27
Experiment in democracy
The boarding strike team suffered heavy casualties, but it achieved total success. The company of marines rescued hundreds of prisoners, including experienced officers and intelligence operatives.
When Battlegroup Vega rejoined the main Alliance fleet, DeCourt was over the moon. He gave a speech to the entire fleet and showed footage from the op. He praised the heroism of ASF soldiers and crew, and gave homage to the fallen.
Riley received a medal and a week of shore leave, although the only shores she would see would be virtual ones in sims. The fleet was still far from Neo, or any inhabitable planets. She was given a comfortable cabin on the Capitol for the duration of her leave, with an individual shower and bath, a rare luxury for a spacer.
For the first time in her life, Riley felt like a woman. She traded her uniform for a white dress of simple but elegant cut, that underlined her slim waist and long graceful legs. Not that she intended to flirt with anyone; romance wasn’t even on her mind. She just wanted to feel feminine for a change.
After a haircut and a bath, she decided to visit her old friend Adisa. She took a shuttle to the ship where Adisa had settled, a Sterope-class mining ship converted to accommodate five thousand people and re-christened Oretown. Its rectangular hull blistered with domes of nanoalloy that had been hastily added to increase its capacity to carry passengers.
As she boarded, the contrast with the Capitol struck her. She walked through narrow, dirty, dimly-lit corridors that had the same smell as the ones on Dionysus. Heavily overcrowded, the ship resonated with a thousand sounds; coughing, snoring, babies’ cries. The residents put every cubic meter of space to use, and all rooms not used as living quarters were filled to the ceiling with equipment, crates, and whatnot.
In the corridor leading to Adisa’s quarters, people were queuing to use the washrooms. Men, women, and children stood in line stoically, waiting for their turn. They lowered their eyes when they saw Riley in her elegant dress, as if they were ashamed of their living conditions. Even the kids.
There’s nothing to be ashamed of. This is only temporary.
So Riley hoped.
Adisa lived in a cargo bay hastily converted into a dormitory. When Riley entered, she was sitting on her bunk, staring at the holo-screen of a portable reading device. As she lifted her eyes, they lit with joy.
“My favorite ASF officer,” she greeted Riley. “Glad you found a moment to visit your old accomplice. You look fabulous, by the way.”
Riley returned her smile. “Thank you. It’s my first day of leave. Sorry I couldn’t come to see you earlier.”
Adisa hopped to her feet and gave Riley a hug. She wore a gray coverall patched up in several places and smelled of a cheap body lotion the crew of the Oretown were probably producing on board.
“I would be glad to give you a tour, but I’m afraid there’s little to see,” Adisa said. “The washroom is in the corridor. You can’t miss it—there’s always a queue to get in. There are five showers for five thousand people, nine decks below. To use a laundry machine, you need to get on a waiting list. Entertainment? We don’t have any, and we don’t have time for that anyway. After a sixteen-hour shift at the ore processing plant, all you want is to grab something to eat from the dispenser, take a shower, and get some sleep. If you still have some energy left, and you manage to find a partner, you can have intercourse in one of the maintenance tunnels. That’s the only place where you can get some privacy.”
Riley rocked her head, her smile growing bittersweet. “That sounds like a delightful lifestyle. But we endured worse when we lived in those caves on Deneb, remember?”
“How can I forget? We had to ration everything, even water. Taking a shower or a bath was out of the question. A humid sponge was our best friend.”
“I felt like we were living in our protective suits. They became a second skin.”
“If one tore their suit it had to be patched immediately. Otherwise you were done for by dehydration, or heat, or radiation, or toxins. So many ways of dying, all rather unpleasant.”
Riley’s gaze drifted through the dormitory, her “adventures” on Deneb replaying in her mind. “I believe it was worth it. I’d rather survive as a desert worm than live as a Taar’kuun slave.” She looked at Adisa again. “By the way, how did you end up on the hulk?”
“The cockroaches captured me during a high-risk op on Deneb. I thought they would execute me, but they kept me locked up. When they evacuated the planet, they took me with them. I expected to be re-assimilated, but for some reason they transported me to that prison ship.”
“Did they interrogate you?”
“They used mind probes on me, but I had no valuable intel. I’m still puzzled as to why they kept me on the hulk for years. I think they needed human subjects for experimentation. They were working on something very important to them. I’ve seen what they’ve done to the prisoners… It was worse than torture. What they did to their minds…”
Adisa shut her eyes and clenched her fists. Riley sensed that her old friend had been changed in a subtle, yet profound way. Years of imprisonment had taken their toll. There was a lot of pain in Adisa, a lot of contained anger.
Riley gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder. “C’mon, enough dwelling on the past. Let’s talk about the future. The fleet should reach Neo in a few months. We’ll start a new life there.”
Adisa pursed her lips, obviously not sharing Riley’s enthusiasm. “There’s little to look forward to on Neo. Barely breathable atmosphere, rocky deserts, lakes of sulfuric acid, constant volcanic activity, and hostile wildlife.”
“How do you know that?” Riley asked with a frown.
“Multan. He’s on the Jamnagar. A flying shanty town, like the Oretown.”
A pang of anxiety made Riley shiver. She’d almost forgotten about the mission the president had given her. “You met with Multan?”
“Not in person, but we talked, and I also listened to his speeches. I agree with him—we need to go to Earth.”
This is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for!
Although Riley hated the idea of using Adisa, she felt she had no choice. “I think you’re right. I want to help. Can you get me an appointment with Multan?”
“I’ll see what I can do. You can be a valuable ally to his cause. He’s trying to convince the president to hold a referendum. Many people on the fleet want to journey to Earth instead of Neo, and Multan believes they have the right to be heard.”
“I understand. This is an important decision that concerns everyone on the fleet, so it’s fair to put it to a vote.”
Adisa nodded. “Come back tomorrow, and please wear something more inconspicuous. You look like a lady from a higher caste.”
“There are no castes in the Alliance,” Riley protested.
“Really? Look around you. I’m not so sure about that.”
* * *
“Absolutely out of the question,” DeCourt declared at the press conference held that day. “The decision to travel to Neo is not up for debate. My priority as the president of the Alliance is to ensure the safety of my people. The survival of our species is at stake.”
“Mr. president, are you aware that two independent opinion polls show that half of your constituents do not want to travel to Neo?” one of the journalists asked, a blonde in her early thirties.
DeCourt raised his right hand and tilted his head. “Of course I’m aware of that. However, I question the validity of the results, as I believe they were biased. Reasonable people won’t be swayed by the ravings of a religious fanatic like Multan. Settling Neo is the only logical option we’ve left. Our enemies ignore its location, and we will be safe there.”
“Mr. president, what can you tell us about the living conditions on Neo?” another journalist asked, a male with salt and pepper hair. “Is it true that the planet’s atmosphere is barely breathable, that gravity is above one, that it’s mainly covered by deserts, an
d that the local fauna is dangerous and aggressive?”
“I won’t lie to you,” DeCourt said. “Living conditions on Neo won’t be as pleasant as on Vega-IV. However, this planet is habitable. With a few adaptations, I’m sure our civilization will thrive on this world. Remember, not so long ago, we were members of a caste of explorers, engineers, and builders. We were all designed and trained to be successful colonizers. We are the most adaptable, the most resourceful, the most hard-working sentient beings in the known universe. We will succeed on Neo.”
“What if the Taar’kuun discover Neo and send their armada after us?” the blonde journalist asked. “Wouldn’t it be safer for us to live in space on board our ships?”
DeCourt shook his head. “The Taar’kuun will never send their fleets into uncharted space. You know how careful they are when it comes to interstellar navigation. It will take them decades to map the route to Neo. Besides, we cannot live indefinitely in our ships. They weren’t designed for that purpose. We lack everything; food, water, medications, supplies, and other products of first necessity.”
“What if some people want to journey to Earth?” asked a young man with long hair sitting at the last row near the entrance door. “Will you use force to prevent them from doing so?”
This question stirred a hubbub of excited conversations in the conference room, and DeCourt had to raise his voice to restore order. “I can only repeat what I’ve already said. My priority is to ensure the safety of my people. Traveling to Earth would be dangerous, probably suicidal. I cannot allow anyone to take such a risk.”
* * *
As weeks passed, tensions only grew. Resources were running low, so the fleet had to stop in an uninhabited system to mine asteroids and gather the substances needed for survival.
By the time the mining ships collected enough material to keep the factories running for a couple of months, food reserves were nearly depleted. Supplying the fleet became a logistical nightmare. Civilians were exhausted due to heavy workload and exasperated due to poor living conditions, while military personnel were itching for action. As DeCourt had predicted, the Biozi didn’t dare following the human fleet into uncharted territory.
From a political point of view, the divide between DeCourt’s and Multan’s supporters widened by the day. The partisans of the latter, called Earthists, grew in numbers and became more vocal. As the fleet was about to resume its journey to Neo, the Earthists organized a major strike and demanded a referendum.
A crowd of about a thousand Earthists assembled on the Capitol for a demonstration, and DeCourt ordered Colonel Kor to disperse them. The Bloody Colonel and his officers executed the president’s orders with excessive zeal, and several people were injured during the operation.
Next, DeCourt ordered Winsley to deploy ASF marines onto the striking ships, with the clear intention of intimidating the workers. The marines carried out their orders with obvious reluctance. Some even openly fraternized with the strikers.
Meanwhile, Riley tried to get close to Multan, although the task wasn’t easy. Gaining his trust would take time.
One day, Riley dropped by the sickbay on the Capitol to catch up with Talia. After the usual exchange of pleasantries, Talia said, “If we go on like this, we’ll prove the Biozi right about mankind. They won’t have to lift a finger to destroy us. We’ll do that to ourselves.”
Riley nodded. “Five years of war, billions of lives sacrificed, for what? There are only a hundred thousand survivors left, and we’re fighting among ourselves.”
“I still can’t believe DeCourt put Kwan Kor in charge of security. The man is a public menace worse than the Biozi. And I must do counseling sessions with him, listen to him talking about all the atrocities he’s committed. I thought I could help him manage his anger, but anger isn’t his main problem. He’s convinced he’s doing the right thing. For him, violence is a language, a communication tool. And he speaks this language fluently—those are his own words outside of counseling sessions, so you can image what he’s telling me during those sessions.”
“Sorry to hear that, Talia. You don’t deserve this. You’re the president’s adviser; can’t you convince him to send the Bloody Colonel back to his cell?”
Talia rocked her head wearily. “I believe DeCourt agrees with Kwan Kor. He speaks the language of violence too. They understand each other. We need a change in leadership.”
“You’re not thinking about a coup?” Riley asked in low voice.
“Of course not. I’m thinking about elections. As soon as this crisis is over, DeCourt is supposed to organize presidential elections.”
“He won’t relinquish power, now that he’s tasted it,” Riley said darkly.
* * *
After three days of strikes and civil unrest, DeCourt relented and agreed to organize a referendum. Multan sent representatives to all ships to ensure no foul play. He insisted that no electronic tools should be used, and that votes must be cast in person using plastic cards designed for that purpose. The cards would be counted manually after the election, and representatives from both camps would do their own count.
Their bellies grumbling for food, the voters came in prodigious numbers to participate in this experiment in democracy. They all got an energy bar for their effort, courtesy of DeCourt’s administration, no matter how they voted.
A few hours later, the counts were in, checked and rechecked manually by both parties.
DeCourt announced the results on the following day. He’d won by a narrow margin, and the fleet would resume its journey to Neo. That should have been the end of the crisis. But it was just the beginning.
28
Operation Laser Scalpel
Neo was still several weeks away. The Alliance fleet was making its way through a vast region of space sparsely populated by lifeless stellar systems. Solid planets were few, and had little in the way of resources the fleet needed. The logistical situation was dire.
Food reserves were depleted, and growing artificial eatable tissues was necessary. The Remembrance was the only bioship in the fleet, and now it contributed to the survival of the human species in a new way. Bioengineers led by Adrian Darus had found a way to clone its biosynthetic tissues and produce edible substances, although barely edible. The most nutritious had the texture of an overcooked steak and smelled like burned rubber. The taste wasn’t much better than the smell.
None of the human survivors would ever use the expression “it tastes like chicken” again. Because chicken tasted like nectar of the gods compared with the artificial food they had to ingest during their trip to Neo.
Morale was sinking to the bottom of the ocean. Everyone coped with the hardships in their own way. Some retreated into their mental shell, spending their free time alone and seeking escape through sims or reading. Others engaged in wild parties, like there was no tomorrow. They tried to compensate for the lack of food by excess of booze and stims—both readily available.
First, DeCourt tried to implement an austerity policy, and outlawed all stims and home-made booze. Kwan Kor’s officers relentlessly chased bootleggers and stim traffickers, and even enrolled ASF marines to assist them. To no avail. Smugglers simply moved their operations from one ship to another, and security officers couldn’t be everywhere at once.
A week later, one of DeCourt’s advisers convinced the president to relax the regulations on alcohol and narcotics. He also recommended encouragement of sexual promiscuity. DeCourt announced to the fleet that Neo was just weeks away, and that it was time to take measures to increase the size of the human population. Every woman of childbearing potential had the duty to contribute to this endeavor.
The administration took several measures to stimulate this process. Workers were given a half an hour break in their shift to “socialize.” So-called privacy booths were installed on civilian ships, where couples could isolate themselves from the outside world. Those booths were narrow and not well adapted for the intended purpose, but the authorities trie
d to compensate with an abundance of aids supposed to facilitate the process.
If that wasn’t enough, someone in the president’s cabinet came up with the idea of covering ships’ corridors with morale-boosting posters. Most of those posters featured scantily-dressed females in various suggestive poses before a background of cerulean seas and heavenly blue skies. No such beaches would be found on Neo, but the populace didn’t need to know that, in DeCourt’s opinion.
Home-brewed booze returned to legality, and even stims were tolerated. Some women wanted to get pregnant as quickly as possible, hoping to escape from long and grueling shifts and receive preferential treatment in terms of quarters and food ration allocations.
Mini-skirts, fishnets, skin-tight faux-leather pants and bras made their appearance on several civilian ships. The Dionysus became the hub of frantic “recreational” activity. Males on the ship were accosted by “cream mongers,” as promiscuous females were called. Those women reeked of booze and musky perfume that barely concealed the stench of sweat, but they still managed to find volunteers to spend some quality time with them in a privacy booth.
The new tolerance policy, however, divided the human society even further, as not everyone welcomed drunkenness and promiscuity. Many women wanted to start a family and were not pleased to be seen only as objects of male lust. Multan publicly condemned debauchery and portrayed himself as the champion of morality. In his speeches, he insisted on the importance of marriage. To lead by example, he married Adisa, who had become the number two in the Earthist organization.
Thus, Multan’s popularity grew, while DeCourt lost ground in the polls.
Riley became obsessed with her mission. She was making progress, but still hadn’t managed to get into Multan’s inner circle, despite her friendship with Adisa. She considered this a professional failure. During one of her trips to the Capitol, she bumped into Adrian, who was still working as DeCourt’s scientific adviser.
Battlegroup Vega Page 19
