by Jay Allan
“I so choose.” He turned and started walking toward the door, stopping abruptly as the machine said one final thing to him.
“Your father would have been proud of you, Terrance.”
* * *
“I do not doubt President Harmon is a good man at his core, one who would lift the Prohibition of his own volition. But he is also the man who signed it into law, and maintained it for twenty-five years. There are NBs of all ages on Earth Two, and Tanks too. Yet we are all twenty-eight years old. We have no younger brethren, not one of us in all that time. A quarter century of our people have been lost, proscribed before they ever existed.” Achilles spoke to the other Mules in the room. His voice was controlled as always, but it was clear there was anger there, or at least determination.
He looked around the table. There were a dozen of his people gathered. They didn’t represent the other Mules, not officially at least, but he knew the rest would follow those in the room.
“We all agree, Achilles…the Prohibition is a travesty, one we have waited far too long to address. Yet, what can we do except continue to lobby in the Assembly?” Peleus sat at the far end of the table. He was Achilles’ loyal ally…but even he had not dared to let his mind go as far as his friend’s had.
“There is no political answer, Peleus, my brother. There is no future in waiting, in hoping. That has been our path for many years, and it has led us nowhere, save to the brink of ruin.”
“I think you overreact, Achilles…I agree the Prohibition is discriminatory and unjust, but I hardly think we face ruin. The republic has prospered beyond the wildest hopes of those who founded it, and for all the political disruption now threatening it, I hardly think we are at the edge of an abyss.”
Achilles stared at the speaker. Meleager was the leader of the doves, those most opposed to taking forceful measures to secure the Mules’ rights. He knew Meleager spoke only his conscience and that his rival meant well, but he still felt annoyance. He had become increasingly unwilling to tolerate the systematic marginalization of his people, and he suspected one day, perhaps soon, if nothing was done, the Mules’ resentment would turn to anger…and then to rage. He had analyzed his own attitudes, the growing emotionality of how he viewed Earth Two’s various groupings. To an extent, at least, he resented the others, especially the ‘holier than thou’ NBs and their nonsensical notions of superiority, and he had resolved to see his people freed of the restrictions that had been placed on them. By whatever means.
“Meleager, my friend, the humans…” He paused. “…we humans…” Achilles had begun to think of the Mules not as a version of humanity, but as an entirely new life form. It was a view that had some scientific merit to it, but it wasn’t one likely to win much support from the public at large…or even the more moderate of the Mules. “…have a dark history. I invite you to study it in detail, and to use it to reassess your judgment on the threat we face.”
He paused. “More than twenty-five years, Meleager, that is how long the Prohibition has lasted. And for much of that time, at least since we attained adulthood, we have made repeated proposals for its repeal…all for naught. It is a permanent ban, my friends, in all but name. And if we stand here and decide to accept it, we are casting our lots for extinction. For we will age, slower than the humans…the others…perhaps, but inevitably. And when the last of us dies, we will be gone forever, for none of those who legislated our extinction are likely to allow our kind ever to exist again.”
The room was silent. Achilles was a firebrand, known among the Mules as a bit of a revolutionary. But the truth in his words was clear to all. If the republic had any intention of lifting the Prohibition, it would have done so by now. There was no reason—there never had been any reason—for the ban. None save fear. Fear of the Mules, of their greater intelligence, their expanded capabilities. And that fear would never go away. Indeed, by most perceptions, it had only increased over the years.
“We face a choice, my brethren, a stark and simple one. Accept marginalization and extinction. Or take action. Now.” Achilles’ tone became cold, hard. He understood the magnitude of what he was saying, and his convictions were solid.
“Even if we all agree, Achilles…what can we do? We are few and they are many. Perhaps they have already achieved the marginalization you speak of. It may be too late.” Callisto sat just to Achilles’ left. She was his ally—and his sometimes lover—and he knew she would support him. But he could tell even she had her doubts.
He looked at her. She was beautiful, an almost perfect manifestation of historic human physical ideals. He had often wondered how much of the fear and submerged hatred the others felt for his people were rational reactions to their intellects…and how much was simply jealousy of the more superficial manifestations of their modified genetics.
“Perhaps, Callisto. You speak wisely…we have waited far too long, and with each passing year, our position becomes weaker. We are vastly outnumbered, and we face considerable challenges. Yet we are not without strengths. I doubt anyone truly realizes how far our tentacles reach into the republic’s infrastructure, the true extent of our access to the data nets we created. How much of the republic’s technology derives from our work here? And how much of it do we effectively control? In the answers to these questions, you will see our path forward. If debate and petitions before the Assembly fail—as they have so many times—we must resort to different measures, more coercive ones.”
“You would blackmail the republic? Shut down vital systems?” It was Meleager again.
“Yes.” Achilles stared right at his rival. “I would. Not for conquest, not to enslave or destroy the others, but to secure our own futures.” He looked around the table. “It is the bane of our existence that we cannot reproduce naturally. We have tried…” He glanced at Callisto, pushing back a smile as he did. “…but to no avail. We have analyzed the problem, researched a solution…all for naught. The NBs have children…they are encouraged to do so. Even the Tanks can reproduce naturally. But our only hope for the future, to produce a new generation, the children we crave and need so badly, lies in shattering the Prohibition…and ensuring that we are never subject to fear-driven restrictions imposed by the others.”
Achilles paused, his expression darkening. “But we must do more. We must ensure our own security. We are outnumbered nearly a thousand to one. The NBs control the military, even the Marines, despite the fact that the majority of combatants are Tanks. They fear us already…if we take any actions to compel them to grant us our rights, you will see humanity’s bloody history in action. They will declare us outlaws, a threat to society. They will raise the people against us…and they will come. They will come and destroy us. We are more than a match for them one on one, perhaps even five on one. But not hundreds to one. We cannot prevail against them in a fight. Not yet.”
“So what do you propose, Achilles?” Peleus stared across the table, his eyes wide with expectation. All of the Mules were looking at Achilles with anxious expressions.
“Two things. First, we must reach out to the Tanks. They are inferior to us in many ways, there is little doubt of that. Yet they were quickened from the best of the human stock, and their genes were at least somewhat modified. They mature more rapidly than Natural Borns, though not as quickly as we do, and they are resistant to most diseases. They are also a minority, but one far more numerous than we are. And, though the senior command structure of the Marine Corps is dominated by NBs, a majority of the rank and file consists of Tanks.”
“There is discontent among the Tanks, there is no question of that, Achilles…far worse, I expect, than what has been publicly disclosed. Still, do you think they will make common cause with us, that they are ready to openly break with the NBs?”
Achilles stared down the table at Peleus. “I feel there is enough anger, certainly. The Tanks occupy far fewer positions of authority than their numbers would suggest. Part of this is because many of those roles are filled by the Pilgrims, who are
, of course, all NBs. There is no inherent bias in that fact…the Pilgrims are the oldest and most experienced among both the NBs and the Tanks. But even factoring this out, it is clear the Tanks face far greater difficulty in rising to top commands and other positions of authority. There is no official policy restricting them, nothing like the Prohibition is to us, but the numbers don’t lie. The Tanks are at least as capable as the NBs, indeed they are more so in several measurable ways. Yet their prospects in whatever field of endeavor they pursue are not commensurate with their abilities.”
Achilles paused. “But they are not as segregated as we are, not as separate from the NBs. There are elements among them agitating, an active resistance movement growing in the shadows even now. It is that fringe we must seek out first, their support we must attain.”
A rough sequence of nods and quiet acknowledgements made its way around the table. Achilles nodded back and turned his stare to Meleager. “Well, my friend…what say you?”
Meleager was silent for a few seconds. Then he slowly nodded. “I have urged caution before, but as I become older, I feel the absence of a younger generation more keenly. I understand the fear of the others, perhaps with more empathy than you do, Achilles, but in the end we must choose our destiny. And I would hear the voices of children in the compound. I would know that we have a future. We have served the republic loyally. Most of the ancient technology that powers its society was deciphered through our work. I would not support a move to place us above the others, nor one designed to gain hegemony over the republic. But I will do whatever is necessary to ensure that we—whatever we are—have the same right to exist.”
“Thank you, my friend. When I have Meleager’s support, I know there is wisdom to my words.”
Meleager nodded. “Achilles is too kind.” He paused. “You said there were two things we had to do to protect ourselves. What is the second?”
Achilles hesitated. “We must control our own security. We must be able to defend ourselves against any attempt to attack us.”
“There are only one hundred sixteen of us. How is that possible?”
“We must rely on automation, Meleager. We must build a force of robots to ensure our safety.”
“But that is forbidden. If the president or the Assembly found out…”
“Then we must be sure they do not, at least not until we are ready. We are isolated out here, and they prefer it that way. They leave us alone to do as we please, secure in the knowledge that there are only a few of us. We have many projects underway. With proper care, we can build a reasonable force of security bots in secrecy. I have designed a few prototypes. I believe I have even improved on the old First Imperium models.”
Meleager stared back at Achilles, his indecision again apparent. But then he looked around the table. The others were nodding, some enthusiastically, others with grim resignation.
He sighed. “Very well, Achilles…but I must have your word, here and in front of all of us, that these bots will never be used to attack any humans, nor even as a force to threaten them. They will be defensive only.”
Achilles sat, staring back at Meleager. The room was silent, but he could see the others looking on, many nodding their approval of Meleager’s provision.
“You have my word, Meleager. All of you do. The bots will be used only to protect us…and our right to create more of our kind.”
The others nodded with considerable conviction, and after a few seconds, Meleager joined them.
Achilles sat silently, considering the true meaning of the words he’d added to his promise. The others would resist the move to allow the renewed creation of Mules…and Achilles had every intention of using all power at his disposal, including an army of battle robots, to ensure that his people had a future. He would defend his people’s right to produce more to their kind, whatever that entailed.
Chapter Five
Excerpt from Underground Vid Circulated via Deep Network
Humanity. It is a word we use often, and usually without a thought of its true meaning. Humans, men and women, rose up on Earth, they tamed a world, reached out for the stars. It was not animals who did this, not copies manufactured in some laboratory. And certainly not monstrous mutations, perverse combinations of human and alien DNA.
The fleet fought its way to Earth Two, struggled in battle after battle, lost two-thirds of its complement, men and women left behind, dead in the sands of alien worlds, blown to plasma in desperate space battles. These brethren of ours—and those of us who survived the epic journey—were, every one of them, naturally-born human beings.
Now we watch as the fruits of their sacrifice, this new world we are building, becomes increasingly dominated by clones, hundreds of copies of each genetic contributor. These copies are possessed of the DNA of their progenitors, but are they truly human? Do they possess that spark that separates human beings from animals? Are they individuals? Or merely imitations of a real human being?
And worse, still, are the Mules, grotesque perversions of human stock, mingled with alien DNA and manipulated in a dark laboratory. Who are these beings who live by themselves, outside of our fair city, pursuing arcane research without supervision? It is no secret they consider themselves better than us, gods to rule over mankind. Do you wish to have a genetically-engineered human-alien hybrid as your master? Or do you say, now and for all time, that humanity is special? That men and women are naturally free, and that no manufactured creatures, be they stronger or faster or more resistant to disease, will ever rule over us, make us slaves.
This is our creed…and if you feel as we do, if you would halt this technologically driven nightmare, join us. Join the human league, and preserve humanity for our naturally born children…and grandchildren.
Supreme HQ – “The Rock”
Victory City, Earth Two
Earth Two Date 10.30.30
“You can’t do this, sir.” Over the years, Harmon had practically begged Frasier to call him Max, but the lifelong Marine had never been able to bring himself to speak so informally to his commander-in-chief. “We need strong leadership now, not chaos.”
The republic’s president looked over at his top general, at his friend. Connor Frasier was a big man, almost two meters tall and broadly built. He’d been very handsome when he was younger, but he’d suffered catastrophic wounds when he was unable to get far enough from the atomic weapon that destroyed the Regent. He had survived—a miracle itself—but even with multiple rounds of skin regens, he carried scars all over his body…and his face. His hair had only grown back on one side of his head, and he’d eventually shaved it all. The result was a fearsome visage, the grim and deadly Marine commander. It was something he’d adapted to over the years, even learned to enjoy, Harmon sometimes suspected.
“I appreciate your loyalty, Conner, but I don’t think there is any choice. The Assembly is up in arms, there are protests in the streets. The Human Society is demanding increased restrictions on the Tanks…and the Tanks are calling for all limits on quickenings to be removed. The rhetoric has reached dangerous levels on both sides. There was almost a fight in the hall at the last session. And, while the different groups are fighting with each other in every possible permutation, they agree on one thing. They’re all upset with me.”
Max Harmon had never been a politician. Like everyone who had served in the fleet, his background was military. He’d been thrust into the civilian leadership position, the unanimous choice of Admiral West, Hieronymus Cutter, and the rest of the fleet’s key personnel, but he knew he’d never mastered the sleazier arts of political maneuvering. As a man, he was glad. He considered true politicians to be an affliction on mankind, and he was reassured that the necessary motivations seemed to be missing from his character. But as a practical matter, his inability to lie and cheat with the dexterity of a practiced politician had led his government—and the nascent republic—to the brink of the abyss. He wanted to preserve freedom for all his people, but as the years passed, he’d
come to realize that all most of them wanted was to impose their own views and opinions on the others.
He looked at the Marine general, and he shook his head. “I always hated the politicians back home—and I still do—but now I wonder if true governance is possible. If man is capable of living in anything but anarchy or a long slide toward a corrupt, totalitarian nightmare.” Harmon knew he’d had more than one chance to move the republic toward the latter. More than one time his aides and deputies had implored him to crack down on the various groups threatening the public order without the backing of the Assembly, in essence, to make himself a dictator.
“Sir, Admiral Compton always took whatever action was necessary…whether he liked it or not.”
Harmon sighed. Everyone—friends, rivals, enemies—they all invoked remembrance of the great admiral when they were arguing a point. Any point. Harmon understood, but he’d become tired of it. No one in the fleet had known Terrance Compton as well as he had.
“General, Admiral Compton was leading us through a war. No, worse than a war…a desperate flight. We faced almost certain destruction then. Even so, it was very hard on him. Few people saw what some of that did to him, how it hurt him to turn his back on every sense of what he believed was right and wrong. I miss him terribly, even still. But I wonder if things didn’t work out for the best. How would it have hurt him to have done all he had done…and to watch over the years, as gratitude and loyalty withered away, as they always do? I sometimes think it would have been worse for him than that assassin’s bullet. Now, he is a hero forever. He is loved, even as I am resented. If he had lived, would he be angry, broken…devastated to see all he had fought for reduced to nothing but a smaller version of Earth, along with all the same petty squabbles and pointless disputes?”
Frasier looked back, silent for a moment.
Harmon shook his head. “Enough of that…we have too much to deal with to slip into recollection and regret. And the situation is dramatically different now from what the admiral faced. Our arms have not seen a shot fired in anger in more than two decades, not since the last of the First Imperium forces were destroyed. We are alone, with no contacts, no enemies, unless we make them from among our own people. If I refuse to call an election, if I even appear to seize power, it will enrage them all. It would be the spark that ignites civil war.”
