The Sol System Renegades Quadrilogy: Books 1-4 of the Space Opera Thriller Series

by Felix R. Savage

  Who’d a thunk it? Nothing pisses off the powerful like martyrdom.

  ~Huh?

  I won. They lost.

  ~Doesn’t look that way to me.

  They tried to torture me into renouncing Christ. They failed.

  ~THAT’s what you were arguing about? RELIGION?

  Of course. Every argument comes down to religion.

  ~For your information, I have no interest in becoming a martyr.

  I didn’t say you’d have to. Now that you’re back, I’ve got options. Hang tight.

  The screen went black.

  ★

  Jun used the refrigerator’s built-in connectivity to transfer himself to the hub of the Superlifter. This was still less processing power than he’d been used to, but he could see and hear again. Exulting in the restoration of his senses, he watched the crab-like D&S bot remove another section of the Monster’s cargo module. There went his garden, once and for all. Oh well.

  The 11th Brigade of the CTDF believed they’d killed him without ever getting him to recant. They were now as close to irritated as those mighty, apathetic entities ever could be. In a fit of petulance, they had decided to dismantle the Monster for parts.

  Now their exertions were about to be rewarded … in the worst way.

  Grinning to himself, Jun connected the fridge to the Tiangong Erhao network.

  The CTDF eagerly examined this new find.

  The Ghost pounced. All in less time than it took a human’s heart to beat once, it attacked the Chinese AIs’ processing cores, incorporating them into its own network … doing exactly what the Heidegger program had been built to do.

  Now distributed across a dozen CTDF ships’ hubs, the simulated quantum computer had resources to burn. And it did.

  As far as the Ghost knew, it was surrounded by enemies. (As far as the Ghost knew, it was always surrounded by enemies.) It sprang into action, coopting the Chinese AIs’ butt-fragging routines. “Pew pew pew!” it screamed. “Eat plasma, meatfucker!”

  Docking Bay 11 burst into flames. In station-keeping orbits around Tiangong Erhao, AIs howled in shock as their databanks were deleted as a rate of petabytes per second. The Ghost saw no reason to conserve historical archives, carefully honed philosophical essays, or tendentiously footnoted debates about the war guilt of the Japanese. It was all raw material. The Chinese battleships began to vanish.

  “Ow!” they bawled, or would have, if they were human. “Get it off! It’s cold!”

  If you’ve ever wondered how the PLAN’s stealth technology works, Jun informed them, now you know.

  The AIs’ counter-malware defenses joined the fray. A battle raged for the subjective equivalent of decades. When it was done, one battleship fell away, its reactor cooking off. The others had managed to stuff their new Ghosts into firewalled cages, just like Jun had stuffed his Ghost into the fridge last year, when this nightmare began.

  Silence reigned. Then one Chinese AI spoke, wearily.

  “Not worth it.”

  That’s what I think, Jun agreed.

  “Thirded,” said another AI. “That hurt.”

  Your humans might think differently, Jun advised them. They don’t believe AIs can feel pain.

  “Exactly. That’s why they’re never going to find out about it. We’re jettisoning this crap right now. We’ll say … something went wrong in Docking Bay 11 … and the Weifang malfunctioned. Yeah. Malfunctioned. That’s our story, and we’re sticking to it.“

  Your secret is safe with me, Jun said.

  “Damn right it is,” said these pitiless entities, reverting to form. “You may have won this round, but you’re still our prisoner, short-ass.”

  ★

  “I’m offering you a deal!”

  Kiyoshi floated in the middle of Docking Bay 14, gripping Derek Lorna by the arm. Lorna was in a cheap Chinese spacesuit, with no mobility pack, so he couldn’t get away.

  “This guy!” Kiyoshi shouted on the station’s public channel, knowing the Chinese AIs could hear him. “He made the Dust! He’s responsible for the death of millions! They were going to genocide the Martians! He’s a criminal! But he’s also a genius! And the UN wants him back! But I’m offering him to you.” He shook Lorna by the arm. “Take him, and give me my ship!”

  Silence. Kiyoshi waited, praying. The flesh wound on his bicep throbbed in time to his heartbeat. This would work. It had to work.

  “Well?!” He let go of Lorna. As the man drifted away, Kiyoshi levelled his rifle at him. “If you don’t want him, I’m gonna recycle him right now.”

  The giant D&S bot detached from the mutilated Monster. Although it was laden with sections of the ship’s cargo module, it still had a claw to spare. It snatched Lorna up by the scruff of his suit and bore him out of the docking bay.

  Kiyoshi emptied his rifle at the retreating bot. He may have hit it, but the pulses had zero effect.

  “Goddammit!”

  “It was a good try,” Jun said. “Now come back before you bleed to death in your suit.”

  Despairing, Kiyoshi floated back towards the Monster. With the cargo module gone, the ship looked hideously unbalanced. A 150-meter length of naked spine stuck out like the barrel of a gun. Which was precisely what it was. But Kiyoshi no longer had any illusions that he could shoot his way out of this.

  He’d told Mendoza and Father Tom he was going to offer the Chinese a prisoner exchange. He could not face telling them he’d failed. He veered towards the Wakizashi, which was now clamped into its old place in the auxiliary craft bay.

  Inside the Superlifter, Dr. Hasselblatter and his son were suiting up, preparing to go over to the Monster.

  “It’s a madhouse over there,” Kiyoshi told them. “I hope you speak Chinese.”

  “No,” said Dr. Hasselblatter. “But my son has been through quite enough. We’re not staying here with that thing.”

  Left alone in the cockpit, Kiyoshi saw what Dr. Hasselblatter meant. Ron Studd’s projection occupied the astrogator’s couch, a skeletal horror crawling with maggots. Their final Ghost run had done for the sub-personality. Like every repo before him, he was dead.

  Kiyoshi looked up at the heads-up screen. “Upload him.”

  Jun’s face appeared on the screen, shadowed by the cowl of his habit. “No.”

  “Why not? He deserves it. He fought well.”

  “There isn’t room in here.”

  “Yes, there is room. You’re always talking about how you can do more with less. You managed to fit yourself into the fridge. With the Ghost.”

  “The only reason I survived that,” Jun said, “was because I didn’t have any flaws for the Ghost to exploit! I wasn’t tempted to fight it, or God forbid, argue with it! I turned the other cheek, and when it took my coat, I offered it my shirt, also! In an AI, moral perfection is the only perfect firewall. And uploading Studd would make a big hole in my sanctity.”

  “I think you’ve just admitted something,” Kiyoshi said with a dry chuckle.

  “What?”

  “You’re a saint, aren’t you, little brother?”

  “Of course not. But I try.”

  “Exactly. You tried to become a saint by offloading your flaws into your sub-personalities. You tried to make yourself better by making them worse. And poor old Studd got the really choice traits. The obstinacy, the sneakiness, the violent tendencies, the contempt for anyone who disagrees with you. All the flaws you’ve struggled with ever since you were a kid. I’ve known you all your life, Jun. I know you. And I recognized you in him.”

  Jun shrank away into the depths of the screen. He sat with his arms around his knees at the end of a long tunnel.

  “Come out of that screen. Come out where I can see you properly! It would be great to be a saint, but not if it makes you hide. Real saints don’t hide. They don’t shut out the people who love them. And nor do they mutilate themselves.” Kiyoshi reached towards the screen as if he could reach into it. “I remember when you were a kid, Jun. Maybe eigh
t. You shaved your head in a tonsure, to show the adults what a real monk looks like. What a mess you made of it.”

  “I remember that,” Jun whispered.

  “Then when you were discerning your vocation, I guess you were about thirteen, you decided to fast for forty days like Jesus, without telling anyone. You passed out at school.”

  “I remember that.”

  “And then—” Kiyoshi laughed— “this really took the cake. I was gone by then, but I heard about it from Mom. You snuck into the textile factory and printed out a hair shirt, to wear under your stabilizer braces.”

  “I remember that,” Jun said. “I remember all of it. Because you remember it. You gave me your memories, and Mom’s. All my memories are filtered through your eyes. They’re colored with love.”

  “Yup.”

  Studd’s projection twitched. He sat up, smiling in happy disbelief—and changed into Jun. There really wasn’t that much of a difference. A shorter, squarer body; no buckteeth.

  “Uploading now … Whoa. I really was a little shit, wasn’t I?”

  “You always were,” Kiyoshi said affectionately. “It’s good to have you back.”

  ★

  Two weeks later, the attention of the whole solar system turned to Tiangong Erhao. A chorus of condemnation swelled.

  Five and a half million people just died on Luna!

  The House of Saud has declared Luna independent!

  The He3 supply chain is a wreck!!

  And you lot are throwing a PARTY?

  Why, yes, the spokesbots of Tiangong Erhao responded blandly. A birthday party, to be exact.

  Prince Jian Er was turning thirty, and he did not give a damn what people thought of him. Moreover, the death of Nadia, his ex-fiancée, had spurred him to new heights of sybaritic indulgence.

  So, recognizing that tragedies come and tragedies go, but guanxi is money in the bank, hundreds of microfamous and nanofamous celebrities flocked to Tiangong Erhao. The Imperial Bay had once again been wired for sound. Dozens of pavilions floated through the vast space like soap bubbles. The guests giggled at the burlesque acts and sex shows laid on for their amusement. They goggled at the humanzees, products of the top-secret breeding program, who had been let out for the occasion to serve as waiters. (They were not told that these were the rare successes of the program; most of the experimental gengineered humans could not be trusted with so much as a glass of water.) They gloated over the baubles in their goodie bags.

  In addition to jewellery, designer cosmeceuticals, vacation packages, and luxury condoms, each guest had been presented with a Jiffy Hopper wingset. The Jiffy Hopper was a Chinese invention, a cross between a hang-glider and a small car. The celebrities bumbled through the bay on their wings, bumping into the pavilions.

  “Drugged to the eyeballs, all of them,” Kiyoshi said.

  “You’re just jealous,” Mendoza said.

  “I wouldn’t touch a vial of cijiwu right now if you paid me.” A fanatical gleam shone in Kiyoshi’s eyes; a smirk hovered on his lips.

  Maybe he really means it this time, Mendoza thought.

  “Sure there’s no reason they shouldn’t have fun,” Fr. Lynch said in tones of censure. “We should all be having fun. We were invited. It’s a good sign.”

  “More likely,” Mendoza sighed, “we’re on the menu. I think I saw some lion cages being unloaded.”

  He sucked a mouthful of champagne from a pouch. It was flat. Carbonation did not work in space.

  The group from the Monster stood on one of the piers that jutted into the Imperial Bay. Prince Jian Er’s court bobbled a hundred meters overhead. It was a spherical globe of water, held together by an envelope of smart material that resealed itself every time someone dived or out. The celebrities were wearing scuba masks and flippers in there. They were skinnydipping among specially imported tropical fish.

  A stray marble of water drifted towards Mendoza. He touched it with a fingertip, shattering it into micro-droplets.

  Was this what he’d given up everything for?

  Elfrida, his family, any career opportunities that might’ve been left to him—had he given them all up on a gamble that failed? He’d wanted to do the right thing. Instead, it looked like he would end his days as a kakure Kirishitan on Tiangong Erhao.

  Father Tom had converted dozens of Chinese convicts. He regularly urged Mendoza and Kiyoshi to join in his works of mercy, inspiring them with stories of the kakure Kirishitans of Japan, who’d survived under the shogunate for centuries without losing their faith. But talk of centuries made Mendoza even gloomier. And he could not help remembering that the history of Japan had ended with a giant explosion.

  A giant explosion, he thought, would improve this place.

  The highlight of the day’s festivities was a performance by Brainrape. They had stuck around on Tiangong Erhao, too. Prince Jian Er liked their music too much to let them go.

  They bashed out their usual mix of guitar feedback and obscene howls. The prince and his favorites listened through their cochlear implants, head-banging underwater.

  “This fucking noise,” Kiyoshi groaned. “We’re to be spared nothing, are we?”

  “Give me Bach any day,” Derek Lorna agreed, glancing at Mendoza.

  Mendoza turned away. He could hardly stand to look at Lorna. The man was in talks with the Chinese to trade access to his research for a new identity and a fast spaceship. He was going to escape, while they remained stuck here.

  Brainrape’s performance ended. Prince Jian Er erupted from his watery throne. “Superb! Awesome! Frug on!” he cried. The musicians were ferried across the bay to receive the prince’s congratulations in person. Mendoza turned a cynical gaze on the nearest big screen. The musicians bobbled around Prince Jian Er, knee deep, trying to keep their instruments out of the water.

  “Anything that may be in my power to give!” The prince’s voice boomed throughout the Imperial Bay. “Ask and it shall be yours!”

  “The Monster,” said the four-armed girl drummer.

  “Eh?”

  “The Monster,” repeated the guitarist. “That old cargo hauler in Docking Bay 14. That’s what we’d like. Oh, and the Superlifter that goes with it.”

  “Of course! The ship that was stolen from you!”

  “And its mothership,” the drummer clarified. “The Monster. If you—your Imperial Highness would be so kind.”

  Prince Jian Er was silent for a moment. “Well, the military won’t like it. But to hell with them.”

  The microfamous and nanofamous hooted their approval.

  “After all, I am a prince, and they’re only AIs! To hell with philosophical arguments. Your petition is granted! FRUG OOONNNN!”

  ★

  The Monster fell gracefully away from Tiangong Erhao. At a safe distance from the space station, it accelerated. The tiny star of the Monster’s drive was joined within the instant by half a dozen others. Prince Jian Er had ordered the CTDF to escort the Monster safely out to the edge of the asteroid belt, whether the military AIs liked it or not. They didn’t, but had no choice. The very existence of the Chinese empire hinged on their obedience to the imperial family. Should they disobey Prince Jian Er’s orders, the whole dog-and-pony show would fall to pieces. Even an apathetic AI could see that.

  During their voyage, Jun enjoyed an unspoken truce with his Chinese escorts. Abjuring theological and philosophical arguments, they passed the time playing games. Poker turned out to be a mutual favorite. Jun won a new cargo module from the Luxiao Shan, with built-in hydroponic tanks.

  The humans passed the time in other ways.

  Father Tom spent many pleasant hours in Jesuitical discussions with the ISA, who had sent a ship to stalk the convoy, trying to find out what could have produced this strange alliance.

  Charles, the Brainrape guitarist, taught Kiyoshi how to play chords properly.

  Junior Hasselblatter became a favorite with the Chinese, who found his destructive ways adorable.

&
nbsp; Mendoza helped Father Tom to celebrate daily Masses, and studied to become a deacon. When he was not doing that, he practised his kendo katas and exercised fanatically so as not to lose muscle mass.

  Lying tired on the mat after a tough session, he often thought of Elfrida. When they reached their destination, he was going to ask her to come out and join them. The only reason he hadn’t done it yet was because he didn’t know where they were going. Kiyoshi had apologetically explained that the guy he worked for was paranoid about security. When they got there, all would be revealed. Mendoza had faith that it would be good.

  He also recalled, with mixed feelings, the moment of their departure from Tiangong Erhao.

  Derek Lorna had come flying up at the last instant. “Phew!” he had said to Mendoza, who was sitting in the Monster’s operations airlock, waiting for him. “Thought I wasn’t going to make it. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Mendoza had blocked the airlock with his body. “You aren’t coming with us. The Chinese are going to give you your own spaceship. A new ID. A new face, new fingerprints, even a new DNA record. Right?”

  “So they say, but it’s bullshit. They’re never going to let me go. They’ll promise me the moon and work me to death. I know how they operate. You have to let me come with you!”

  “Sorry. You’re staying here.”

  And Mendoza had shut the airlock in Lorna’s face.

  Last he saw, the man had been floating disconsolately down the bay to the nearest penal colony ship, to ask for sanctuary.

  Mendoza felt profoundly glad he hadn’t killed Lorna when he had the chance. There might be hope for him yet. God forgives everything.

  ★

  After the Monster parted from the CTDF, it cruised on through the asteroid belt. The ISA ship stopped following them. Its captain now knew where the Monster was going, so his job was done.

  It took them another four months to get there. The asteroid belt was no tightly packed ring of rock. The distances out here were vast, and they were going most of the way to Jupiter.

  At last, they got close enough to the asteroid 99984 Ravilious to hold nearly-real-time radio conversations.

  And Kiyoshi asked the question that had been bugging him all the way from Luna.