Exiles of Earth: Rebellion

by Richard Tongue

  Nodding, she said, “That I can support wholeheartedly.” Gesturing down a passage, she said, “This is where we part company.”

  “I hope that doesn’t mean what I think it means,” he replied with a smile. “We’re on the same side, Yani. The Tyrants are planning dreadful things, and we’re the only ones standing in their way. They’ll be singing songs about Blanco’s sacrifice long after we are all dead and gone.”

  “I hope so,” she said, swinging down a side shaft. “I hope so.” She crawled away, leaving Wagner to take a different route, and silently proceeded to her quarters, finally dropping down into an open, deserted corridor, close to an open inspection hatch. She looked at the machinery, left on a long diagnostic cycle, a toolkit carelessly left by the half-dismantled equipment. Careless work. Made by someone who decided just to drop tools and leave when their duty shift ended. There was no pride in the work, not any more. Given the circumstances, that was understandable, but it was also dangerous.

  And realistically, it played completely into the hands of the still-nameless saboteur. She’d gone along with the raid on Hydroponics because there hadn’t appeared to be any other good alternative, not if she wanted to maintain her cover. That decision had cost Blanco his life. One quick word to Romanova, and it would have all been over before it could begin.

  She walked down the corridor, conscious of the security cameras tracking her movements. Finally, she came to her door, stepping into the cramped quarters and sitting in her chair, looking up at a blank viewscreen. Triggered by her arrival, soft, soothing music began to play, her usual trick when she was trying to relax, but she dismissed it with a wave of her hand, bringing silence back to the room. Just in time for the door to slam shut behind her, locking her in her quarters for the next sixteen hours.

  Most of the crew shared their rooms, either between two or four people. They’d have someone to talk to, someone to keep them company. All she had were her thoughts, and they were roaming into dangerous territory. More than she ever had been, she was torn between two masters. Torn between the logic of Lieutenant Romanova, and the saboteur she was chasing, and the words of Wagner and Nguyen. Everything she had seen on Mars, everything she believed deep within her soul pushed her to revolt. If Wagner was right about the measures the Tyrants were planning, then it had all become even more urgent than it already was.

  And yet.

  Someone on this ship was attempting to destroy it, to kill her crew. The sabotage to Turret Nine was proof enough of that, and there was an ever-decreasing list of suspects. Zhao had been in the area, theoretically to keep an eye on her, but he’d had all the opportunity he needed to destroy the systems. Nguyen had access to all areas of the ship, even now, and had the skills and training to cut the security feeds, hide his activities. Now Wagner, as well, obviously a hidden agent of the Underground, working in deep cover, pretending to be nothing more than a petty troublemaker.

  Then there was Fitzroy, perhaps. If he was deliberately trying to antagonize the crew, he could hardly have made a better job of it. Maybe she was looking in the wrong place. Shaking her head, she reached for a glass of water, and took a deep drink to steady herself. Fitzroy had no reason to help the Coalition, and every reason to support the status quo. In any case, Romanova could handle him.

  It came down to three choices. Wagner, Nguyen, Zhao. She looked up at her locked door, cursing under her breath. Whoever had ordered the crew onto security lockdown had robbed her of her best chance of finding the saboteur before they’d arrived. She might have been admitted into the inner circle, but that was useless under the current circumstances. Nor could she risk communicating with any of them covertly. There might be channels to use, but she’d have to wait to be contacted, or risk tipping off Security.

  She was caught in a trap. She wanted the saboteur caught, but she needed to protect her people at the same time. Romanova would doubtless be overjoyed to have a chance to capture them all, something she had to prevent at all costs. It would be so easy to contact her right now, give her a list of names that would give her the break she had been looking for. Even if it meant her own death, as a final act of revenge.

  Or protection.

  Any saboteur must have had to prepare, probably had help before departure. Wagner and the others knew each other, knew that they were going along on the mission. She didn’t, not until the last minute, and neither did they. That meant that she was an unknown factor, to all of them. Almost certainly, they’d sent her on the raid to test her. Assuming that the bullet which killed Blanco hadn’t been meant for her, the saboteurs quite willing to sacrifice a group of rebels for the cause.

  She looked at the door again, her feelings somewhat different. While she was in here, under surveillance, she was safe. Just as she had been in the brig. No assassin could get to her, not without setting off every alarm on the ship. While her assignments were in untraveled parts of Endurance, she’d be watched at all times. For the present, while things were quiet, she was safe.

  After that, she would be at hazard. She was increasingly certain that someone had tried to kill her once already, using Fitzroy as the weapon. The next time, she might not be so lucky. She needed an insurance policy, a means to strike back from beyond the grave. She reached for her keyboard, sliding it in front of her, and opened a secure file, before shaking her head. No matter what she had promised, Romanova would read it instantly.

  She paused, threw a switch, and disabled the autosave. She didn’t need to send a traditional message, and she’d be spending the next week working on the communications network. All she had to do was introduce a new piece of coding, something to be triggered if she disappeared from the automated surveillance for any length of time. Nothing that would show up on a standard security sweep. She looked through the files, working out the coding for Romanova’s terminal.

  The message would be simple enough. Almost too simple. If she got her coding right, if she didn’t register on the ship’s systems during a standard diagnostic check, three personnel records would be automatically called up on Romanova’s display. Wagner, Zhao, Nguyen. With luck, Romanova would be smart enough to make the connection, take whatever action she deemed necessary. She quickly pieced together the message, then dumped it onto a data stick, ready to be added to the normal work routine. If she left it locked into the system, Romanova would get the message, and nobody would be any the wiser.

  Her job done, she looked up at the clock. Still fifteen hours and change before the doors would open, before she could get back to work. And she’d have to endure this forced inactivity twenty more times until they reached their target. She looked back at the screen and started to flick through the menu. One thing was certain. Until this was over, the ship’s entertainment complex was going to be tested to destruction.

  Chapter 26

  The decks of Endurance were eerily quiet as Thiou jogged down the corridor, pausing to wipe the sweat from her forehead. Before the lockdown, there had always been some activity, technicians and crewmen moving back and forth, either on their assigned duties or taking advantage of their limited free time. She’d eaten a lonely meal in the Mess, alone in a room meant for a hundred people, and was running through the main passageway, the outer ring, trying to tire herself out sufficiently to get to sleep.

  Sleep was coming harder and harder these days. Whenever she closed her eyes, she was back on the planet again, looking at the man dying at her feet, then at the pistol in her hand, before her mind cast her back to the lonely dome on the plain, the last resting place of the first visitors to that world, now a shattered ruin under a hail of asteroids. They’d still be falling onto that world for weeks, maybe months. Visitors for centuries to come would find evidence of their passing, geologic archaeology at work.

  People were dying. Spaceman Blanco, shot in front of her, murdered by Fitzroy. There was no other word for it. He had a pistol, but it had been tucked in his belt. He’d had no intention of using it. He could have killed her in the corr
idor, shot her before she could warn the bridge. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she couldn’t escape the thought that she was every bit as guilty as Fitzroy, that her warning had directly led to the death of Blanco.

  She’d dreamed for years of this expedition. Of finding the missing sleeper ship and heading out into the stars to contact the lost colonists, bring them back into communication with the rest of the galaxy, learn the secrets they had stored away over the centuries. Learn everything they had forgotten about the tumultuous 21st Century, hitherto cast away in the sea of time. Now her dream was becoming a nightmare, and there seemed to be nothing she could do about it.

  Taking a deep breath, she jogged on around the ring, running past a series of sealed doors, knowing that each contained four crewmen, doubtless resenting the noise of her boots on the deck, audible demonstration that she enjoyed privileges they were not permitted. She’d spent most of her time in her cabin during the flight so far. Only Doctor Singh’s orders, threats to deny her permission to visit another planetary surface, had forced her out, to undertake the hour of exercise he had mandated.

  She’d tried the gym, first. Either it was overcrowded, the one hour a day the facility was open to the crew, or it was empty, abandoned, perhaps only Ikande sparing with Navarro in the cramped VR suite, or Mitchell frantically pedaling away on a stationary bicycle, wearing himself out in a race to nowhere. Somehow, she’d rather just pound the corridors, working her way through the ship, trying to learn the passageways.

  Less than a week to go. Less than a week before they arrived at their destination, a lonely red dwarf on the far frontiers of human space, and they’d find out whether the journey, the sacrifices, had been justified. She’d looked over the sensor reports until her eyes had glazed over. It looked good, potential signs of life, but it was a big galaxy, every world different. Every trace she had seen could be explained some other way, an atmospheric or geological anomaly that would nevertheless be a major discovery. Just not the one they had come all this way to find, and not one they were equipped to investigate.

  She turned down a side corridor, heading in the direction of the cargo bays, deep in the bowels of the ship, and spotted an open door, hearing a loud slap from inside. Riley stormed out, fury on her face, glared at her, then walked past her, heading for the nearest elevator. Fitzroy walked after her, rubbing his cheek, a smile on his face that only widened when he looked at her.

  “What brings you down to my domain, Doctor?” he asked. “Come to taunt the murderer?”

  “I don’t have…”

  Shaking his head, he said, “Let me guess. You were just out for a stroll on this beautiful evening, and you thought you’d stop by for a talk. Come in, be my guest. I’ve got some Solar Merlot left. Fifteen years old, right from the Lacus Solis. I’ll guarantee you’ve never had anything quite like it.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “Not yet, but I certainly have aspirations along those lines,” he replied. “Though it’s a lot less fun drinking alone.” Stepping into the room, the unused Geology Lab, he poured two glasses of wine, and said, “Do you want me to make it an order?”

  “I don’t think a superior officer can…”

  “I am not just a superior officer, Doctor. I’m your future, though you don’t seem to realize it.” Pushing the glass towards her, he added, “My assignment to this mission was not a mistake, and it was not an accident, and neither was the death of Spaceman Blanco. We’ve all been fooled, and the buffoon sitting in the Captain’s chair has no interest in providing the necessary clarification.”

  “Fooled?” she asked, acceding to the inevitable and taking the glass. “You murdered a man in cold blood.”

  Nodding, he replied, “Yes, that’s the narrative, isn’t it? That’s what everyone is saying on the lower decks. Cut-throat Charlie is the only one of the names I’ll repeat in front of a lady, though perhaps the least imaginative.” Taking a deep sip of wine, he said, “Let me tell you my version. My friends and I…”

  “Your thugs.”

  “Given the current state of security on this ship, maintaining a pair of bodyguards seems to me an increasingly wise move. My friends and I were out wandering the ship, when we hear an alarm sound. The Ship’s Historian warning everyone that someone is trying to sabotage the Hydroponics Bay, our emergency food supply.” He grimaced, and said, “Why we can’t raise food animals on board is a mystery to me. We could at least get some chickens.”

  “You ran in, pistols drawn…”

  Turning to her, his mouth curled into a sneer, he replied, “Four masked thugs with guns broke into a secured location, threatened an officer, destroyed valuable equipment, and for some reason, they’re the heroes? This isn’t Robin Hood, and they certainly weren’t Merry Men. If they were planning to steal food, it wasn’t just to distribute to the crew, it was in the hope and expectation that it would lead to the end of our mission. We’re trying to win a war, damn it!” He slammed his fist on the table, knocking the glass to its side, the wine spilling out onto the carpet.

  “Lieutenant Romanova had it covered…”

  “Yes, and she was doing a fantastic job, bumbling through the corridors with the wrong non-lethal weapon. One taser dart in the wrong place down there could have shorted the main power grid! I took a command decision, and I stand by it. Blanco was a traitor. He’d have been executed if he’d been caught. I just accelerated the process.”

  “You’re trying to justify this, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t have to. I was right. This is important, damn it!” He paused, took a deep breath, and said, “I wasn’t meant to join the Guard. The eldest son always does that, builds up the family reputation. I was developing quite a skill in other areas, creative financial manipulation. Then my brother, the first Lieutenant Fitzroy, months away from his first command, died in action, out at the Neptune Trojans.” He paused, smiled, then added, “Yes, we’re still operating out that far. Those Coalition bastards aren’t going to win, not while I’m still breathing.”

  “I’m truly sorry,” she replied.

  “They said he died in action. My father and I investigated it. A little money might have changed hands. He was killed by a member of the crew. Some dispute over a girlfriend, something like that. The details didn’t matter. That crewmen had also died in action, the Captain decided it was better to cover the whole thing up. We disagreed.”

  Thiou’s eyes widened, and she asked, “What happened to him?”

  “Let’s just say he isn’t coming back from his next expedition.” Looking at the door, he added, “That’s the sort of rabble we’re dealing with out here. That ship was filled with rebels, and this one is worse! There’s an Underground cell operating on the lower decks, and Romanova can’t seem to do a damned thing to stop them. We’ve got at least one Coalition saboteur on board, someone who has almost managed to destroy us twice. The murderer of Lieutenant Hoffman is free to walk the decks.” He smirked, then replied, “At least, she was. At least the Captain’s seen sense that far.”

  Shaking her head, she replied, “You can’t treat people that way.”

  “People?” he asked. “There aren’t that many actual people on this ship, Doctor. You, I, Romanova, Mitchell, maybe. Ikande. Diaz. We’re the wolves. They’re the sheep. That’s how it always is, throughout history. One group on top, the rest below. That’s the natural order of things. Unless you want to try a cybernetic dictatorship, like the Coalition. God only knows how their little experiment will turn out, but I want no part of it. And if they win, we don’t get a chance.” Walking to the far side of the room, he said, “I don’t think anyone understands that we’re in the middle of a god-damned war with those bastards, and we’re losing! Our ships are being pushed back on every front, our old resource sites stolen, and nobody back on Mars seems to give a damn! Rebels allowed protest on the streets, spread their propaganda, and I know damned well that the Coalition is responsible.”

  Taking a step back, Thiou replied, �
��Did you ever stop to consider that giving the people a stake in their own world might give them more of a reason to defend it? One of the last leaders of the United States warned that if you deny any ability for peaceful protest, you bring about a violent revolution.”

  “That will never happen,” Fitzroy said. “Even if the rebels manage to get enough of the street trash to riot, the Watchmen will stop them. We’ll crack the city domes ourselves if we must. Hell, we’ve got too many of them to feed as it is. Shedding a few thousand won’t hurt. Besides, human life is one of the most expendable resources we’ve got. It’s not as though it’s hard to replace.” He looked over Thiou, and said, “Have you ever thought about that, Doctor?”

  “Not a chance. I suspect that Riley would agree with me.”

  “She’ll come back around. They always do. I didn’t exactly hire her for her tactical skills.” At her expression, he continued, “Welcome to the real world, Doctor. How many Professors did you sleep with?”

  “None.”

  “Bet you’d have got a lot more grants if you did.”

  She stepped forward, rage in her eyes, and said, “People like you are the reason we have a resistance. You treat everyone other than yourself as a commodity to be bought and sold, just a piece on the board. Are you really surprised that the people get resentful, hateful?”

  “Next you’ll be advocating a return to democracy. You’re the historian. How many democracies lasted? Even those that weren’t just elected dictatorships, or some sort of concealed oligarchy? They all failed, one after another, and the result was the Last World War, and the death of eight billion people. Damn near the entire human race. We danced around extinction as a species, and we’re not quite done yet.”

  “And you’re willing to start another war,” she replied.

  “We didn’t start it. The Coalition did. One way or another, we’re going to finish it. With your help. This colony could change everything. A viable extrasolar settlement that we can use as a major fleet base, a hidden redoubt. Callisto, but better. We can build a new generation of warships, stage them out of here, and dismantle the interstellar possessions of the Coalition a piece at a time, at our leisure.”