Metal Swarm

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Sullivan came forward from the sleeping quarters in the back, rubbing his eyes, stretching his arms, and yawning. “Are we almost there?”

  Rlinda pointed out the cockpit viewports. “That big blue marble is Earth. Recognize it? Can you see your house from here?”

  The older man was both alarmed and eager. “I thought you were going to wake me. I need time to get ready—”

  “Take a breath, Mr. Gold. We haven’t even entered orbit yet. Then we have to descend and fill out about a million bureaucratic forms, get through the Hansa’s pain-in-the-ass security procedures, then line up for a landing pad. You’ll have time to take another whole nap before we get down to Earth.”

  The Curiosity dodged leftover space debris as Rlinda jockeyed for orbital position. Not many outside ships traded with the Hansa these days, and she expected to make a hefty profit, despite the absurdly high tariffs the Chairman had imposed.

  Sullivan clasped his hands to keep his anticipation under control. “Could I send a message to Lydia? Can we let my family know that I’m on the way?”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem. You’re still a Hansa citizen, right?”

  “As far as I know.”

  Rlinda arranged the contact via the Curiosity’s tight-channel comm systems. Because Sullivan provided her with private-beam codes, she was able to make a direct link. “I can route through local nodes. Your wife won’t know it’s anything more exciting than a sales call.”

  Sullivan grinned. She could tell he was nervous, as well as eager. “It’ll make her day.”

  “How long have you been married?” BeBob asked.

  “So many years that I’ve lost count.”

  Rlinda rolled her eyes. “No you haven’t.”

  The older man gave a sheepish smile. “Forty-two years. And a half.”

  As BeBob engaged the link and boosted the signal, Rlinda swung her chair around. “Are you sure you don’t want us to make some kind of grand announcement? Get the Hansa out to greet you with a marching band? It’s got to be big news to have you come home.”

  BeBob nearly squawked. “Rlinda! Low profile, remember?”

  “I didn’t say we had to tell everyone you’re aboard. In fact, I’d prefer you hid in a cargo compartment marked ‘Hazardous Waste.’”

  “That’s the first place they’d look.”

  “No big reception committee, please,” Sullivan said. “I’m not much of one for making a fuss. Just let me slip out of here and go have time with my family. The newsnets are sure to find out sooner or later, but give me a little time for a private reunion.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  When Lydia answered the signal, she was taken aback, and then shocked, thrilled, and slightly scolding. “Well, well, I was wondering when you’d call home. I take it you’re not dead, then? The Hansa reported that your whole cloud-harvesting facility was destroyed, no survivors.” She answered with a sternness that was clearly false.

  He leaned so close to her image that Rlinda thought he’d bump his nose on the screen. “You didn’t get my letter? I had my green priest send it. You never knew I was rescued when the hydrogues destroyed my skymine?”

  “Didn’t get any letters—but, yes, I did hear the news. I’ve been waiting ever since.” Now she smiled. “You look like you could use a shave.”

  “You look wonderful.”

  “Flattery like that makes me think you’ve got something to hide.”

  “It means I missed you. Our ship is coming down to the Palace District spaceport now. Aren’t you glad to have me home?”

  “Absolutely. And not just for your scintillating conversation either. I could use a hand around here.”

  “So you’ll be there to meet me?”

  “I’ll bring the family.” Lydia stared at him, as if she didn’t want to cut the connection. “But I have to get moving, otherwise we won’t have time.”

  Sullivan kept looking at the blank screen, then blinked and turned to Rlinda and BeBob. “I have a fairly large family, you know.”

  Two hours later, they set the Curiosity down on the marked pavement and opened the hatches to the fresh and familiar air of Earth. BeBob pushed his face into the breeze. “Ah, just smell that!”

  “Time for you to hide in the cargo compartment. I’ll deal with the red tape.” Rlinda knew that spaceport security was going to be a labyrinth.

  Sullivan was gathering his packs of personal possessions, keepsakes, and rewards the Mage-Imperator had given him when the Hansa’s trade officials transmitted a list of their new enforcement measures. Rlinda listened to the comm, a stormy expression brewing on her wide face. “Damn! BeBob, get to the cockpit.”

  “What is it?”

  “The goons are coming with scanners to inventory all cargo bays, including sealed containers. They’re going to find you wherever you try to hide.”

  “What am I going to do?”

  “You’re going with Sullivan—and you’re going now. They just seized a big ship full of contraband components over in Zone B, and the goons are ‘apologizing for the delay in processing’ us. Get your ass out of here, don’t call any attention to yourself, and wait for me to send you an all-clear.”

  BeBob started toward the extending ramp, following Sullivan, turned around, darted back to give Rlinda a peck on the cheek, then ran off into the bustle of the landing area.

  Rlinda stayed behind, managing the details, filling out online forms, answering suspicious questions, and waiting for the trade inspectors, who came more than an hour later. It was a real pain in the butt. “For all his bitching that he needs goods and materials, the Chairman certainly doesn’t make things easy for an honest trader.”

  She ushered aboard two Hansa representatives who skimmed her cargo manifest while a team of thick-armed and helmeted guards ran over her hull and interior with scanning devices. She let them find just enough undeclared high-tariff contraband that they stopped looking for anything more suspicious. She particularly didn’t want them digging into her log, where they might see a mention of BeBob.

  Finally, the trade reps offered to purchase the supplies she wanted to sell. Rlinda countered with a higher price and was shocked when the men met her negotiation with a stony glare. “That is a set price, Captain Kett, and it’s all we are allowed to offer. The Chairman has made revisions to our trading practices in this time of war. We presumed you knew the terms before you landed.”

  The second representative said coldly, “We have authorization to impound your entire cargo if you do not agree to these terms.”

  “You don’t get too many repeat customers, do you?” They faced her in silence, and she knew she had to concede. “All right, but for that price, don’t expect me to lift a finger to help you unload.”

  “We have personnel for that, ma’am.” Uniformed crews removed the crates from the Curiosity, carefully recording the contents after scanning them again for booby-traps or smuggled items. “Once your cargo has been unloaded, Captain Kett, you have one hour to leave this landing facility.”

  “Understood.” She snorted in disbelief. As if after this warm welcome she wanted to stay any longer than she had to? When the hold was empty and the unexpectedly small number of Hansa credits (worthless on most Confederation worlds) had been added to her account, she transmitted the all-clear for BeBob to come back. Rlinda waited alone, squirming, wishing she would hear something from him, but he hadn’t answered.

  Her uneasiness increased with every minute he was gone. It shouldn’t have taken him so long to come back. She hoped he hadn’t been talked into staying for dinner with Sullivan’s family.

  Over her private channel, BeBob’s breathless voice spluttered. “Rlinda—warm up the engines and open the hatch! I’m coming.”

  “What’s your hurry? Did you seduce the farmer’s daughter or something?”

  “Rlinda, I’m not kidding around! Somebody ran a check on the Curiosity. There’s an arrest warrant on file for you. For us!” She heard the squawk in his v
oice and knew he was serious. She settled herself heavily into the wide chair behind the cockpit controls and felt the pulse of in-system engines as they built up their energy reserves. The moment the boarding ramp hummed down and locked into place, she heard BeBob scramble aboard. “Go! The guards are coming to impound the ship.”

  “Not my ship, they aren’t.” She pounded one fist down on the launch buttons and slapped the hatch controls with the other hand. The Curiosity jumped into the air, and Rlinda used maneuvering jets to tilt the ship sideways and dodge a bulky tanker that was coming in for a landing.

  A harsh voice came over the cockpit speakers. “Voracious Curiosity, stand down immediately. Remain on the landing field.”

  She couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “Gentlemen, make up your minds! Your last message told me to leave as soon as possible.”

  “Captain Kett, this is security. You are not authorized for departure. Return to the landing zone and prepare to be boarded.”

  “I’m getting fed up with everything that’s not authorized these days.” As the Curiosity gained altitude, Hansa security forces scrambled out of hangars around the landing zone to intercept them. She reached over and patted BeBob’s hand. “Don’t you worry. I’m not going to let them catch you again.”

  “Worry? Why would I worry?”

  The Roamers had helped Rlinda modify the Curiosity, and she had a few tricks that the local EDF security forces could not counter. She spun her ship and dodged up through the thinning air, not following an approved path. The complaints, threats, and frustrated curses on the comm system soon became amusing. She ignored them as her ship easily outran the few pursuers.

  98 SULLIVAN GOLD

  You took your sweet time getting here,” Lydia said.

  “I love you, too.” Sullivan couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. He kissed her on the cheek. “I missed you very much.”

  “I’ll bet. Do you have any idea how many times I thought about giving up on you and marrying somebody else?”

  He held her, pressing her solid, bony body against him. “I don’t believe it for a minute.”

  “Aren’t you sweet?” They stood together at the edge of the landing zone, with inspectors and merchants moving in all directions. Captain Roberts had delivered Sullivan to his family, then quickly taken his leave, afraid that newsnet reporters might come to film the homecoming. He seemed very camera shy.

  Spacecraft came down, landing in heavy-security areas, and groundcars hauled cargo away to distribution centers. The air smelled of exhaust, fuel vapors, burned-out scrubbers, and paving material—much different from Mijistra, but he didn’t mind. The familiar odors triggered a powerful nostalgia in him, enough to bring tears to his eyes, but he quickly wiped them away.

  Around the spaceport, the background noise was deafening: air traffic, loading machinery, announcements blaring over loudspeakers, people shouting. His family pressed close. Sons, daughters, and excited grandchildren who wanted his attention peppered him with questions, eager to hear his stories, but he couldn’t get a word in.

  After receiving his message, Lydia had called the kids and grandkids and made a caravan. Sullivan was almost bowled over by the laughing, grinning people who rushed to greet him. He was smothered with kisses, claps on the back, children tugging on his wrists and elbows. He laughed out loud as he looked across the sea of faces, embarrassed to admit he didn’t recognize some of them. “How big has the family gotten anyway?”

  “It’s just the right size,” Lydia said.

  He was shocked to see how different everyone looked. Had it been only a year? A lot had happened on Earth in the meantime. Was that Victor? And Patrice? How could so many hairstyles have changed? New boyfriends and girlfriends, two marriages broken up, three pregnancies, and one sad death (not from the hydrogue war, but in a stupid accident in a mass-transit breakdown). Three of the grandsons had “done their part” by signing up to join the Earth Defense Forces, swayed by a gung-ho recruitment drive. Sullivan wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He couldn’t think of them as being old enough to do such a thing.

  “It’s so good to be home.” He kissed his wife on the ear and enjoyed the feeling of just standing there, surrounded by everyone. “You haven’t changed a bit. You don’t look a day older.”

  “That’s because I fossilized long before you left.”

  “I wrote you twenty-five letters, but the Mage-Imperator wouldn’t let us send them. And you didn’t get the one the green priest transmitted.”

  “Convenient excuse.”

  He sniffed at her teasing. “A little sympathy, please! You can’t imagine the ordeal I’ve been through: Hydrogues destroyed my cloud-harvesting facility right out from under me, and Ildirans held us prisoner because we happened to see something we shouldn’t have.”

  “What did you see? Too many naked Ildiran females, I’ll bet.” They had been married for so long that Lydia’s barbs were more endearments than criticisms.

  “Now, dear, I wouldn’t have gone on this venture if we hadn’t had a family meeting and decided it was for the best. The payment the Hansa promised—”

  Her angry snort cut him off, and he grew worried. “Payment? They changed the rules on us as soon as we filed for your death benefits!”

  “You filed for death benefits?”

  “Well, they did say your skymine was destroyed. We haven’t gotten a single credit, so it hasn’t been a picnic here either.”

  He blinked at her, feeling a little weak in the knees. “You filed for death benefits? Really?”

  “Your cloud harvester was destroyed, and you disappeared. What was I supposed to think—that you had learned how to fly?”

  “I guess I can’t argue with that.” Anxious now to be away from the landing field and all the noise, he tried to steer the crowd back toward the pedestrian walks.

  One of the grandkids, Jessica, pulled on his sleeve. “Did you come home rich? Grandma says you’re bringing a treasure chest.”

  “Well, I came home with quite a few Ildiran valuables.”

  He grinned, but Lydia’s expression darkened. “Better hide them before the Hansa confiscates them. They’ll come up with a fifty-percent import tax or something.”

  Putting on an optimistic face, he said, “At least I’ll have the undying gratitude of the Mage-Imperator—for what it’s worth.”

  A sharpness came to his wife’s eyes. “Good. We may all have to move there if things keep going the way they are. You won’t believe what the Chairman—”

  “Quiet, Ma,” said the oldest son, Jerome. He looked around anxiously, as if she had said something dangerous, as if electronic pickups might be listening to every word they spoke.

  Sullivan drew back. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing, nothing!” Jerome said quickly, patting his mother’s arm. “You know her. If there isn’t something to complain about, then there’s no sunshine in her day. Maybe we’ll all take a vacation to Ildira. Someday.”

  Sullivan made Lydia look at him. “What’s happened around here? I’ve been cut off from everything. I’ve spoken with Roamer traders and former Hansa merchants, and none of them have much good to say about Chairman Wenceslas. Is it true he sent an EDF battle group to try to conquer Theroc and seize the King and Queen? Did he really take over Rhejak?”

  “Let’s just say this, Sullivan: You were wise not to cause a hullabaloo when you got home. No interviews, no announcements. It’s best you not call attention to yourself. I doubt the Chairman would appreciate it. And it’s good that you’ve carved out some options for us, just in case Earth is no longer a particularly good place to raise a family. You may well have been better off on Ildira.”

  99 CHAIRMAN BASIL WENCESLAS

  He could use the Klikiss to the Hansa’s advantage. Basil decided that was the best way to deal with the situation. And the Archfather of Unison would be his spokesman.

  Not a thread could be loose, not a single wrinkle showing, no speck of makeup in the
wrong place. With an eagle eye, Basil watched every step as stylists, groomers, and personality coaches prepared the Archfather for his grand debut.

  Basil gazed into the plump old man’s sapphire eyes. Those eyes had attracted him to this candidate in the first place. The clear blue was natural, which eliminated the requirement for implants. The Archfather’s voice was deep and resonant; his thick snow-white beard flowed from his apple-red cheeks down to a tapered point. Voluminous ceremonial robes hung on his soft shoulders, draped to imply an imposing presence but hide his girth. His ceremonial crook was impressive, a golden staff encrusted with faceted gems, every one of which had been oiled and polished so that not a smudge would be visible on even the highest resolution observation image.

  The Archfather was a reassuring figure, practically a picture of old Saint Nicholas—and not by accident. His attitude was avuncular, nonthreatening. Unison had long been a comfortable part of Hansa life, like a kindly old pet dog with no teeth. But that would soon change. The Archfather’s speech today would begin an entirely new program.

  A century before, when previous Hansa Chairmen had built the framework of Unison and developed the Archfather as its visible face, they had chosen their symbolic references well. In many respects, the Archfather reminded Basil of Old King Frederick, a cooperative puppet who hadn’t been too smart for his own good.

  “You are ready for this.” He intentionally did not make it into a question.

  “I believe so, Mr. Chairman.”

  “You must know it in your heart. No second chances.”

  The Archfather squared his shoulders to pump up his presence. He had always been a good performer. “I have been coached mercilessly. I know my lines, and I know the consequences if I make any mistakes.” His lips curved upward around the white strands of his beard, but Basil scolded him.

  “No smiling! Not for this, and not for the foreseeable future. There can be no twinkle in your eye when you explain the root cause of this looming disaster. When we show General Lanyan’s images from the raid on Pym, you must be righteously indignant, angry at this new and terrible enemy we face. Not grinning like an idiot.” Sheepish, the Archfather nodded, and Basil continued. “From this day forward, your responsibilities will increase tenfold. You are no longer just a fixture, but a true weapon in the cause of humanity.”