The Tribari Freedom Chronicles Boxset

by Rachel Ford

  The Krians identified themselves as brothers, Niil and Niyol Bik. Brek had a hard time remembering which of the two was which, as they were not only siblings, but identical twins. Raylor Elkar, the MP from Delta, was easier to identify. She was a massive woman, as tall as any man in the chamber, and more muscular than most, including himself. And Brek was no lightweight.

  He felt a little like a dwarf of yore sitting at the feet of a giant, as he sat next to her. Still, Raylor was friendly, and clearly working class like himself. The realization that not everyone here was the child or spouse of contributors, or from a lofty intellectual circle, did go a ways toward settling his nerves.

  Mostly, though, it was the shift in attention that did the trick. Presider Grik opened the floor to committee reports, and soon the newly appointed ministers were forgotten.

  The Constitutional Rights Review Committee reported first. A stout, balding minister from Central, one Giya Enden, gave this update. Brek listened with rapt and slightly bewildered attention, as much because of the topic – a dry rundown of the provisions that had been identified for expansion and clarification – as the process. It was exceedingly formal and structured, and as the wherefores and thereby be it resolved’s rolled off the other man’s tongue, the Thetan was again reminded of how far out of his depth he was.

  The long and short of it, as near as he could tell, was that the CRRC had identified about two dozen clauses in the Tribari constitution that required updates, and they would be recommending an additional dozen or so amendments extending further protections. The committee’s full recommendation would be given within the month.

  The other committee reports followed a similar pattern. The labor task force would have a full set of proposals in two weeks. The military advisory committee was awaiting Parliament’s feedback. By time they reached the urban feeding committee, Raylor was taking notes. This seemed a sensible move to Brek, as he was struggling to remember all he’d absorbed, and the day was just beginning.

  It made more sense in theory than practice, though. Brek struggled to keep up with the speakers, to balance detail in his notes with speed. He varied between scribblings so cryptic he had no idea what he was getting at a few minutes later, and notes so detailed the speaker had long moved on by time he concluded.

  By time the committee reports finished, his hand was cramped, and his brain seemed even more so.

  Now, though, Presider Grik turned the conversation in a direction that abruptly and decisively brought his focus back. In introducing the new business of the day, he declared, “Now that the Thetan representative has joined us, I’m going to re-open the floor to discussion of the question of the mines.” He nodded in Brek’s direction with a cordial smile. “As you all know, the mines have been shuttered for six weeks – ever since the Conglomerate fled Theta. The residents of the moon have restored power and some water treatment facilities, but, lacking the apparatus and supplies of a fully operational site, mining has not resumed.

  “The question before us is whether it behooves Central, at this point, to resume operation of the facility, or if our resources might not be better spent elsewhere. And, if we decide the former, in what fashion do we resume; and, if the latter, how may we best assist the people of Theta?”

  He turned again to Brek. “You see, Minister, why we waited until Theta sent you to join us: this is a question that sorely needs your input. First, I would ask, what is the feeling of the residents themselves?”

  Brek blinked, fearing that he was meant to give an answer all at once. Providentially, the presider continued, “Then, I would put it to the body to discuss any proposals or inclinations; to propose alternatives in turn; and to determine how we might best meet the colonists’ needs.”

  Captain Elgin tapped his console on the bridge, scrolling through the row upon row of sensor data thereupon. “I’m not sure I follow, Dagir.”

  Lieutenant Dagir nodded. “If you filter on the new propulsion systems, sir, you’ll get a much cleaner feed.”

  Elgin tapped in the filters his subordinate suggested, and was relieved to see the data shrink by a factor of ten at least. “And what am I expecting to see here?”

  “In normal operation, our warbirds and fighters broadcast a signal to identify themselves to other imperial craft.”

  He nodded. Since the revolution, those codes had been scrambled, and the transmission frequencies changed. The loyalist fleet was still out there, and they had access to the standard protocols. To keep using them was to announce their presence everywhere they went. “Right.”

  “Assuming Admiral Lenksha and his ships are running silent, they’re not going to show up in any of our logs.”

  He nodded again. Lenksha had gone dark before he even left Central’s orbit, so it was a good guess he wasn’t going to turn tracking back on.

  “They can hide their id’s. But what they can’t mask is their engine signatures.”

  “If they come in close enough proximity to any of our sensor equipment for us to pick them up.”

  The younger man nodded this time. “Yessir. I had the same thought.”

  “And we haven’t had any reported sightings.”

  “No sir, we haven’t. But Admiral Lenksha isn’t the kind of officer to sit on his laurels, either. Which got me thinking: what’s he up to?”

  “Did you find something, lieutenant?” Elgin didn’t want to dampen his victory, but he had the distinct impression that this was going somewhere, and – after his conversation with Nees the other day – he really wasn’t in the mood for guessing games.

  Dagir didn’t seem to mind. He nodded briskly, with just a hint of satisfaction creeping onto his features. “I did. If you filter engine signatures with corresponding identifying markers, sir…” He waited as Elgin did so. The list dropped again, to a fraction of its size. “You see, we have picked up a handful of readings, Captain.”

  Elgin considered. “These don’t necessarily have to be Lenksha’s men,” he reminded his subordinate. “Merchant and freighter vessels don’t always follow the identification protocols. And we’re seeing an uptick in pirate activity near the Wastes.”

  Dagir nodded. “Yessir. I know. That’s why we filtered on the new propulsion systems.”

  Now, Elgin smiled too. “Because those aren’t in commercial craft yet.”

  “Exactly, Captain. Half the fleet doesn’t even have them yet.”

  “So these are definitely military ships.” His grin broadened. “And they’re not ours. Good work, Dagir. Damned good work.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Any idea what they’re up to?” He frowned, scrolling through the coordinates listed. “They seem to be keeping outside of most of our sensor grids. Which means keeping clear of populated planets and automated stations. But they’re definitely keeping an eye on things.” There were sightings all over the borders of patrolled space, going back to the early days of Lenksha’s retreat.

  “Surveillance, for sure. But – if I can offer a suggestion?”

  “Of course.”

  “We’ve got two dozen unmanned stations that they’ve passed at least once in the last month and a half. I suggest a full security sweep, on-site as soon as we can get ships there; and remote, until then. I recommend we audit all recent use, and look for any signs of intrusion or unauthorized access.”

  “You think they’ve compromised our grid somehow? Why? And how?”

  “I don’t know, sir. But they’re up to something. And until we know what, we can’t rule anything out.”

  Elgin nodded slowly. It was, he realized, the first time in almost three days he was truly distracted from the issue of Trapper’s Colony. It was the first time in three days he wasn’t replaying every word in his mind, re-analyzing every word choice, of his conversation with Governor Nees. Nothing like a potential crisis to take your mind off failure. These musings, of course, he kept to himself. “Agreed. Radio it in to Central, Dagir. And get Vor and anyone else you need on it with you. Le
t’s get to the bottom of this as soon as we can.”

  “Understood. Right away.”

  “And Lieutenant?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Good work. Whatever Lenksha’s up to, you might have just saved all of our skins.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Presider, you know my position,” Brek said. “You know the position of Theta’s populace: we are more than capable of running the mines under our own direction.” He tried to keep the exasperation out of his tones, but after three days of discussing this, his frustration was beginning to seep through.

  He had heard and re-heard the objections of ministers who feared the small settlements, now bereft of the management and supervisory classes, were underprepared to manage their own affairs. He’d heard a thousand variations on the theme, from more than a few concerned legislators.

  He’d nodded along as they explained the importance of the ore Theta produced – as if a man born and bred on the mining moon didn’t already understand that. He’d listened to their worries about what a failure at these early stages might mean for the empire. He’d grimaced in silence as they expressed their concerns that this might be asking too much of the good people of Theta, who were not yet acquainted with those duties.

  He’d heard a few ministers speak in their support, too. Nikia Idan and Giya Enden has argued that no one was better acquainted with the operation of Theta’s mines than her miners. He’d found allies among the provincial and colonial representatives, who argued that this was the province of the moon’s residents before anyone else.

  It was from Central and some of the larger worlds, like Tau, where the bulk of the opposition seemed to stem. Whether this was a failure on his part to adequately argue his case, or if perhaps it was his person that gave rise to their doubts, he couldn’t say. Still, he felt it keenly, and this sense of failure only contributed to his aggravation.

  “If I may address the body?” Davis Telari asked, rising.

  Telari, so far, had said little on the topic, raising points and counterpoints now and again, but sharing no firm opinions in one direction or the other.

  Presider Grik nodded. “The House of Commons recognizes Minister Telari.”

  Nodding his thanks, Telari flashed a smile. “Thank you, Presider. And thank you to my colleagues. For two and a half days, we’ve heard arguments for and against local control. We’ve heard compelling figures from Ministers Kuliv and Venri about the need for continued mining operations. We know the empire relies on the ores extracted from Theta for the production of our ships, our homes, and our infrastructure. So we know we must continue the operation.

  “We have heard the names of men familiar with the industry floated on this floor, who have overseen similar operations on planets across the empire. We have heard the objections of Theta, and the moon’s need for self-management.

  “We’ve heard the budgetary concerns from Ministers Yul and Jep. We know that the Consortium’s model of labor exploitation is untenable in our new Empire. We also know that supporting a workforce as large as Theta’s monetarily while also shipping in the supplies colonists need to survive is financially…” He hesitated, settling on, “challenging.”

  Now, Minister Telari’s tone grew less conversational, and more determined. “But we are Tribari. Rising to the challenges of our day is in our blood. It’s hardcoded in our DNA. It’s how we came to Central at all, instead of surrendering to the Celestial Fires so long ago.”

  Brek nodded at the imagery Telari’s words evoked. It was the origin story of his people. Every child was taught how the first Tribari home world had been consumed in fire from the Daystar, sent to punish the early kings for their sins. It could have – would have – been the end of the Tribari people, if the star hadn’t melted the ice continents of Central, revealing the lush, fertile planet below. It was a story of redemption and second chances. It was, the Thetan representative felt, apropos of the situation at hand. What was this provisional government, and the whole madcap scheme of governing themselves, if not a try at a second chance?

  Telari let the words linger for a moment, and then continued. “I would put to my peers that, for all the challenges we see before us, this is something we can do.” A murmur of approval rose, and Brek joined.

  “And,” Telari said, glancing at him now, “I would put it to the Minister from Theta that we have heard his concerns, that we understand them, that we appreciate them. But while the questions before us will require long, careful answers, the empire’s need is immediate.

  “Would it not, therefore, be in everyone’s interests to appoint a temporary council to oversee the mining operation, to meet the immediate need in the most efficient fashion possible, but with the understanding that we will transition in the future to meet the colony’s goals of independent operation?”

  A growing chorus of “hear, hear” and “ayes” sounded. Brek hesitated. He understood the empire’s need for Theta’s ore. He appreciated the promise to return control of the operation to the men and women who daily risked everything for that ore. Still, there was something in this proposal that gave him pause. Was it the body’s willingness to acquiesce, after so much back-and-forth? Was it the ambiguity in that understanding? He wasn’t sure, but something didn’t sit quite right.

  Now, Nikia Idan rose. “If I may, Minister?”

  Telari’s jaw flexed, but he nodded. “Minister Idan?”

  “What timeframes would you propose for the transition?”

  He spread his hands. “Respectfully, Minister, I believe you may be – as the saying goes – putting the cart before the horse. The mines are shuttered. We don’t know what damage, if any, was done when the Consortium abandoned Theta. We don’t know if the Consortium took measures to prevent re-opening. We do know they planted traps on some of the unmanned asteroid belt mines; perhaps they did something similar here. We just don’t know.

  “We don’t know how long it will take to restore the mines, much less develop them until they’re independent.” Brek frowned at these words, his sense of unease growing. The other parliamentarian continued, “I feel these are details that will need to be worked out by the team we appoint.”

  A few voices raised in strong assent, but Nikia remained on her feet. “Respectfully, Minister, I believe we should furnish the Minister from Theta with more detail than that. Theta’s wishes are clear. If we cannot acquiesce to them immediately, we need to present a timeframe in which we will, and a framework through which we will take steps to make them a reality.”

  Giya Enden nodded his acquiescence, and Raylor called a loud, “Hear.”

  “Minister Trigan understands the complexities of the situation as well as anyone,” Telari countered. “And the importance of Theta to our empire’s survival. I do not think I misstep to assume the survival of the empire is a greater concern to him – and all of us – than arbitrary timelines.”

  “A timeline – even a generous one – is a tangible goal,” Nikia persisted. “We owe Theta that transparency – that accountability.”

  Minister Gretchen Mira sighed. “We are all operating in good faith here, Minister Idan. Every man and woman here has bled and suffered for the empire. We know where we stand. And, as such, I would prefer the word of my peers to vainly promised deadlines.” Now, she turned to Brek. “I’m sure the Minister from Theta would concur?”

  Now, Brek froze. He wasn’t sure he did concur. He trusted his colleagues, inasmuch as he could trust veritable strangers. But volumes could be filled with the proverbs warning how easily good intentions can go awry. He was here to serve the Empire, but he was also here to protect the interests of the people of Theta – people who had, for far too long, gone without protection. “Of course, I trust the intentions of this body.”

  “Exactly so,” Mira nodded.

  “But I am also not immune to the wisdom of measurable goals.”

  “Respectfully,” Telari protested, “how can we make firm plans and set concrete deadlines when
we are dealing with as many unknown variables as are at play here? You cannot tell us the answers to all the questions we’ve posed. Well, Minister, we cannot know the unknown anymore than you.”

  It was said in a patient fashion, and the patronizing notes brought a touch of color to Brek’s cheeks. “I understand that, Minister Telari. That is why I would propose a compromise: let us implement the council you propose, but in an advisory fashion. Let the newly elected Thetan governing body make the final decisions.” A grumble of disagreement rose from the assemblage, but he did not yield the floor before adding, “It is our bodies that will be – have been – broken in these mineshafts, Ministers. No one has more skin in the game than we do.”

  Raylor, beside him, applauded fiercely. The Bik brothers offered a, “Well said.” Nikia Idan just nodded, seemingly content to let the words stand on their own.

  “We have heard Theta’s position,” Giya Enden declared. “I, for one, defer to the wishes of her people.”

  “I as well,” Nikia agreed.

  “As does Delta,” Raylor added. Soon, the assenting voices outweighed the dissenters.

  Presider Grik glanced at Minister Telari, who spread his hands in a resigned fashion. “If that is what Theta demands…”

  “Then,” the Presider said, turning his gaze back to Brek, “I would entertain a formal motion to form the advisory board, ultimately leaving the discretionary powers to implement those suggestions to the newly elected Thetan ruling body.”

  Brek blinked. This was his third day in parliament. He’d heard more committee reports than he could shake a stick at, and so much debate that his ears were practically bleeding. But he had no idea how to propose a formal motion.

  For a long moment, the chamber fell silent. He could feel the eyes of all parliament, of the spectators in the gallery, even of the viewers watching the livestream from the comfort of their own homes, on him. And he froze. He had no idea of what he was doing, and the idea of admitting his ignorance for all the world to see seemed to paralyze him.