He scratched his head, like an ancient advocate in one of the sealed pub-dramas in the archives. “Let me get this straight. If you take this as a violation, and act before they do, thereby reducing casualties, we’ll face some disturbing consequences at some point in the future. If you let them turn that demon beam on all of us, you demis will die with clear consciences, is that it?”
He was almost right. So I had to put it clearly, knowing he wouldn’t like it. “The cost of acting before they do will be no society on Old Earth in one hundred years, and millions of deaths over the next millennia. The cost of reacting will probably be millions of deaths now, but a stable and functioning society with all damage restored a decade or two or five from now.”
Miris actually swallowed. “I appreciate your honesty. How certain are you of the accuracy of those predictions?”
“According to our best comp, the acting-first prediction is over ninety percent accurate, although the timetable for societal dissolution is not. It could begin in ten years, but no later than one hundred fifty. The death cost of the reacting prediction ranges from one half million to two-and-one-half million, with an error range of ten percent, depending on the cyb timing. The accuracy of a stable society exceeds ninety-five percent, but the physical recovery period could vary considerably.”
“It seems as though we lose either way.”
“Not if the basic moral principle remains the survival of a society with maximum permissible ranges of choice and minimal internal violence.”
The draff representative worried his upper lip with his teeth. I wished I could offer more reassurance, rather than a tight smile. I walked into the evening, wishing I had Morgen to go home to, to talk to, to hold.
In the growing darkness, the wind was stiff and cold, and the moon glared down with her bloodshot eye, down at me. I hunched into my jacket and kept walking.
XXX
“The ultimatum is enroute, carried by Majer Henslom,” announced Gibreal across the shipnet.
“Not our nav?” The anonymous question was followed by the image of wiggling hips, which vanished before any tracer could follow.
The crackle and hiss of lightning across the net followed immediately.
“What will they do?” asked the envoff in the stillness. “The demis, I mean?”
“It doesn’t matter,” gloated Weapons. “They turn over Old Earth to us, or we turn it over on them. It’s their choice.”
“Let’s have a systems assessment,” suggested Ideomineo. “MYL-ERA, report on demi subject.”
“Probabilities approach unity that all statements made by the demi subject were accurate,” reported MYL-ERA.
“What about his statement about there being a quarter of a million demis with his abilities?” asked Kemra.
“I’ve analyzed that statement. That wasn’t what he said,” pointed out Gorum. “He said that there were a quarter million with abilities within five percent of his and an overall average of within one percent. But the actual potential of mental abilities are better measured on a logbased system. After all, we share more than ninety percent of the same chromosomes with primates.”
“Oh …”
“Exactly. He told the absolute truth, but, in practical terms, there could be only a handful of demis who match him.”
“They don’t need many with that comm system,” Kemra pointed out. “They can respond more quickly than we can.”
“They don’t need many to hold their society together, but they’re already having problems against an outside threat.”
“Would you classify Majer Ysslop’s efforts within their Ellay locial as internal?” asked the executive officer, his words as calm as the summer seas of Gates.
“The demi society is highly effective against small numbers of those who would disrupt it from on Old Earth itself,” responded MYL-ERA.
“There’s something else that doesn’t go with that,” pointed out the envoff. “The Coordinator is putting on a show for the draffs. He’s restricted the information on the destruction of our agent teams, and, even knowing that the marcybs were only slightly above constructs, made that gesture of returning Henslom’s puppet. If there were hundreds of thousands of powerful demis, he wouldn’t have to act that way.”
“They still have the satellite systems,” pointed out the nav.
“That’s fine, but how can they protect a hundred of those locials with only twelve low-powered asteroid systems?” pressed Gorum.
“Report on demis’ satellite system,” ordered Ideomineo.
“Data on the asteroid satellite system is incomplete and inconclusive,” replied MYL-ERA. “All locational systems are now functional. They allow accurate navigation down to point one meter in non-clouded areas and point two meter in weather-obscured areas. Surface temperature of asteroid stations continues to rise. That temperature rise is at variance with perceived technology and observed power sources.”
“Could they be heat leaks because the engineering is deficient or because the systems are so old?” asked Weapons.
“The probability that the engineering is deficient is less than two percent. The probability that the temperature variances have been caused by heat leaks is approximately twenty-one percent.”
“Other probabilities?” asked Gorum.
“The highest probability, at twenty-four percent, is that of shielded power sources. The tertiary probability, at nineteen percent, is surface anomalies created by the moving and positioning of the asteroids. Other probabilities sum at approximately thirty-five percent.” The probability listing flashed to the net-conference members.
“I worry about those shielded power sources. Can you quantify that, Systems?” requested Ideomineo.
“Based on specifications on file, heat leakage caused by shielded systems would indicate between one and two additional standard-capacity, weapons-level fusactors on each station.”
“That’s nothing to worry about,” laughed Weapons.
“What is the probability that such shielded systems, if they exist,” Ideomineo pushed on, “have greater power outputs than postulated?”
“No information exists on which further quantification or speculation could be based.”
“So we have a twenty-five percent probability that the demis have more power on their stations than represented, and if so, that power ranges from the capability of half of one fleet ship to an unknown upper limit?” asked Kemra.
“That is correct,” answered MYL-ERA.
“What is the probability that the upper limit exceeds the capability of one ship?”
“There is no way to quantify that.”
“If they had that much power, they wouldn’t be tiptoeing around,” summed up Gorum.
A sense of assent filled the net.
“Report on demi belief and principle structure,” Ideomineo continued.
“Based on the data observed, and assuming the factual accuracy of the historical events recorded in system databanks, the demis have evolved a working social system.”
“We knew that,” came a mutter across the net.
“That assumption is not verifiable,” replied MYL-ERA.
“The demis represented that they had a working system based on certain principles. Observation was necessary to verify such representation.”
“What else did the system verify?”
“There appears to be social or other constraints against violence and against making threats.”
“Hold it,” interrupted Gorum. “That demi assaulted Majer Henslom. He killed a bunch of rodents without blinking, and killed an agent. Others killed almost a dozen agents.”
“In all instances, violence was instigated before the demis took action,” reported MYL-ERA coldly.
“That’s a distinction without a difference, it seems to me,” offered the fleet commander. “They can and have brought force to bear. That they wait until another commits to action doesn’t convey any particular moral virtue, and it can be a tactical weakness—e
specially in the face of overwhelming force.” He paused, then asked, “Will these demis wait to strike until after we do?”
“The probability of demi action preceding Vereal Fleet action is too close to nonexistent to calculate in statistical terms.”
“Then, why bother with the ultimatum?” asked Gorum.
“Because I’d rather ensure that I cover every possibility. Would you like to report to CybCen that you’d slagged Old Earth without trying for the technology peacefully?”
After a moment, Gibreal added, “That is all.”
XXXI
The next morning was sunny, unlike my mood, with a brisk wind swirling leftover snow across the lanes and creating a chill that left the tips of my ears fighting frostbite. I was late, and I should have stayed in Parwon, and even a quick-paced walk from the flitter and the locial tower to the admin building didn’t improve my sense of foreboding, not when Keiko had warned me on the net about a large envelope left early by Majer Henslom.
“Majer Henslom and several marcybs arrived with a large envelope for you. It has the new agreement between the Vereal Union and Old Earth,” Keiko had reported over the net as soon as I’d touched down with the flitter. She added cynically, “The majer smiled a lot.”
“I’ll bet.” Another gust of cold, cold wind brought water to my eyes, and a memory of a warmer season.
“ … golden autumn that will see no spring,
for whitest flakes will gown my grace,
and jewels of ice will frame my face.”
I’d have felt better with Morgen to talk to, to help, but all I had was memory and a soulsong to help me with our ancient cousins from across the stars, cousins so willful they could not see. Cousins even more willful than the ancient heroes my mother had bequeathed to me.
In effect, the cybs had ignored Kemra’s ruins tour, the episodes with the prairie dog town, and my disarming of Major Henslom and returning his marcyb. Instead of analyzing the situation, they’d just boiled a new sea in Luna and suggested that they could turn a good chunk of Old Earth into a polished replica of Al-Moratoros. As usual, they’d missed the point, almost as if on purpose.
I kept walking, my legs moving close to a run in my anger.
In the park, the statue of the mindblazed draffs gazed into the empty sky, another symbol ignored by the cybs. There were no monuments to military glory on Old Earth, no statues of conquering heroes or deceased politicians, and the cybs never asked why. They didn’t ask why we preserved ruins or placed a Hybernium and a statue of a draffs in agony in every locial, and they didn’t listen when told.
As I slowed my walk outside the admin building, I nodded to the restraint squad. There were several nods in return, and a few “good mornings.”
“Good morning,” I answered, although I wondered exactly how good it was going to be, with the envelope waiting for me. Wiping my forehead, I climbed the steps more deliberately.
“Crucelle, Arielle, K’gaio, Locatio—not to mention every locial rep who’s awake—want to know what the cybs want,” Keiko informed me, her face almost as dark as the dark brown she wore. “And Miris has been up here three times.”
Her console was empty.
“It’s on your desk—unopened, for my own protection.”
“I should have deputed you to open it.” I forced a grin.
“There isn’t enough comptime credit in the universe to get me to do that.”
Keiko’s assessment was about the same as mine. My only question was what kind of ultimatum the envelope contained, and how it was structured.
She closed the door behind me, probably because Miris was scrambling up the steps to accost me.
I forced myself to hang up the winter jacket before going to the desk. Even standing behind my desk, I took a last look out across the park, knowing that everything was going to change and that I could do nothing about it, that everything I had tried had failed.
The pale brown envelope lying in the center of the Coordinator’s desk was roughly twenty by thirty centimeters. I lifted it, trying to weigh it, but it didn’t seem that heavy, and I guessed that the contents contained probably less than a dozen sheets.
“Ecktor?” pulsed Crucelle.
“I haven’t opened it. It doesn’t feel good, but I’ll let you know.”
With a faint net hiss, he was gone.
I broke the antique wax-like seal and opened the flap. There were two documents inside. The text of the first was succinct.
If the government of Old Earth, as represented by the Planetary Coordinator, does not accept the full terms of the attached Agreement within twenty-four hours local time, or less, if deemed necessary by me, the forces of the Union of Vereal Systems will immediately apply Provision six.
That concise statement was signed by one Mathre C. Gibreal, Commanding, First Fleet, Union of Vereal Systems.
I didn’t want to look at the next document, the one entitled: “Agreement between the Peoples of Old Earth and the Union of Vereal Systems.” But I picked it up and began to read the words on the parchment-like paper. Parchment was definitely suitable, since the text of the Agreement was modeled on something as antique as what it was printed upon.
When a people has been grievously wronged, deprived of home, hearth, liberty, and free pursuit of happiness and destiny, its first duty is to ensure that such basic human rights are restored to all its members and to establish in the course of their reestablishment the protections of such rights. They have the manifest right and duty to redress any and all conditions which led to past oppressions and injustices. Such a duty requires that all prudent steps be taken to ensure that the perpetrators of such injustices never have the ability, the technology, nor the means of transportation to pose a threat to those the perpetrators once wronged.
Therefore, under the terms of the charter of the Union of Vereal Systems, any permanent agreement between the people of Old Earth and the Union of Vereal Systems shall incorporate the following provisions, as a minimal condition for the continued physical survival of Old Earth’s peoples:
PROVISION THE FIRST:
The peoples of Old Earth shall provide at all times and in all places complete and open access to all communications systems, protocols, and associated technology, technical documentation, and systems design.
PROVISION THE SECOND:
The appropriate authorities of the Union of Vereal Systems shall supervise and ensure the deactivation and destruction of all satellite systems massing greater than 100 kilograms.
PROVISION THE THIRD:
The peoples of Old Earth shall surrender to the authority of the Union of Vereal Systems all aircraft and spacecraft with a design capacity of greater than ten occupants.
PROVISION THE FOURTH:
To ensure that the conditions and tyranny which created the great human disaster known as The Flight are never reestablished, the peoples of Old Earth, under the supervision of appropriate authority of the Union of Vereal Systems, shall sterilize all adults classified as “demis” so that such adults are incapable of reproduction. Further, any child born subsequent to this provision, upon reaching physical maturity and being classified as a demi, shall also be so sterilized.
PROVISION THE FIFTH:
The peoples of Old Earth shall form a planetary government representing the draff population, provided that the actions of such a government shall be subject to review by the appropriate governing authorities of the Union of Vereal Systems. Provided further, such actions by the government of Old Earth may be modified and/or supplemented by the reviewing authority, and such revisions or supplemental laws will supercede any existing laws or policies.
PROVISION THE SIXTH:
Failure to adhere strictly to the provisions of this Agreement will subject Old Earth and its peoples to the full might and authority of the Union of Vereal Systems.
The so-called Agreement was worse than I’d anticipated, and I wondered if it had been drafted even before the cyb fleet had left Gates.
I pulsed Crucelle and Arielle, then K’gaio and Locatio, knowing that even on uppernet, quite a few others would tap in.
“How bad?” Crucelle asked.
“It starts with a demand for total control of our nets and comm systems and gets worse.”
“How much worse?” inquired Arielle, her thoughts cool, collected. Yet stormlike power swirled behind the coolness.
“Destruction of the satellite system, destruction of any mass transport not under cyb control, and complete sterilization of all demis for eternity.”
Crucelle laughed. “No, they haven’t changed. Not at all. Not even after all the blatant examples you threw in their faces.”
“What do you propose, Coordinator?” Even under stress, even in the middle of her night, K’gaio’s words were like water-polished stones.
“We’ll need a conference.”
“A conference? For what?” demanded Locatio. “What they’ve asked is absurd, impossible …”
“We need a conference. We have twenty-three hours or less in which to accept or face the force of their fleet.”
“But …”
“We need a conference, and I will be setting it up. Also, evacuation requests are to be disseminated in all locials immediately. Try to evacuate everyone, except for essential personnel, and complete all subsurface hardening. No final hardening yet, but get those evacuation requests out in the locials—all of them.” I paused. “Also, make sure all the magshuttles have pilots and are ready to be lifted into projected blast-free zones.”
“You’re pushing it,” Crucelle protested. “That’s going to hurt some—”
“Not so much as getting vaporized, burned, irradiated, or cut down with slugthrowers is going to hurt the draffs. And we’ll need every shuttle we can get later.”
“His intuition has been as accurate as Arielle’s calculations,” interjected Keiko, one of the first times she had presumed on a member of the representative committee.
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