The Eleventh Gate

by Nancy Kress

  “Grandma?” commed Jane Landry. Jane, the granddaughter in charge of corporate security, had renamed her division the War Department. “Didn’t you hear me? I said we’re now in possession of the Polyglot-Prometheus gate! And we have proof that my K-beam prototype works!”

  “Yes, of course I heard you,” Rachel said, eyeing Jane. “That’s good news. Or as good as war news can get, anyway.”

  Jane tilted her head and scowled. You just never knew how your children would turn out, and certainly not your grandchildren. As a child, Jane had been the plainest of the five granddaughters, dumpy and sullen. Now she was by far the most beautiful, with the Landry dark hair in effortless deep waves and the Landry green eyes darkened to a sometimes disturbingly bright emerald. Jane was also, with Tara, the most intense of the five. As tensions between Peregoys and Landrys had grown over the years, Jane had increased and improved Freedom Enterprises’ security division and then had—seemingly overnight!—morphed it into a full-grown military organization. But she saw all events without shades of gray and for that reason, Rachel didn’t confide the two things distracting her from this first dubious victory: its implications and the repeated messages from Philip Anderson.

  The K-beam prototype developed by Jane’s “military research corps,” also recently renamed, was by her fevered account a success. But it had not destroyed the Peregoy cruiser. That meant that before long Sloan Peregoy would learn of the brief battle, if he hadn’t already. Jane tended to dismiss Sloan: “His ass is clenched so tight he couldn’t shit out new weapons or new anything.” The wisdom on Galt was that the Peregoy totalitarian dictatorship, no matter how “benevolent,” could never match the enterprise and accomplishments of a free people, or of a voluntary military rather than a conscripted one.

  These ideas seemed borne out by Jane’s victory at the Prometheus gate, and once Rachel would have agreed. But escalating protests, one of which she could see from her office window this very moment, were undermining her certainty. Demonstrations about the deaths of the two refugee “martyrs” who had thrown themselves under a maglev—choosing to do so!—had not let up. Rachel was disturbed by what seemed a mounting dissatisfaction on Galt by those who, instead of assuming responsibility for their lives, wanted the Landrys to provide for them. She knew enough of Earth’s past to know that from strong enough dissatisfaction could grow revolutions.

  There was, however, no way to impress any of this on Jane, who burned with war fever.

  Nor could Rachel explain to anyone else why she was disturbed by Philip Anderson. He had called six times since his arrival on Galt, and she had taken none of his calls. No time, and his ridiculous quest was a low priority, to say the least. But the last message, which arrived just moments before Jane had burst into Rachel’s office, had held not only a note of exasperation but a lure to get Rachel to return the call: “Please call me…it’s…I didn’t want to say this before because it’s so tentative…but it’s about Tara.”

  “Grandma!” Jane said. “I’m explaining my next strategies to you! Were you listening?”

  “Yes,” Rachel said, although she hadn’t been, not carefully. It didn’t really matter. Rachel was still CEO of Freedom Enterprises, but Jane had autonomy for her division, and she had capable—if inexperienced at war—fleet captains.

  “Good.” Jane, as usual, broke the link without ceremony.

  Rachel called Philip on what he did not have access to: an encrypted link. He answered immediately, and his face—really, a man should not be that handsome, genemod or not, it made him look like a caricature from some romantic holodrama—appeared on the viewscreen on Rachel’s desk.

  “Philip. Sorry I didn’t return your call earlier. It’s busy here. What about Tara?”

  If he was disconcerted by her abruptness, it didn’t show. “I think I know where she may be now. It’s only a guess, but I thought I should tell you.”

  “Yes. Where?”

  “On Polyglot, at a small northern village called Adarsh, where I told you that I saw her last. Again, I’m only guessing that—”

  “Why do you think she might have returned there?”

  He grimaced, and then looked as if he regretted the grimace. “Because that’s where I’m supposed to be. She knew I was scheduled to return about now to check on an experiment the International Environmental Service is running with pollinators and lions.”

  “You think she might have gone there solely because you might be there?”

  “It sounds egotistical, but…yes. I do. I could be wrong.”

  Rachel had a queasy feeling that he wasn’t wrong. She hadn’t fully realized how disturbed Tara was. Or how lonely.

  “Thank you, Philip. Bye.”

  After she hung up, she realized she should have asked him how the deep-brain implant project was going. Tara had driven all else from her mind. But probably it didn’t matter; Philip might gain something from the implants, and the university might gain knowledge, but it was impossible that implants, tools of the physical universe, could deliver all the wish-fulfillment aims he hoped for.

  Which was also true of the victory at the Prometheus gate. Too bad that Rachel could never convince Jane of that.

  She set about arranging for a trusted aide to go to Polyglot and find Tara.

  10

  * * *

  NEW CALIFORNIA

  Sloan said to Sophia, “Are you sure?”

  “Of which part?” she said, logically. “The battle or the planetary-development station?”

  “Both!” He heard his agitated tone, breathed deeply, and brought himself to calm. Although Sophia was the one person he ever allowed to see his self-control slip, he still didn’t like it when it happened. But this was a double portion of bad news.

  Sophia said, “I’m sure, sir. Of both.” In the corner of the room the wolves regarded him steadily from their yellow glass eyes. Beyond the window, one of New California’s small, fast moons shone faintly in the evening sky.

  Sloan said, “All right. Give me the details.”

  She recited what they both already knew in order to give him time to recover himself, a courtesy that Sloan didn’t like because it was so recent. As if she thought he deserved extra care now because he was old. “The gist is that the Landrys had some sort of new weapon with a greater range than ours. A Peregoy resupply ship going to Prometheus was hit as soon as it went through the Polyglot-Prometheus gate, but an info drone got back through, and its recordings were received by our own people on Polyglot. The supply ship was vaporized. No intel on what happened to Luis Martinez’s fleet. They might be gone, too.”

  Luis—perhaps dead. Prometheus lost. Were the scientists and support personnel at the research station now prisoners of war? How would the Landrys treat them? Did an undisciplined, every-person-for-themselves government take prisoners? All of this, like war itself, was unmapped territory.

  Luis.

  He made himself say, “What information about the planetary development station? Which station?”

  “The one here in Capital City. Civil defense plans have been announced on all our worlds and people are reporting for wartime assignment—so far. But here, less than half of the summoned recruits have reported in.”

  Sloan blinked. Every young person served in Planetary Development for two years, working on infrastructure or environmental protection or the disaster response. Everyone also remained eligible for recall until they were fifty. That had happened during the last plague, during Hurricane Eris, during the big push to develop Sevigny Island. Everyone left their lives and reported in when requested, knowing both that their planet needed them and that the compensation they received would match what they had been earning. No one refused to report when called. It was a solemn duty.

  It was also futile to try to avoid. On the Peregoy worlds, unlike the slapdash Landry chaos, everyone had to produce their citizen I.D. to do anything, including buy food. Sloan’s intelligence agencies could track anyone, anywhere on the four worlds
populated by Peregoy citizens.

  Three worlds, now.

  Sophia continued, her beautiful face as impassive as those of the dead wolves. “The refusers say they won’t go to war. That the two years already given to Planetary Development didn’t include any mention of military action. That this is not what they signed up for. That the increased taxes for the war effort is enough for them to give.”

  “They don’t decide what is enough to give! I do!”

  “Yes, Father. But if I may say so, sir, Peregoy Corporation has taken care of them all their lives. We provide jobs, basic income, health services, education—”

  “Of course we do! That’s what a good government does!”

  “Yes,” Sophia said, as Sloan turned his face away in confusion and sudden shame at his unseemly outburst.

  Tactfully, Sophia pretended to not notice, continuing with her report. “I would offer this for your consideration: People who have always been coddled are less likely to risk true danger. The protestors are saying they’re pacifists. They would rather be jailed than serve. That’s fueling more protests and demonstrations.”

  Sloan watched the moon disappear below the horizon. The silence lengthened. Finally he said, “I’m disappointed, of course. But swift action is necessary. Has anyone involved in protests, on either side, been hurt so far?”

  “No.”

  “But they might be soon, Arrest all the leaders. Is there a leader? Who?”

  Sophia said gently, “That’s the other part of it, sir. The resistance was organized by SueLin.”

  He said, a retort as automatic as whiplash after a blow, “SueLin couldn’t organize a dinner party!”

  “Then she’s lent her name to someone else’s organization.”

  “Arrest her immediately, and bring her here.”

  “She’s in hiding, sir.”

  “In hiding? How?”

  “Probably with sympathizers who have taken care not to identify themselves with the resistance movement for just this reason.”

  “Have John Patel in intelligence find her. Priority one. Then bring her here. Tell Defense Coordinator Clarke I want to see him here, as soon as possible. Right now, if he’s nearby.”

  “Yes, Father.” Sophia turned to leave.

  “No, wait—one more thing. You said that ‘everywhere else people are reporting for wartime assignment—so far.’ What did you mean?”

  “What I said.” All at once Sophia’s cool façade melted. She came to Sloan’s desk, put both manicured hands on it, and leaned forward intently. “Father, you know I agree with you about everything important. You’re a wonderful steward of Peregoy Corporation and its people. But it’s possible to get so caught up in ensuring everyone has the necessities of life that you infantilize them. People like SueLin—they have tantrums when they have to do something difficult because everything has been smoothed for them. And I think we have more people like that than you realize. This insurrection could spread beyond Capital City.”

  Sloan had never seen his daughter so intent. Her criticism stung, but he also knew it was just. He said, “What are you suggesting? I’m going to break this so-called ‘resistance.’”

  “I know you will. But you also need something bold to galvanize citizens and to show the Landrys that they can’t just take our gates and our planets. To show people, theirs and ours, that Peregoys are not soft lapdogs.”

  “You have something in mind, Sophia?”

  “I do.”

  “What is it?”

  She straightened. “You know I play chess to relax.”

  “Yes.” Chess had never seemed to him very relaxing: war by other means. But Sophia was good. The only person that Sloan had ever known to beat her was Luis Martinez.

  “In chess, when an opponent has the superior position and you can’t attack his major pieces directly, you attack the pieces protecting them. In effect, you weaken the opponent by depleting his reserve resources. If it’s unforeseen, that’s even better.”

  Sloan disliked analogies. “I’m not following you.”

  “Capture the Polyglot-Galt gate.”

  He stared at her. She was serious.

  “Use the PCSS to create a plan to seize the Polyglot-Galt gate and then defend it. Polyglot vessels can come and go, as can ours, but no Landry vessels. They rely on Polyglot for information, some raw materials, and markets. For all we know, the new Landry weapon was developed at John Galt University—it’s the oldest university and has the best research facilities.”

  “Sophia…you can’t be serious. Polyglot is neutral.”

  “And it can stay neutral. You’re not going to take over the planet, just its gate to the Landry worlds. It’s because Polyglot has always been neutral that they haven’t put a strong defense force there. The Polyglot Council of Nations will protest, of course, but we can say we’re offering protection from the new Landry weapon, which we are. We can also offer them whatever else you think is necessary. You’re good at making deals.”

  Sloan said nothing, thinking.

  “Will you at least discuss it with Coordinator Clarke when he arrives? And with Admiral Chernov? Not that he’s any use; he’s doddering and you should retire him. You really should.”

  “I will at least discuss it with General Clarke.”

  “That’s all I want.” She smiled at Sloan.

  The smile changed her whole face, lighting it. Sloan thought, not for the first time, what a shame it was that Sophia had not married someone like Luis Martinez and produced heirs for Peregoy Corporation. That was the marriage that Sloan had intended for her. But Sophia seemed to be one of those people with a very low sex drive, and she’d always made it clear that running the corporation was far more interesting to her than motherhood. With Sloan’s son dead of plague, it had been left to Candace, with the weakest character of his three children, to produce heirs. Thus, SueLin.

  The door said, “Planetary Defense Coordinator Lucius Clarke requests admittance.”

  “Admit,” Sloan said.

  11

  * * *

  THE ELEVENTH GATE

  The Skyhawk streaked through normal space, trailing the two Peregoy ships that Luis Martinez had sent ahead to the new gate. He was in retreat, tail between his legs, and everyone on the bridge kept their eyes firmly on their consoles and viewscreens. Their first battle, and they had lost.

  “Landry ships remaining behind at New Prometheus, sir,” said DiCaria.

  “Continue monitoring as long as possible. Report a no-change status every five minutes.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Of course the Landry warships weren’t following. They remained to control the Prometheus gate, which now was Landry territory, along with the research station on the planet below.

  “Lieutenant DiCaria, contact both the Zeus and the Green Hills of Earth on the encrypted channel.”

  “Yes, sir…Captains Vondenberg and Murphy on commlink.”

  In quick, clipped sentences, Martinez explained what had happened at the battle. Such dryness for what should never have happened at all.

  The Peregoy claim to the new gate had been filed on Polyglot. Yes, technically the Landrys had gone through the gate first, but they had used it as an ambush and so clearly forfeited their claim. Martinez had served with officers who died on the Samuel Peregoy, good men and women who had been slain by Landry treachery. It was difficult to keep the dispassion in his voice.

  He concluded with his orders: “Deploy a scout to inform the command at New Utah, with instructions to send a full report to Sloan Peregoy. All available sensor data from the attack is attached. All three Peregoy Corporation worlds must increase gate defenses.”

  The scout would have to make the three-month voyage to New Utah and then go through two gates to reach New California. There was no faster way to send information. It would also cost Martinez one of his three scouts. Why hadn’t the damn physicists figured out faster-than-light communications?

  “The Zeus and Green
Hills of Earth will proceed to the new gate with all possible speed. If you encounter Landry ships at the gate, retreat as soon as they are detected and wait until this vessel arrives. We don’t know how many of this new weapon the enemy possesses. If no Landry vessels are detected, send a probe through the gate to determine possible enemy presence on the other side. If the probe does not return, retreat and wait.

  “If the probe does return, send a scout through the gate. If no enemy presence is detected planetside, both the Zeus and the Green Hills of Earth are to proceed through the new gate. Use thrusters to remain as close as possible to the planetside of the gate. When the Skyhawk arrives, we will proceed through the gate while constantly emitting an encrypted signal, being sent to you now along with a random-generator program to change the signal often. If any vessel not emitting that signal comes through the gate, fire immediately and destroy it. Our best chance is to attack before the enemy knows we are there.”

  Captain Edward Murphy said from the Zeus, “Any vessel at all, sir?”

  “Yes. Even if it’s a Peregoy ship—it could merely be disguised as one. Peregoy, civilian, Polyglot, pirate—destroy it. I don’t anticipate that contingency, but those are my orders.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I shouldn’t be more than a standard day behind you. But that one day might be critical.”

  He answered their questions, which were intelligent and thorough, especially Captain Elizabeth Vondenberg’s. He had strong hopes of her. She could one day lead the fleet.

  If they won this war. If they survived this war. If there was still a Peregoy fleet to lead.

  • • •

  The Skyhawk crept cautiously toward the new gate. There was nothing here to impede the ship’s scanning signals, only empty space. Nowhere for a Landry ship to hide.

  There were no Landry ships in evidence.

  So either the three Peregoy vessels had succeeded in being first to reach the eleventh gate, or the enemy had outwitted Martinez’s ruse with one of their own. Martinez had spent the month-long flight thinking over and over of all the possible ways the enemy might engage. Still, if the initial report had been accurate, the surviving scout from the Samuel Peregoy had detected only one vessel on the space side of the new gate, a small Landry craft. It must have set the bomb. Martinez had no idea where the little ship had gone next, or who had been aboard.