Unfaithful Covenant

by Michael Anderle

  Sinclair arched an eyebrow. “Accounting led to trouble?”

  Damir bobbed his head. “Yes. He’d gotten business contracts with companies that did work with the government, and because of that, he learned that a few local officials were skimming.”

  “Ah. That makes sense.”

  “You have to understand. He had reformed, and he was disgusted.” Damir stopped for a moment to scan the area for trouble. “In a colony, that kind of corruption is a bigger problem. It hurts everyone, so he made an important decision.”

  “To do something about it,” Sinclair concluded.

  “Yes,” Damir replied. “He wanted to expose them. He told me, ‘When I first got in trouble, I kept trying to justify my crimes to myself. I said I deserved it, but I was nothing more than a criminal, and a criminal always recognizes his own kind.’”

  Sinclair looked up, sweeping the sky for drones or aircraft. “Colonial graft is profitable for the same reason it’s more damaging—fewer available targets with more local power. A lot of well-meaning officials end up on a colony and get corrupted. I’ve seen it on more than one.”

  “My father grew more and more frustrated, trying to figure out a way to take them down without it leading back to him,” Damir explained. “It didn’t help that most people he knew told him to keep his head down and look the other way.”

  “That’s what I’d expect.”

  “He fell in with some men a couple years back who changed everything. They were the leaders of what would become the FSA. They were the Free Samarkand Committee back then.”

  Sinclair whistled. “Insurrectionists. That might be the dirtiest word in the UTC. It takes a brave man to associate with those kinds of people.”

  “He kept it quiet,” Damir admitted. “I was one of the few people who knew, but it didn’t help.” His hand tightened around his rifle. “It didn’t save him.”

  “They found out he was investigating them?”

  Damir nodded. “His body was found outside a waste processing center two years ago under suspicious circumstances, two days after his sting against those local officials. He told me he had contacts at the CID who could help him.” He snorted. “Not that it saved him. No one ever solved his murder, but he’d been smart enough to send out his evidence. Those officials are in prison now, but that didn’t bring my father back.” He clenched his teeth. “The thing that drove me over the edge was the murder investigation. There was plenty of evidence—witnesses, recordings, that kind of thing. Some of the people and evidence conveniently disappeared, and the cops didn’t care. The CID seemed content to take them down for corruption, not the murder. We all got the message. The government would sacrifice some pawns for the sake of appearance, but we little people should keep our nose out of investigating them. After that, it was easy. I hooked up with the FSA. I used to think they were a bunch of extremists, but everything they said made more sense after my father’s murder.”

  Sinclair gave him a pitying look. “I see. That’s the problem with people and sacrifice. There’s a difference between unnecessary and necessary sacrifice, but don’t worry, Sokov. Your father’s sacrifice won’t be in vain. Your fellow rebels’ sacrifices will not be in vain. We will free your world, no matter the cost. All we need is loyal soldiers like you.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Damir replied, craning his neck to take in the bullet-riddled wreck of a flitter. “I’m tired of the self-serving scum winning.”

  “Don’t worry.” Sinclair’s hungry smile unsettled Damir. “This time, they won’t.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  October 4, 2230, Solar System, En Route to UTC Space Fleet Base Penglai, Aboard Argo

  Jia leapt from the barren, rocky ledge, arms outstretched. If she didn’t snag the rope, she’d plummet into the river below. Her hand almost cleared the rope before she tightened her fingers, her arms jerking.

  Erik wanted to clap, even if it was a simulation. He’d run this course fifteen minutes prior, and he knew how difficult it was. While he wanted her to succeed, he also hoped she finished slower than his time. Sometimes a man needed bragging rights.

  “They don’t have rivers and ledges on New Samarkand,” Jia complained. “Shouldn’t this course have reflected the planet or Sogdia better? We should be running through a densely packed urban environment, jumping from building to building, rappelling down walls.”

  “We’re not doing this to prepare for New Samarkand,” Erik replied.

  “We aren’t?” Jia asked, sounding surprised.

  “No.” Erik laughed. “This is us using simulators for fun. When I suggested this, I thought it’d be an entertaining contest, not battle prep for the mission.”

  “Fun?” Jia huffed and wiped the sweat off her brow. “That’s what we’re calling this? I don’t know if having to roll under those falling log traps was fun.”

  Jia couldn’t see Erik, though he was at the edge of the room. Holographic clouds concealed his presence. The nano-AR room aboard the Argo could only handle one person at a time in the extreme obstacle course simulation unless they were running it at the same time and pace. Thus far, her performance suggested that was a possibility. She was closing in on the final leg of the short but intense course.

  Jia swung on the rope like a pendulum, speeding toward the other ledge. She released and landed with a smooth roll before jumping to her feet. After a couple of deep breaths, she sprinted toward a hill with statues of Zitarks breathing fire along the path.

  Erik clapped. “That was a lot nicer than my crash into the ledge. Try not to get singed.”

  “It’s annoying, always having to go so far to get the jumpship,” Jia puffed. “If the ship was right by Earth, we wouldn’t have to spend time doing things like this to keep us entertained.”

  Erik laughed. “We do this kind of thing on Earth too. I think you should accept that we’re weird.”

  “Not weird,” Jia insisted. “Non-standard.”

  “Which is another way of saying weird.”

  “It sounds less antisocial.” Jia’s breathing was ragged from her pace. “But don’t tell me you like having to fly all the way to the asteroid belt to pick up the ship.”

  “Have to keep it safe,” Erik replied. “It’s safer there than it would be parked near Earth.”

  “They could house it at one of the major Fleet bases,” Jia suggested, picking up speed. She approached the bottom of the hill and surged forward, the fire-breathing space raptor statue missing her entirely. “Without Emma, the ship can’t jump anyway. They could park it at a Fleet base closer to Earth and save us a lot of time, which would mean we could solve problems quicker. If a ship’s not safe surrounded by a flotilla of other Fleet ships, it’ll never be safe. I’m not convinced it’s worth the inconvenience, not just for us, but for the ID and DD. We’re well past testing the jump drive and are now using it to protect the interests of the UTC.”

  “True, but I’ve been thinking about this a lot the last couple of days. The jump drive’s a tool, but it’s not even the main tool we need for that kind of thing.” Erik shook out his arms. Watching Jia run the course made his muscles ache more than they already were.

  Jia ducked to avoid the next burst of fire. She rolled back to her feet and surged past three other statues before they could get her. “What do we need then? What’s better than the ability to jump anywhere in the UTC in days instead of weeks and months?”

  “Better, faster comm,” Erik explained. “If we’d known about the rebellion right away, we could have gone there and done something before things got out of hand. It’s a twisted irony. We have the jump drive and Emma, but we’re still limited by the sheer size of the UTC and the limits of the HTPs and message transfer. Trust me, this is something I’ve been thinking about since Molino.”

  “You think it would have made a difference there?” Jia asked.

  “I think it wouldn’t have given the Core this big of a head start.”

  Jia wiped sweat off her brow
as she crested the top of the hill. A series of bamboo poles stretched in front of her in a zigzag pattern with just enough space for a single foot. Glowing three-eyed fish jumped from the water below, their mouths filled with sharp teeth.

  Erik had come close to falling on this part of the course. He wasn’t ashamed to admit Jia had superior balance. That was probably why she was such a gifted pilot.

  Jia shook out her arms and took a moment to catch her breath. “But if we take out the Core, there won’t be so many insurrections. Comm and jump drives won’t matter. They’re the disease, and those other things are just med patches we’re slapping on the body to deal with them.”

  “Not so sure about that,” Erik answered.

  She charged forward and jumped for the first pole. Her body was turning before she’d even landed to help her push off to the next pole. There wasn’t enough concentration left to speak as she bounded through the obstacle. With a final grunt of exertion, she launched herself onto the edge of the cliff that was part of a mountain.

  “Don’t get too stuck on the Core as the explanation for everything wrong in the UTC,” Erik replied. “They’re responsible for a lot of the messed-up stuff, but not all of it. And it’s not like every rebellion comes out of nowhere.”

  Jia jogged around the mountain until she spotted shallow, narrow stone stairs. “What are you saying?” she got out between pants. “That insurrection is justified? That these antisocial killers should be able to do whatever they want? There are mechanisms for expressing their concerns via their MPs in Parliament. They don’t have any reason to take up arms.”

  “I’m just saying, it doesn’t always come out of nowhere,” Erik replied. “It can be surprising, but it’s rarely shocking.”

  “You used to help put down insurrections. Do you regret doing that now?”

  “Yeah, I did, and no, I don’t. There wasn’t a single rebellion I dealt with that would have led to a better life for the colony involved, and in most cases, it was a small group of extremists doing all the fighting. Because I was involved with that sort of thing, I understand the dynamic.” Erik shook his head. “Whether or not the Core is behind it, there’s always going to be a heart of the rebellion, people who believe in the cause. I’m not going to claim I’ve never been sympathetic to rebel grievances, but in my experience, what inevitably happens is whatever good intentions might be behind the rebellion get swallowed up pretty quickly by the people who are just there looking for power or an excuse to kill others. That’s why I’m glad they all failed. They wouldn’t make a new and better UTC. They would have ended up as kingdoms run by power-hungry idiots.”

  Jia hit the stairs, her footwork tight and precise. She was almost at the end of the course. Erik grunted. She had taken it far faster than he’d anticipated.

  “The jump drive might change all that,” Erik continued. “Assuming they can figure out some way to get it to work that doesn’t require Emma.” When Jia continued her huffing and puffing, he elaborated. “If a ship can get somewhere quickly, messages can get there quickly too. Even if it takes a couple of days, that’s still better than what we see at a lot of places. The thing is, when you boil their complaints down, it’s always the same thing: they don’t want to be bossed around by people who are so far away. That’s understandable, but the smaller the colony, the more pointless autonomy ends up being. If communication is closer to real-time, it’ll cut down on the motivation.”

  Jia arrived at the bottom of the stairs, red-faced and dripping sweat. She sprinted toward the grav tramp that would send her into the sky rings, the last part of the course, a grueling widely spaced fifty-ring upper-body workout with no margin for error. If she fell, she’d plummet into the river below and fail the course.

  She hadn’t complained when he ran the course and favored his left arm. He didn’t consider it cheating since it was part of him, but it definitely gave him an advantage. The only reason their times were close was because of that. His attempt on the poles had been far slower and much less graceful.

  Jia hit the grav tramp at a perfect angle and launched her body toward the first ring. Quick movements sent her through the next rings so fast she surprised Erik, but her muscles had to be straining.

  “Keep it up,” Erik shouted, clapping. “You’re almost there. You’ve got this.”

  Jia cleared the final ring but stumbled on her landing. She bellowed a challenge and charged the blue finish line, ignoring anything but making her legs moving faster. After crossing the line, she slowed and dropped to her knees. A puddle of sweat formed around her.

  “You beat me by a good ten seconds,” Erik announced with a laugh. “I was ahead timewise for most of the course, but you really destroyed me on those poles. I thought the rings would slow you down, but you might as well have had a cybernetic arm, the way you took them.”

  Jia laid on her back and spread out her arms, taking deep, slow breaths. “I think I’m dying. I don’t know if dying was worth beating you.” She rolled onto her side. “I just remembered something. Isn’t the guy who told you about the Obsidian Detective Act on New Samarkand?”

  “Nigel Anders?” Erik nodded slowly. “Yeah, he was the governor of Molino before leaving after the attack, but he moved out of the system about six months back.”

  “Good timing,” Jia replied. “Warzones aren’t fun. It’ll be hard even for us to go into a warzone.”

  “Don’t kid yourself. We’ve already been in plenty.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  October 5, 2230, Gliese 581, New Samarkand, Sogdia

  Damir kicked in the half-blasted door. It collapsed to the floor with an echoing thud, revealing a mostly empty storage room. He ignored the door and focused on sweeping the room for traps or enemies. Unless they were tiny bots, they wouldn’t fit in the small boxes that remained in the room.

  There’d been a battle in the sector a couple of hours earlier, and Command wanted the entire area swept and confirmed clean so there wouldn’t be any surprises during their upcoming counterattack. It would help them avoid unfortunate reversals.

  Damir’s squad had never located the alleged ghost on the last mission, and he remained unsure of the true source of the FSA’s problems in central Sogdia, especially compared to their successes in other areas. Their lengthy ghost hunt had conveniently taken the squad far away from other patrols who had come under fire, but that wasn’t proof. He had no proof.

  After explaining his story to Sinclair, Damir had hoped for reciprocity, but the man offered nothing more. He was a cipher, vacillating between unsettling and professional. Damir couldn’t bring himself to trust him, regardless of what he’d said about the rebellion.

  Damir stepped out of the room and nodded to Sinclair down the hallway. Other soldiers cleared their rooms and nodded at him. He walked over to the next room, slowing for a minute to take in where they were. Sinclair had ordered them into the building, and Damir hadn’t thought much about it at the time. After a month of brutal fighting, the original functions of a lot of buildings seemed unimportant. He evaluated locations in terms of how many enemies might be hiding there, if they could survive low-level bombardment, and if they had any useful supplies for the FSA.

  His beloved colony had been reduced to raw materials for war. At the rate they were going, there would be nothing but a huge pile of debris left under the dome. The FSA had tried not to target the industrial sectors, but the front was expanding slowly and steadily. Damage in every sector was becoming inevitable.

  He stopped and stared into the next room. Ten small evenly spaced desks sat inside, each with an engraved nameplate on the front. He had been in rooms like this for several years when he first arrived on the colony. A disappointed sigh escaped his lips.

  A school, that was where they were. They’d destroyed an important symbol of the future as part of seizing control of the colony.

  Damir’s hands tightened around his rifle. He wanted to blame the government’s forces for everything, but the FSA wa
s just as responsible for inflicting damage through the city and the colony. They were supposed to be saving New Samarkand, but they were leaving nothing but broken rubble, dead bodies, and empty dreams.

  For the first time since he’d joined the FSA, he asked himself it was worth it and whether his father would have approved.

  “I found one,” called one of his squad members.

  Damir, Sinclair, and the others converged on the soldier. He’d cornered a wounded Army private hiding behind a desk in an office. He had a med patch on, but there were holes through his thighs and stomach. His ashen pallor argued against him surviving his wounds. The private held his hands in the air, trembling. There was no sign of his weapon.

  Sinclair looked the man up and down. “Kill him. He’s not important.”

  “Please, no,” the private begged. “You have to take me as a prisoner of war.”

  Sinclair laughed. “This isn’t a war. It’s a rebellion.”

  That was logical. Damir couldn’t deny it, but something burst in his mind. All his frustrations in the last few weeks destroyed the dam of self-control.

  “No,” Damir barked. “No way in hell.”

  Sinclair spun toward him. “Excuse me, Sokov?”

  Damir gestured at the wounded private. “He doesn’t have a gun, and he can barely move. He’s not a threat. If we aren’t going to take him with us, we should leave him here. We don’t kill people who aren’t a threat.”

  “Leave him here? An enemy? We should kill him now. You want to wait until he’s patched up and can shoot you?”

  “Killing a wounded man who isn’t a threat isn’t war,” Damir shouted. “It’s murder. That’s not why I joined the FSA.”

  Sinclair’s brow lifted. “Murder?” He laughed. “I know what you’ve done. You’ve participated in ambushes against Army soldiers. You didn’t scream warnings as you cut them down. Now suddenly, you don’t have the stomach to fight?”