The Tabit Genesis

by Tony Gonzales

‘Don’t worry, Cerlis. Our Navy is quite formidable, and incidentally so is the firepower at your own disposal. House Alyxander is taking the greater risk.’

  ‘In exchange for what?’

  Vespa smiled.

  ‘If the latest polls mean anything, it seems the privateer voting bloc views House Alyxander more favourably than the corporations. And the cause of that sentiment, as it were, is rising food prices. Seeing as I’ve fallen so far out of favour with you, I need to be more, how should I say … “progressive” in my search for votes this election.’

  Cerlis smiled as well.

  ‘Did that strategy come to you in your dreams?’ she said, turning for the door. ‘Don’t bother answering that, child.’

  *

  By 22:13 that evening, Vespa was finally making the long journey back to her bedroom. As expected, the day had become more pleasant once she was rid of the firebrand Cerlis Tarkon. On the whole, the other executives welcomed her re-election bid, but were lukewarm about the trade delegation. She calculated that sentiment would improve with time, especially once they learned of the terms House Alyxander was willing to offer.

  Even so, the Vulcan Dynamics CEO was a festering nuisance, and a dangerous one. The mere fact she implied knowledge of her dreams was disturbing. It was a provocation, and to be fair, one she deserved. But when Arturus arrived with the delegation, she would make a point of raising her concerns with him. He would know what to do, as he had with Chancellor Mayce.

  Vespa undressed, leaving a trail of discarded garments on her way to the shower. ORPHUS should have digested the account of her dreams by now. He was a gift from her brother, a masterpiece of AI engineering that she had hooked into Tabit’s datacores. ORPHUS helped interpret what her visions foretold.

  After drying off, she slipped into a satin gown and climbed beneath the covers of her bed, welcoming their soft touch against her skin. There was no other physical intimacy in her life but this. Sleep was tugging at her, but first she had to know what ORPHUS thought of her new dreams, and the reason for the change.

  Vespa stared at the reassuring blue iris above her.

  ‘What did you see?’ she asked.

  ‘I saw a place and a name,’ ORPHUS answered.

  ‘Tell me …’

  ‘I saw the Hades Terminus,’ ORPHUS said. ‘And Maez Obyeran.’

  13

  VLADRIC

  When Sig Lareck began the day, his agenda was filled with the tasks of governance. The man was deeply invested in Lethe, its community, and its continued prosperity. He often made unannounced visits to the Commons to speak with labourers, business owners, even school children and their hopeful parents. But when he left his flat overlooking the Meridus Canyon, he was met by Ceti security officers who informed him that there had been an emergency, and that he was to accompany them to the spaceport at once.

  Twenty-nine hours later, he was at the helm of the most famous vessel in Ceti’s history: the Aria Black, flagship of Vladric Mors. It was the first time Sig had piloted a warship in years. For now, the view outside made him forget his frustration at being summoned so far away from his beloved Lethe. The Black was coasting past rows of Ceti corvettes burrowed within the excavated shell of a planetoid; welding sparks flew through space as man and machine worked frantically on ships in various states of assembly, many with their insides exposed and newer parts being positioned to join the craft.

  As Sig concentrated on flying, the sublime sound of a woman singing filled the cabin. Her enchanting voice carried throughout the ship, and the Black sounded like a concert hall.

  ‘You helped build this,’ Vladric said, from the gunner position behind him. ‘Remember?’

  ‘I had no idea,’ Sig breathed. ‘The last time I saw this place …’

  ‘It was home.’

  They named her Bertha all those years ago, a rogue planetoid with a deep crater impact set perfectly in the centre of her five-kilometre diameter. A likely capture from either Heracles or Hera, the peculiar rock followed a wide, eccentric polar orbit around Zeus that took her far past the shipping lanes and the range of Navy radars. Ceti miners, lured to the impact site for its industrial diamonds, had towed an abandoned freighter into the excavation cavity, then sealed and pressurised it. The perfect hideout was born.

  Today, Bertha was more metal than rock. The inside reminded Sig of a hollowed stone brimming with quartz, only instead of crystals there was the glitter of Ceti corvettes.

  ‘Are they all shielded?’ Sig asked.

  ‘No,’ Vladric said quietly. ‘Tallendin only has enough kit for twenty ships.’

  ‘Twenty? What about the rest?’

  ‘Decoys,’ Vladric muttered. ‘The entire fleet will be modified to accept the generators if any more become available. Visually, no one will be able to tell the difference. The shielded ’vettes will be our vanguard. With luck, the Navy will only target them.’

  Sig didn’t care for the flippancy. Ceti had neither the manufacturing capacity nor the components required to equip so many, so soon. Seizing Navy warships with the intent of harvesting parts or attacking convoys with armed escorts was ugly business, risking experienced marauders when they were needed most for the assault on the Archangel.

  From Sig’s perspective, it was a fool’s proposition. Many would die the day they flew against the mothership, just as when they flew against Brotherhood. Vladric’s obsessive determination had always been dangerous. Now he was pathologically insane.

  Shifting in the captain’s chair, Sig turned his focus to the beautiful opera blaring on the loudspeakers. Classical Earth music always graced the Black’s bulkheads, even during combat. The warship had been Vladric’s for decades, but she had been built nearly two hundred years earlier, a classic UNSEC design with oversized thrusters and a bulky fuselage that many mistook for a freighter. The Black’s hull was scarred from countless skirmishes. Unlike the sleek, converging hull of modern-day Keating corvettes, it boasted hard, boxed sections that graduated from the engine housing to the distinctive twin weapon housings in the bow.

  But, for all of its tough, menacing exterior, the inside was a refined sanctum that seemed anything but a death dealer. Vladric’s fondness for antiquity was evident everywhere on board. Framed recreations of Renaissance-era paintings were bolted to bulkheads, and every non-emergency conduit, bolt, panel and pipe was concealed by synthetic-fibre stained wood, complete with moulding and trim. The Black felt like an ancient ocean liner, something powered by coal or even wind, not fusion reactors.

  Vladric treated the ship as if it was his home; and in a sense it was, except he used it to wage war, pillage from corporations, and murder his enemies. Terrifying and cruel on the outside, inspiring and genteel within, the Aria Black was a true reflection of the man who had started the Independence Wars. The captain’s chair itself looked like the seat of a fighter: a control stick was on the right armrest; a throttle on the left, and it was encompassed by an AR display that gave him a 360-degree view of the space around the ship.

  Sig had no business sitting in it. He was the Governing District Officer of Lethe, one of the most prosperous colonies under Ceti control. His marauding days were long over, yet here he was.

  ‘Full stop,’ Vladric ordered.

  Sig complied, rotating the Aria Black’s engine nacelles forward to slow her momentum. Then the captain’s chair turned about to face him.

  ‘You handle her well enough,’ Vladric commented, producing a bladder canteen and sending it gently across the cabin. Sig knew it was filled with a potent malt whisky. Reluctantly, he placed the nozzle in his mouth and gave it a slight squeeze; then nearly choked as the beverage burned down his throat.

  ‘The Black’s easier to fly than this is to drink,’ Sig croaked, pushing the canteen back across.

  ‘You used to down that like water,’ Vladric said, taking a sip himself. ‘I miss the old days, when we were young … fearless …’

  ‘Senseless is more like it,’ Sig said.


  ‘Did you ever think we’d make it this far?’ Vladric asked.

  ‘Never,’ Sig answered. ‘We had a death wish.’

  The canteen crossed again. Prepared for the bitter taste this time, Sig drank down a larger gulp.

  ‘First Brotherhood, now the Archangel,’ Vladric said. ‘Maybe we still do.’

  ‘I don’t,’ Sig muttered, drinking some more.

  Vladric looked at him thoughtfully.

  ‘Your old self would,’ he said.

  ‘My old self was always the first one through a breach,’ Sig said, taking yet another sip, feeling a warm buzz flood his neck and cheeks. ‘But that was because I didn’t care if I lived.’

  ‘Twenty-five years of babysitting a colony will do that to you,’ Vladric said.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Make you forget you were young once.’

  ‘I wish I didn’t remember my youth,’ Sig snapped. ‘Most of it, anyway. What does it matter? Lethe was your way of forcing me to retire. The death wish ended there, and I’m grateful for it.’

  A hard line formed across Vladric’s brow.

  ‘I didn’t trust anyone else to run Lethe.’

  Sig allowed himself a smile.

  ‘If I didn’t want the job, I wouldn’t have accepted.’

  ‘Really?’ Vladric said, surprised. ‘Are you saying you wanted out?’

  ‘Brotherhood was a bloody day for us. Lethe was a chance to start over.’

  The singer’s aria carried over what would have been an awkward silence. Sig knew he had drunk too much and pushed the canteen away.

  Vladric snatched it from the air.

  ‘This is called “Il dolce suono”, which means “The Sweet Sound”,’ he said. ‘A scene from the opera Lucia di Lammermoor.’

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ Sig admitted.

  ‘Think so?’ Vladric said, swallowing a gulp. ‘You’re listening to the crazed ramblings of a woman who just murdered her husband on their wedding night. Who knew depravity could be articulated with such … divinity.’

  Sig stopped himself from shaking his head.

  ‘That’s tragic.’

  ‘All the good operas are,’ Vladric said. ‘So Brotherhood was the last time you fired a weapon?’

  ‘It’s the last time I killed anyone,’ Sig answered.

  ‘You sound like a man with a lot of regret.’

  Sig took a deep breath. In fact, he had more regrets than he could count.

  ‘When you and I were marauding, they called us terrorists,’ he said. ‘When we put the Ceti sigil on our backs, they called us rebels. When we took Brotherhood, they called it a revolution.’

  ‘Change is difficult,’ Vladric said, taking another quick sip and then floating the canteen back across. ‘And the price of freedom is steep.’

  Sig caught the beverage, stared at it briefly, then decided against his better judgment to drink even more courage.

  ‘Ceti is fundamentally the same as Orionis,’ he said, ‘And in many ways, twice as corrupt, and thrice as tyrannical.’

  ‘You really have changed,’ Vladric said.

  ‘So have you,’ Sig snapped. ‘Power does that to people. But while governing Lethe I learned that power is as fleeting as the tides. One moment you’re what everyone thinks they need. When they realise they were wrong to trust you, the hammer falls.’

  Vladric almost seemed taken aback.

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘Ceti could be a recognised nation, not a cartel,’ Sig said. ‘You could bring real prosperity to people here. You could bring them peace. Legitimacy. Instead you’re going to slaughter thousands more, and for what? You brought the tide with Brotherhood. If you attack the Archangel, you could be swept away by it.’

  Vladric took a long look at him.

  ‘You’ve always been a good friend,’ he said.

  ‘Sure I have,’ Sig said. ‘That’s why you brought me sixty million klicks out of my way without so much as a moment’s notice. You had that right once, when I was young and foolish. But Lethe is my home now. Of all the settlements that Ceti claims, none has fared better. People there depend on me. I don’t want to let them down.’

  ‘Which proves I picked the right man for the job,’ Vladric said. ‘Though I’m surprised at how attached to it you’ve become.’

  ‘Then you’ll also be surprised to know there’s a woman I see from time to time …’

  ‘Ah, there it is,’ Vladric sneered, slapping his knee. ‘A woman always clouds a man’s thinking. One day they’ll write a tragedy about you.’

  Sig just shrugged.

  ‘I’m a difficult man to love, but we’re making progress,’ he said. ‘She mends my soul … brings me clarity, I think. Makes me realise how distraught I’d be if I lost her. She comforts me when I dwell on the fact that for most of my life, I’ve ripped good people apart from each other.’

  Vladric narrowed his eyes.

  ‘I see,’ he said.

  ‘No, you don’t,’ Sig scoffed, rubbing his eyes. ‘You’d need a soul to understand. But it’s true I miss flying. You were right about that, at least. So get on with it. You brought me here to ask me something you think you already know the answer to. I suspect I’m going to disappoint you.’

  Vladric stared at him, his expression unreadable.

  ‘Alright,’ he said. ‘When this conversation ends, only one of us is returning to Lethe. The man that does will lead the assault on the Archangel.’

  Sig held Vladric’s impassive gaze for a moment and then burst into laughter.

  ‘The other will take the Aria Black on a mission to abduct one of King Masaad’s twin children,’ Vladric continued.

  Sig nodded his head enthusiastically, guffawing.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he wheezed. ‘Go on.’

  ‘It’s not as impossible as it sounds,’ Vladric said, unbothered by the laughter. ‘I know precisely where they’ll be.’

  ‘And I know “precisely” where the airlock is,’ Sig replied. ‘I’ll just space myself and save you the trouble, thanks.’

  ‘We need House Obyeran’s Lightspears,’ Vladric said. ‘We can’t win without them.’

  Sig hung his head and ran both hands through his hair, clenching his fists tightly around clumps of it.

  ‘We can’t win at all,’ he growled, staring incredulously, all trace of humour gone.

  ‘You never believed in this plan, did you?’ Vladric asked.

  ‘It takes more faith than usual,’ Sig admitted.

  ‘They’ll each be alone, in a disabled ship … unarmed! It’s a ritual they have, some rite of passage. Of all the raids you’ve done, none were easier than this.’

  A scowl twisted Sig’s face.

  ‘Why not send one of the younger sadists instead?’ he said.

  ‘Because I need my best sadist for this,’ Vladric answered. ‘Someone experienced, with—’

  ‘No,’ Sig said. ‘I’m not doing it.’

  ‘Sig, you’ve had a lot to drink.’

  ‘Masaad Obyeran has committed no crime,’ Sig said. ‘They are completely isolated from Orionis, Ceti, the Belt, everything.’

  ‘Which is exactly why there’s no harm in—’

  ‘You are asking me to kidnap a father’s children, you fucking lunatic.’

  The shout lingered, drowning out the opera for a moment. It was the first time Sig had ever raised his voice to Vladric, whose expression was serious.

  ‘You never answered my question about regret,’ he started. ‘Now I know. The twins are amniosynths … creatures mutated to ends that frighten even me. Their “mother” died years before they were born, but King Masaad had a uterus made from her DNA to grow their embryos to term. The latest generation of their cult is born that way. They’re all brothers and sisters, like insects from a hive. These aren’t the kind of children that play with toys. The Obyeran twins are grown adults who are bigger, stronger, smarter, and faster than you. I can appreciate you being a little apprehensive about killin
g people. But that’s not what I’ve asked you to do.’

  Vladric’s voice was always calm before he did bad things.

  ‘They’re ghosts,’ Sig said, avoiding eye contact. ‘Just like us.’

  ‘I’m human,’ Vladric corrected. ‘Just like you.’

  Sig knew it was pointless to argue. Amniosynth technology had rescued an endangered human race from extinction. It had also provided some with the means to merge and reproduce almost any life form at will, blurring the line between what was and was not human. Orionis, with their damned Heritage Act, made that distinction very clear. Vladric never respected it. But he also had his own definition of “human” in mind.

  ‘Let’s say I’m alright with the moral parameters and succeed in caging these twins,’ Sig asked. ‘Then what?’

  Vladric crossed his arms.

  ‘Then His Majesty will help me take the Archangel if he wants to see them again.’

  ‘The man hasn’t done anything wrong. To you or to Ceti.’

  ‘No. He hasn’t.’

  ‘And if he refuses?’

  ‘Then one of his heirs will die, and I’ll attack the Archangel without him.’

  ‘Even knowing that you’d lose.’

  ‘We all lose once that ship leaves the yard,’ Vladric said. ‘It’s death or the brig for everyone. Hedricks will take the Archangel and half the Navy into the Belt, and set his Gryphons upon our outposts. Bertha will be lost. Lethe will be taken or bombarded. Brotherhood will fall. Orionis “law and order” will prevail in the Outer Rim, but only with the same martial conditions that prompted us to get into this business. I’d rather die with a gun in my hand. There was a time when you would have done the same.’

  ‘If you petitioned Chancellor Jade’s government to be recognised as a nation, we could avoid bloodshed—’

  ‘Sig. Stop that nonsense. It’s beneath you. Nothing you’ve done for Lethe will atone for the evil you’ve done. It won’t release you from the vow you took. Nor return the lives you’ve taken. The Archangel is your only absolution; your only hope for Lethe, your friends, the on-again, off-again woman you’re happy to fuck but shy to marry. The Ceti revolution didn’t end with Brotherhood, and I never signed a peace treaty with Orionis.’