Ixan Legacy Box Set

by Scott Bartlett

  Oh, God. Husher’s stomach roiled as he began to piece together what Yung was doing, here. Oculens. That was what Yung was holding, he realized—right before he threw it on the grass and stomped on it with a combat boot.

  “Those who would enforce policies aimed at equality of outcome between all the species—they place group identity above all else. I say, fine, then. If the most important thing about a Winger is the fact he’s a Winger, and the most important thing about a Tumbran is that he’s a Tumbran, then the same goes for humans. But the similarities end there. They say humans have benefited from advantages that must be countered, but I say we celebrate human culture. Let’s raise humans up, as they’re meant to be raised. Yes, the most important thing about a human is the fact he’s a human. Why? Because humans are smarter and stronger than other species. We dominated the galaxy for decades, and we can dominate it again. We will dominate it again. Never feel ashamed of being human. Feel proud. Feel strong!”

  Most of the few dozen listeners took the cue Yung’s pause was clearly meant to represent, and they raised their fists in the air, cheering.

  “If they don’t like human dominance, then they can go somewhere else. Human culture has developed over millennia, and we like it just fine, thank you very much. I’m calling for the peaceful deportation of all nonhuman—”

  Suddenly, a woman rushed in from the nearby copse of trees and decked Yung in the face, sending him stumbling to the right, clutching his jaw. He whirled around to face his assailant, eyes ablaze, a trickle of blood running down his cheek.

  “Hey,” Husher shouted, rushing to the front of the crowd with his hands spread toward Yung and his assailant. “That’s quite enough!”

  That was when he saw the woman’s face. It was Penelope Snyder, former president of Cybele University.

  Chapter 25

  At the Expense of Peace

  As the deputy sheriff listened to accounts of the incident, Husher could tell he felt about as enthused about the whole thing as Husher did—that is, not at all. The man rubbed his cheek as he listened, his expression carefully neutral.

  Snyder’s attack had been documented by at least thirty sets of Oculenses, so variations between her, Yung’s, and Husher’s accounts could easily be resolved. Still, it was worthwhile to get their accounts nevertheless, especially when it came to establishing motive.

  In this case, the motive was pretty clear. “So you say Corporal Yung was spouting ‘violent rhetoric,’ Ms. Snyder, and that’s why you hit him?”

  “I answered violence with violence,” Snyder said. “It’s the only thing people like him understand.”

  The deputy leaned back in his chair, leaning away from his desk—and from the three people in his office. “I reviewed the footage of the corporal’s speech, and while it was certainly politically charged, I don’t believe it violates IU strictures against inciting violence. That’s for a judge to decide, of course, should the corporal decide to press charges.”

  “I won’t be pressing charges,” Yung said, wearing the same self-satisfied smile he’d developed within a minute of Snyder’s attack. His jaw had swollen substantially. Snyder was wearing a ring, which had done a fair bit of damage.

  “All right, then. In that case, I think we’re done here, other than for me to request that you refrain from punching people in the future, Ms. Snyder. If you think someone is guilty of inciting violence, I would ask that you inform a law officer rather than taking the matter into your own hands. That’s considered vigilantism under IU law, and it’s more likely than not that the next person will press charges.”

  “I understand your perspective, Deputy,” Snyder said, which made Husher want to roll his eyes until only the whites showed. He was pretty sure he knew what her attack was really about.

  The deputy sheriff, clearly lost for what to say next, stared at them. Husher cleared his throat, standing. “You heard the deputy,” he said to the other two, his voice coming out somewhat hoarse. “Ms. Snyder, you leave first. I’ll leave with the corporal in a few minutes. I want to have a word with him, and I want to make sure you both get on your way home, separately, without further incident.”

  Snyder stood, avoiding eye contact with Yung, and left the office.

  “Thank you for taking the time to come here, Captain,” the sheriff’s deputy said. “I know you have much more important matters to attend to.”

  “Least I could do,” Husher said, suppressing a sigh. Though this might end up being more important than I’d like it to be.

  Once they were outside the sheriff’s station, Yung turned to him, eyebrows raised expectantly. “You wanted to speak with me, Captain Husher?”

  “Yeah. What the hell are you doing?”

  Yung’s smile, already insufferable, broadened. “Why, I’m doing exactly what you told me to do. I’m making something of myself, just like you said I should have done a long time ago. I’ve stopped assuming the world owes me something because of my intelligence, and I’m trying to use that intelligence to make a positive difference.”

  “Bullshit. You were giving a speech in a location chosen for its divisiveness, about how humans are superior to other species. And you were about to speak in favor of human-only colonies, weren’t you?”

  Tilting his head to one side, Yung said, “Through the efforts of the IU and the IGF, human culture has been diluted, until—”

  “Ah, come on, Corporal! You know that isn’t true. You fought alongside aliens. You know integration made the IGF a more formidable fighting force than the United Human Fleet ever was. Why don’t you tell me what this is really about?”

  At last, Yung’s smile fell away, and he was silent for a moment as Husher’s words took root. The ex-marine’s shoulders rose and fell with deepening breath. “I’m just doing what the IU leftist radicals taught me to do,” Yung said at last, his tone of false levity replaced by one dripping with venom. “They wanted to take my job because of my species identity, and in the end they succeeded. I say, fine. They want to make identity the foundation of everything? I can play that game, too. I say I’m more entitled to be where I was because of my humanity, not less. They took away a job I loved, Captain. They don’t get to do that without consequences.”

  “So this is about getting revenge on the IU. At the expense of beings you fought alongside, and at the expense of peace and stability aboard my ship.”

  Yung’s jaw muscles tightened visibly. “If that’s what it takes.”

  Shaking his head, Husher suddenly felt incredibly weary. Here we go again. “I’m sure this won’t steer you away from what you’ve resolved to do, but I hope you know your personal vendetta is going to take away from the war effort. The more division you sow on my ship, the less able I’m to fight the Ixa.”

  “Maybe I don’t think this society is worth saving,” Yung said, even more bitterly. The way his words echoed Price’s made Husher stare at him longer than he’d intended, his pulse quickening as the depth of the quagmire he was standing in became fully apparent.

  “Besides, Captain,” Yung continued. “There are plenty of humans who agree with me. And haven’t you heard? Next to Teth, they consider you their greatest champion.”

  Chapter 26

  Pressure Cooker

  Husher’s daughter contacted him the day after the Yung-Snyder incident, asking that he make the arrangements necessary for her to pay him a family visit inside the Vesta’s crew section. But considering she hadn’t even spoken to him during the meeting with her mother, somehow he doubted the actual purpose of Maeve’s request was to visit her father.

  That became apparent the moment she closed the hatch to his office and marched over to his desk, planting both hands on the desktop. “You need to do more to crack down on the radicals,” she said.

  That almost made him burst into laughter, but considering this was the first time his daughter had been willing to speak with him since the day she learned she was his daughter, he decided that probably wasn’t a good idea. �
��Radicals on the right or on the left?” he said instead, unable to stop a small smile from forming on his lips.

  “On the right, of course.”

  Husher tilted his head to one side. “So there aren’t any groups on the left I should ‘crack down’ on in equal proportion?”

  “That doesn’t even make sense. Why would you want to crack down on progressives?”

  He shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. What about progressives who attack people unprovoked?”

  “People like Toby Yung need to be punched. Penelope’s a hero for what she did.”

  “So they’re saying on the narrow net.” The various videos from Santana Park had, of course, been making the narrow net rounds since yesterday. “I’ve seen a lot of calls to give Snyder her old job back.”

  “They should. She deserves it.”

  “Don’t you think that might have been her intention all along?”

  Maeve shook her head, clearly already dismissing Husher’s viewpoint. “I don’t care what her reasons were, to be honest. Human supremacists get punched. That’s how it works, now.”

  “So you consider violence an acceptable way to answer people whose views aren’t in line with yours.”

  “What?” his daughter said, squinting. “I didn’t say that. Yung’s views are poison, and poisoners need to be attacked.”

  “If you support unprovoked violence against one person, you support it against everyone. It doesn’t matter who they are or what their views are. You can’t have it both ways, Maeve. Either unprovoked violence is fine in all contexts or it’s unacceptable in any context.”

  Maeve stared at him for a long time, eyes wide, and he readied himself for another tirade. But to his surprise, it never came. “Okay. You’re right. I’m willing to concede that.”

  His eyebrows crept upward. “You’re willing to concede that what Snyder did was wrong?”

  “Well-intentioned, but misguided. Yes. Wrong.”

  “Well, then. All right.”

  Maeve took the seat opposite the desk, folding one leg over the other and fixing him with her gaze once again. “But as captain of the Vesta, you need to do more to stop people like Yung from spreading their hate.”

  “I can prosecute crimes committed by my crew, and I can support the Cybele justice system in prosecuting crimes committed by citizens. But I’m not about to impede anyone from freely expressing their ideas.”

  Hand flicking into the air in exasperation, Maeve said, “See, this is exactly why people think you’re right there with the Brotherhood. And why so many far-right people name you as a hero.”

  “Right. About that. I’ve been hearing that claim a lot lately—yesterday, most recently. So last night, I went onto the narrow net when I should have been sleeping, to see if I could find my legion of Ixan-sympathizing supporters. I found four posts that could reasonably be said to fit that bill.”

  A brief pause, and then Maeve said, “Four is a lot!”

  “Maybe, but not on a starship carrying almost sixty thousand people, including crew. I also saw thousands of posts from much more moderate people, who are just tired of all the identity politics—from both sides of the spectrum.”

  “So what are you trying to say?”

  “I’m saying this claim that I’m a Sapient Brotherhood icon or something is overblown. And I’m beginning to realize why it’s been overblown.”

  “Listen, Vin, I know you don’t actually support those things. But failing to do anything about them is as bad as supporting them. They’re taking to the streets, now. How much farther are you going to let this go?”

  “The right to protest is supposed to be available to everyone, under IU law,” Husher said. “If I understand you correctly, you’re asking me to censor or suppress the views expressed by Yung yesterday. But honestly, even if I wanted to do that, there’s not much more that can be done. The narrow net ‘content filters’ are already sophisticated enough to take down most ‘sensitive content’ seconds after it’s posted. And what has that achieved? By suppressing ideas we consider undesirable, we only place them in a pressure cooker, until they blow. Have you considered that people like Yung are only taking to the streets because they have no other way to communicate their ideas?”

  “You sound like you’re defending him,” Maeve said, her mouth twisting in disgust.

  “I’m trying to tell you that you’ve been going about your activism all wrong. If you work to suppress views you don’t like, you’ll only empower them. You romanticize them, making them taboo and forbidden—you give them their own dark appeal that they wouldn’t have had otherwise. But if you’re truly confident that your ideas are superior, then you should show that through open discussion. Not censorship. That’s how persuasion is supposed to work. The best ideas are supposed to rise to the top, as a result of open debate. And by censoring the people you disagree with, you prevent them from showing the galaxy who they truly are.”

  His daughter had nothing to say to that, but he got the sense that her silence was a lot closer to “rancorous” than “thoughtful.”

  Oh, well. I doubt she likes me any less than she did. “Everything your side has done so far has played right into the hands of people like Yung,” he added, to make sure he was getting his point across.

  At that, Maeve rose to her feet, fixed him with a final glare, and left his office without another word.

  Chapter 27

  Nothing if Not Entertaining

  “Bronson.”

  A boot nudged his ribs through the ragged garments he’d arranged around himself for warmth. He groaned, more out of annoyance than actual pain. The boot had only nudged him, after all. It was just that he’d been in a deep sleep. His sleep had been getting deeper and deeper, lately.

  He peered up, blinking into the Imbros morning, at the silhouette standing over him. “You look like shit,” it said.

  “Warden,” he croaked.

  Eve Quinn’s sardonic smile materialized as Bronson’s eyes adjusted. “I came to find you. Wasn’t hard. I’ve been tracking your little odyssey through the city streets. Kind of hard to watch, in a hilarious way.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Nothing I’m about to discuss in a damp alleyway.” She jerked her head back toward the street. “My ride is waiting. Shall we?”

  He heaved himself to his feet, his legs complaining as he trudged after her to the idling two-door sedan.

  Quinn slipped into the driver’s seat—a term left over from when road vehicles hadn’t driven themselves—leaving Bronson to let himself into the passenger side. The driver’s side still had all the important controls for the car, such as setting the destination for instance, but Quinn didn’t do that yet.

  “There’s no point in bringing you anywhere until you’ve agreed to the proposal,” she said. “So it’s my job to bring that up with you, too.”

  “Where will you bring me?” he asked. “The prison?”

  “No. Somewhere where you can have a shave, first. And a bath,” she added, wrinkling her nose. “Then, to a spaceport. You’re going to Tartarus Station.”

  Bronson glanced in the side mirror, where he glimpsed several inches of unkempt facial growth. A twinge of embarrassment made him frown. “To do what?” he asked.

  “The Union is interested in learning more about the implants Darkstream designed since leaving the Milky Way, and the ways the company used them to spy on everyone. It can’t be the only tech you used, and if you can help us mimic whatever surveillance infrastructure you had set up in the Steele System, your value will increase. We’ll start feeding you regularly, for one. Maybe buy you some clean clothes.”

  Bronson paused. “You’re not really a prison warden, are you?”

  Quinn smiled. “You got me. I actually was, once. That’s how I got scouted for my current job—I took a keen interest in experimenting with how we monitor prisoners and keep them from bad behavior, or punish them when they indulge in it. But no, I’m not a warden anymore.”
/>   “Who do you really work for?”

  “It’s an intelligence agency, and one we’ve managed to keep concealed from the public so far. I certainly won’t be telling you our name until after you’ve agreed to help us. So tell me, Bronson: are you going to share your secrets or not?”

  “Who’s saying we spied on people?” Bronson asked, stalling for time more than anything else. He knew where this was going, but he wanted to make sure he knew what to do when they got there.

  “No one said it. You didn’t have to. The obvious backdoor you included in the implants was one glaring sign. But that’s not all—the board members’ implants had plenty of personal data on high-priority surveillance targets, which we scraped through that same backdoor without them even noticing. They weren’t nearly as diligent as you when it came to concealing all the compromising data you guys were hoarding.”

  Fools. He’d always thought of the Darkstream board as stubborn sheep in need of herding, which he’d tried his best to do. This proved they were sheep. Clearly, they’d never had the basic wherewithal even to properly cover their own asses. They’d just bleated at him obnoxiously, demanding that he do everything for them, and blaming him for their own shortcomings.

  Well, they’re gone now, for a long time. And I’m still here. Even during his stint on the streets, he’d never lost sight of his own greatness, never stopped believing in his own triumphant destiny. The fact that the IU had freed him from his cell at all had been the first indication that they understood his significance, at least in part. And now, here Quinn was. Asking for his help.

  Delicious.

  “May I ask why the IU has a sudden interest in mass surveillance?” he said. “And don’t try to tell me it’s merely academic, because I know that’s bull. If I’m going to help you spy on hundreds of billions of beings, I’m going to know why.”