“I almost had it,” she said.
She finished tying his boots. Still on her knees, she took his left arm and pushed his sleeve up to his elbow. She kissed the scar where his cubital port used to be. He’d had to have it removed, along with his cochlear implants and BCI. It hadn’t been a one-way trade. In return for giving up his augments, he’d gotten a complete course of anti-addiction meds. He’d also gotten a security crystal implanted in his right wrist.
Michael came in. “Hey, are you guys doing sexy grown-up stuff I’m not supposed to see?”
“Yeah, this is how babies are made,” Kiyoshi deadpanned. Molly flushed at the throwaway line.
Michael didn’t notice. He slammed the door and rolled his eyes rudely at the approximate location of the surveillance camera in the ceiling. “I’ve got something for you! Do you want it now?”
Michael was living on the destroyer, so Kiyoshi assumed that was where he’d just come from. ‘Something’ had to mean something from Jun.
He hadn’t seen Jun since the day they took his retinal implants out. Hadn’t heard his voice since his cochlear implants went. The naked world turned out to be a vast plain of suck, not because of all the minor inconveniences that went with not having augments, but because Jun wasn’t in it. Kiyoshi missed him even more, if that was possible, because Jun was right here—when he wasn’t on a run to Eris or someplace—serving out the same penance as Kiyoshi, and yet they couldn’t even talk, thanks to the SSSA’s stupid goddamn information security regulations.
So ‘something from Jun’? Yeah, he wanted it now.
“What is it, a Bible quotation?”
“No. Kind of close, but no.” Michael opened one bony fist. In it lay a crucifix just over a centimeter long. Kiyoshi picked it up, awed by the artistic detail of the crucified Christ. If Jun had made it, the detail probably went down to nano-scale. It looked like silver but felt heavier. It was an earring.
“Are you sure this is for me?”
“Yes! Jun said to give it to you myself,” Michael hissed.
“I don’t have pierced ears.”
“Oh.” Michael stared at Kiyoshi’s ears. They were easy to see now that Kiyoshi’s hair was short. “I guess he didn’t think of that.”
“Nah, he knows, but it doesn’t matter. Just push it through.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“It’s only a freaking earlobe, Mikey.”
Molly eased the boy aside. “I’ll do it.” She took Kiyoshi’s earlobe in her fingers, set the earring in place, and snapped it shut. Pain stabbed through his ear. It was nothing. Molly kissed his ear; he felt the heat and wetness of her tongue. She was licking away the blood.
“Ugh. You’re going to traumatize me,” Michael said.
“You’ll be a teenager in a couple of years, and then I’ll be the one complaining,” Kiyoshi said. He’d formally adopted Michael, with the SSSA’s consent.
Michael whispered: “He said, when you want to activate it, twist it.”
“What does it do?”
Michael shrugged—he didn’t know.
A brassy sequence of notes rang out.
“Shit. I’m late.”
He ran downstairs, leaving Michael and Molly to follow. They would find somewhere to hang out at the back.
Corporate VIPs and high-ranking SSSA and CEF personnel filled clusters of teak-hued ergoforms suspended three-dimensionally through the former park in the middle of InSec Center. The space now gave the impression of a posh frequent flier lounge. A temporary stage occupied one end. Kiyoshi bounded up the steps and ducked backstage just as the curtains opened.
Oliver Legacy, in a new three-piece suit, delivered Part Two of his public-relations offensive. The smart walls displayed interactive powerpoints celebrating the SSSA’s transparency and openness.
Backstage, Kiyoshi stood in his place in line, waiting and sweating, and wondering what the hell his new earring did. It couldn’t be just a beautiful object. Jun’s beautiful objects always had a function that followed their form. With half an ear he listened to Legacy delivering a paean to the end of historical, national, ethnic, and religious divisions.
“Translation,” whispered an angry female voice on his left, “after all we went through, the PLAN fucking won.”
Maybe, but the Galapajin were living undisturbed in Worldhouse 2. They’d chosen to make Pallas their new home. The former prison was now a world unto itself, defined by the Galapajin’s efficient farming methods, their perpetual tinkering, and their traditional Catholicism. No one had suggested uprooting them. In fact, their friends and relations had begun to arrive from Ceres. This ironically guaranteed that Kiyoshi and Jun would do whatever the SSSA told them to do.
But they were being left alone, quirks and all. And throughout the solar system, other colonists were discovering that the junta’s military monopoly masked a laissez faire approach to lifestyle regulations.
“Beyond our role in providing safety and security for humanity at home,” Legacy segued, “the SSSA, in partnership with the CEF, will also spearhead a new and aggressive initiative to colonize the outer system, and beyond.”
The VIPs applauded louder. They smelled government contracts. Kiyoshi knew that this was not really a new initiative. Michael had worked out, and Jun had later confirmed, that the Worldhouse Project had been practice for colonizing Tau Ceti f, a theoretically habitable planet 12 lightyears from Earth. Now, more money was apparently going to be thrown at that endeavor, and was that a bad thing? Couldn’t Kiyoshi close his eyes to what the SSSA was, and feel OK about the things it did?
“Befitting our new focus on the unification of humanity,” Legacy went on, “I’d like to take this opportunity to introduce you to some amazing individuals.”
That was Kiyoshi’s cue. He straightened his uniform. The whole line of them trooped out on stage. Bright lights blinded Kiyoshi for a moment. One of Molly’s bows had come undone; his right boot was loose. He formed up with the others, facing front.
“SSSA lieutenant Wang Duyi!”
Wang, at the head of the line, swaggered forward for his moment in the spotlight. He was a wetwork specialist from the former Imperial Chinese intelligence agency, which had been folded into the SSSA. He was a poisonous little dickshit, in Kiyoshi’s opinion.
“SSSA expert Andrea Miller!”
Andrea Miller did not smile. From the SSSA’s point of view, she’d been forgiven. From her point of view, this was the price she paid for being allowed to stay on Pallas with her chickens.
“SSSA captain Calhoun Gilbert!”
If looks were lasers, Kiyoshi’s gaze would have dropped Gilbert before he reached the podium. Calhoun Gilbert was the psychotic asshole who’d compelled his surrender seven months ago. The sole recompense was that Gilbert had been booted down to captain, but knowing him, it wouldn’t be long before he squirmed back up the ladder.
“SSSA information technician Hu Peizhi!”
Kiyoshi’s ear throbbed. He wondered again what the earring was for. Was it just a little fuck-you for the cameras? An easter egg for Christians around the solar system, letting them know at least one person in the SSSA was on their side?
Or …
Beyond the lights, the VIPs floated in clusters like flowers on invisible vines. This room currently held most of the solar system’s corporate elite, as well as a big chunk of the SSSA’s own hierarchy, and several multi-starred CEF generals. All in the same place at once. Tch, tch. Bad operational security. It showed how secure they felt in their power.
“SSSA lieutenant Alicia Petruzzelli!”
Petruzzelli stepped forward smartly, leaving the space on Kiyoshi’s left empty. The set of her back revealed nothing as Legacy praised her heroic record in Star Force, and expressed expectations that she would be an equally valuable asset to the SSSA. Petruzzelli was the one who’d made that nasty comment about the PLAN winning when they were backstage. But Kiyoshi had a feeling that she alone of them all had really want
ed this. She was a complicated woman.
It would be her, too. It would be Andrea Miller and Josh Slade and all their former colleagues.
He squinted into the auditorium. Way at the back, someone was waving and jumping up and down. He guessed that was Elfrida Goto. John Mendoza must be with her. So it would be them, too.
“SSSA captain Kiyoshi Yonezawa!”
He’d not anticipated how deep those words would cut.
Anger burning behind an expressionless face, he walked to the podium. He smelled sawdust, anti-bacterial spray, and Legacy’s body odor.
Legacy praised his record. He had some difficulty with this, as Kiyoshi’s record consisted of serially breaking the law, but he managed to portray Kiyoshi as a intrepid freebooter who had seen the light.
Here, closer to the front of the stage, Kiyoshi could see the audience better. His heart almost stopped as he caught sight of Michael in the overflow crowd crawling up the walls. The swatch of blue beside him would be Molly’s hair. And there was Colin with them, taking time out from his new job as a construction worker.
So it would be them, too.
“I hereby confirm your commission in the Solar System Security Agency,” Legacy intoned.
Kiyoshi inclined his head far enough for Legacy to reach.
His pulse raced.
He felt feverish.
Forgive me.
He reached up—making Legacy jerk back in a frightened overreaction—and twisted the earring.
Nothing happened.
Legacy recovered. He placed a slim black collar around Kiyoshi’s neck. It fused shut.
The dome did not explode, depressurize, or melt.
Kiyoshi had been wrong. The earring was nothing. Just a beautiful object.
He fingered the collar Legacy had put on him. It was a secure comms unit, the symbol of his commission. Not tight enough to be uncomfortable, but you’d never forget it was there. Its resemblance to a slave collar couldn’t be accidental.
“Work with us,” Legacy mouthed to him.
Kiyoshi uttered the same meaningless words of appreciation that others had used, and returned to his place in line.
“Come over and talk after this,” Jun said.
Kiyoshi jumped so violently he knocked against Petruzzelli, who scowled.
He could see Jun.
Petruzzelli obviously couldn’t. No one else could.
Jun stood in front of Kiyoshi, as solid as ever, in the brown cassock he now wore as a Jesuit novice. He ambled across the stage and turned in a circle, arms outspread, face tilted up to the lights.
“Wow,” he said. “This place looks like a spaceport lounge. I preferred the grass.”
Kiyoshi smirked. It seemed so funny that none of these smug, powerful people could see the little monk traipsing through their ceremony.
~The earring. It’s a hack for the secure comms unit? he subvocalized. A moment later he realized the secure comms unit did not have vid capability.
“Yeah,” Jun said. “I managed to get hold of the specs. But it’s also a crucifix, Kiyoshi.”
~Nice work.
“Now we can talk anytime. So come over later, OK? Bring Michael and Molly.”
~Sure, if I can get away. There’s a reception and then a dinner thing. Heh, I can ditch that. He might as well start as he meant to go on.
“Great. I’ll see you later,” Jun said. “Kiyoshi?”
~Yeah?
“It’s going to be OK.”
xxxvi.
Elfrida had never imagined that getting married could be so arduous.
“If you keep wriggling, I can’t sew this,” her mother said, kneeling behind her with a needle and thread.
Her dress didn’t fit. It was not a modern printed garment. It was a poufy, frilly heirloom—the very dress that Mendoza’s mother had worn at her wedding forty years ago. Mendoza really wanted Elfrida to wear it in memory of his mother, who’d passed away two years ago. So that’s what she was doing. But Marisol Mendoza had been smaller and shorter than Elfrida was.
Her mother had painstakingly let out the bodice with matching fabric, and added another frill to the hem. And now the dress turned out to be too long, because Elfrida had forgotten to tell her mother that she wouldn’t be wearing high heels.
“You could borrow my shoes,” said Cydney Blaisze.
Elfrida rolled her eyes at her ex-girlfriend. “Cyds, my feet are twice the size of yours.”
It touched and delighted her that Cydney had come all this way, but …
“Do please stop moving your face,” said Miss Mercury 2291, who stood in front of Elfrida, applying make-up to her face. “You don’t want to end up with crooked eyebrows.”
Elfrida did kind of wish Cydney hadn’t brought her new wife.
Not that she begrudged Cydney the happiness she’d found on Mercury. As a high-powered executive in the tourism industry, Cydney had consolidated her celebrity status by marrying into the famous Wright family. But it was kind of intimidating to have a supermodel doing your make-up.
Holding her face as still as she could, staring past Miss Mercury into the three-way mirror, Elfrida despaired of her appearance. In vain she reminded herself that John didn’t care what she looked like. You only got married once. And everyone was here.
Here: on Mars.
Elfrida had recklessly sprayed invitations far and wide across the solar system. To her dismay, nearly everyone had RSVP’d. She assumed they would balk at travelling to Mars, of all places—had anticipated a wedding party that consisted of her parents, Mendoza’s cousins, and a few of the gang from Pallas. But as it turned out, all their friends and acquaintances had jumped at the chance to visit Mars. Her wedding was a secondary attraction, Elfrida suspected.
How quickly fear faded, and curiosity took its place!
Six months after the final destruction of the PLAN, Mars was still off-limits to civilians. The CEF enforced the quarantine by summarily slagging intruders—no warnings, no second chances. Unlike the former Star Force and CTDF, the Combined Earth Forces did not screw around. But actually, all the top people in the CEF were Star Force / CTDF officers who’d served in the field, and Elfrida knew some of them from her spell on Eureka Station. Her visa application had been personally approved by Admiral Jeremy McLean.
Of course, it wasn’t McLean who’d made it possible for her to get married on Mars in the first place …
Eyes closed so Miss Mercury could do her eyelids, wondering if she dared scratch her nose, Elfrida heard a voice in her ears.
“Can you get away for a few minutes?”
Elfrida jumped. Miss Mercury sighed in exasperation. Elfrida was still not used to her new phone—a nearly-invisible pair of wireless earbuds, the latest thing. Everyone was using external comms tech now. BCIs had gone right out of fashion. Funny, that.
~I’m kind of stuck here, she subvocalized. Her phone picked it up via the induction mic stuck on her throat, which looked like a pearl pendant.
“This is urgent,” Jun Yonezawa said.
If he said it was urgent, it was. Jun was pretty much the most important person on Mars. Not the most powerful. That was a crucial distinction, she’d been made to understand. A monk couldn’t wield any power. But everyone in the CEF listened to Jun, having learned the hard way that taking his advice was usually a good idea.
Elfrida was Jun’s guest here on Mars. So she was going to listen to him, too. Screw her dress and make-up.
~OK, she subvocalized. ~We’ve still got an hour before the ceremony, anyway.
“Great. Just tell them you need to sort out some paperwork.”
~Where do you need me to go?
“I’ll show you the way.”
A blue U-turn arrow appeared on her contacts, directing her to turn away from the mirror.
Elfrida steeled herself, “Mom, Cyds, Isabel? Apparently there’s a problem with our paperwork …”
“Oh, Ellie!” her mother cried. “I haven’t finished your hem!”
<
br /> “I’ll take it off and you can work on it while I do this,” Elfrida said, trying to reach the zip of her dress. Then she realized she had nothing else to put on. They’d already taken her jeans and sweatshirt away to be recycled, and she was supposed to change into another dress after the ceremony, which wasn’t ready yet.
“Hurry up,” Jun said, with a tinge of urgency in his voice.
Elfrida moaned, picked up her skirts and extricated herself from the room, while Cydney screamed at her not to mess up her hair, and her mother superstitiously begged her not to let John see her.
Jun’s blue arrows pointed her down the hall of the visitors’ hostel. It was a former PLAN building, constructed from reddish Martian regocrete, the ceilings too high and the halls too narrow. She nearly collided with one of the Dougs from Mercury—she still couldn’t tell them apart—balancing four crates of champagne on top of each other, a superhuman feat that Mars’s low gravity made possible. “Where’s John?” she gasped, forgetting to subvocalize.
“Dunno,” said the Doug. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”
“Don’t worry,” said a new voice in her ears—Kiyoshi. “I’m keeping him busy.”
“Don’t you dare get him drunk.”
“Plenty of time for that later,” Kiyoshi said.
She followed the arrows across the reception area downstairs. Everyone stared at her. This was awful. She burst out into the open air.
Of course it was not really the open air.
But it felt like it, with the dome overhead so high that you couldn’t see the triple roof of transparent aluminum and impact-resistant plastic, only the pale brown Martian sky.
Almost a year to the day after the Big Breakup, the CEF had taken Olympus Mons, the PLAN’s last stronghold. The PLAN had died hard. After its artillery was destroyed, it had thrown million-strong waves of Martians at the human invaders. The resulting bloodbath would have made previous genocides look like pub brawls, if not for Jun. The CEF had deployed millions of hastily manufactured flying drones, each of which had a single function: to broadcast his St. Stephen Oratorio—the same cyberweapon that had freed the first Martians—version 2.0. A virus packaged in a three-part oratorio for voice and orchestra, it disabled the PLAN’s command-and-control interface. Singly, by tens, by hundreds, by thousands, Martian soldiers all over Olympus Mons had just stopped fighting. At the same time, human special forces had daringly taken out the PLAN’s underground power plants.
The Callisto Gambit Page 41
