“Big guy is the one I punched?”
“Yep. His name’s Karpov. Like the chess player. Anyway, he spoke to the matriarch, and she said we should all meet and figure out what to do.”
“Who is this matriarch? What the hell are they doing out here? And how can they talk?”
“He says they’re from an old Soviet space program. As far as I can tell, they’re super-intelligent monkeys bred to operate independently in space. That’s what their ancestors were, anyway. The original crew of the Volya IX.”
“The Volya IX? That ship disappeared decades ago! And it was supposed to be unmanned.”
“Exactly. But I guess technically it wasn’t manned. It was monkeyed.”
Mags slapped her forehead.
“Anyway, the Volya disappeared after its communication system went offline. And from what they tell me—well, it’s hard to separate fact from legend with this crew. The way they tell it, the Volya drifted for years. I’m guessing there was a collision, but maybe we’ll never know. Eventually, it drifted into the path of this mine.”
“It’s younger than they are. This is one of the early NEA mines, before GravCorp got involved. It hardly belongs here in the Belt.”
“That’s why I thought it would be a good place to store that thing I found. I thought no one was using it.” He turned his palms face up. “I was wrong. Lucky for me, the equipment’s not so vintage that I couldn’t dock to it.”
Mags thought for a moment. “If you’re docked, then where is their ship?”
“I think we’re about to see what’s left of it.”
Their march had taken them to the mine’s central shaft. The crew stopped at an elevator door, waiting while Karpov brought up the elevator.
“Orderly little cusses, aren’t they?”
“Yeah. They work well together, it seems. They’ve probably seen more chaos today than all the rest of their lives.”
“And I punched their leader in the face.”
“He’s not real happy about that.”
“Ya think?”
“But from what I can tell, he’s not the main leader. He just leads the males. The females have their own quarters. And the matriarch is the head of the whole crew.”
The elevator doors slid open. Half the monkeys filed in and filled the elevator. Karpov spoke to Plutonian again.
“He says he’ll send it back up for the rest of us.”
Slowly, one by one, the remaining monkeys turned their heads to look at Mags. They chattered amongst themselves in hushed voices.
Mags noticed the posters on the wall. “What’s all this, then? Communist memorabilia?”
“They’ve kept mementos of the old days from the Volya. It seems like they’ve organized their little society around communist principles. But their politics are a little disjointed.”
“Great. You’re taking me into the belly of the beast with a bunch of Marxist mandrills.”
“They’re macaques.”
“Whatever.”
“They don’t even call themselves monkeys. Their word for themselves, it’s like they call themselves ‘the people’.”
“So what do they call humans?”
“The makers.”
“The makers?”
“Yeah, not like makers of the universe. Not ‘gods’. Just making things like—”
“Like tools and shit.”
“Yeah.” Plutonian rolled his eyes. “Like tools and shit. Rockets. By the way, did you dye your hair? It looks... It looks good.”
She smiled. “Better red than dead.”
The elevator returned. The monkeys filed in, and Patches brought up the rear.
They descended into the mine.
PART THREE: THE MOTHERLAND CALLING
The elevator doors opened to reveal the final fate of the Volya IX. Dismantled sections of the ship lined the room’s walls. With pieces of the outer hull bolted to the walls, the sections’ interiors formed a backdrop of chaotic wires and unused equipment.
The monkeys had salvaged what creature comforts they could from the Volya: beds, chairs, toilets, tables, and bookshelves. At one table, a pair of macaques soldered pieces of wires and machinery together. At another, a trio played a vintage video game on an old CRT monitor.
In the center of the miniature auditorium formed from the dismantled hull, the remains of the cockpit held a well-worn chair. Upon it sat an elderly monkey. Her hair had gone grey, and her deep eyes brimmed with knowledge and sadness.
“I take it that’s the matriarch,” said Mags.
Patches had already dashed out to survey the wreckage not with her eyes but with her nose. The monkeys in the elevator moved past Mags and into the room. They joined the rest of the male crew. At an order from Karpov, the males saluted the matriarch in unison.
She returned their salute before beckoning a nearby female. The matriarch spoke and handed her a tablet. The female came down from the makeshift throne. She approached Plutonian and chattered at him in Russian. She handed him his tablet.
He thanked her and smiled. “We’ve been granted an audience.”
The matriarch spoke and gestured as they neared the throne. Plutonian took Mags’ hand, and they sat together on the floor before the elder monkey.
“She wants to exchange information,” he said. “Their history for ours. I’ll try to translate.”
Mags rubbed her eyes and temples. She had felt an adrenaline rush during the attack, but now her sleepless night wore on her. “Whatever you say, dear.”
At a call from the matriarch, the females of the tribe set aside their projects and games. They gathered around her in a semi-circle, taking seats on the floor and piles of scrap. The males did not mingle with them, but sat in their own group.
Then the matriarch told their story. “Many years ago,” she began, “the makers selected the first people for a noble mission. I learned of this mission from my mother, who learned it from her mother, who was among the unfortunate souls of the first people. For the glory of their nation, the makers created the first people from an even more ancient race which had no history. Thus we say history truly began with the first people.” Here the matriarch paused, so that Plutonian could translate.
Mags forced a smile. “Thank you, dear.” But to herself she thought, that’s a bloody unlikely story. These monkeys have made a religion about something they don’t even understand.
She patted his leg with a smile then pointed to his tablet. Taking it from him, she quietly touched the screen until an article about macaques came up.
The matriarch continued. “The first people lived in the great machine from which we built this temple. The temple rose from the great lands of our mother nation. It ascended on wings of fire into the sky above our homeland.”
Plutonian quickly translated.
“Temple? I thought communists didn’t go for religion.”
“And then,” the matriarch went on, “the temple journeyed into the great darkness, where now we live. But destiny was not kind to the first people. Tragedy struck. Some say the temple was hit by a solar storm, others by one of the many stones strewn across the darkness. Some say it was our enemies from the evil lands west of our mother nation.”
At the last pronouncement, a great uproar came from the males of the crew. They pounded their fists on the floor and on the salvaged equipment where they crouched. Karpov rose to his feet, shouting and gesticulating wildly at the humans.
“He doesn’t like us much,” Plutonian whispered.
“The feeling’s mutual.” She stood and shouted at Karpov. “Hey! Settle down, Captain Jillingov! We’re trying to follow the bloody story!”
This only enraged the males even more.
The matriarch pulled herself to her feet. She picked up a staff and raised it over her head. She barked out a single word.
To Mags’ surprise, the males calmed down immediately. She felt the DJ’s hand in hers, pulling her down. Frowning, she sat.
“Mags, did you ever
think you could just, like, chill or something?”
She huffed. “These Bolshevik bonobos are getting on my last nerve.”
“They’re—nevermind. Are you okay?”
“No! I feel like I haven’t slept in forever. Remind me again why I shouldn’t smack that little sod.”
“Because I asked you not to?”
She went back to reading about macaques.
Satisfied that all was calm, the matriarch took her seat and continued her tale. “Whatever the cause, the first people became cut off from our mother nation, and they lost their way. For ages, they drifted in the darkness. There, they gave birth to the second people. The second people learned all they could, and they watched the first people die. But they never gave up hope. For they were a great people, and they carried the glory of our homeland within them.”
A cheer rose from the females and males alike, for many of them remembered the second people. They were, after all, the sons and daughters of those great heroes.
“And so it came to pass that the second people, ever vigilant, were poised when fate again chose their course. The arc of their journey intersected the path of this great stone. With much effort, they set the temple down upon this stone where now we make our home. Many of them died, and much of the temple was destroyed. But those who lived used their tools to bring the temple’s remains here, into the depths of this rock. And it is to them we owe our lives.”
During this speech, Mags scrolled through the article. She thought, no wonder the males were tense. Usually they left the pack around puberty and established their own territory. But here in the mine, there wasn’t far to go. They could hang out in a separate room in the living quarters, or venture up into the torus, but it was a poor excuse for having your own space.
Then she read about their diet. Her eyes grew wide with surprise. Crabs, she thought. Now that’s interesting. It reminded her of her baby octopi, who also liked to eat crabs. An idea took shape in her mind.
The matriarch came to the conclusion of her story. “As you all know, I have never abandoned my hope, and the hope of the second people, that we will one day return to our mother nation. And today, I believe fate has bestowed upon us a rare gift in the form of this son and daughter of the makers.” She swept her hand before her, indicating Mags and Plutonian. “The makers have brought new ships, and they will return us to the glorious homeland of the first people: the Soviet Union.”
Another cheer broke out among the monkeys. The racket echoed throughout the chamber. Many of them embraced. Some cried.
“Hoo boy,” Plutonian said.
“What is it?”
“She wants to return to the Soviet Union. On Earth. Using our ships.”
“Bloody hell. It doesn’t even exist anymore!”
“I know. They’ve been cut off since before the fall of the USSR. And they don’t have any clue about the New Soviet Republic. I guess this is where our half of the information exchange comes in.”
Mags tilted her head in Karpov’s direction. “I can think of someone short and ugly who isn’t going to be happy to hear this.”
“No kidding. Okay. Time for a crash course in the history of the NSR.”
“Go on, Mister Diplomacy. Patches and I got your back.”
Plutonian stood and cleared his throat.
With as much tact as he could muster, he told them about the dissolution of the Soviet Union.
They grew visibly upset.
He described the many problems it had created for Russia and its former states, not the least of which were poverty and rampant corruption. Then, Russia seized upon a solution.
Driven by increasing pressure for fuel and petroleum, and at last fed up with fighting proxy wars, Russia declared war on Saudi Arabia. Russia publicly told the States and the European Union to kindly sod off. But behind closed doors, deals were made for the future of Earth’s energy resources, and those beyond Earth’s orbit as well.
Russia dropped nuclear weapons on any Gulf States that objected. The tactical strikes obliterated entire militaries in moments. Russia proclaimed there would be no ground war, and that anywhere the new administration met resistance would be promptly turned into a field of glass.
Russia declared itself the New Soviet Republic and began annexing Gulf States. It also welcomed with open arms all the former states of the Soviet Union. Some of them declined and instead joined the European Union.
But, lured by the promise of a new era of national pride and a strong economy, many more joined the New Soviet Republic. With the massive petroleum reserves they gained, the NSR achieved in a few years what the USSR had failed to accomplish: relative prosperity for its people.
Other nations officially frowned on the methods, but the move was a huge boon to global industry. The resources drained by political instability now went into space exploration and alternative energies. But while many heralded the end of persistent World War in this new era of prosperity, things were far from ideal. Unrest fomented across the globe, spurred on by population pressure, new viruses, and an increasingly deep gap between the rich and poor.
While the European Union and India took the lead in alternative energy production, private companies based in the USA pressed forward with their agenda for space exploration and asteroid mining. This ushered in the current age of multinationals operating on an interplanetary scale.
China struck a deal with the NSR, which agreed to turn a blind eye to China’s attempts to take over the smaller Asian nations, one by one. Tensions between Japan and China escalated. Much of Africa and South America struggled with civil war. Despite the shifting balance of power following the NSR’s formation, things remained globally unstable.
But Plutonian could only tell part of this geopolitical history before he was interrupted. Karpov and his male entourage did not take well the news of the Soviet Union’s fall. The man’s speech had crushed their dreams of returning to their now-legendary homeland.
Their unrest spread throughout the females, too, for this hope had sustained them all their lives. A noisy debate broke out. Shouting came from all directions.
The matriarch raised her hand for silence, but she was ignored this time. Some of the males began to fight each other. Furniture fell over. The din became unbearable.
“Hey, Dr. P.” Mags tugged at his shirt sleeve. All around them, the monkeys carried on their heated squabble. “I gotta ask you something. Have you found out what they do for food here?”
“Food? Are you hungry?”
“Frickin’ starving, mate. But that’s not the point. These old mines had chambers designed to raise food. So they must be growing their own. Or something. See if you can find out.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
Mags looked him over, deciding what to tell him. “Listen, Dr. P. Some major shit went down after you left the club.”
“Is Tesla okay?”
“He’s fine. He’s with Celina and Fuzz, snug as a bug. But listen. Those weapons we tested? One of them, this eel, took a genetic sample of me and made this evil fucking cyborg out of it. Then it attacked my girls and—okay, wait. First, Donny and I had gone to feed the baby octopuses, only they did that thing with their minds, you know? And so Patches was like—you’re not following any of this, are you?”
“Not at all. A sample, you said? Cyborg fucking?”
“Nooo! Well, yes. But it’s not what you think!”
“You had a cyborg octo-baby?”
Mags slapped her open palm into her forehead. “Look. It’s a long story. The short version is: I have an asteroid full of octopus babies and fuck-all of a plan to feed them, let alone make a bigger house for them.”
“An asteroid full?”
“That’s right. It’s huge. Bigger than this mine for sure. A massive network of interior caverns, and GravGens already installed. And the octopuses aren’t just hungry. They’re smart. And they can sing. Oh my god, how they can sing. You should hear it, Doctor.”
/> “So, octopuses plus monkeys equals—what?”
“Don’t you get it? This place isn’t big enough for the males and females to have their own space. But I know a place that is, and the current tenants really need some caretakers to grow food for them. I can’t be stopping by all the time with stolen crates of seafood. I’ve got cargo to ‘liberate’. Lizards to exterminate.”
“We’ll never convince them to go to another asteroid. They want to go home.”
“Oh, we can convince them. For communists, they’re awfully religious. We just have to get them aboard your ship. The leaders, at least, and as many as it can hold. There, we can show them the light. The triglyph, man.”
“The triglyph?”
“Isn’t that what you called it? That thing you found?”
“I guess I did. But we don’t even know what—”
“We know it likes you. And it doesn’t like lizards and the MFA. I’d say it’s got good taste, for starters.”
“Let’s hope it likes monkeys.”
“That’s the spirit. Now, come on. Work your diplomatic magic on these orbital orangutans.”
“Mags, they’re—”
“I know, I know. Cynomolgus. Crab-eating macaques. I just read all about them.” She stood up. “Hey,” she shouted.
The monkeys ignored her.
Stepping up onto the edge of the matriarch’s throne, she swung the laser rifle down from her shoulder. “Hey!” She fired a few rounds at an empty spot on the ceiling.
The strobing pulses of light and the rifle’s crackling noise silenced the room. Most monkeys cowered, but the matriarch held her staff in front of her, prepared to defend herself.
Mags held her hand out, palm forward, in a motion to desist. “Listen up, little comrades!” She raised her eyebrows and crooked a finger at Plutonian, beckoning him forward.
“I asked you not to shoot anyone.”
“I didn’t. Now get them on the ship!”
He held his palms low and pumped them as if to say, “Calm down.” He opened his arms to the monkeys and choose his words carefully.
Meteor Mags: Omnibus Edition Page 41
