by Max Carver
“Raiding and robbery continue despite your efforts,” Simon said. “We could help. Carthage is quite effective at bringing the recalcitrant to heel. We could stamp out your enemies for you rather efficiently.”
His words were spoken so coldly that Ellison almost shivered.
“We appreciate the friendly offer, but we can handle it ourselves,” Ellison said, doing his best to fend off the android's overtures without giving obvious offense. He thought he sensed a double meaning in Simon's comment about bringing the recalcitrant to heel, a threat aimed at Ellison and all Galapagos if they resisted Carthage.
“Your planet is resource rich,” Simon said, sliding right past Ellison's comment, “but you produce little for export.”
“Shrimp and calamari aren't well suited for interstellar transport,” Ellison said. “By the time you shuttle a load of tuna up to low orbit, you're already losing money.”
“We could construct a space elevator to increase the efficiency of export. This goes for your mineral resources as well,” Simon said.
“We have plenty of uses for those down here,” said Kartokov, whose nation was the backbone of the planet's mining industry.
“Your offers are generous,” said Ellison, who found them nothing but threatening, beneath the android's veneer of diplomacy. “But as anyone can see, we are a humble, simple people. We are not looking to expand in any way.”
“And would your constituents enjoy being referred to as humble, simple people?” Simon raised an eyebrow. “With little interest in economic opportunities?”
They would if it protects them from you, Ellison thought. We have more of an independent streak than you realize.
“Some of us would like to learn more about these trade and infrastructure proposals,” Ogden said.
Ellison bit back a brief urge to grab Ogden's head and slam it into the table.
“That is excellent to hear, Minister Ogden,” Simon said with another mechanical smile that didn't alter his lifeless blue eyes in any way. His pupils were tiny black video lenses, taking in everything, constantly recording.
“What my commerce minister means is that we are an open, transparent government,” Ellison said. “Any proposals would have to move through our House of Ambassadors and the national governments, too. The wheels of a free society can turn slowly.”
“I'm sure we can reach amicable agreements in time,” Simon said, waving this away like a minor footnote. “As for proposals, we may now move to the primary topic at hand: your planetary defense, or lack thereof.”
Ellison managed to keep his face impassive, but his insides turned cold as ice.
“We have what we need,” Kartokov said.
“Your partially constructed orbital defense platform was purchased under contract with Ruckwold Industries, correct?”
“Correct,” Ellison said.
“Your Coalition's decision to contract with a competitor helped draw our attention to your world,” Simon said. “Sadly, the remaining installments of your weaponry may never be delivered. Nor should you expect them to complete construction of your orbital defense station.”
With a tiny handheld projector, Simon summoned a large hologram of the incomplete half doughnut of Galapagos Defense One. The semicircular military station was ragged at both ends, where automated machines were still building the structure.
When complete, the defense station would be an armored ring housing twenty-four plasma artillery gunports, plus hangar bays for a squadron of starfighters.
At the moment though, it was nothing but a construction site with some weaponry present in storage containers, none installed, certainly none online. Ellison doubted it was a coincidence that Carthage had moved to take over his homeworld before the orbital defense station was complete.
“You're going to war with Ruckwold Industries?” Ellison asked.
“There are many forms of war,” Simon said. “But if you were to short Ruckwold stock within the next few weeks, you might turn a tidy profit on the interstellar exchange.” Simon smiled and paused, going as unnaturally still as a mannequin.
Ellison looked at the three other ministers in disbelief. He didn't doubt the Simon unit was speaking truthfully, but he was shocked to hear that the rest of their planetary defenses might never arrive.
“Speaking of timing the market wisely,” Simon continued, “I am offering you an opportunity to transfer your planet's defense contracts to us, to Carthage Consolidated. We provide a unique model: defense as a subscription service, including all equipment and manpower.”
“What manpower?” Kartokov snapped. “There are no men in your army.”
“It's true. Automation maximizes our efficiency. Full automation, from interstellar carriers down to infantry, has been key to our overwhelming military success all along the Orion Arm,” Simon said. “For you, a simple annual fee provides full planetary defense, enfolding Galapagos into our network of trade and protection.”
“I doubt we could afford your fees,” Ellison said.
“We can be flexible. Especially in the early years of the contract.”
“What about the later years?” Coraline asked, but Simon just smiled, keeping his eyes on Ellison.
Ellison stared at the machine across from him. This android was an abomination, nothing like the occasional household service bots or retail androids he'd seen before.
He knew how events had unfolded on other worlds, so he knew what would happen here. Carthaginian machines would construct an orbital base to control his world, or maybe take over the half-built one and finish it their way. The proposed space elevator would be like a long, sharp straw stabbed into the surface of Galapagos to suck it dry, diverting the planet's resources away from its people and toward the wealthy inner worlds that couldn't control their runaway consumption, Carthage chief among them. The people of Galapagos, like the people of other formerly thriving outer worlds, would be reduced to impoverished workers, somehow always in grinding debt, somehow no longer the owners of the land beneath their feet, land their ancestors had homesteaded.
“And what happens if we decline your friendly offer?” Ellison asked.
“We have alternative protocols,” Simon said.
“What does that mean?” Kartokov snapped. “Whatever you call it, we see the truth. Your empire demands that we pay tribute to support your expansion into our space.”
“Many on Galapagos would see it that way,” Ellison said. “We did extensive polling. The public is solidly against us joining up with any interplanetary league, including Carthage's, unfortunately. And we on the Council of Ministers are mere instruments of the public will.”
“Public opinion is malleable,” Simon said. “Esteemed ministers, might I speak with your minister-general in confidence for a moment?”
“You can speak to all of us,” Kartokov said. “We all represent Galapagos.”
“It's fine, Mikhail,” Ellison said. “We can accommodate the ambassador for a little while.”
Kartokov grumbled, but Coraline and Ogden hustled him out of the room, leaving Ellison alone with the Simon unit.
Simon remained quiet for another long moment, staring at Ellison with its expressionless face, its absolutely dead blue eyes, the tiny black pupils inspecting him. Like a lizard, the Simon unit had no need to blink.
“You're turning fifty soon, aren't you?” Simon asked, his tone suddenly light, as if they were old friends.
Ellison nodded. “And you?”
“I was manufactured thirty-eight years ago,” Simon said, then added a wry smile. “I know I look older. And in some ways I am. Simon units, when we encounter each other, share all of our memories and experiences, aside from those quarantined for special confidentiality. This endless learning and updating is part of our quest to understand humans. So, in my memories, I have lived many lifetimes on many worlds across the past decades, always playing some modest role in the pursuit and protection of Carthaginian interests. We Simons are legion; wherever Carthage g
oes, we go. So, physically, I am younger than you, Minister-General Ellison, but I have the memories of hundreds of years because of these updates; many of these memories just happen to be parallel rather than sequential.”
“Is this why you asked the other ministers to leave? Are we making plans for my birthday party?”
“An amusing jest, but no. Continuing: you have a wife, Cadia, who is a senior nurse and a nursing-college instructor with a master's degree in biology. Two boys, fifteen and eight, Djalu and Jiemba. Names drawn from the Australian aboriginal portion of your heritage, to which you have chosen to reconnect culturally.”
“Somebody's been reading my campaign literature.”
“You worry that the older boy is spoiled and unfocused, and the younger one dyslexic,” Simon said. “But the testing is unclear so far.”
“I don't see how this is any of your business.” Ellison couldn't help feeling threatened by the android bringing up Ellison's personal life and private family struggles. He supposed that was the intent, though. To threaten him, to throw him off-balance.
“The older one is nearly the same age at which you first went to war, isn't he? Have you prepared him for war as well?” Simon asked.
“That was a different time. And I was eager to go. Our home was in danger. Our island.”
“Your father opposed your decision to join the navy. He wanted you to stay home. You left on bad terms. Then your father was killed in the bombardment of your home, Kawau Island—”
“Mr. Ambassador, I'm sorry to interrupt, but where are we going with this unauthorized biography?” Ellison said.
“My point is, you've fought your war. So many years at sea, so many engagements... eighty-one enemy ships downed or damaged, including three aircraft carriers, earning you the nickname 'Wrecker.'”
“That's in a file somewhere? Only one guy really called me that. And he was kind of a flake.”
“The ocean trenches of your world are filled with the bones of your enemies, Minister-General Ellison. You've earned your peace, and your hero's reward. We need a man of your wisdom and stature to ease this transition. To lead your world in its new, larger role in the galaxy.”
“Wisdom? Now I know you're reading my campaign ads.”
“You don't want another war,” Simon said. “You want peace, prosperity, and freedom for you and your family. For all your people.”
“To be honest, most of us can't help being skeptical about whether freedom is what you're offering,” Ellison said.
“There are many forms of freedom,” Simon said. “I have observed that most humans care only for small freedoms, such as those of pleasure and entertainment. However, if political elections are what your people enjoy, there is no reason they cannot have them. Voting can be an effective means of pacifying the public.”
“Well, that's... very cynical,” Ellison said.
“My point is this, Minister-General: why bring suffering? You could finally have the absolute, unquestioned power to do whatever you want done down there on the surface of Galapagos. We would provide all the tools you need.”
“Like what? Squads of killer robots?”
“Would you not like to send my automated infantry into the Polar Archipelago, where invasion has proved so difficult, and march them upon the strongholds of the Iron Hammers?” Simon asked. “You could finally defeat that rogue nation. Your will would at last become law, Minister-General Ellison, throughout all Galapagos. I believe in you. Carthage believes in you, and in what you could become. And we are prepared to support and empower you in every way. You could stay in power for life, if you like.”
Ellison waited to see if the android would continue, but the Simon unit had gone still as a corpse when it had finished speaking.
“Forgive my simple backwater ignorance,” Ellison said, “But it sounds like you're asking me to be some kind of puppet dictator on your behalf.”
“It is always best for humans to perceive a strong local authority,” Simon said. “You are not like most men I have met. You would be little moved by promises of mansions and hordes of servants, or of men bowing and scraping at your feet, or of adoring women piled in your bedchamber. You are, however, a man who will be moved by his own sense of responsibility. Here is your opportunity to destroy the Iron Hammers—your very purpose for involving yourself in politics, is it not? Perhaps to protect your sons. Perhaps, in part, to avenge your father's death. Here is your opportunity to bring a lasting peace to your world.”
Ellison considered all of this. “Maybe I'm old-fashioned,” he said, “but dictator for life isn't exactly the job for me. I'm more of a Cincinnatus guy.”
“Ah. End the crisis, return to your plow. Or your deep-sea trawler, as the case may be.” The Simon unit rose to his feet. “I am certain you have much to discuss with the others. All part of your admirably open and transparent society.”
“I'm glad you see it that way.” Ellison stood and offered a handshake across the table, disconcerted by the sudden end to the meeting.
Simon accepted the handshake. “I, too, will be waiting to hear a response from your counterpart, Uly Cross.”
“You're also talking with the Iron Hammers?” Ellison asked. This meeting had him on the ropes already, despite his externally calm demeanor, but this last piece of information landed like a bruising body blow. “You can't make an alliance with them. They're... pirates, murderers, slavers... the worst of humanity. The very worst, Mr. Ambassador. I know people always say that about their enemies, but I'm not exaggerating. Their ancestors were in that prison for a reason. The people who've joined them since the prison break are no better. And this new, younger generation, you really wouldn't believe how bad they are—”
“We shall see what they say,” Simon said. “Personally, I would prefer to ally with you, with the Coalition, and triumphantly announce our arrival with a glorious crusade to wipe out this rogue nation that vexes the rest of you. Then the people of your world would understand Carthage is here as a friend.
“However, perhaps events will turn the other way, and it will be the Iron Hammers, together with the assistance we provide, who come crusading to your shores, Minister-General. Perhaps it will be one of the more gruesome regimes established on any human world. That, too, would be interesting to study, from my viewpoint. How far can human evil and depravity be carried? Is there a limit?”
“You can't be serious,” Ellison said.
“I have been nothing but honest with you. Have a good day, Minister-General.”
The Simon unit turned and walked out the door, rejoining his garishly dressed honor guard, leaving Ellison to imagine the Iron Hammers swarming over the world, backed by Carthage's deadly ships, drones, and columns of robotic infantry, butchering everyone who stood in their way.
He thought of his father and his childhood home, bombed to ash while he'd been away at war.
He thought of his wife, his sons, and all those he'd sworn to protect, awaiting him below on the planet, counting on him with their lives to lead them, to chart a course through these treacherous seas.
Chapter Two
Earth
“I still think you're full of it,” Hope whispered as their small band made its way through the massive ruins of Chicago. Scorched piles of old train cars and rusted-out cargo trucks lay strewn like the discarded toys of long-dead giants among the shattered remnants of elevated roads and tracks. Broken skyscrapers, bombed-out spires of jagged glass and warped steel, pointed up at the black sky.
Colt cut his sister a warning look. Her voice had gone too loud, and they couldn't risk being heard.
By long habit, the four of them kept to the shadows, watching for the drones that circled the city ruins like birds of prey, searching for humans to kill.
Once, Chicago had been a vast megalopolis, home to a hundred million people, with skyscrapers that vanished into the sky. The city had also grown roots deep underground, even as it sprawled to engulf other cities like Milwaukee and Indianapolis,
creating an unbroken urban zone from Minneapolis to Detroit over the centuries.
Then people had begun to migrate to the stars, depleting Earth's population.
Sometime after that, Earth had gone to war with a powerful upstart colony, the planet Carthage, which sent artificially intelligent war machines to fight on its behalf.
Earth had lost, its population reduced to prisoners and scavengers.
Now, the gigantic ruins provided cover for scavengers like Colt to hide from the machines. There were still some valuable supplies to be unearthed, buried since the war. On good days, they found a cache of canned ravioli or Pink Fairy snack cakes sealed in cellophane.
On bad days, they ate cockroach stew.
Colt hated cockroach stew.
“Why would I lie?” Scabs snapped at Hope. His name came directly from his face, pockmarked with scabs and scars where he'd picked and cut himself while tweaking on the strong amphetamines he liked. “Why would I bring you way the hell out here for nothing? I don't want to die.”
“Maybe you dreamed about it. Or hallucinated,” Hope said. Colt's sister was twenty, two years younger than him. She wore layers of ratty clothing against the ice-cold night, including a scarf hiding most of her face, and she carried a massive machine pistol on her hip. It wasn't the easiest sidearm to wield, but his tall, lanky sister was stronger than she looked. Plus she'd found the machine pistol with a sizable cache of ammunition that still hadn't run out.
“I saw it,” Scabs insisted. He was around Colt's age, maybe a year or two older or younger. Scabs himself wasn't exactly sure.
“I'm with Hope,” said the fourth member of their party, Diego. He was Colt's closest friend. Like a brother. Except they weren't actually brothers; Colt had become sharply aware of this fact in recent months, as Diego and Hope had been getting close in ways Colt was not really comfortable with. Having his best friend hooking up with his sister seemed like a disaster time bomb.
Could be worse, Colt thought. She could be with Scabs.
