by Chad Huskins
“Taking us back to zero,” Pennick said. “That’s your goal, Kalder. That’s what we all know.”
“Taking us back to fundamentals,” Kalder clarified.
The big man rolled his eyes. “If you like. But it’s not that much different than what Notombis was suggesting, is it? He said we ought to pull back to Sol, as well.”
“Yes,” Kalder said, “but his intentions are to build up the military so that, once we have time to expand, we would, and that we ought to go at the Brood. My argument is that, by the time we’ve advanced, so will have the Brood. We don’t pull everything back to Sol and waste resources trying to reconnect with lost colonies. We use what resources we have to begin a Crusade, and discover whatever it was that the Worshippers found so intriguing about the Strangers.”
“The Worshippers,” said Pennick. “You refer to the theoretical peoples who theoretically may have worshipped the Strangers, who themselves are only a theoretical ancient society, and might in fact have been merely a conglomeration of many different species.”
“The Strangers were real,” Kalder said. “They may still be. And the Worshippers saw fit to study their great works a million years before the rest of us even knew they had existed.” He looked at Pennick. “They began a great crusade of their own, these Worshippers, one they left unfinished but written in their Scrolls. I’m suggesting we finish it.”
Kalder gestured towards another hallway, and Pennick nodded politely and went along. They stepped into a passage filled with aides and pages going about their duties, relaying messages and bringing documents that needed signing to their masters lounging in the pools.
“You called me down here to put me at ease,” Pennick said. “You know I miss the waters of my homeworld, particularly the saunas.”
“You have me,” Kalder allowed. “But I also called you because, as we’ve discussed, the past is in the past, and the best time to protect against future occurrences of fallout is to act presently. I am willing to make a change, Senator. It is time for one. I am willing to meet you halfway so that we don’t end up at each other’s throats like we were during Entitlement Reform.”
Pennick sighed and pulled to a stop. “What are you offering?” he said rather coarsely.
“My complete support,” Kalder said. “For one bill. And one bill only.”
“Which one?”
“Up to you.”
“Why?”
Kalder stepped out of the way of a two-legged bot that came hobbling by, its servomotors whining from neglect. Then he stepped closer to Pennick. “It’s time for change, Pennick. There’s no other way to look at it. Certain political realities have to be accepted. I am not capable of passing one single bill on my own name. The Corporate Arm rejects my proposals outright. They don’t even wait to hear what it is I’m proposing, or read the legislation, they just see that it comes from me and assume the worst. The Liberty Arm I can manage, but the Corporate Arm…So if you help me, I will help you.”
“Why would I need your help specifically?” asked Pennick, raising a meaty hand to rub at days-old stubble. “Why would your support mean more than, say, the support of Aberteen or Romol? They’re Restorers too, and they’ve been far more amicable towards the legislation I’ve pushed through.”
“Because Aberteen is fickle, and Romol is a stalled Restorer who will soon have to convert to the Liberty Arm if he wishes to continue in politics. And because, as we’ve already established, while I’m not very good at proposing new change, when it comes to supporting a bill I am like a plasma bomb thrown into the middle of market crowd,” Kalder said. “People on the other side scatter, fearing that they will make their own bills the target of one of my rants and circumlocutions.”
He held out his hands, a gesture of conciliation.
“As we both know, my filibusters can exhaust even the most resolute men and women. Anything I set my mind against withers and dies. I still have enough connections that I can bog down virtually any legislation I want, and kill it right there on the floor.” It wasn’t a threat, it was a fact, and it was a reminder of what sort of relationship they could have if Pennick didn’t accept his offer.
The big man slowly stepped around him and admired one of the obsidian goblin statues that had been rescued from some world when the Brood had appeared, some world now filled with dead cities and irradiated wastelands. “And,” Pennick said, “what would it cost me to get this favor from you? And how could I be sure you would keep your word?”
“In your entire life, when have you ever heard even a single story where Kalder told a lie? Have you even heard a rumor of such a phenomenon? A whisper? A theory? A postulation?”
Pennick could only nod.
If Kalder’s fanatical devotion to Zeroism was good for nothing else, it guaranteed that the man had to keep his word, no matter what. Not because he had a reputation to keep, though that was the key to what influence he had left, but because he needed to maintain self-consistency if he was going be sure of his life’s journey when he died.
“But there will be a favor owed, won’t there?” Pennick said. “What is it?”
“Support for my bill,” Kalder said. “Or at least a version of it. A new draft. One that we will write together, allowing for at least one legion to be sent, under my control, to potentially dangerous territories in search of the answers to the Scrolls—”
The old soldier was already shaking his head. “The other Corporatists will never allow such a ludicrous thing. Their focus right now is protecting their foundry worlds and establishing new ones. They would never allow it.”
“They will if I throw full support behind your nomination to the party leader,” Kalder said.
At this point, Pennick squinted, looking at him as if he expected to find some attack coming from elsewhere. “What do you mean? Cenagul is the party leader.”
“Senator, you know that I do not lie, so I can tell you now with absolute certainty that Cenagul will soon be stepping down. I advise you not to ask why, lest you involve yourself with scandal.” Pennick had just opened his mouth to speak, but now closed it. “So, when it happens, you will have my support. No one else in the Corporate Arm will be able to claim that. You will be known as the man who speaks so much sense that even Kalder the Dreaded was forced to listen. Senator Pennick will have made Kalder bend.”
Doubt tugged at the corners of Pennick’s mouth. “Why do you think I would even want the leadership?”
“Because both consulships are up for grabs soon, and we know elections to Consul go better for those with experience in Arm leadership. It shows a familiarity with reaching across the aisle. And the people, as well as senators, respect that.” Then Kalder stepped closer, and spoke sotto voce, “And the Imperator has been missing for years, and soon, very soon, I suspect we will have to do the unthinkable. We will have to do what I suggested in last session.”
Pennick stiffened. “We will not replace the Imperator until we know he’s dead! We cannot just replace him without—”
“We can and we will,” Kalder said. “It may not be dignified to speak of it, and it may not happen while I live, but a man like yourself? A man with access to military regens? Why, you could live to see much, Senator. Who knows? You could even be there to…assist with the transition.”
The implications were clearly not lost on Pennick. He bristled. “Are you suggesting that I would take the Imperator’s seat—”
“You know me well enough to know that I never suggest anything. I say what I mean, sometimes to my own detriment, but I say it anyway,” Kalder said, stepping aside to let a courier jog past. “I am merely pointing out a fact. The Senate was built to be the Efficiency, as written in our Constitution, and the Imperator’s station was made to embody the Dignity. You and I could start rebuilding both the Efficiency and the Dignity. If the Imperator’s seat is left empty much longer, a decision will have to be made, and I’m certain that all Arm leaders will be a part of that discussion.”
Kald
er nodded thoughtfully.
“I am certain your name will come up, which only befits a man of your authority and attainments. You are an exemplar of Corporatism, you’re the corporate controlling interest of Izvenocki Mercantile, a lifelong businessman, with extensive military experience you’ve used to marshal defenses of your trade posts. You’re the very incarnation of a Corporate Arm ideal. You—hold on a moment.” A chime had sounded from the folds of his robes. It was Julian, messaging him on his imtech.
On the back of his imtech lenses, Kalder read the message. Just eleven words: The Queen of Mothers is dead. And Moira has found something.
“Senator Pennick, if you’ll excuse me, an emergency has come up that requires my attention. Please think about what we discussed.” He started away.
Suddenly, a giant hand gripped his frail arm. Pennick stepped within a few inches of his face. “I’m not the only one you came to with this.” It wasn’t a question.
“No, you’re not.”
“Who else?”
“Ackol,” Kalder said frankly.
“And what did Ackol say?”
“He agreed at once.”
“Without hesitation?”
“Without hesitation,” Kalder said.
Pennick snorted. “Did the fool even ask if you were going to propose this deal to anyone else?”
“No, I had to tell him. Which is why, all things being equal, I would much rather make this deal with you.”
“Why?”
If Kalder was still a smiling man, he would have done so now. “Because you thought to ask if I had made the offer to others.”
“And why should that matter to you, Kalder?”
Kalder thought how to best answer. “In his book Reflections, a little-known Zeroist named Hipachi-li wrote, ‘Just as the blade must be tempered by heat, so as to remove impurities from the metal, so too does a mind desire to be liberated from its own impurities by the fires of strife.’ This seeped into the culture of our Order. No matter what faction or denomination one belongs to, one thing that is always consistent is that we Zeroists like to test ourselves, to remove all weakness, all wants, all fears. In order to do that, we must test ourselves against the greatest obstacles and adversaries.”
Pennick tilted his head. “You would bring me into your designs because I’m the greater threat?”
“Because you are the greater test,” Kalder clarified. “And because you have the greater clout with the military. And because you have the bearing to maintain the Dignity.”
“And what about you, Kalder?”
“I was born to embody the Efficiency,” he said.
The big man nodded slowly. His eyes raked across Kalder’s comparatively feeble body. In those eyes, Kalder saw the soldier Pennick had once been. He saw the same fire that looked upon an enemy as something that had to be destroyed. Strange how both he and Pennick saw the same thing in one another, yet felt completely different about the outcome.
Finally, Pennick said, “All right. But this will have to be handled delicately. Once Ackol knows you came to me, he will begin preemptive strikes against my character and my political history so that it will hurt my chances at nomination.”
“Then we get out in front of it.”
“How?”
There came a chime from his holotab. Probably Julian calling him.. Kalder felt a little agitated—as it turned out, he still hadn’t completely purged himself of his annoyance over people wasting his time. “I’ll make an announcement tomorrow that ought to be your liking.”
“I’m sure,” Pennick said. Then, he looked Kalder up and down, reappraising his body. “Who’s your regen supplier?”
“I don’t use regens.”
“Then how do you do it?” Pennick whispered, leaning in closer.
Kalder backed away a step. “I don’t use regens,” he repeated. “But perhaps I know someone who could provide you with a fresh supply.”
The old rival’s lips were touched by a smile. Pennick left unspoken the new hope that Kalder had kindled inside of him. Imperator. Imagine becoming the ruler of the entire Republic. What was left of it, anyway. Now imagine you could somehow defeat the Brood. Then imagine you could get your hands on quality regens, and live forever as Imperator…
Kalder held up the holotab. “I’m sorry, but I really must go. Think about what I said.”
He left the man standing there in the corridor, the swirling mists from the saunas making him appear like an apparition disappearing in the ether. Sweat was pouring down Kalder’s own face; he hadn’t even noticed it until now. He made a call to Julian, whose face projected into the space ahead of him as he walked.
“How did it go?” his apprentice asked.
“Pennick will do as he’s told.”
“Should I prepare a statement?”
“Yes, but do not release it until I give you the word,” Kalder said, passing by the lift cage and going for the steps, because the steps were so very cruel at his age. Lifts were for the weak, stairs were a challenge. Wherever possibly, always take the stairs. A commandment from one of his old tutors.
“Is that going to be enough?” Julian asked.
“No. We still need support from the Liberators before we go public with this,” Kalder replied.
“I’ll prepare a list of prospectives.”
“Good. Now, tell me about the Queen of Mothers. Are you sure she’s dead?”
“Yes,” Julian said. “I’ve got it from the captain of the SDFA Lord Ishimoto, as well as the Visquain themselves. She and several dozen human husks were killed during the act of rescue.”
Kalder nodded, accepting the ill news and already folding it into how he might use it. “It is unfortunate,” he said. “But it may be that her terrible choice has granted us an opening.”
“How so, sir?”
“She was the last of the royal Britannia bloodline. With her gone, it is a clear symbol that we are dying. We need the people to have hope in the Crusade if we want them to support it. Before we can build hope, though, we must first breed hopelessness.”
“Shall I prepare a press release saying just that?” Julian asked sardonically.
As he ducked beneath a low-hanging stalactite, and made his way down a tunnel filled with rickety bots on their way to the marketplace to purchase items for their masters, Kalder considered many things. “Think about this,” he finally said. “If we know she’s dead, others must be learning it just now, as well. They’ll all be clambering to politicize it, and we don’t wish to look like just another group of opportunists, now do we?”
“No, sir.”
“Let’s see how it plays out. Let the word spread. Let the cold reality sink in. Her homeworld will take it especially hard. And maybe after they’ve gotten over their shock, they might be in for a little more than just saber rattling.”
Julian said, “The whole operation was a coalition force to satisfy her familly’s outrage. They may get hit hard in the court of public opinion, what with thousands of soldiers and pilots dead just to go after their Queen, who surrendered to the Brood of her own free will.”
Kalder nodded. “We’ll wait to see the effect take hold. We’ll let the outrage swell into something else, transform into a goal-seeking mindset. Meanwhile, we’ll keep pushing for the Crusade.”
He ducked beneath a knot of hissing pipes being worked on by maintenance bots.
“Eventually, I feel the two things will inevitably merge. People fed up with the way things are will search for something new. A new cause to rally behind. Something that will make it feel as though they have control for once.” He reconsidered Julian’s earlier sarcasm. “Still, we may need press releases ready for when the time comes to take advantage of this sensitive moment.”
Julian nodded. “I’ll prepare something, so we’re not caught off-guard.”
“Excellent. And what about the stellarpath? Where is she now?”
“She just arrived. She sent a wave directly to me and I alerted port author
ities to expedite her Series Seven’s registration and landing.”
“Send an escort. Have her brought to my office at once.”
“Yes, sir.”
Julian logged off.
Up two flights of stairs and down through the Department of Justiciars. Kalder passed the bot sentries that guarded the hall and heard the clicks and pops as they turned their heads to scan his face and match it against their catalog of those with access. The bots were weathered, damp, and some even had a kind of sludge that had started growing on them—a lot of bots that dwelt in asteroids gathered this gunk, but nobody seemed to know why. Perhaps some maintenance workers had once known, but the Senate, and all seats of government, were retreating so often these days, and not everyone made it to the next rendezvous point. Countless artists and artisans were scattered throughout the galaxy, along with politicians of all sorts. These bots would work until they didn’t. After that…Just more debris taking up space, he thought.
A sobering thought, to be sure.
How soon before we revert to cavemen, living on an asteroid caroming through space, giving birth to repeatedly inbred offspring who neither comprehend nor believe our former glory? A hundred years? Three hundred years?
It had long been accepted by historians that the more advanced a civilization, the easier it was for it to be destroyed. Small civilizations—farming towns, fishing villages, mountain tribes—they got used to having next to nothing, and their limited resources kept their population under control. They could survive more easily when disaster struck, maintaining traditions throughout centuries of tragedy, because it was pivotal that everyone in the tribe knew how to do the jobs of others, at least to some degree. That’s how a small civilization’s continuity was maintained.
But colossal civilizations demanded colossal oversight and colossal amounts of resources. Duties were spread thinly amongst the people in tinier and tinier increments: on the one hand it allowed for one group of people to focus on one discipline, specializing in only one or two skills, giving each piece of infrastructure a stupendous attention to detail; it made for grand accomplishments. On the other hand, when such colossal civilizations began to falter, that same focus on individual specialization caused great problems. People who knew how to build or fix a particular part of a spacecraft, for instance, were utterly useless if they ended up stranded on a world without a connection to the rest of the universe. Fuel ran out, spacecrafts didn’t take off, the skill became lost. The only skill that mattered in many places now was farming, scavenging, and the ability to adapt and accept one’s place in a lost colony. Thousands of years of unchecked colonization had cost them all.
