by Ivan Ertlov
Frank shook his head.
"Since I have claimed nothing of the sort, you don`t have to believe anything, Rear Admiral. No, we are searching for more than a thousand missing miners who vanished during an illegal operation by the Mining Consortium in the Rim Worlds. Along with the mine itself. And if we're not mistaken, you know something more about it."
This was the first step towards interrogation, with just the right amount of politeness for the situation. Actually, his friends should now be at least a little impressed.
Actually.
"In other words, we believe that you or someone in this system has been operating big time in the robbery and kidnapping business for a quarter of a century, and we would like at least the abductees back; thank you very much."
Dilara's legendary tact unfolded its effect - but differently than expected.
Surprised, Mariella raised her eyebrows, looked first at her admiral, then at the mayor, who both just raised their shoulders and indicated a shake of the head.
"I think we are dealing with a misunderstanding here, which I guarantee can be cleared up quickly. But we should discuss the rest in the government quarter - and not in front of assembled teams."
That was a sensible approach, and Frank wondered what the seat of power of this strange human settlement looked like.
And the political system itself.
*
"You must understand, we rely on a complex and sophisticated separation of powers. Because we have studied the history of mankind - ancient mankind! - extensively. We read a lot and thoroughly analysed where our ancestors made mistakes, which developments led them astray. We have no intention of repeating them."
Those were big words from Mayor Gonzales, who had quickly revealed himself to be far smarter than his appearance suggested. Frank leaned back until his shoulders disappeared into the upholstery of the armchair, and his body thanked him with a pleasant shiver.
For the first time in his life, he was in an environment that was truly and uncompromisingly created and decked out for humans - something that didn't happen even in their own neighbourhood of Splinter City. Sure, because solvent guests usually had NHS and other needs. Here, however, he felt welcome not as a Frank Gazer but as a human being.
It began with the stairs that had led them inside the impressive building, vaguely modelled on the Capitol, a legendary seat of power on lost Earth. Between white stone pillars, with a step height that flattered his knees but posed a challenge to Dila. Cursing, the Stormcommander had taken two steps at a time, while Bettsy and Florbsh had to really exert themselves. The room temperature ranged between twenty and twenty-five degrees, and it was due to Frank's conditioning in the Borsht quarter of the Splinter City, not his genetics, that he now found this decidedly warm.
Amazingly relaxed, he sat in the spacious meeting room with its elaborate panelling of light brown wood, stucco art form, and a sweeping chandelier on the ceiling. The tabletop in front of him was at the perfect height to serve as a rest for his hands, and the armchair was a cloud of comfort, almost as pleasant as the smart foam on Yrsha's pilot couches.
Well, for him, at least.
Dilara's legs were nervously bobbing back and forth a few centimetres above the floor, an armchair for the overweight - feigningly called "The American" by Mariella's assistants - had been dragged over for Troshk, and an extra-large flowerpot had been emptied for Florbsh, in which he could only relax tolerably.
Bettsy lay on a beach lounger in a tense-looking posture and eyed the snacks on the table suspiciously: Camembert and salted pretzels.
A delicacy for Frank, a very real danger of a serious relapse for Florbsh, whose pseudopodia began to tremble greedily[6] when they spotted the salt crystals. Too dead and bloodless for Dilara, too animalistic for Troshk and definitely not slippery and squeaky enough for Bettsy.
Human - just like Frank and Mariella, who nodded generously to the mayor.
"Exactly. No raids, no expansion, no pollution at home either. We have outsourced all heavy production."
Dilara straightened her ears and snorted snidely.
"So you pollute other worlds?"
The Professor smiled mildly.
"No, we forged our own micro planet for that – and called it Hephaestus."
Frank slowly began to understand.
"The metal dwarf – that´s your star forge, isn't it? Artificially created and appropriately christened after the Greek god of fire."
Mariella nodded appreciatively.
"You are more educated than I thought, and I respect that. No, we all respect it. You see, with us, knowledge is above everything - in the truest sense of the word. It orders our society."
"You are alluding to this separation of powers, aren't you?"
"Exactly. We have studied the art of ruling civilisations on ancient Earth, and in principle, democracy is probably the best solution after all, albeit with some adaptations."
Frank's jaw dropped. Of course, he had read about it, and yes, there were some administrations within the Protectorate experimenting with public votes - but the idea of having really important decisions made at planetary or system level by people who were not best suited for it but had somehow managed to collect enough votes from uninformed citizens was obscene.
"You seriously have general elections? I thought your society had learned from history? What about the historical mistakes? The votes that went wrong and their consequences? Hitler, Brexit, Martian independence under God-King Musk?"
The Professor gave the mayor an embarrassed look, and Gonzales cleared his throat.
"We don't have elections, no, but that will come. For now, we determine the members of the leadership in small circles, consisting of deserving citizens and experts."
Troshk grumbled sullenly, but he could not suppress a certain amusement despite his exaggerated display of reluctance.
"In other words, candidates do not have to convince the masses, but a circle of conspiring and networked friends. That doesn't sound very transparent. Where is the control? The separation of powers you so vaunted?"
Mariella stood up, no, she jumped up, and her eyes sparkled with righteous anger and sincere indignation.
"And that's where you're wrong, Stormcommander! What is the greatest danger to peace? A military out of control! Not with us, oh no - with us, the military-industrial complex has completely subjugated itself to politics. But, I hear you ask, what use is this if politics does not make rational decisions? If it rejects the advice of the wise and learned, of reason and science? Nothing! We would be founding a new age of ignorance, treading the paths of the crusades and the nuclear arms race, climate change denial and cryptocurrencies."
Frank guessed what was coming next, and he wasn't sure he liked it. However, his scepticism gave way to a vague unease when Mariella calmed down again, took a seat and breathed deeply.
"And that is why knowledge prevails. The military controls the raw materials and production but is subordinate to politics, which directly takes care of the administration and logistics, executive and judiciary. And it, in turn, takes its orders from the scholars. The research institutions and schools, the laboratories, and our university."
And there it was, the confirmation of his suspicions.
"You are not just any professor; you are THE Professor — the supreme scholar, guardian of knowledge, whatever else you want to call it. But in any case, the leader - or president? Which do you prefer?"
The ruler of Neoterra smiled and winked at him conspiratorially.
"Not only educated but also quick on the uptake, maybe even really intelligent. I like that. Regardless - Professor is quite enough, thank you very much. But, at the heart of the matter, all terms are just smoke and mirrors as long as the hierarchy is adhered to. And that hierarchy is set in stone. Gonzales reports to me, and to him, in turn, the Rear Admiral."
A quick glance at the men's faces. The wry, forced smile and the restrained, not exactly enthusiastic nod confirmed her
words.
Curiously, Florbsh's pseudopodia pushed upwards, stretched further and finally formed a face with a membrane and a voice.
"And you were elected to do this? So maybe not by the masses, by the full assembly of the population, but at least by an elite circle of power?"
Mariella shook her head.
"No, I took over the position from my late father last autumn. But of course, I will face an election when the construction is so far completed ..."
Dilara giggled.
"Very democratic. And transparent and all that."
If the astrotelepath was out to provoke, she had only partially achieved her goal. Tawambe merely made a derogatory hand gesture, a gesture ...
Tawambe ...
There was something in her voice, in her eyes and in her movements that seemed familiar to Frank. Not from his own experience but from records, reports, addendums to legal texts that also concerned him.
No, especially him.
... I took over the position last autumn from my late father ...
Tawambe!
Horrified, Frank jumped up, gasped, reached to his side - and into the void. No weapon, not even the Liquidor, to really wash the Professor's face.
"I - I know who you are! No, I know who you all are, what you all are - you are TRUE PEOPLE! You blew up the second moon of Grarosh just to make a mark!"
Accusingly, his finger jutted forward, aimed as menacingly as the barrel of a gun at the Professor. Troshk now jumped up as well, Dilara hissed, and Bettsy pulled her segments apart before standing up to her full height.
True people - that had been enough to get them all on their feet, claws and paws, even to make Florbsh bubble up excitedly.
Mariella, however, remained calm, letting the reproach bounce off her without effect.
"No. Our ancestors were True Humans, and yes, my grandmother blew the second moon to pieces to point out the injustice of the Lex Humanitas. But we have changed. My father reformed us, set a new, peaceful agenda with Freezemayer and Gonzales - and built all this."
Bettsy had not yet calmed down, and her mandibles clicked indignantly.
"With stolen raw materials?"
For the first time, the rear admiral intervened in the conversation in a cutting, unpleasantly Teutonic voice.
"Stolen? That would be news to me. Who owns ores and bioresources within the Protectorate?"
Frank sat down reluctantly and shrugged his shoulders.
"Who does? The one who has registered a legitimate claim and is mining them."
"Correct, Mister Gazer. And to whom in the Rim? I'm sure their lawyer can answer that."
Florbsh raised his pseudopod higher.
"This is an exciting question, and exciting in our circles means five mineral units per hour plus expenses, without any guarantees of success. There is no universal legal right in interstellar space, in asteroid belts or on celestial bodies without their own jurisdiction. However, the right of use considers the person who brings the mined raw materials back to a transhipment point, a spaceport or to his base as the rightful owner and sole possessor. Which opens the door to semi-legal piracy."
Mariella smiled broadly.
"Semi-legal is not illegal, or am I mistaken?"
Dilara shook her head.
"No, it isn't. But kidnapping and deprivation of liberty are. So, I take it, also in your legislation?"
Cuck Freezemayer wrinkled his nose in disdain.
"Of course, we are not barbarians. I assume you're talking about our little guerrilla operation against the Mining Consortium - which, if I'm not mistaken, wasn't even legally allowed to operate in the Rim Worlds."
He was not mistaken, and Frank felt their argumentative hides slipping away. The counter-admiral spread his arms in conciliation.
"I can reassure you - the miners are already on their way back home. We have even provided them with a modified freighter, converted into a passenger transporter. They left our security zone three days ago and are now probably somewhere between Kundahar wormhole and the Protectorate border."
Gonzales grinned conspiratorially.
"Of course, we gave them a slow ship and made sure that a course appears in the databases that has nothing to do with our true position. But they are all coming home."
The rear admiral shook his head vigorously.
"No, Mayor, not all of them. Some of the human crew have preferred to stay on Hephaestus and work for us. Oddly enough, it is more tempting to serve New Earth as a free human than to be a servant and serf for the Mining Consortium."
That blow had hit home. Frank remembered all too well how he had fared in the mines before he was first chosen for a ship's crew. If his father hadn't let himself be eaten by that VIP creesh, he probably would have died there - or would still be toiling in the tunnels and shafts, looking twice his age and hanging on to the oxygen tank after every shift.
No, it was not at all out of the question that those who had no family waiting for them would joyfully join New Earth.
Shrugging his shoulders, he looked at Dila, whose anger also seemed to have faded, and even Bettsy's antennae now drooped in a relaxed but also resigned manner. So not only did they have no jurisdiction here, no powers - no, the creators of Neoterra had strictly speaking done nothing forbidden. Or perhaps they had?
Troshk leaned forward, his neck fur bristling, his body in a tension that Frank fortunately rarely saw. It was almost impossible to anger the Stormcommander - but the descendants of the True Humans had managed to do just that.
"You have weapons in human hands without an NHS officer, without an authorised supervisor. Are you going to deny that?"
Freezemayer raised his greying eyebrows in amusement.
"Of course not! We have three squadrons of deep space fighters, eight armed freighters, more than a thousand soldiers with excellent laser rifles, assault guns, and heavy launchers. More than that, we have our passive space-time benders, with which we normally prevent uninvited visitors and even a handful of nuclear grenades in stock. So don't take us for fools - you're not stray prospectors, you're on some semi-official assignment. Maybe for the Mining Consortium, but more likely for the Council itself. And you know what? It doesn't mean shit. Counsellor, explain it to your colleagues."
Florbsh bubbled regretfully.
"The Lex Humanitas is a Protectorate law. In the Alliance and on all the Rim Worlds that do not ratify the Lex bilaterally, it is not even worth a single larva."
Only now did it dawn on Frank what historical events he was witnessing here. As deluded as the original True Humans may have been, their descendants had found a loophole, a clever dodge to give humanity exactly what the victorious powers denied it: a new beginning.
The Protectorate could not mount a campaign, a punitive expedition, without risking serious trouble with the Alliance. Humanity had a new cradle, a new home, where the Lex's restrictions did not apply.
Frank swallowed.
"How many inhabitants do you count at the moment?"
Mariella smiled, and this time less arrogantly, much less confident of victory, instead warmly and cordially, almost invitingly.
"More than eight hundred thousand, but still plenty of room for one ..."
She gave him a long, penetrating look before letting a much shorter one glide over Dila.
"... or perhaps even two lost children of our species. You too have a home here, my friend."
My friend.
That sounded good, especially coming from her mouth. It wasn't just because her voice had an amazingly erotic effect even in this strange mixture of summit talk and interrogation. More so than one of those grubby holos that Frank only dared to play without headphones when he was alone in the prospectorate headquarters, and Yrsha was already in her stupor.
The idea of a home, a real world for humans, which he shared with the Professor's boobs to[7] boot, made his blood boil. But the Stormcommander cooled it down again mercilessly.
"You have mined a wormhole
. That is a capital offence not only under Alliance and Protectorate laws but also under the Space War Regulations of 3218 - and they apply everywhere, even in systems that no ship has ever reached before."
Mariella's smile froze, and her head moved to the side as if in slow motion. Her eyes fixed on Freezemayer, who winced and began to tremble.
"We did what?"
The rear admiral shook his head vigorously.
"No, of course not! That - that would be madness! Why would we? This is an outrageous insinuation, typical non-human and mongrel propaganda, to make us once again ..."
He interrupted himself as Bettsy calmly fished a small datapad from the infinite depths of her bag, activated its projection mode and placed it on the table. First at normal speed, then in merciless slow motion, the images shot endoscopically by Dr Birgit Kaas were played back.
"Bloody hell."
Freezemayer sank back into his chair and cupped his hands in front of his face while Mariella's gaze was fixed on him. The left corner of her mouth twitched telltale, and even Gonzales, who was not the target of her anger, flinched involuntarily as her voice cut through the silence.
"These ARE ours, aren't they?"
He nodded silently, his face still buried in his hands, and a few tense moments passed before he lowered them and took a deep breath.
"Yes, Professor. We drop off sentinel drones during our special recovery operations to watch the workers' backs. Normally they are deactivated by radio after the operation and collected again. That was obviously forgotten here, and - I swear I didn't know about it. I am - I am sincerely sorry, I take full political responsibility."
Gonzales jumped up. His corpulence wobbled precariously, his head was red, and a mixture of anger and fear flashed in his eyes.
"That is not enough! The wormhole WAS mined! You lunatic, you triple-cursed moron - do you know what that means? A fucking declaration of war if we don't act immediately! People, we need to make reparations!"
Mariella remained calm - but Frank was not fooled by her momentarily calm manner. Her voice, her posture, her presence brooked no contradiction.
"And we will. For every ship lost, for every pilot killed. But, rear Admiral, I am also ordering you to scrap all of these sentinel drones and, until further notice, not to conduct any missions where there is even a chance that uninvolved third parties will be harmed. Do you understand?"
