Gamma didn't get - or care about - the political undertones of Max's comment. "The concept of Westphalian sovereignty is over four centuries old, and it is woven through every aspect of the culture of the intellectual demographics that make up the various governments of Earth."
John closed the in-helmet display of Max and pulled up his desktop. He made a note to look up 'Westphalian sovereignty' and then closed the interface. He turned and looked at the Dogs. They were much closer now: just a hundred meters or so. Max, deep in conversation with Gamma, was trudging toward the huge rock John stood on. The other three Dogs were ignoring the conversation as they capered around, fighting their imaginary orcs.
Gamma continued, "After four hundred years most of the people and all of the governments on Earth have three ideas deeply coded into their memetic DNA. First, that individuals can only exist with in, or under the authority of, a sovereign political unit. Second, that legitimate sovereign political units come into existence only in a handful of ways. Third, that no self-organized system based on trade - and lacking a monopoly on the use of force - can constitute a legitimate sovereign political unit."
John brought back the in-helmet view. Max was furrowing his brow, doing that inadvertently hilarious thing where his upright triangular ears pulled closer together to the top of his head. John had some sympathy. "Gamma, I'm getting a bit dizzy here."
"You're ill, John?"
"No, I mean I'm not following you. English please."
"Let me rephrase. The intellectual fashions of the day - and of the last four hundred and forty-three years - demarcate all groupings of individuals into either 'citizens of a government' or 'anarchists and terrorists.’”
"That's bullshit. Governments are the ones who use terrorism against citizens. The Holocaust, the Armenian Genocide, the Holodomor, the Cultural Revolution, BuSuR trying to kill all of us off. You should admit -"
"Max, you misunderstand me. I am not objecting to the ideas that you and Mike share regarding stateless society. I am explaining to you what the prevailing orthodoxies in the political class on Earth are in order to explain what the reaction to a military strike would have. My key point is this: the powers that be on Earth consider the society here on the moon to be 'beyond the pale'. And I mean that phrase literally; it you look up the origin of that term you'll -"
"I know where it comes from."
"I don't," said John.
"'Pale' referred to the line of demarcation of legitimate government. Anyone and anything that was not inside that line, and thus under the authority of a king, was illegitimate, and not protected by the government's own laws. Your clade has created a society here on the moon, and your very existence as a stateless group is inherently irritating to Westphalian powers. You cannot initiate a total war with them and hope to survive."
The Dogs and mules had almost reached the rock he was standing on. John squatted down, put one hand on the top of the boulder to steady himself, and pushed off, falling slowly to the ground in the low gravity. He landed in the shadow and straightened.
Max harrumphed, but Gamma continued, "If you decelerate a rock and drop it on the BuSuR headquarters - as you suggested - the people raised and trained in government-run schools will not perceive it as a legitimate military action, so you will have no popular support. Nor would the government be inclined to see that as a legitimate dispute between peers that can be adjudicated and resolved with a treaty. You would be classified as jihadis."
The four Dogs passed the boulder and John fell in with them.
Max said, "So what? The Caliphate is proof that if you fight hard enough the US will back down."
"The Caliphate emerged after thirty years of war - a war that included an American nuclear strike at the Latakia air base and the release of the Mesopotamian Flu. I do not think that that model is one you wish to emulate. I note that Aristillus entire population is only six percent of what the Caliphate lost in the war."
John's eyes narrowed. "Hang on, Gamma. I agree with your overall point, but the US being behind the Mesopotamian Flu is just a conspiracy theory. The Fallon Commission proved that it was an accidental release by Iranian nonstate actors."
"John, you're say that the most powerful government in the world officially attributed the release of a sophisticated bio-weapon to actors not aligned with properly constituted Westphalian powers."
John blinked, trying to parse the sentence.
"I suggest that that supports my thesis."
John pursued his lips. He didn't want to fight about this now.
"All I hear is a bunch of hand waving," Max said. "My point is that the Caliphate won. And so can we."
"Max, if you strike at Washington DC, the war would be over within weeks. If you're lucky, it would just mean an invasion of Aristillus. If you're unlucky, it would mean bunker buster nuclear strikes."
"See, Max?" John said. "Gamma agrees: our only bet is to hunker down."
Max grunted. "Hunker down? Ignore the situation and hope the dog killers forget all about us? That might have made sense a year ago, but now we know that they haven't forgotten about us. The war has started. They're trying to kill us, right now! We need to fight back."
"The moon colonization effort has parallels with the establishment of the Icelandic Free State. Have you read the books on that topic that I recommended?"
John said "no" at the same time that Max said "yes". John blinked; he hadn't realized that Gamma had been talking with the Dogs about books as well.
"I'm still reading the US history books you recommended," he said. "I haven't gotten to the Icelandic ones yet."
"That's too bad; I apologize for not having prioritized my suggestions. The Icelandic history is fundamentally different from the American one in one way: the Americans had a British government that they fought to overthrow while the Icelandic settlers did not fight Harald Fairhair but merely left the territory that he claimed."
John's helmet beeped. The alert on the screen showed that they'd reached the day's destination. A second timer showed that he could call Darcy in just another seventeen hours and forty minutes.
"Guys, we're here. Let's set up camp." The Dogs stopped and mules came up alongside and squatted down.
Duncan, Rex, and Blue turned off their game - Duncan only with some protests - and then they fell into their usual routine. John retrieved the tent from a storage locker on the closest mule. Duncan stood on his back legs to fetch the sun shield from the opposite side of the mule and shook it open. Blue pulled out food packets and Max ran the mules through their evening cycle.
John pulled the rip cord on the tent and tossed it into an open spot as it expanded. While they waited Max said, "I know where you're going, Gamma - you're going to tie this in to Exit, Voice, and Loyalty. I read that one. Here's my point: when the Icelanders left, the king let them go. Now we're trying it - and it's not working. They're coming after us. If exit won't work then we've got to fight, and we've got to fight them sooner rather -"
Gamma interrupted and his voice had a strange, almost panicked tone. "John, I'm losing satellites again! Right now - three in the last few seconds. The armor on the new revision isn't helping. You're in Icarus Crater now - get to Zhukovskiy. I've got a facility there. I don't know how my satellites are being taken out - the ones over Farside -"
"the ones over Farside -"
"the ones over Farside -"
"the ones over Farside - packet stream degradation - the ones over Farside should be occluded from Earth view, but they're getting -"
"they're getting -"
"they're getting -"
"get to Zhukovskiy, remember what I said about partition spasms, it's important that you-"
Then Gamma went silent.
Max turned to John. "What the hell was that?"
John furrowed his brow. "How could they have taken out the armored satellites? Gamma did calculations about the energy density of the beam weapons. His birds should have been able to handle it."
&nbs
p; "Maybe they didn't use lasers," Blue said. "What if it was some sort of kinetic kill device?"
Max growled. "He said that even the satellites over Farside got taken out. Where are the groundhogs shooting from?"
John looked up at the black sky. Shit. Shit. Shit.
"Why did he say we have to get to Zhukovskiy?" Duncan asked.
John shook his head. "I don't know. I don't know at all."
"And what was that about the partition spasm? Why is that important for us to remember?"
John shook his head silently.
In his display the counter noted that he could call Darcy for a pickup in just seventeen hours and eleven minutes.
Not that there were any sats left to relay the call.
God fucking damn it.
"Guys, pack the mules back up. We're hiking to Zhukovskiy."
Chapter 90
2064: Benjamin and Associates Office, Aristillus, Lunar Nearside
Mike paced back and forth past Lowell's conference room table. "But I've got a tail on him right now! My guy followed him to the apartment, so we can -"
Lowell held up a hand. "Mike. Stop pacing on my expensive carpet. And slow down. What tail?"
"One of the PI firms we use."
Lowell raised his eyes and narrated dramatically. "A tail. You've got a PI tailing a senator's son." He looked back at Mike. "OK, now tell me how your PI found him in the first place."
Mike blinked. "What? Well, Ewoma - she's this girl at a restaurant - called me about the bounty, and I-"
Lowell exploded. "A bounty? What the fuck are you talking about?"
"This morning I posted that if anyone could get me information I'd pay them a bounty."
Lowell pinched the bridge of his nose. "You 'posted'?"
"Yeah, in my feed."
Lowell covered his eyes with one hand. "Jesus Christ, Mike. Tell me you're joking."
"What? No. After that bitch hit me with the helmet -"
Lowell uncovered his face. "No. Stop right there. Let me finish this sentence for you. 'After I was hit with a helmet I wrote in a public fucking forum that I'd pay money to find where the child of a sitting senator is. And now that I know I want to sent a hit team after him and his friends.'" Lowell raised his eyebrows. "That's the fucking sentence, isn't it?"
"Well, Jesus, when you say it like that it sounds stupid."
"Shh. Shh. Just. Stop. Let me think for a second."
Mike grimaced.
Lowell rubbed his temples. "OK, I've thought it through, Mike. Go right ahead with your plan, you've got my blessing."
"Really?"
"Absolutely. Just give me a few hours head start to change my firm's name and scrub our website of any mention of a connection with you."
Mike scowled. "Very funny, Lowell. But seriously: that bitch broke my skull." He pointed. "My skull!"
Lowell stared at him.
After a moment without a response, Mike asked, "So if I can't have them shot, what can I do?"
Lowell sighed. "Mike, indulge me. Answer a question that I've never once had to ask a client before: do you really want her shot?"
Mike crossed his arms. "Well, OK, maybe not literally killed. But if this happened back on Earth she'd be in jail for a couple of years."
"So you're pining for Earth law?"
"Jesus, Lowell. You'd better not be on the clock because I'm not paying you to give me shit."
"No, giving you shit is strictly pro bono. OK, let's go on the clock. What is it you want me to do?"
"I want her ass in jail!"
"I repeat: what do you want me to do?"
"Well...I'm not sure." Mike grimaced. "I talked to Trusted Security, but they said -"
"That they protect your offices and equipment, but not you personally?"
"Yeah. So I talked to the restaurant where she assaulted me - that's Rio San Pedro - and they said -"
"Let me cut this short. I researched all of this already. Rio San Pedro is new and they haven't picked up a security service yet. You want to sue the restaurant? Go for it. You can own the entire place. It's a stupid move, but you can do it."
Mike waved the idea aside. "I don't want that. What I want is to punish Hugh and that bitch who hit me."
"Did it ever occur to you that taking out a hit on a senator's son on your feed is a mildly stupid idea?"
"Jesus, Lowell. I didn't 'take out a hit.’ I asked for information on where they were."
"That's a difference that doesn't matter. There's a propaganda battle going on in this little revolution of yours. As soon as someone in the Earth media hears about this - and it may have already happened - you're going to feel a tugging. And you know what that tugging is? That's your own balls that you've just fed into a wood chipper. Now, I've got just one question for you: do you want to throw your dick in after? If so, then - by all means - try to imprison the kid and his friends."
Mike pursed his lips but remained silent.
"So what the hell do you want to do about this situation?"
"She broke my skull! We've got to do something!"
Lowell smiled sadly. "Mike, you're fucked. These kids jumped you in a restaurant without a security provider, so you can't have the restaurant go after her. The restaurant is in rented space that's about a month old, and they also doesn't have a security provider. And besides, you're not going to sue either of them anyway because of the propaganda hit."
"Well - I know that. Forget the restaurant. I want the woman who attacked me. What can we do legally?"
"I've already told you, propaganda wise, we can't do anything. But legally?" Lowell smiled. "Now this is where it gets funny. You and Albert Lai came up with that scheme of getting all immigrants to sign up with a security firm when they get off the boat, right? Well, Louisa signed up for a one-month contract, and that expired. So she's without a legal services provider too." Lowell chuckled.
"What's funny about that?"
"Mike, step back. You've busted your ass for over a decade to create an anarchic utopia with no government. You talked me into shutting down my law firm and coming here to help you on this crazy scheme. And now you're the most powerful man in the entire moon... and you've made your anarchy so perfect that there's nothing you can do to punish a sixty-five kilo girl who beat you up without breaking your own system. "
Mike stared at Lowell. "This isn't funny.”
Lowell stood, walked around the table to Mike, slapped him on one shoulder. "Oh, come on, Mike, this is fucking hilarious!"
Mike had a sour look on his face. "So you've got no ideas at all?"
"Oh, I've got an idea."
"Yes?"
"Walk away."
Mike took a step back. "Walk away?!"
"Yeah. Walk away. Don't arrest her. Don't make up ex post facto laws- "
"Did you not see the video of that bitch hitting me in the head!?"
Lowell sighed. "Here's another minor PR suggestion - purge the word 'bitch' from your vocabulary. Forever."
Mike rolled his eyes.
"Do you want to hear the rest of the plan for dealing with this?"
Mike pursed his lips, then nodded reluctantly.
"OK, look. You, me, everyone here is always ranting about our parallels with the American Revolution. So let me make an argument by analogy. You're a Jefferson man, but George Washington had some relevant stuff to say on personal behavior. He realized that his actions were speaking to 'posterity'. The reason that people are still quoting and being inspired by that crew is because they took the time and the patience to do what was right, and what was defensible - not what was easy and what was satisfying. Washington didn't appoint himself King, he didn't run for a third term."
Mike opened his mouth.
"Please, Mike, I've heard the 'FDR was a dictator and destroyed America' speech. Shut the fuck up and let me finish."
Mike closed his mouth.
"Washington had a sense - a very 18th century sense - of how he was going to look a century or two down th
e line. That's an example I want you to think about. Now, here's my advice, and I want you to listen to it: let this beaten-with-your-own-helmet thing go. Let the history books - if you avoid getting hanged - let the history books show that you turned the other cheek."
"That's it? That's the entirety of your plan?"
Lowell shrugged. "A good plan doesn't need a lot of bullet points."
There was a knock on the door, and without waiting for an answer, Lowell's receptionist Jeanine leaned in.
Lowell turned to her. "Jeanine, you can flirt with Mike -"
"Lowell, I just got a call from Mike's assistant Wam. He said that Mike's phone is off, and he needs me to tell Mike that Gamma's satellites have been burned again."
Mike pulled out his phone and turned it on. It rang immediately. Mike answered, "Wam, talk to me."
"You got the message, I take it."
"Yeah. What do we know?"
"The sats are down again. And here's the scary part: we know that they weren't all in line of sight from Earth when they were hit. Albert Lai says the PKs must have ships - armed ships - probably in lunar orbit."
"Shit. We need to convene -"
Wam interrupted him. "The Boardroom Group is already alerted; they'll be here in fifteen."
"OK, I'll be there." He hung up and turned to Lowell.
"The sats are out and the PKs may have ships in lunar orbit right now. We're convening the Boardroom group. You can sit in if you want."
Lowell took a deep breath and picked up his jacket from the back of a chair. "Let's go."
Mike picked up his own leather jacket and turned to the door. Jeanine stepped out of their way. As they strode through the lobby Mike turned to Lowell. "Washington, Jefferson - when the war moved to the seas, they had a navy to help out, right?" "They had the French navy."
Mike paused. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I wish we had some French around."
Lowell raised one eyebrow. "Leroy Fournier is French Canadian."
Mike scowled.
Chapter 91
2064: Lai Docks and Air Traffic Control, Aristillus, Lunar Nearside
The Powers of the Earth (Aristillus Book 1) Page 38
