Dubois clearly didn’t like being the center of attention but she answered his questions anyway. “Northies never did anything to me. People from other worlds never did anything to me. Now the Red Rocks killed my uncle and his son. The Drifting Sands kidnapped my sister and cut off two of my father’s fingers. Them I hate.”
“A classic revenge cycle. Does your clan attack them?”
“Of course. We want revenge. We need to prove we’re tough targets or everyone will start raiding us. And the young men want to show off how fierce they are.”
“But why is the South so violent and North peaceful?” Ping sounded honestly confused. “They’re both as hot as humans can stand, both settled by African and equatorial Asian stock, both short on water. Why the difference?”
Dubois shrugged and looked at Ye. He swallowed his food and said, “I don’t know. It’s always been that way.”
“Geology,” said Mitchie.
“Please expand, Captain,” said Ping.
“The North’s bedrock is smooth, letting the whole polar region be one big aquifer. The Water Judges control it as a common resource. If a Northie stabs someone the victim’s share of the water is divided among the whole population.
“Now in the South,” she continued, “the bedrock is jagged and broken. There’s dozens of small aquifers, each supporting two or three clans. Kill someone and their water goes from their clan to your own. It’s a powerful incentive.
“The North uses capital punishment, mandatory birth control, and immigration restrictions to keep the population within limits. The Southies just murder people until they’re at the same level.” Mitchie took a sip of water.
“Interesting.” Ping turned back to Dubois. “Is that the incentive for young men, Spacer?”
Her dark skin grew a little darker. “Well—they don’t think about the water. Usually, it’s, um, no girl will talk to a man who hasn’t wet his knife.”
“Wet?” asked Ping.
Mitchie picked up her butter knife and mimed slicing her arm.
“Ah. I don’t think it’s my place to say but it all sounds horrid. A pity there isn’t some way to convince those lads they’re better than the dry-knived scum without so many dead.”
With that Mitchie realized Ping’s point in dragging out all this anthropology. He wanted to convince them that the Fusion’s vast array of virtual citizens, all losing status competitions with the stipend-collecting drones, were essential to keeping it a healthy society. Maybe he’s right. But I’d rather see the Fusion burning than healthy.
Joshua Chamberlain, Sukhoi System, acceleration 10 m/s2
Mthembu was growing impatient with Traffic Control. Mitchie sympathized. Not enough to take the task on herself. But after more hours than she could count arguing with Fusion bureaucrats she did sympathize.
“No, we don’t have a transponder. Analog ships are prohibited from carrying them by your regulations on electronics,” said the coxswain.
She thought that was a tactical error. Joshua Chamberlain was an analog ship, but they’d added several pieces of gear the Fusion prohibited. They didn’t like computers that weren’t continually monitored by their network for signs of AI activity or other misbehavior.
“Yes, I am using a digital communications unit. We’re a unit of the Combined Fleet. The military exemptions on network monitoring apply.”
That was the better approach.
“We don’t have a Fusion Navy transponder because we’re a Disconnected Worlds ship.”
The annoyance of educating every traffic controller was why Mitchie had delegated the task. They could have hidden the boxes and just flown as an analog ship . . . but she wasn’t willing to give up the convenience.
“Yes, we’re a freighter. Navies need supplies. We’re still covered by the exemption for warships.”
Mthembu’s tone was becoming tense.
“Then complain to Admiral Galen, and he can put a missile in your control station!”
Mitchie turned around in her piloting couch, wondering if she’d have to take over the conversation after all. Then she saw Mthembu turn the microphone back on.
He said calmly, “Traffic Control, if you consult the Treaty of Lapis you’ll see the exemption applies to all ships belonging to a Disconnect military force. The Bonaventure Defense Force is specifically listed.”
He turned the mike off again. “Sorry, ma’am. I’ll do penance later.”
Mitchie laughed. “That’s between you and God, Coxswain. I’ve heard plenty worse.”
Chapter Two: Capitol
Capitol City, Planet Pintoy, gravity 9.4 m/s2
Mitchie was fiddling with a datasheet. Her Disconnect-made one was confined to the ship because it wouldn’t accept shutdown commands from the Fusion network. The loaner she’d been given at the spaceport, like all Fusion computing gear, would continually report on its activity so the Code Police could check for AI activity or prohibited programming.
She still couldn’t get it to recognize her favorite swipe combinations. When the door chime sounded she tossed it on the table.
Mitchie opened the door to find Stakeholder Ping.
“Good afternoon, Captain. I wanted to make sure my aides found proper accommodations for you.”
She stepped back to let him in. ‘Captain’ wasn’t an appropriate address now that they were off the ship. Her undress uniform had the same rank insignia as the Fusion Navy, just in different colors. She wondered if his refusal to call her ‘Commander’ was a reminder of the promotion she’d been denied, or a hint of a bribe. Or maybe he just wants to irritate me into overanalyzing everything.
Guo was admiring the view from their 20th-floor window. Ping joined him. “Magnificent, isn’t it?” said the Stakeholder.
“Yes.” Guo kept watching.
The Council Acropolis was a building, not a hill. A clear dome at the top revealed the Council of Stakeholders’ meeting chamber, two hundred stories off the ground. Stone from every Fusion world made a DNA-patterned mosaic as the column dropped straight for half the building’s height. Then sloped windows alternated with terraces of trees and grass to the ground. The mountainous structure was surrounded by a wide circle of park. A loop of the Te River flowed through the park with gentle ripples.
Lights gleamed from the lower levels as skyscrapers cast afternoon shadows. More sparkled in the park.
Ping gave him several more minutes of contemplation before interrupting. “I found something in my office that might interest you.”
“Oh?” Guo tore his eyes away from the window and accepted the item from Ping’s hand.
“It’s just been gathering dust so I really ought to find it a better home.”
Mitchie came closer to watch as Guo pulled off the tissue wrappings to reveal a book. The white cover was decorated with maple leaves. Some were seen edge-on, assembling into a set of ideograms. She worked out a translation. Guo confirmed her guess.
“Xi Wang’s Falling Red Leaves!” he burst out in Mandarin. Opening it moved him to say, “An autographed first edition! I thought all of these were in museums. How did you find it?”
“It’s been in the family. My cousin the history professor had it, but he’d analyzed all the notes and passed it to me as an inauguration present.”
“Notes?” Guo answered his own question. Turning a few more pages revealed handwriting filling the margins. “Who was . . .?”
“My ancestor was the Communist governor of Shanghai. When the Rectification began he spoke for the people. Picked the right side every time until the very end. So instead of joining the Virtual Emperor’s cabinet he won a retirement in a lovely mountain village in Manchuria.”
“Your role model?” interjected Mitchie, speaking Mandarin as they were.
Ping shrugged. “I could do far worse. He was remembered fondly by many up to the Betrayal.”
Guo held the book as if it was made of spun glass. “This should be in a university’s library.”
“It is.
They’ve scanned the notes down to the brush pressure and ink density to evaluate the old man’s mood as he wrote. They have the data. The physical object is just clutter to the academics. And I don’t appreciate it as it deserves.”
Guo nodded, eyes fixed on the pages.
After a moment of silence Ping caught Mitchie’s eye and gestured toward the far end of the suite’s living room.
“I apologize if I’ve deprived you of his company for the evening,” he said.
“I’ll be fine,” said Mitchie. “Thank you very much. That is a perfect gift for him. Real history he can hold in his hands.”
“You should have some compensation for the trouble of bringing me here.”
“It was our duty.”
“That is true.” He took a chilled water glass from the coffee table, uncapped it, and sipped. “I would like you to accompany me to the Council session tomorrow. I have enough support to change the agenda to debate reinforcement funding.”
“Do you want me to testify?” she asked.
“If necessary. There shouldn’t be any need for you to speak. I just think some of my colleagues would benefit from a visual reminder of all the issues involved.”
In less diplomatic terms, he wanted a symbol of the Disconnected Worlds’ ability to depopulate Fusion planets if they didn’t get enough cooperation. Mitchie was fine with that.
“I’ll wear my best.”
“Thank you. I’ll meet you at the subway station at half past nine.”
A few pleasantries were sufficient to see Ping out the door.
Guo hadn’t said good-bye to the stakeholder. He sat in the chair with the best reading light. Every few minutes he turned a page.
Mitchie shook her head. She pulled out her datasheet. If she had some time to herself she might as well catch up on Fusion politics.
A few hours later she was hungry enough to order room service. She quashed the temptation to order for one.
The deliverybot arrived quietly. It left without Guo noticing. The scent of soup did break his focus.
“Is it dinnertime already?”
“No,” said Mitchie. “That was two hours ago.”
“Oh. Thanks.” He put down the book. Halfway to the table he turned and sprinted to the bathroom.
Guo’s dinner conversation was his favorite bits from the book. He was amazed by the pettiness of the motivations for some men to betray their faction. “Hardly anyone cared about the Virtual Emperor one way or the other, it was just a way to label the sides.”
“Okay, I have to admit I haven’t studied the Golden Age’s history. Who was the Virtual Emperor?”
“Not a person. Software. One of the proto-AIs. It started as a polling program with secure anonymity. It would call everyone in the country, ask their opinion on something and whether there should be a law. If there was a consensus, say 90% wanting something, it would report the people’s will as a decree of the Virtual Emperor.”
Mitchie thought back to the opera Guo had taken her to. “That’s what the fight was about? Opinion polling?”
Guo shrugged. “Everyone had been forced to repeat the official opinions, and the media was completely controlled by the Communists. So no one really knew what their neighbors thought. When they realized they could be honest safely all sorts of things came out. Sex, drugs, crime, foreigners—hating the Communists was the least of it. Rough time to be a minority in any sense.”
“I can imagine.”
Guo paused to take a few bites of his steak. Mitchie didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to set him off again.
He paused after finishing his potato. The Acropolis shone in the night. The lower windows were in a regular grid, but those in the tower followed the helices of its decoration.
“It really is a beautiful building,” he said.
“Yeah. The Fusion of Inhabited Worlds’ official dildo, ready to fuck us all.”
Guo almost lost a bite of steak as he laughed. “Oh, my. It does look like one.”
Mitchie glared out the window. That’s the real enemy.
***
The Acropolis was served by sixteen subway lines, providing a smooth commute to the tens of thousands of politicians, bureaucrats, and hangers-on spending their lives there.
After leaving a boot knife and datacrystal at the security gate Mitchie accompanied Ping through a series of conveyers and elevators until they arrived at the Council Dome. Her uniform drew puzzled glances if she was noticed at all. A few people did recognize it, or her. They were the ones acting as if a rabid dog was loose.
The Dome was familiar from news reports. Spectator benches ringed the outer edge. Lower rings held aides, staffers, and witnesses. Stakeholders had desks facing the speaker’s platform on the north side of the floor.
Ping told Mitchie, “Enjoy the show,” before heading off to confer with a colleague.
She looked around to pick a seat. One witness bench held three Fusion Navy admirals and a Marine general. She sat on the empty bench beside theirs.
The general gave her a polite nod. Then his eyes locked on her ribbons. “How the fuck does a Disker wear a Wreath of Virtue?”
“Sir, I performed a casualty pick-up from the Demeter spacehead.” The Marine general who talked her into taking the mission had arranged the award after she’d pissed off her own chain of command.
“You’re Long, then.”
“Yes, sir.” The Akiak Space Guard’s dress uniform lacked a name tag.
“That was good work, Commander. Thanks for taking care of our boys.”
“I was happy to help them, sir.”
She was happy she’d helped them. The casualties had been young men, cannon fodder, with no choice in their orders once they’d enlisted. Not like the men and women in this room.
Mitchie looked over the Stakeholders sitting at their desks or chatting on the floor. These were the people in charge. The ones who’d given the orders to invade Bonaventure and take its people’s freedom. Who’d ordered the bombing of Noisy Water because they didn’t like the research done there. Who’d ordered her first love burnt to death just to keep the Disconnected Worlds intimidated.
Her fingers itched for the ceramic knife she’d hidden in her underwear. She would happily slit the throat of every Stakeholder in this room. Less painful than they deserved but she’d take what she could get.
The thought was ludicrous, of course. Even ignoring the security guards standing by in their ready room, most stakeholders were a third of a meter or more taller than her. They could knock her flat before she connected with the knife. She’d have to put them all to sleep before she could slit any throats.
And if she was going to gas the Dome poison would be just as easy as a sedative.
Mitchie realized she needed to calm herself. Focusing on the debate helped. The current topic was tax treatment of interest from medium-term corporate investments. Probably. The jargon flowed thicker than any military briefing she’d been in. Both sides of the argument claimed they’d produce better economic stability. She couldn’t figure out what they were disputing. Finally she opened up her datasheet to look it up.
“Michigan?”
She looked up. “Pardon me?”
“It is you!” Suddenly a young blonde woman was hugging her. “What are you doing here?”
Mitchie recognized her as heiress Guenivere Claret, one time passenger on her ship. She said, “Ping wants me as a witness.”
“Interesting choice,” said Guen. She wore a sober black dress designed to make her look adult instead of not yet twenty.
“I’m sorry about your father,” said Mitchie.
Guen lowered her voice. “Not here.” She gave Mitchie another hug, and received a firm one in return this time. “When this finishes I’m going to carry you off for some girl time.”
“I’d like that.”
“Good. Damn, it’s nice to see someone I can trust.” Guen hurried back to her desk as the Parliamentarian called for a vote.
Mitchie dove back into her datasheet. When the hell did she become a Stakeholder?
The Parliamentarian stepped onto the speaker’s platform. “There being no majority, the issue is tabled until the same slot next week. Next is CB 37, On Manning the Navy. Stakeholder Wang, please take the floor.”
A stout Han man took the Parliamentarian’s place. “I ask that the Council go into executive session. Is any Stakeholder opposed?” After half a minute he said, “The Council is now in executive session. Guests please depart.”
Schoolchildren on the top bench whined as the ushers herded them to the elevators. Staffers headed for a different set of elevators. Mitchie noticed those near her weren’t moving. She sat tight.
After the last elevator-load vanished Stakeholder Wang said, “Are all present cleared for this discussion?”
Someone on the floor, Mitchie couldn’t spot who, shouted, “There’s an enemy soldier here!”
Suddenly everyone was staring at her.
Stakeholder Ping stood, pulling the eyes toward him. “Commander Long is here as an expert witness, under my sponsorship. Allow me to point out a few facts.
“First, the Disconnected Worlds are not our enemies. We’ve allied with them against the enemies of all humanity.
“Second, Commander Long, by virtue of her own efforts as a spy and the data-sharing of the alliance, already knows all the secrets we will discuss.
“Third, she has sworn not to reveal those secrets to the general population, which is the reason we are in executive session.”
Mitchie thought, Fourth, I’m a naval officer, not a soldier.
Despite some mutters no one demanded a vote on Mitchie. A few aides were expelled for insufficient security paperwork.
Wang took the floor. “Our ship production program has outpaced the number of volunteers for naval service. Already we have finished ships in parking orbits waiting for crews.”
The Fusion’s evasions suddenly made sense to Mitchie. They were ashamed to admit that with five times the Disconnect’s population they were getting fewer recruits.
After some extended blathering Wang said, “Our proposal is to begin conscription from the stipend receiving population, choosing those whose profiles show the greatest aptitude for military service. In parallel with this conscription virtual citizens will be transferred to military units created to accommodate them. The stipend class must not feel they have been singled out for conscription.”
Torchship Captain Page 3
