"So you still think it was the Demons?"
"I think it was aliens, manipulating humans to do their will – but I don't wish to speculate without further facts."
"But what is their motivation? Why should they do this?""
"I believe they have learned enough about Delta Research's mission to become concerned. And they wish to learn more. I don't blame them. But I certainly do not agree with their methods."
"Will Galactic Information continue the investigation?"
"Of course."
"I still say you need a bodyguard."
"If I was a mercenary thug I don't think I would be anxious to sign up for a mission with such a severe penalty for failure – no matter what compensation is promised for success. No, I don't think there will be a repeat of this attempt. Besides, I already have a bodyguard – two of them, actually. You and Honeyhair did a superb job of protecting me."
"Thanks, Prof, but that was sheer luck."
"A wise man once said that the harder you work the more good luck you have. So let's get back to work."
Δ
"Peace and Joy. That's what we call it. That's the name that emerged." The speaker on the wall screen was a young man, sparse scruffy beard, dark hair cut short, a ragged pullover that had seen better days. He was seated at a table, before an unopened dox cup. The Prof had called all Deltas to the conference room to see this recording.
"They call us PJ's," he said. "But it's Peace and Joy. That was the idea."
"Didn't work out too well, did it?" an unseen questioner asked him.
"On the contrary," the man said, raising his chin in defiance. "It worked out just as planned. All our goals were achieved. You can't expect everything to go smoothly when your goal is revolution. You have to tear down the old and construct the new. There are bound to be problems."
"You're an Orman, aren’t you?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"It's why you're sitting here today. You fled the PJ's."
"So I did."
"Because they started killing off the Ormans. Right?"
"Yes. I'll admit I am weak. I did not want to die."
"So you disagreed with that policy?"
"Not at all. Human reunification is not a game. Those who resist must be eliminated from our plans."
"So you agree with the policy of killing Ormans."
"It was a policy of seeking reunification. I agree with that. Many Ormans rejected our program. They were a reactionary force. I denounced my Orman origins long ago."
"Remarkable. What does this policy consist of?"
"Reunification of humanity. Rejection of ethnic differences. Rejection of superstition and religion. Redistribution of all wealth. Collapse and destruction of the economy. Abolishing private property. Ending hate speech. True equality for all. Free love for all." He was faintly smiling.
"Do you believe in all that?"
"Absolutely! It's the future."
"All right. Let's start with the reunification of humanity and the rejection of ethnic differences. How does that work?"
"Reunification must begin with refusing to acknowledge or accept ethnic or racial differences. We are all humans. Race is nonexistent. There is only the human race."
"If race is nonexistent, it sounds like you have no problem."
"But racism is not nonexistent. People who acknowledge or accept racial differences and consider themselves separate from others are poisonous to society and must be eradicated. People like Outworlders, Ormans, Mocains, Cyrillians, Assidics – and a whole host of others."
"But how do you identify these people – if there are no races. How do you spot 'em?"
"We have no trouble identifying them."
"You just categorize them by race, and kill them by race. Right?"
"That's unfair!"
"It’s more than unfair. It’s called genocide. But let's move on. Who will be left, after you kill all identifiable ethnic types?"
"The people will be left. People who have no race."
"Tell me how redistribution works. The PPDD already had a redistribution policy. Apparently it did not go far enough for you folks?"
"No, it didn't. It was a false redistribution. It was unfair."
"And what do the PJ's view as fair?"
"We invade the banks, open them to the people, and everyone takes what they need, with no accountability. We collapse and destroy the economy, we empty all the stores and take what we need, then we burn them. If anyone is seen as having more than anyone else, we do not imprison them as the PPDD did – we kill them, on the spot."
"It seems a little short-sighted. What will you do after all the wealth is redistributed and there is no more? And all the stores and markets are burnt. And the water and power no longer function. "
"The people will handle all necessary functions."
"Will you pay them?"
"Pay them? Certainly not! May I have a smoke?"
"No. How will anyone survive, where will you get food and clothing and shelter?"
"We live a communal life," the young Orman said, popping open the dox. "We all share. We take what we need, from those who have. If they resist, we kill them. We don't need people like that in our new society."
"I see. And what if you meet organized resistance? For example, the PPDD army, or UMC forces assisting them."
"We resist. We are organized into street militias, as you know."
"That didn’t work out well, did it? Tell me, what is hate speech?"
"Interesting. I thought you Mocains were specialists in hate speech. Hate speech is any speech that counters our program. Hate speech is punishable by death. Hate speech must be eliminated from society. Words are powerful. Without words, our enemies are unable to express their obscene anger and resentment and subversive ideas."
"Free love. How does that work?"
"We are all entitled to free love. Hateful selfish females who resist that are enemies of the people and will be forced to participate in free love. And that way we also break down the geneist racist concept by creating the new human race, free of racial differences."
"So you are a true believer."
"Yes, I am." He sipped casually at his dox.
"What about your parents? The PJ's killed them. Right?"
"They chose their fate. They could not accept the new. They did not embrace equality."
"Are you saying they deserved what they got?"
"Not at all. I'm saying they chose what they got. And if I had tried to help them, I would have been guilty of racist behavior."
"And you're not a racist."
"No, I'm not."
"Then why flee the PJ's?"
"I had been warned that some still viewed me as an Orman. I had denounced my origins but that was not enough. I was weak. As I said."
"Tell me, what's the difference between the PJ's and a gang of pirates?"
"Is that some kind of joke?"
"Yes – it's a joke on the people of the PPDD. But it's not funny. The answer is the pirates have adult leadership."
And with that, the recording ceased. The lights returned to the conference room and the Prof addressed us from the podium.
"I thought you should all see that," he said. "That was the Peace and Joy Movement – from the horse's mouth, so to speak. That recording was made by the Mocain Military Information Service, and obtained by Galactic Information. You've all heard that the Mocains have crushed the PJ's on Spartos, but the movement has spread to Calgoran and indeed is gaining adherents on many worlds, some of them outside the former PPDD. The System and its successors have brainwashed generations of parasites into believing that the state owes them a living, that all people are equal and that anyone who possesses more than anyone else is a criminal who must surrender his ill-gotten possessions." The Prof shook his head wearily.
"As you can see, these people are selfish fools who are happy to destroy society if they can share loot from the resulting chaos. This movement ap
peals to millions of parasites who refuse to work, and who demand free money. The PPDD tried to placate them and we see the result – the destruction of the PPDD. We are likely to see variations of the Peace and Joy movement anywhere we travel in ex-Systie worlds. It is now a growing part of the ongoing chaos that rules in the Inners, the Gassies and the Gulf."
The Professor raised his head and looked us over proudly. "You won't find the PJ movement in the Outers because ConFree won't tolerate such behavior here. Nor will you find it in the Assid Confederation, or in the Biogen People's Solidarity Accord, or in Santos Free. They won't put up with nonsense either. You all should consider yourselves lucky to be living in a society where individual human rights are enshrined, where the strong protect the weak, where the people direct the government and where children are raised to respect their nation's culture, history and traditions. But it's a short, easy fall to chaos. It only takes one generation for a free people to become slaves. Keep that in mind. And don’t let it happen on your watch. Don't believe anything unless you know it to be right. No matter who you are, listen to your tribal voice, the voice of your ancestors. They speak the truth."
Δ
"What a perfect day!" Bird said. He was sitting to my right, in the copilot's seat. I was in the pilot's seat of the Phantom, going over the checklist. We were both in armor, as required. It was indeed a fabulous day. Quaba's two white suns were both up, in a cloudless sky, lighting up all creation. Fleetcom's starport stretched out all around us, huge hangers and bunkers and hundreds of military aircars, Phantoms and fighters parked everywhere.
"This feels so damned good," I said, looking over the instrument panel. "Thanks, Bird."
"You've earned it, Prophet. You already have your Assidic Air wings, you're the only human that's piloted a Demon saucer starcraft into stardrive, and I'm sure the Brights would have given you their equivalent of pilot's wings if there had been time. The least I can do is qualify you for Fleetcom wings. All right, let's go. Light 'er up." Bird was a young enthusiast with sandy hair and keen grey eyes. Actually he was older than he looked. And he was an aeronautical genius and a multi-millionaire as well.
I activated power and the ship hummed in response. That was the last item in the activation checklist.
"Visors down," Bird said. I snapped my visor down.
"Notify tower."
"Tower this is five five zero. Request permission to lift."
"Five five zero, all clear. You have permission to lift along your glide path."
We lifted off the pad slowly, almost soundlessly, just like a butterfly. The Phantom attack starcraft was the Legion squad's transportation into battle and its air superiority weapon during battle. It was a giant black armored fist, shaped like a blunt delta dagger, emblazoned with the Legion Cross. The nose bore the name Ruthie and a pix of a tempting blonde honey. It was a stunningly lovely instrument of total destruction. I followed the pathway in the sky that glittered on my visor, floating upwards at a steep angle, faster and faster as I gently applied throttle. Soon we were ripping upwards like a reverse shooting star, heading for the darkening sky where Quaba's two lovely white suns dominated the view.
"Excellent," Bird said.
"You make a good spacecraft," I said. Bird's engineering firm had designed and produced the Phantom for the Legion.
I continued up, up, up, airspeed increasing. Soon the deep blue was turning to black. Then we could see the stars. What a day! The Bright symbol was lasered onto my armor, a white hand with the B lightning bolt weapon superimposed. Under my armor I wore the Assidic wings, and Honeyhair's national service medallion hung around my neck. I wouldn't leave the ground without them.
"All right, into the designated orbit," Bird said. I let the ship do it.
"Orbit confirmed," the ship announced.
"Not bad," Bird said.
"Not bad?" I asked. "Come on, it was perfect."
"Ahh, well it was close to perfect."
"What would have made it perfect?"
"If you had been a hot little blonde in a nurse's uniform. That would have been perfect."
I laughed. "How is she? The hot little nurse. Are you still seeing her?"
"Oh, I see her when I have a chance."
"When you have a chance. She's on Veda. What is that, four hundred light years away?"
"Something like that."
"You know exactly how far it is. And it's a long way to go for a massage."
"Oh, I don't mind."
"You'll like married life. It's fun. And she can work in the medunit with Honeyhair and Blondie."
"I didn't say anything about marriage."
"You don't have to. You're hooked like a fish. I can tell by the glazed look in your eyes." Bird had met her in the Valhalla Hospital on Veda, where three of us – Bird, Saka and I - were recovering from serious wounds inflicted by the D's. It was the second time for Saka. They had killed him the first time – but the Brights brought him back from the dead.
"I suppose you have some advice. Just on the off chance I decide to get married, which is a crazy thing that I'll probably never do."
"Sure. Just do whatever she says. Then you'll be fine. Oh, and – one more thing. You'll have to re-name this ship. And get a new picture."
"She won't believe it's my mom?"
"Not unless you get a new picture."
The conversation tapered off as we cruised soundlessly in orbit around Quaba. What a stunning sight. We watched nightside approach, a clear divide between night and day far below, a vast black ocean under starry skies. Quaba's two suns faded into pools of blood behind the planet. We flew over the night, the polar areas glowing phosphorescent blue. Another dawn approaching, I thought. Thrilling. What a beautiful world. And Bird got to do this every day, floating over us all like a god, in the space where the lightning is made.
I earned my Fleetcom pilot's wings that day. I had been studying the Phantom and flying for weeks and I was proud of myself. The only reason this happened was that they originally needed somebody with a DX brain to fly the Demon spacecraft, and I had been selected. It's funny how life works. I had never imagined I would wind up flying spacecraft.
Δ
"I believe she's a female. Most likely a Bright, although we can't know for sure," Bees said. She was in private conference with the Professor in his office. "She seems to be located in some place called the Others, on a planet numbered 6612 or some variant of that. I have been unable to identify it. It doesn't seem to be a Demon world. It could be a Bright numbering system. Whether it's in Mid Haven or here, I don't know. She's calling for help. Lost in the Others, she says. Any thinking being, help. The Dead are coming, closer and closer. She doesn't want to die. She wants to have children – that was confirmation she was female, although I felt that before."
"Doctor D has studied the transmissions," the Prof said, "but at our current stage of research he has no answers for us. We need more data. If she described the planet or the Dead or the Others, any of that would help. But Bees, please listen to me and try to understand. When I was first studying science, as a midschooler, they gave us some high-powered microscopes and we each put a drop of water on a slide and focused in on it. It was incredible, what a teeming jungle of life could be seen, all these tiny creatures swimming around and feeding on even smaller creatures and on each other. I spotted this one transparent worm-like thing that had clearly run into trouble. He was tangled up in a giant clump of sticky slime. It was wrapped all around him and he was struggling frantically to get out, thrashing around desperately, trying to break free of the blob. I felt sorry for him. Incredible, I thought, to feel sorry for a microscopic creature like that. I watched him struggling, and failing to break free. I knew he was going to die if he didn't get out. But there was nothing I could do. I was too large to help, and he was far too small. There was nothing I could do. So I put the slide away and did something else. But I dreamed about him that night. Believe it or not. I tell you this because sometimes there is trul
y nothing you can do, and you have to accept it, and move on."
"Thank you, Professor. I'll keep that in mind. But I'm not quite ready to give up yet."
Δ
It was cool and calm and perfectly quiet inside the ship. Saka had the impression that all was well, that everything was perfectly under control. He had an excellent view from inside the ship. He seemed to be seated in the cockpit area and two of the ship's crew were seated to his left. The interior design of the ship was perfectly functional and the walls and ceiling and walkways were all white. The crew was Brights, he noted. Two young male Brights, skin faintly glowing as if phosphorescent, clad in white uniforms, gazing calmly at the instrumentation that glowed ice-blue, casting blue shadows. Pilot and copilot, Saka thought. Saka stared at them, fascinated. They looked exactly like humans and that was not surprising since the ancestors of these Brights had mixed their genes with humans in the distant past. They were as calm and cool and confident as biogens. They took the craft down, almost to treetop level, shooting along over a great gloomy swamp, under a grey rainy sky. The rain was hitting the simport and vaporizing. What a bleak view, Saka thought. These Brights are from a sunnier place than this.
The ship glided along, and the Brights were touching the guidance levers lightly, the ship sliding a little to one side in response. One Bright pointed to one of the instruments with a slim finger. A dark forest appeared on the horizon. They were looking for something, Saka knew.
And suddenly Saka was outside the ship, watching it powering its way through the sky. It was one of those Bright delta fighter starcraft that had done such a great job of downing Demon ships on Galinta. What a beautiful ship, as white as a cloud and as sleek and deadly as a cosmic shark. It left a wake of water vapor behind it. Up near the nose was the Bright insignia – a white hand with the lightning bolt weapon superimposed. They were evidently hunting something. What it was, Saka did not know.
And then Saka was in the swamp, splashing through the mud and reeds as fast as he could manage. He was in his A-suit, fully adrenalized, his heart pounding raggedly, faster, faster. They were almost on him! A Bright starcraft blasted past overhead in the blink of an eye and Saka dove for the mud. The swamp burst into flame, a titanic thunderclap and a gigantic plume of plasma ripped past Saka, settling over the swamp, a flaming tsunami. The swamp exploded, geysers of mud and charcoal reeds rising to the ugly sky along with countless glittering phospho tracers, lighting up creation.
Prophet and the Blood March (Prophet of ConFree) Page 7