Guided by Starlight

by Matt Levin

  Isadora could tell that Russ was berating himself. His face had gone from red to ashen, and his eyes were glued to his feet. He could barely even look in Isadora’s direction. It broke her heart to see Russ like this. She still considered him a close friend, but she was starting to appreciate that friendship could be a liability in her position. She’d do what she had to do.

  “I’m sorry,” Russ said, his voice shaky and demure. “I just thought the only way was to—”

  “—I know,” Isadora cut him off. “But it was a bad call.”

  “I won’t let it happen again.”

  “No,” Isadora said, steeling herself, “you won’t. You were brought out of cryo to be my security adviser, and yet, your actions have done little but make us less secure in this system. As such, effective immediately, I will be looking for a replacement for your position.”

  Russ didn’t move.

  She couldn’t get the image of Nadia out of her head. Isadora had liked her from the moment she had met her, and found the natural conflict between Nadia and Russ’ worldviews productive. She’d never imagined that their animosity would lead to Russ being willing to have Nadia killed. And that was unacceptable.

  But there were other considerations as well. Isadora had to embrace her new role at the apex of her people’s political structure, and that meant falling back on the political behaviors she had picked up in her old life. One of which was diverting blame from herself.

  She felt an intense sense of frustration that she had let things get so far out of hand. She should have pushed back against Russ a long time ago. That was on her. But it would be convenient if she blamed everything on Russ, made him the fall guy. He deserved better—and she knew she deserved worse—but such were the political realities that would maintain her people’s confidence in her leadership.

  “I’m...sorry,” Isadora said.

  “Me too, ma’am,” Russ said. “I failed you.” He still hadn’t made eye contact with her.

  “You are, of course, welcome to stay on in another capacity—”

  “—no,” Russ said, shaking his head. “I can’t. Not after this. You deserve better.” He turned to leave.

  “Russ, wait—” Isadora said.

  But he didn’t acknowledge her. Russ kept walking back toward the turbolifts, his head hung low, until he disappeared into the darkness of the tunnels.

  “Russ, wait—” might be the first order of mine he’s ever disobeyed, Isadora thought as she watched Russ’ back fade from view. He had been loyal to her the entire time, even up to the end of their working relationship. She hated that this was how it would come to a close.

  Isadora closed her eyes and tried to calm the tempest of emotions inside of her: gratitude for Nadia, a mix of anger and sorrow at Russ, and relief that they’d averted a war. But there would be time for a full reflection later. Negotiations with the Union were still forthcoming. She headed back into the bunker, where everyone was just as silent as before.

  “Riley,” Isadora said quietly, heading toward the combat medic.

  “Ma’am,” Riley said, almost as faint as a whisper.

  “Moving forward, I am asking that you take over as my chief security adviser. Your first duty will be to oversee the demobilization of the militia here. War preparations are no longer necessary.”

  Riley bit her lip. “Yes ma’am. Thank you.”

  Isadora turned to face everyone else. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the mayor look at her hopefully. Katrina, meanwhile, had a slight grin of approval on her face.

  “That will be all,” Isadora said. “It’s time for this colony to resume normal operations. Thank you all for your service and devotion. I’m happy that things ended the way they did. You are all dismissed.”

  One by one, the others filed out of the bunker, until Isadora was all alone, staring at the projector. She walked up, deactivated the display of the battlefield, and headed out after the rest of her people.

  . . .

  When Isadora had first met with Tricia Favan, only a few hours after the Preserver computer had woken her up, she had admired the confident swagger with which the other woman had approached the meeting. Every little subtle cue had indicated that Isadora had been dealing with the most powerful woman in the Natonus System.

  That woman was nowhere to be found today.

  Sitting across the table from her in a New Arcena conference room, Tricia gazed forlornly at the table, her shoulders slumped, and a healing gel-infused cast around one of her hands. She had already asked Isadora to repeat herself multiple times, like she was only half listening.

  Tricia had told Isadora at the start of their meeting that Owen Yorteb had shot and killed a handful of her officers, including an admiral she was close with. But Isadora didn’t need Tricia to tell her. The grief was written across the prime minister’s face, across every crease and wrinkle.

  She wasn’t wearing the same military jacket she always did every other time Isadora had seen her, and Isadora couldn’t help but think Tricia looked more frail than she did in the well-padded jacket.

  “Hm?” Tricia said, looking up to make eye contact with Isadora.

  “As I was saying,” Isadora continued, keeping her back straight in a regal posture, “there is no need to apologize for being manipulated by your general. I too had security advisers pushing me toward a more aggressive posture than seems wise in hindsight.”

  “Right,” Tricia said, furrowing her brow like she suddenly remembered her reason for being here. “That deal you made with the Syndicate. Did you seriously think we weren’t gonna find out about that?”

  “The deal with the Syndicate was a mistake,” Isadora admitted. “But you have to understand our position here. We worried that the Junta might return to Calimor in force. And we feared that your government may have had hostile intentions. Which,” Isadora added, “key members of your inner circle did.”

  Tricia retreated into herself, averting her gaze once more.

  This was where Isadora had to press her advantage. Tricia was off her game today, which gave Isadora a window—maybe the only one she’d ever had in their dealings—to restructure their relationship.

  “The same logic underlies our deal with the Horde,” Isadora continued. “The truth is, our position is very precarious. We have to accept help from whoever is willing to provide it, almost by necessity. That could change if our position in the system were more secure.”

  Tricia’s eyes didn’t react, but her eyebrows perked up.

  “This is an opportunity to build a new partnership between our peoples,” Isadora said, leaning forward and pressing her forearms into the table. “New Arcena can now serve as a gateway to the outer rim territories.

  “So why don’t we put this incident behind us?” Isadora continued. “We have so much more to gain through mutual cooperation than suspicion. And if my people are better supported by the Union, we won’t be as reliant on organizations like the Horde or the Syndicate.”

  It felt dirty, playing on Tricia’s emotional vulnerability to secure an advantage for her people. But that was the job. Isadora’s responsibility was, first and foremost, to ensure her people’s livelihoods. She’d stomach a little emotional unease for them.

  “Okay,” Tricia said softly. She maintained eye contact with Isadora this time. “I can’t reverse the settlement charter vote. But I can promise that I will have my security services tackle our mutual Offspring problem. And I can also guarantee my personal assistance. If you need something—anything—let me know, and I’m sure I can find a way to ram it through Parliament.

  “I guess what I’m saying is,” Tricia concluded, managing as much of a grin as she could muster, “I’m giving you three favors.”

  . . .

  About a week later, Tricia was back in her office. It was feeling less like a cell today than it had been for the last few months. Hell, years.

  Maybe she’d feel even better if Philip Eswan were still alive.

  Now
that she wasn’t fighting for her life against the renegade Owen Yorteb, she could mourn her deceased friend in peace. A man who had once been on the other side of a military conflict had somehow grown to become her closest confidant. Who did she have now?

  She tried shaking those thoughts from her head, instead focusing on the meeting with Isadora. The conversation had been entirely as gut-wrenchingly awful as she had imagined it would be. And despite it all, Isadora had the temerity to be all gracious and understanding. Would’ve been a lot easier if Isadora had just screamed at her.

  Tricia had promised Isadora three favors. The first one the refugee leader had asked for was, predictably, cash. So Tricia had rammed through a reparations funding package through Parliament. So sorry we almost killed you and everyone else around you, the bill essentially meant. Here’s a lot of fucking money to let you know how bad we feel.

  But the truth was, Tricia did feel bad. So bad that it had been difficult to sleep the last few days. It was too easy to imagine the confrontation going entirely different. If Owen had played his cards just a little better, had launched the nuclear missile just seconds earlier, or if the timing of the Exemplar’s arrival or Isadora’s message had been just a little bit off, hundreds of good people would be dead right now. Instead of only Philip and a handful of other officers.

  Tricia couldn’t remember the last time her job had given her a genuine emotional reaction. She would let the fire burning in her gut grow until it consumed the entire Offspring. Philip deserved nothing less.

  The door to her office opened, and the ISB director Karen Pitera walked in, a bundle of datapads under her arm. “We’ve been interrogating the general,” Karen said. “He isn’t talking yet, but I bet he’ll squeal at some point. They always do.” The woman barely made any effort to disguise her scorn for Owen. Her staff’s shock at the general’s betrayal had all but dissipated after Philip’s funeral, leaving nothing but bitterness.

  Some of the other Offspring leaders—if there even were any other leaders—must’ve already escaped after the news of Owen’s arrest had become public. But the former general still had plenty of names locked in his brain, and Tricia was intent on getting as much intel out of him as she could.

  But that would be slow work. Karen was right: Owen would talk eventually, but they didn’t have forever. In the meantime, more aggressive action was necessary. Especially after Tricia had learned about the assassination of Union Parliament member Robert Nurm. A police manhunt in Obrigan City had only turned up a small crop of Offspring affiliates, and she knew there had to be far more out there. These Offspring were no longer bored radicals, they were terrorists. Tricia would treat them as such. She’d already purged a half-dozen members of her party for taking Offspring funds, and she already had the ISB’s financial crimes unit looking into their dealings.

  “I’ve laid the groundwork for the roving wiretaps you’ve called for,” Karen continued. “The infrastructure will soon be in place to monitor all communications from every government employee and major corporation in Union space. We can conduct full-scale civilian surveillance after our security architecture is in place.”

  It wasn’t technically legal, Tricia knew, but it also wasn’t technically illegal either. Which was exactly the space where Tricia liked to be when she passed policy. Of course, all government workers consented to have their work-related tech searched and monitored by the ISB. It wasn’t that much of an extension to spy on them at home too, on their private devices. And then from there, it wasn’t that much of an extension to just go ahead and spy on everyone else too.

  It’d raise a fuss when it finally came to light. And this kind of stuff always came to light. But Tricia owed it to Isadora, to Philip, to the other soldiers who had died in the Endeavor’s CIC, and to Robert Nurm.

  “Thank you,” Tricia said. “I’ll review your files over lunch.”

  “Of course, ma’am,” Karen said, leaving the pile of datapads on Tricia’s desk. Then she exited the office.

  For the first time in years, Tricia didn’t shudder at the thought of doing work over her lunch break. She’d won all the old battles, but now a new conflict was looming. She’d root out the Offspring no matter where they were hiding.

  And she’d relish the fight.

  CHAPTER 42

  * * *

  How could you fit everything into a single travel backpack? The question was no longer academic to Tanner, ever since he had learned from the holo-vision that the authorities had taken Owen Yorteb into custody.

  When Tanner had first read the news, the initial shock had kept him rooted to the couch. Owen Yorteb was a powerful man. Only a powerful man could be at the pinnacle of the Offspring organization, right? How could someone with Owen’s strength and resolve fail?

  And yet, fail he had: the newar settlement on Calimor was still standing. The invaders and the government had signed a peace agreement. Hell, the Union was supposedly even throwing cash at the newars now.

  As angry as Tanner was that the government was redistributing his people’s money to the newars, he had more immediate problems. Namely, that Owen Yorteb was currently incarcerated, and that he was no doubt under interrogation by the government’s intelligence services. Although the police had been searching for anyone involved in the assassination of Robert Nurm, they had been unable to glean much info regarding the Offspring’s membership. But with the general in custody, he could give them names. Specifics.

  Owen had been talking to Tanner for months in the guise of Onyx, and had met him face-to-face at the last Offspring meeting. He’d give them Tanner’s name for sure.

  Which meant that Tanner had to leave. And it also meant that anyone else affiliated with the organization had to depart Obrigan—hell, Union space—as soon as possible.

  Tanner pulled another pair of socks and an undershirt out of the drawer and threw them into his backpack.

  The problem was, with the general rotting in a Union prison, there was no command structure. Which was unnatural. People were not meant to live as equals. Hierarchies were as fundamental to the human experience as coalescing into communities and ultimately cities. Civilization required a few to be on top and many to be below them. That was just the way things were: the strong would dominate, the weak would fall in line.

  Tanner was determined to be the former. After unexpectedly spearheading the assassination of Robert Nurm, and with Owen Yorteb out of the picture, he had found himself in exactly the right position to do that.

  His compatriots had naturally flocked to him, thanks to his growing reputation. They had all seen the news reports too, and they were scared. Worried that Union intelligence agents were about to show up on their doorsteps. They were cowering in fear, waiting for someone to give them orders. Direction. That someone would be Tanner.

  He started by contacting everyone on the Offspring’s notification list, even those who hadn’t already reached out to him. He worked to calm them down, assuring them that he had a plan to keep everyone safe. He had evaded the police after Robert Nurm’s assassination, after all, which meant he could evade the Union security services as well.

  So he began working on thousands of different travel itineraries, making sure that no two were identical. It made sense to split up as many Offspring as possible among as many spaceliners as possible. They’d be harder to track that way. A few couldn’t afford the fare, so Tanner contacted others to chip in funds. Everyone was willing to help their brothers in need.

  Each itinerary took them beyond the edge of Union space. He didn’t have a plan yet for what they would do afterward, but he had time to figure that out. For now, his goal was to get as many Offspring as he could off Obrigan.

  Tanner threw a rain jacket inside the backpack.

  He still had the same work ethic that had kept him afloat at Veltech for years after the company had lost its market relevance. And after having been unemployed for months, all the pent-up energy inside him exploded into planning and coordinating the
mass retreat to the outer rim.

  Before long, the others were looking to him for leadership. A dozen Offspring asked about checking Owen’s residence for any contingency plans, but Tanner’s answer was always the same: why bother? The Union would be monitoring the general’s residence, and the failure of Owen’s plan to destroy New Arcena called his judgment into question. Tanner resolved to do better. To grow beyond what Owen had accomplished.

  More than a few times, arguments had broken out between members. Some thought staying in place would be better, some thought about fleeing to Zoledo and contacting the Syndicate. Tanner had personally reached out to anyone who had doubts, listened to them, and gently encouraged them to trust his leadership.

  As the work of coordinating the Offspring’s emigration continued, the work of recruiting more members didn’t subside. The news reports on Robert Nurm’s assassination and the arrest of Owen had put the Offspring square in the public limelight for the first time, far more so than when Tanner’s coworker had self-immolated a half-year ago, or even when the protests were going on a few weeks earlier.

  Other curious recruits had gotten in touch. Tanner had asked other members to forward contact information for anyone who reached out to them. And then he’d set up a personal communication channel with the potential recruits over the dark net. The prime minister’s plan to redirect an obscene amount of money to the newars had awakened hundreds more to the righteousness of the Offspring’s cause.

  They had lost Owen, but the organization had grown exponentially since the general’s arrest. Increasingly, the organization was an intricate web of connections with Tanner always at the center. Through sheer willpower, he would ensure his continued dominance.

  But now, looking around the studio where he and Rebecca had lived for almost seven years, the costs of Tanner’s rise were all too apparent. He had to distill all of his possessions into a single pack’s worth of material. A lifetime of attachments had to be cast aside in pursuit of his higher calling.