surprise poker game now, without knowing the wild cards.
“How do you know about that?” Drexler asked.
“I am not at liberty to say,” Harvard replied.
“No, but I bet you took some liberties to discover that information,” Drexler said.
Tension filled the pause. Drexler struggled to regain his footing, trying to anticipate where the meeting was headed.
“That does not matter,” Gordon said. “What matters is the success of the Armada, and you helping to find the Lost Colony.”
“I thought that was just some religious thing,” Drexler replied. “Prophecies tend to be flexible, depending on what people need at the moment.”
“Perhaps for Humans,” Harvard replied. “But Insectoid religion is based in the sciences. Insectoid prophecy is based on quantum computer probability models.”
“Are you telling me that they can see the future with their computers?” Drexler asked, folding his arms across his chest.
“No,” Harvard replied. “I am telling you that their predictive models for future events are highly accurate mathematical simulations. Those models point to you, this Armada, or this war that will lead the Insectoids to discover something that will restore their planet to balance. It is balance we are trying to achieve overall.”
“There is a biological, genetic component to all of this,” Gordon said.
“Is that why New Detroit has been bouncing across three hundred light years for the past decade?” Drexler asked.
“That is exactly why,” Gordon replied. “We are trying to understand the imbalance that brought on this war so that we can fix it before it’s too late.”
“War is always the same,” Drexler replied. “All sentient beings have the same damn problem. Someone gets it in their head that it’s easier to take than to build, then they start killing. The only way to fix it is to make the idea look stupid.”
“It really is much more than that, Drexler,” Gordon said. “This is still a direct result of the Silicoid Wars of eight-hundred years ago. We saw a period of five centuries that achieved relative equilibrium, but now, the balance is disturbed.
The dying of the Insectoid Homeworld and the expansion of the Lizard range are symptoms of the problem. We are looking for the cause.”
Drexler held his face in his hands. He realized how tired he was. The only thing he was certain of at that moment was his extreme weariness. He had an Armada to build. He did not have time for abstract theories. If they presented him with another job, he’d take it.
“Just tell me what you want me to do so that we can cut a contract, and I get to work, OK?” Drexler said.
“Contract?” Harvard asked.
“Yes, contract. You don’t expect me to work for free, do you? Look, I’m in this to restore the Trade Lanes so I can have a fucking job when this is over.”
The High-Mind leaned back at once, struck by the single word of Ancient English vulgarity. Harvard alone remained still, making full eye contact with Drexler after the Captain lifted his bloodshot eyes again.
“Very well,” Harvard said. “I am not prepared to offer you a contract at this time. I will offer you a binding agreement.”
“Let’s hear it, then” Drexler replied.
“We want information. We want you to maintain diplomatic and tactical contact between New Detroit and the Insectoids. We want you to take part in the mission to find the Lost Colony.” Harvard said.
“To restore some kind of balance that you don’t quite understand,” Drexler replied. “What do you offer in return?”
“Exclusive supply contracts between New Detroit, the refugee cloud and the Armada.”
“I already have that,” Drexler replied. “My crew and our associates already manage seventy-five percent of the forward contracts, and just about all the current contracts. You’ll have to do better than that.”
Each member of the High-Mind turned their heads towards Gordon, who leaned back as if pressed by a strong wind.
“He’s my brother, but you’re the ones doing business with him,” Gordon said. “I’m just a Doctor.” He held up his hands.
“I want amnesty,” Drexler said.
“I’m not sure we can do that,” Harvard replied.
“You say that much too quickly,” Drexler said. “Like you already know the answer. I know you have lawyers. I want your top lawyers to get me, my crew and my Armada amnesty for all past and future transgressions.”
“Impossible,” Harvard said.
“Then don’t expect any information from me. You can try hacking me all you want. I’ll lock you out, and you know I have the means.” Drexler said. He held his breath, thinking he might have gone just a bit too far.
Harvard studied him as the other Hive-Mind heads turned their attention away from Gordon. Soon, the entire collective stared at Drexler like eyeless marble statues.
“We can promise you legal representation from the highest legal authority in New Detroit, but we simply cannot promise or predict what the Trade Union will decide as far as the law is concerned. You must also remember that New Detroit is a democracy.”
“That is good enough,” Drexler said. “I trust the will of the people. Throw in a fleet of ships, and I will consider your offer.”
Gordon burst out laughing in spite of himself. Harvard shook his head and grinned.
“We don’t have a fleet of ships to give,” Harvard replied.
“Then you can let me pick from the refugee cloud and finance all my offers for the ships I choose. You can let me pick my crews from the fine citizens of New Detroit. Y
ou can bankroll everything,” Drexler replied. “Let us not be vague. You want me to secure Trade Union Communications again so you can get your hand on the data. That means going up against a Reptilian Battle Fleet. You want to corner the information market, fine. You give me the tools to do it, and I will make that happen.”
The High-Mind didn’t take long to consider the counter-offer.
“We agree,” Harvard replied.
Drexler stood, extending his hand to Harvard, and said, “If I shake one hand, I guess I’m shaking yours all. You have a binding agreement. Full legal representation for me and those under my command, and my own fleet of ships, should I find one. In return, I keep you informed and keep the Insectoids cooperating and happy as we traipse around in space looking to fulfill a prophecy.”
Harvard shook on the words, and the High-Mind filed from the little room at the back of the shuttle. When the last of the white robes dropped below the horizon of the ramp, Drexler turned to his brother and stabbed the control console with an index finger.
“Oh,” Drexler said. “That ramp doesn’t make a sound going up. You must have New Detroit’s best engineers working on this thing.” Drexler slapped the inside bulkhead with his hand.
“What are you up to, Drexler?” Gordon asked when the ramp sealed itself and became part of the hull again.
“I’m taking Fleetfoot Interstellar in a new direction,” Drexler replied. “I’m in the private military business.”
11
Daemon Vasiliev himself led Drexler to his overnight chamber. The room was constructed from the same rough-hewn reddish stone as the rest of the tower. To get to the room, the two walked up eight flights of winding stone stairs separated by seemingly random landings and intervening chambers. Varying gravity planes made the progress feel as if Drexler was living in an M.C. Escher drawing.
“I am not familiar with this artist,” Vasiliev replied after Drexler blurted out his feelings on the subject.
Rogue Messiah: Fleetfoot Interstellar Series, Book 2 Page 10