The Prodigal Sun
Page 39
“There is that, I suppose,” She met his stare evenly. “Okay. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement.”
“Good,” said Kajic, his image standing—a gesture obviously meant to communicate something rather than out of any real need. “I was hoping you’d say yes. It would have been boring to return to just watching all the time.”
“Well, have no fear about that. Every able-bodied”— she stopped, corrected herself—”able-minded person will have plenty to do, no matter where we go. We’ll put you to good use soon enough.”
“Once you’re sure you can trust me, of course.”
She smiled at the disembodied man before her. “Of course, Captain.”
* * *
Several hours passed before she returned, tired but mentally rejuvenated, to the bridge. When she did, she found Haid and Cane anxiously waiting for her.
“Morgan!” The ex-mercenary almost leapt out of his seat at the communications desk when she walked in the door. “We were wondering where you’d gone to. Maii wouldn’t say, and the Box—”
“Was just being the Box, I imagine,” said Roche easily. Then, feeling that at least a token explanation was required: “I’ve been busy catching up on things. Trying to work out what we should do next.”
“Cane and I have been talking it over too, and he thinks—”
“The Palasian System still seems our best option.”
Haid blinked at her for an instant, mildly surprised. “Exactly.”
“But what about you, Ameidio? What do you think?”
“I don’t believe it’s my place to decide.” His black face wrinkled into a smile. “I’m glad you’re feeling yourself again. I was getting a little worried, what with all that moping about you’ve been doing.”
“Whatever.” Haid gestured vaguely. “The fact is, we’re almost ready to go.”
“Really?” Roche picked a seat at random from the many available on the bridge, and settled into it.
“Yes,” said Haid. “The deal went through in the end.”
“And the repairs are finished,” supplied Cane from where he stood, poised like a sentry beside the command dais. “We’re just waiting on a systems check from the ship’s AI and for the last of the fuel to be loaded.”
“All we need is your ident on the contract, and—” Haid swept a hand through the air “—we’re out of here.”
“Good.” She sighed, relieved. “We’ve stayed too long already.”
“I’ll say. The Box is getting weirder by the second.”
“Then we’d better get started before it changes its mind about helping us.” She glanced up at the main screen, at the shadowy image of Intelligence HQ. “We need a course to the Palasian System with a brief stop at Walan Third along the way. Nothing too energetic; there’s no great urgency, but I would like to get there before the trail grows cold.
“We can even run past Sciacca’s World on the way, Ameidio, if you’d prefer to go back.”
“No.” Haid shook his head. “Emmerik and Neva can handle things back there, and I don’t want to feel like an outsider again. Here, at least, I’ll get to be part of the system—as much as anyone else is.”
Roche nodded. “How does navigator sound?”
“Perfect.”
“Good. Then run the route past the main AI to make sure you haven’t exceeded any design tolerances before you feed it in. We shouldn’t take anything for granted until we know the ship properly.” That was only half the truth. Feeding the route through the system would give Kajic, not the onboard AI, a chance to check it. And the Box could check Kajic as a fail-safe. Between the three of them, there was a reasonable chance of reaching their destination.
“Why Walan Third?” asked Cane, when Haid turned to the astrogation board.
When Cane frowned his lack of comprehension, Roche explained briefly what Maii’s comment had meant. On Walan Third, the local chapter of the Commerce Artel owned a plot of honor-stands, the Eckandi equivalent of a graveyard; there the body could be handed over to the Artel chapter, which would deal with it in the proper fashion.
Time... From the Midnight to Port Parvati—no matter how much she had, it had always seemed either too much or too little.
She glanced at Cane nearby.
Maii said nothing in response to that, and Roche hadn’t expected her to. There were no explanations when it came to Cane and the Sol Wunderkind, which was precisely the reason why she had to go looking for them.
For a start, she planned to spend much of the time ahead brushing up on history: from the founding of the original Apotheosis Movement colony to its ultimate destruction in the Sol System two and a half thousand years ago. Vast amounts of information about their ancient enemy awaited rediscovery in the files—and she would need all of it before she felt confident about coming face to face with the Sol Wunderkind from the Palasian System. If she could ever allow herself that luxury.
There was so much to do. And Kajic was right: she needed to be focused if those around her were to share her goals. Once they did that, the problem of idleness would be solved. No matter that it might be years before they could relax and enjoy their newfound freedom, anything was better than having nothing definite before them.
“We’re a little understaffed,” said Haid, breaking her train of thought—as though reading her mind. “I can handle navigation, with the Box’s help. Between you, Cane, and Maii we can cover most of the other active systems—but who’s going to look after life support, drive maintenance and telemetry?”
“Don’t worry about it, Ameidio,” she said.
“I can’t help it,” he said with a wry grin. “I’m not sure I like the idea of the Box running everything.”
“Neither am I.” Roche shifted in her seat, wondering what Haid would think of Kajic. “When everything’s settled and we’re on our way, we’ll have some sort of meeting to sort these things out. We’ll find a way.”
“I guess you’ll have to,” Haid said, smiling. “Old habits die hard, but it’s good to know that someone else will be making the big decisions from now on. The fact is, I’ve been looking forward to taking it easy. A holiday, perhaps, or a harmless adventure or two.”
She smiled in return, letting his backhanded confidence wash over her. Despite the Box’s intrigues, the vague threat of the Sol Wunderkind, and the enemies she had made in COE Intelligence HQ, she wasn’t nearly as concerned about the future as she had been before. If there were any more surp
rises left for the Universe to throw at her, then at least she would try to deal with them.
“‘Harmless’?” she echoed. “Now there’s a thought.”
APPENDIX
The Commonwealth of Empires:
a Brief Report on Its Origins, Progress, and Current Affairs
(from The Guidebook to the Outer Arms, 456th Edition)
Thirty-one thousand light-years from galactic center, barely one hundred light-years from the galactic plane, and encompassing almost five thousand solar systems, the Commonwealth of Empires (COE) is an institution in a region where longevity is hardly a prerequisite for government. Its calendar dates back forty thousand years—not without interruption, but at least with some accuracy—and the progression of authority—peaceable, for the most part—can be traced down its leaders for ninety percent of that time. Given the limitations of the Pristine Caste, that its name and authority are still recognized at all is, quite simply, remarkable.1
The beginnings of the COE lie some distance from its current location. This region of the Outer Arms has seen many outsweep migrations from the Middle Reaches, and has thus endured its fair share of invasions. The Commonwealth began modestly enough as a federation of fifteen independent systems formed to deter an encroaching totalitarian state, the name of which is no longer recorded. The capital of the fledgling COE was on Shem, now a part of the Undira Province, and its first Eupatrid was Jo-en Nkuyan, a charismatic leader whose rule was characterized by fair dealing between all biological and socioeconomic Castes—a characteristic the present COE still endeavors to maintain, at least in public.
The principles upon which the COE was founded will be familiar to anyone who has studied the rise and fall of mundane civilizations across the galaxy. Democracy is a powerful sociopolitical philosophy that has enjoyed many revivals, both spontaneous and deliberate, often, as in this case, coupled with a desire to keep religion and state separate.2 In the case of the COE, it was coupled with a strong desire to decentralize government, to allow provinces to maintain their own affairs with only guidance from the Eupatrids and their most senior advisers. Unified military and policing forces were two of only a handful of departments that remained under direct control of the Eupatrid. Everything else was negotiable.3
As a result of this laissez-faire flexibility, the COE rapidly became a middle ground for many trading nations as well as a market place for such organizations as the Commerce Artel, recently expelled from the region, and later the Eckandar Trade Axis, whose strict economic rationalism had deterred many more conservative regimes from entering negotiations. Its population increased dramatically—along with the viability of its economy—as businesses sought to attain citizenship with the Commonwealth, and the Commonwealth in turn welcomed them with open arms. Diplomatic delegates forged ties between all of its major neighbors, thereby establishing itself as an independent entity in its own right, if not yet a major player in regional politics.
Nkuyan and the Eupatrids that followed her were far from fools. It has been shown time and time again that the surest way to insure oneself against attack from a neighbor is to ensure that the economic stability of the region would suffer as a result of political upheaval. Economic embargoes have felled as many governments as open warfare.
The COE’s relatively minor role in regional politics changed in its 4th Millennium4 when hostilities between its original aggressor and the recently formed Kesh Supreme Union sparked a major conflict between two of its close allies, forcing it to take sides in the dispute. The fact that it chose no sides at all and remained fiercely aloof from the conflict through its entire forty years earned the COE a reputation for both arrogance and integrity. That was exacerbated by its claim of a handful of systems abandoned after the war—systems no other nation had sought title to.
Accusations of opportunism were fiercely rejected: rather, the COE stated, it was obtaining resources by peaceful means and aiding the inhabitants of the fallow systems in the process. Indeed, all but one of the disputed systems elected to remain with the COE when the choice was offered to them. The sole dissenter, Knagg’s System, was allowed to secede without fuss, although much later the COE would regret its lenience.5
Between the remainder of the 4th and the 11th Millennia, the Commonwealth of Empires flourished. Trade blossomed between the COE Pristines and the Castes with which they came into contact. The Eckandar embraced their openness; the Surin found comfort in the relaxed ritual of their diplomats; the Hurn enjoyed the discourse of their intricate parliament; the Mbata mingled at ease with all their classes, from Eupatrid to commoner; the incommunicative Olmahoi established an ongoing dialogue with the philosophers among them. Only the Kesh took offense at the existence of the Commonwealth, as they often do with emergent Pristine nations, but even they were forced to recant in time. After smashing the power base of the COE in the Interdiction Wars, and forcing its leadership underground for almost two thousand years, during which time the Commonwealth did not officially exist, the inherently temporal nature of the Kesh Supreme Union allowed a reemergence in the 15th Millennium of a newly energized Commonwealth of Empires—one that swore never to repeat the mistakes that had led to its near downfall.
A new capital,6 the third of seventeen to date, a new roll call of systems, and new neighbors encouraged the Commonwealth to find still more strength in change. The line of Eupatrids leading from the Interdiction Wars to the present reflects this uncommon direction. The COE allowed systems and nations to join or leave at will; only rarely, as in the recent Dato Bloc incident, has a secession been disputed or disallowed outright. The willing participation of all its territories is the underlying strength of the Commonwealth, for when such support is wholehearted, the larger group can only thrive. This larger group has come in recent centuries to include several High Human representatives—most notably the Crescend, an outspoken Interventionist whose opinions have found a fertile breeding ground in the egalitarian environment of the Commonwealth.7
But to catalogue the history and assets of the COE is to risk painting an entirely—and unduly—rosy portrait. The Dato Bloc incident itself reflects a trend that has surfaced on occasion in the past, only to be quashed before threatening to overwhelm the local political landscape. The COE’s inherent flexibility is not reflected by all its departments; in the arena of security it has been notoriously rigid at times, a characteristic possibly inherited from the Interdiction Wars. Its Armada, among the best-trained Pristine forces of the Outer Arms, is perilously open to corruption from within, the loose rule of the Eupatrid allowing personal empires to rise and fall relatively unchecked. When these empires threaten the Commonwealth itself—by allowing secessionist policy, as in the case of the Dato Bloc, to defer to strategic policy— conflicts can occur.8 Only time will tell if the balance will once again be restored, and the Commonwealth’s usual easygoing tolerance of its neighbors, new and old, will return.
While the politics of its security departments remains a concern, however, its systems of information gathering (if not the dissemination of the same) are excellent.9 Only the Eckandar Trade Axis currently has better data networks than those of the COE delegates. As far as mundane nations go in this regard, the Commonwealth rates very highly indeed; although still far behind the High Castes, they have achieved a comprehension of the wider galaxy far in excess of their relevance to it. One analyst recently reported that its Leditschke indicators might be as high as 2.5, indicating a genuine understanding of one percent of the wider galaxy’s current affairs (even though its total volume is less than one one-millionth of one percent). If, as has been frequently stated down the millennia, information is power, then the COE must be ranked among the major players of this sector of the Outer Arms.
In conclusion, the Commonwealth of Empires is, as a nominal entity, still as vital as it was in its heyday. One could argue that it is in fact a quite different entity from the original federation of systems formed forty thousand years ago, and only time will tell how m
uch longer it will survive, but its pedigree is impressive, and present indicators are positive. One could confidently expect it to maintain its headline position in this section of the Guide by the time the next edition is published, one hundred years from now.
Footnotes to the Appendix
1. The authors assume as always that the reader is familiar with the distinctions made between High, mundane, Exotic and Pristine Castes. The critical point here is that few nations comprised predominantly of the Pristine Caste exceed the Batelin Limit—the ceiling above which complexity exceeds biological capabilities; a nation becomes too complex, in other words, for its citizens to comprehend the nation in its entirety. In the case of the Pristine Caste, that ceiling is usually quoted at three and a half thousand systems. High Castes frequently achieve figures in excess of several thousand million.
2. The COE is, in fact, an atheist state. It is interesting to note the strong correlation between aggressive expansionism and state religion. Of the seventy percent of mundane nations that profess to have no official belief system, fewer that fifty percent have embarked on explosive outsweeps, whereas more that seventy percent of those that do follow a theistic regime have done so at some point during their existence. Also notable in this case is the observation that atheist states tend to exhibit increased longevity.
3. The COE was aiming for economic and political stability, in other words, rather than Transcendence. Unlike some of its neighbors, such as the Olmahoi and the short-lived (but explosive) Sol Apotheosi Movement, its long-term targets are set very close to home. Its rate of growth has never been rapid by most standards, and can be viewed more as extrapolated consolidation than as true expansion.
4. To put the calendar in perspective, the date of the founding of the COE can be given as 410,623, according to the Objective Reference Calendar of the A-14 Higher Collaborative Network. The relevance of the ORA14 has been called into question in recent years, however, given the emergence of Pristine (some would say “Primodial” here) Humanity into the wider galaxy. The point at which the Objective Reference Calendar is supposed to begin, is currently estimated to be minus 40,000 years. All dates within the COE are measured from zero Ex Nihilo, and will be for the remainder of the report.