by Isaac Hooke
More footfalls came from the south and she spun to face her latest aggressors.
A man who Rhea assumed was either the curator or the head of security arrived with five more combat robots. “What the hell is going on?”
Rhea bore her teeth in a rictus. “Come to dance?”
“Stop!” the woman official next to Will said. “This is all a misunderstanding!” She stood up and bounded toward the curator. “Don’t fire!”
“The only misunderstanding is that you’re stealing from my ancestors,” Rhea said. “And from me. This is mine now. My inheritance. My heirloom. I’ll destroy all of your robots if they don’t back down. I’ll destroy your entire museum.” Full of rage and bloodlust, in that moment she fully meant it. In fact, she was ready to take on the entire colony.
The curator hesitated. He glanced at the woman official, then toward the robots. “Stand down.”
The robots lowered their arms. Their weapons didn’t retract, Rhea noticed.
She stared at them a moment longer, then let her fingers relax. The moment she ceased forming a fist, the disks evanesced.
Will and Horatio stood up from where they were ducked on the floor and bound-walked to her side.
As the rage left her, she realized what she had almost done.
She gazed down at her hands in confusion, and let the weapons fall away.
“Arrest them,” the curator said.
“Hey, now wait a second—” Will said.
In moments the three of them were surrounded. The robots bound them and led them away.
The robots loaded them into a waiting van and transported them to a local jail.
So it was that only half an hour later Rhea found herself sitting in a cell across from Will and Horatio. The bars of the cell were made of traditional metal, rather than some force field of plasma or other high-tech barrier.
Force fields such as the ones she was thinking of could prevent matter from passing through, but energy, as generated by plasma or laser weapons, could readily penetrate. The denial of energy was beyond any existing technology available in the solar system, and yet she’d just used a force field type of weapon that could deflect lasers and plasma bolts both. Lost Ganymedean tech, its workings unknown, abandoned to a museum.
How did you know how to use those things? Will asked over a mental channel. Or what they even were, let alone that they were biometrically encoded to your brain?
I was wondering when you’d ask her, Horatio sent.
Hey, I wanted to give her some time to calm down, Will said. He turned toward her once more. So, how did you know?
She wasn’t sure why they bothered to use mental communication. The Europans knew who she was now. Still, she played along.
I don’t know, Rhea returned. I just… knew. And when I picked them up, muscle memory took over. I knew how to fight with them. To a degree anyway. Enough to kill. She paused. I’m a killer. I’ve come to realize that now.
No, Will sent. Back there you said you were a warrior. If that’s true—which I believe it is, given everything I’ve seen you do—there’s a difference.
Is there? Rhea gazed off into space and was silent for several seconds. And then: Ban’Shar.
What? Will transmitted.
Ban’Shar, she repeated. That’s what they’re called.
Guess you’re having those flashbacks you wanted, Will said.
Not flashbacks, she said. But some memories are undoubtedly being triggered.
Undoubtedly, Will commented drily. Let’s hope any more memories you stir up don’t land us in deeper trouble.
A robot arrived with fat pills and water, and Rhea and the others downed them hungrily.
After about an hour, five more security robots arrived, cuffed Rhea and her companions, and then escorted them into the hall. The three of them bounded along quietly.
The robots led them to an empty conference room. After making them sit down at the long board table, the machines removed the cuffs and then assumed guard positions along the surrounding walls.
A prompt appeared on Rhea’s HUD.
Sharing request from Locality Jail 2A. Do you accept? (Y/N)
Rhea glanced at Will and Horatio, then shrugged and accepted.
The holograms of several official-looking men and women appeared around the conference room table. The men wore suits and ties, the women blazers and dress shirts.
“Well hello there, Dudes and Dudettes,” Will said.
One of the men gave him an offhand look, then returned his attention to Rhea.
“Who are you?” Rhea said.
“We are members of the ruling council of Centaar,” the man said. “My name is Peter Detalt. I’m the council head. To my immediate right and left are Brenda McPhars and John Moine, my closest advisors. We’ve come to discuss your terms.”
“My terms?” she asked, confused.
“Of release,” Peter replied. “You attempted larceny. Damaged property. Killed two sentient robots.”
“And why would the council of Centaar involve itself with the release of a local criminal?” Rhea pressed.
“You’re not just any criminal,” Peter said. “And your actions, not some petty crime. You activated a weapon that hasn’t seen use in thirty years.”
Rhea didn’t have anything to say to that.
“You are Ganymedean, are you not?” Peter pressed.
“Yes,” Rhea admitted. There was no point in denying it. Not anymore.
“As the last surviving Ganymedean, you represent your people,” Peter continued. “Making this an official matter.”
“What are you saying?” Rhea asked.
“We’re trying to decide whether your actions are protected by diplomatic immunity,” Peter replied.
Will rubbed his chin. “That’s interesting.” He glanced at her. “If you think about it, as the last Ganymedean, by default you’re president of the Ganymedean people.”
“But a president has to be elected,” Rhea said.
Will shrugged. “Then elect yourself.”
Suddenly understand, she glanced at Peter. “So, you say you’re trying to decide whether I’m protected by diplomatic immunity. But given who I am, what you really mean is: you’re trying to determine what price to exact in exchange for setting me free. What do you want then? Some kind of promise that I won’t try to reclaim Ganymede, or otherwise interfere with your sovereignty?”
“Essentially, yes,” Peter said. “We paid greatly, with many lives, to secure this moon after your people fell. We can’t have some hero from Earth coming here and attempting to undo what we’ve done.” He glanced at the other council members. “You will sign a contract, stating that you have no claim on this moon, and that you will never return. Sign this, and we will dismiss all charges against you.”
Rhea received another share request and accepted the digital document. She distributed it to Will and Horatio, and then quickly read it over on her HUD.
“I can’t sign this,” she said flatly. “The part about having no claim to the moon, I can live with… but never returning? You can’t ban someone from an entire colony.”
“We can, and we do,” Peter said. “Routinely.”
Rhea shook her head. “And what’s this about giving up my rights to any and all Ganymedean artifacts I find in the colony? I don’t think so. I want the Ban’Shar.”
Peter sat back and steepled his fingers. “You and your friends will be imprisoned indefinitely until you sign.”
“Just sign it,” Will hissed.
Rhea stared daggers at the man. “To me, it’s telling that Europa didn’t help us in our time of need thirty years ago. Instead you swooped in after we’d already weakened Earth’s space navy, and took the moon, along with all its water, for yourself.”
Peter shrugged. “We offered aid,” he said nonchalantly, almost with disdain. “Your leaders refused. I was there. Their intentions were noble: they were afraid of drawing us into the war.”
“So you sa
y,” Rhea told him.
“I can show you the holographic recordings I made…” Peter said.
“Recordings which can be doctored,” Rhea said.
She ran her gaze across the other council members. They wanted her to sign a document stating she had no claim over the moon, which made her wonder… what if she really could claim something? Did she have that power, based solely on who she was? She wasn’t familiar with Europan law…
“What if I wanted to negotiate a claim over a portion of this moon’s water?” she said. “As part of the reparations owed my people…”
Peter smiled widely, and from the way his jaw clenched, Rhea thought he was doing his best not to laugh. The eyes of other council members similarly shone with amusement.
Finally, he seemed to get himself under control, and he said: “You don’t understand. We’re not here because you have power over us in any way, shape, or form. We’re here because we want to get rid of you. You’re a thorn in our side. A memory of the Ganymede that once was. But you have no negotiating power. If you won’t sign our contract and go away, we’ll imprison you and your friends. It’s as simple as that. We’ll never grant you a claim to any of our water. Nor will we give you any of the artifacts we recovered from the old Ganymede. This water, and these artifacts, might have belonged to your people long ago, but they are ours now. Ours. This is how the solar system works. Reparations are a concept for weak governments. We are strong. Besides, reparations only become an option when there are an actual people around to claim the grievances, not a lone person.”
“It’s not for me, but Earth,” Rhea pleaded. “The planet has maybe a year left. We need to set up a deal as soon as possible, or it will be too late. People will die. Billions.”
“We don’t recognize you as someone with any influence on Earth, and thus capable of negotiating on its behalf,” Peter said.
“I have millions of followers,” Rhea said.
“Do you now?” Peter said. “According to my sources, you’re banned from all the major streaming sites. You may have been an ‘influencer’ at some point, but you’re nothing now.”
“You might be surprised at how much influence I still have,” she said sullenly, though she knew he was right. She was banned from the major streaming networks, and while she might have the people of Rust Town on her side, that was only one small settlement, a tiny fraction of the entire population of Earth.
“I understand your intentions are noble,” Peter continued. “But you’re in no position to negotiate on behalf of Earth, I’m afraid. You need not concern yourself with this matter. We’re already working on a deal with Earth’s High Council.”
Rhea almost rolled her eyes. “So I’ve heard. You’ve been working on this deal for the past thirty years and still haven’t hammered anything out. Tell me you’re close, at least.”
Peter glanced at that council woman seated immediately beside him. Brenda.
“We’re no further than we were thirty years ago,” Brenda admitted.
“Why?” Rhea said. “Which side is at fault? Yours?”
They didn’t answer.
“Of course they’re going to blame Earth,” Will told her softly.
Rhea glanced at him, then returned her attention to the council members. “If you tell me, I’ll think about signing that contract.”
Brenda glanced at Peter, who nodded ever so subtly.
Brenda sighed. “The blame falls squarely on Earth. Or rather one particular member. Khrusos. Whenever we come close to an agreement in principle, a compromise that we and most of the High Council can live with, Khrusos always vetoes the proposal.”
John, the council member to the left of Peter, looked at Rhea and added: “The sad thing is, you’re completely right. We need to start building up the interplanetary supply infrastructure immediately, if Earth’s needs are to be met nine months from now when its oceans begin to run dry. But we can’t, not until we come to some sort of agreement.”
“How can one man overrule an entire council?” Rhea asked.
“He is the most powerful member,” Brenda replied.
“Can’t you just agree to what he wants?” Rhea said. “The lives of billions are at stake.”
Brenda’s tone softened, and when she spoke, it seemed almost with pity: “You haven’t seen the terms he wants…”
“I might have to have a talk with him…” Rhea said.
That brought a smirk from Peter, but the man said nothing.
Will’s words came to her unbidden. Sometimes, Dude, you’re so naive.
Yes, she was naive to think she could make a difference here.
That angered her, and only made her want to dig in.
She resisted the urge for the sake of her friends, and sighed.
“All right, I’ll sign it,” she said. “I’ll state I have no claim to this moon, nor the water beneath its crust. I’ll also cede any rights to the Ganymedean artifacts you’ve collected, with one exception: I won’t give up the Ban’Shar. Place a provision for that weapon in the contract, and you’ve got yourself an agreement.”
Peter frowned. “I’m afraid I can’t—”
“No Ban’Shar, no signature,” she interrupted.
Peter stared at her for several seconds. Then: “A moment.”
He and the other holograms vanished from view, ostensibly to confer.
“They’re sure taking their time,” Will commented after a minute had passed.
The council members reappeared a good three minutes later. “We have updated the contract.”
Rhea accepted the new share request and reread the document. They’d added a provision for the Ban’Shar, as she’d asked. The weapon was hers, but she wouldn’t be able to retrieve it until she boarded a transport headed off moon.
She digitally signed the contract and transmitted it to Peter.
The councilor smiled. “Thank you. You and your friends may stay a few weeks until you’re able to arrange transportation. Then you will never return.”
7
As soon as she returned to her lodging in the short-term rental, Rhea sent a message to Targon, letting him know that she’d be accepting his offer of a return trip after all. The transmission would take a few hours to reach him, and his reply would come another couple of hours after that.
When that was done, she sent Horatio a mental message: I want to know the locations of the lost Ganymedean domes.
That information appears to be scrubbed from the local Internet, Horatio said.
Rhea nodded. Yes, I know. But you’re going to get it the old fashioned way. That’s right, you’re actually going to ask some people in real life, rather than relying upon the results of some censored search engine.
Horatio seemed puzzled. Ask people in real life? Like who?
Former members of the Europan space navy, early colonists, archeologists, Rhea transmitted. There are bound to be people out there who’ve encountered at least one of the destroyed domes at some point or another. Dig around… start online to generate leads and move to the offline world when you get in touch with them.
You don’t want me to contact these leads over the local Internet? Horatio asked.
I’d prefer not, she clarified. You can arrange the meeting online, if you insist, but don’t tell them what you’re after until you sit them down in person. You have to assume that the colony’s AI is watching everything all of us do, as it will from now until we leave.
It isn’t a crime to seek out fallen Ganymedean domes, as far as I know, Horatio sent.
No, it’s not, Rhea agreed. But if the search results are any indication, the local council doesn’t want armchair explorers gallivanting about the ruins, for ‘safety reasons’ or otherwise. If the AI knew what you were after, it might try to dissuade any leads from talking with you. Try to get as many of them to meet with you at once as you can, and once you get them all together in person, if they refuse to talk, offer a financial award.
And how are we going to pay
such a reward? Horatio inquired.
Get in touch with the Wardenites, Rhea replied. Tell them to announce a general call for donations, with the expectation of a wire to follow…
Horatio studied her with that mostly featureless face. I take it you want to visit one of these domes because you hope to trigger more memories?
Good guess, she told the robot.
Rhea received a confirmation from Targon four hours later, and he promised to retrieve them within the week. She forwarded the message to city council to show them she was keeping her word to leave Centaar, even though she suspected they were monitoring her communications and already knew: she figured it was best to play the part of the naive traveler for the time being. She received a succinct “thank you” from Peter shortly after.
She monitored Horatio’s progress over the next couple of days, so that when the robot left to meet with a local veteran’s group, she remained apprised.
On the way back from the meeting, Horatio contacted Rhea and Will over the local Internet. He used an encrypted mental channel: I have the locations of most of the destroyed domes.
She received a share request over that same channel and several waypoints appeared on her overhead map. She zoomed out. The domes were scattered across Ganymede. The closest was only fifty kilometers away, a short hop by shuttle.
I got the data for free by the way, Horatio continued. The veterans were more than happy to share what they knew in exchange for a few rounds of beer.
Did you have to drink with them? Will taunted.
Of course! Horatio replied.
Rhea couldn’t really picture the robot pouring beer into that grill of a mouth.
Since no financial incentives were needed other than beer, I already sent a message to the Wardenites, informing them to cancel their call for donations, Horatio continued.
Good, good, Rhea sent absently. She was trying to decide how best to charter a shuttle for that dome… she wouldn’t be able to hide the destination from the flight company.
