Questions or concerns? Where the hell do I begin? “No, sir, I do not.”
“Despite the negligence of your actions in the Anuvi System, you have maintained an excellent record during your forty-six year career in the Imperial Exploration Service. Be assured we have considered your record in determining sentence.” He paused and cleared his throat. “It is the judgment of this committee that you, Captain William Osatari Bandele, be demoted to the rank of lieutenant, with its commensurate privileges and benefits. You are also sentenced to be incarcerated at the Union Security Service Tyco Crater penal facility for a period of eight years, minus time served.”
Bandele heard Ferrel sob, but he didn’t turn to look at her.
Bajnai continued. “However, given your excellent record, vast experience, and exceptional skills, and if you behave yourself, at the end of three years’ incarceration you will be transferred to Imperial Exploration Outpost Gunnarsson on the world of Akaisha for the remainder of your sentence. Here you will assist the inhabitants of that world in integrating into Imperial society, and assist in surveying the unique features of that planet. While so incarcerated and serving on Akaisha, you are forbidden to speak to anyone other than the inhabitants of Akaisha, the Exploration Service, the Imperial Navy, the Union Security Service, and the General Intelligence Directorate. Failure to follow this prohibition will be punished by the stripping of all rank, privileges and benefits, a dishonorable discharge from the Exploration Service, and a period of twenty years’ incarceration at a facility to be determined. Do you have any questions about this sentence?”
Not too terrible, I guess. “No, sir, I do not.”
“You have been given a chance to redeem yourself, Lieutenant.”
Fuck you, asshole. “Thank you, sir.”
Pederson
What a bunch of pussies.
Lars Pederson, Assistant Director for Operations, General Intelligence Directorate, looked at the five young people standing before him and sighed. The talent pool had shrunk considerably over the last few years, so this was the best he could find. They were all Human, of course, three men and two women. Pederson considered Hominins sub-Human, unworthy of recruitment into the General Intelligence Directorate. The Hominin races discovered since Humanity began to explore the stars were far less adaptable and intelligent than any Human.
Was it any wonder the Harbingers transplanted the base Human stock to new worlds?
Compared against all the major species in the Milky Way Galaxy, Humans were among the most flexible, adaptable, and intelligent.
However, these five almost destroyed that argument.
“Who can summarize the lessons learned from the Snirr Wars?”
Silence.
“Anyone?”
Antilla spoke up, his voice quiet. “Humanity and their Hominin brethren will only survive in political and cultural union with each other. If we are ever divided, we will fall.”
“The textbook answer. Can you elaborate?”
Silence.
“Anyone? You, Mandagi.”
The young woman stood no more than a meter and a half in height, but though she was intelligent, she definitely had a confidence problem. “United Earth, though in political union, had a society that was far from cohesive. It was a collection of competing interest groups: ethnic, cultural, and even genetic- or techno cultural. These widely different groups had diverse, and in many cases, bizarre goals that did not mesh, goals objectionable or outright hostile to those of other interest groups. It was diversity to destructive ends. Though united into one government, society was fractious, and the government of the time maintained power by pitting these groups against each other.” She paused.
“Very good, Mandagi. How does all of this relate to the Snirr?”
“Stress exerted on the political structure from the outside, in this case the appearance of the Snirr, caused the political structure to fail. A common culture did not serve to bind society in the face of an existential threat.”
“So, how did we defeat the Snirr?”
Silence.
“Come on people, this is basic stuff, and it relates directly to our mission. How did we defeat the Snirr?”
“We almost didn’t,” Augustin said. “If Admiral von Kármán had not arrived in time to save the Earth, the Secessionists would have won, and Humans would have been just another Snirr slave species.”
“That is just a detail, Mr. Augustin. You need to take a larger view of things.”
Galomé cleared his throat. Pederson could tell he had been patiently keeping his mouth shut, and he looked somewhat frustrated with his companions.
“Mr. Galomé? You have something to say?”
“If the Snirr had not attacked, United Earth would have dissolved into thousands of cultural polities, each squabbling and warring with the others. We would have slipped back into the nightmare of the ancients, Earth before the Unification Wars, competing nations and ethnicities at each other’s throats. Had the Snirr known this, all they had to do was wait a century and they could have conquered us with less than half the trouble.”
“Say it, Mr. Galomé.”
“The diverse or, I would argue freakish, interest groups had to be swept away. Humanity had to have both a common political union and a common culture to ensure the survival of the species.”
“Excellent, Mr. Galomé. However, no sooner had we defeated the Snirr, the intelligent weapons we had created to fight our battles turned on us. Tell me about it.”
“In our desperation to defeat the Snirr, we created horrible hybrids of Humans and machines. Abominations. The war with the Transhumans was short but incredibly bloody. They not only attacked us with horrific nuclear and biological weapons, they infected our very physical form with nanotech viruses meant to transform us into something other than Human, grotesque parodies of sentient beings enslaved by the horrible logic of rogue artificial intelligences.”
“The lesson here?”
“We must remain the masters of our fate,” Galomé replied. “Our creations must be under our control. That is why we no longer use automatons in battle, and that our creations are constrained by logic inhibitors and strict laws. We fight our own fights. We pilot our own vessels and spacecraft. We care for our own aged. We bear our own children. We prize the natural Human Form. These things make us what we are. We learned that if we do not do these things, we lose our Humanity, and become monsters.”
“Mr. Galomé, since you’re clearly the only one who has done his homework, what can you tell me about the occurrence of Human telepathy?”
“There have been occurrences of Human telepathy since pre-history, but it was sufficiently rare that the science of the time did not take it seriously. Only when Humans settled other worlds did our numbers grow great enough to reveal quantifiable telepathic abilities in Humans. Scientists today debate whether the phenomenon is becoming more common, with more and more Humans displaying these abilities, or whether we have just become better at detecting it. All that said, the occurrence is still quite rare, less than one one-hundredth of a percent of the Human population, and even less in Hominin populations. One drawback with telepathy, the ability is usually associated with physical or psychological deformities, which is one reason so few were detected in the past: any telepath would have died because of these deformities long before the telepathic power would manifest in puberty. Therefore, one can conclude modern medical care has increased the occurrence of this ability within the population.”
“Outstanding, Mr. Galomé. So much for the introduction to today’s demonstration.” Only Galomé’s eyes weren’t glazed over. No matter, Pederson would fail the others and assign them to less demanding duties, but Galomé would proceed with the program.
However, he would keep them all here for the freak show.
“Agent Hoffman? Are you ready to proceed?”
“Yes, Agent Pederson.” A tall and slender blonde woman rose from a chair in the back of the room. She waved her h
ands through the air and the wall at the front of the room turned transparent. Behind the transparent wall was a control room, spanning approximately twenty meters at its widest point, the walls covered with flatscreens, holographic projectors, computer terminals and other electronics and machinery. Three technicians sat at consoles and tapped keyboards. A large holographic projection of yet another chamber occupied the front of the control room.
“The holographic projection is of a chamber located three hundred kilometers away from us here in the Intelligence Research Installation,” Hoffman said, “and a hundred meters below the surface of the Moon. This is necessary for our safety.” She put on a headset. “Commence with the operation.”
One of the technicians turned in his chair and nodded. He turned back to the console and spoke into his headset while tapping on the keyboard in front of him. A section of the wall of the chamber in the holographic projection receded and rose. A robot maneuvered a power chair holding an unconscious male Human into the chamber.
Agent Hoffman turned to the students. “This hom, we believe, is one of the most powerful telepaths in the Union. The most powerful, by an order of magnitude, was Demeter Freedman, but we lost her when the Anuvi Artifact plunged into the atmosphere of the gas giant. While Freedman was powerful enough to manipulate matter on the smallest and largest scales, this hom can only influence minds. Though, do not be fooled, it is still very dangerous.”
A large flatscreen displayed an image of the telepath. Graphics displayed physical indicators like heartbeat, respiration rate, and measurable brain activity. The telepath was unconscious, various apparatus and medical machinery attached to the power chair monitoring its vital signs
A section on the opposite wall of the chamber in the holographic projection receded and rose. A robot pushed another power chair into the chamber. Another large flatscreen in the control room displayed a male hom, probably Human, fastened to the chair with arm, leg, and head restraints. Thin gray, black, and silver lines covered the skin all over his naked muscular body. Conscious, the hom looked around, his obviously artificial eyes wide with fear and uncertainty. Graphics displayed the hom’s heartbeat, respiration rate, and measurable brain activity.
“This is an enforcer for the Nano Mob,” Hoffman said, “designation Horz Kanos Lineage 635-X. We captured a group of the Mob trying to sell information to a Naati agent. He has been convicted of espionage, unnecessary body modification, and undermining the social stability of the Hominin Union by willingly becoming a transhuman. Unlike some of his colleagues that we captured, he still has a relatively whole brain, a necessary feature for the role he is about to play.”
Pederson could barely contain his loathing for the creature, the taste of the feeling sour in his mouth. Willing desecration of the Hominin form! Disgusting! Even the students hissed and cursed in contempt.
“The Nano Mob communicates using a stealth network of quasi-particle and electromagnetic signals,” Hoffman said. “They are able to piggyback on the legal communication networks within a star system. This is, of course, highly illegal, but Mob members never stay in constant communication, and are adept at communicating using microbursts and masking the signal. By the time security protocols detect the signal, it disappears. The purpose of this experiment is to test the following hypothesis: a telepath can gain access to the Nano Mob’s stealth network through the brain of an individual member. That flat screen there will show any activity on the uplink we have installed between the Mob enforcer and the communications network within Sol system.” She spoke into the headset. “Okay, wake him up.”
The technician in the control room murmured into his headset. The telepath’s respiration and heart rate began to increase and become somewhat irregular. The brainwave activity gauges started to move slowly but then flutter. Looking at the flatscreen, Pederson saw the telepath open his eyes.
The mob enforcer screamed. Pederson saw the hom’s mouth open, the artificial eyes wide and shining. His scream became a screech, the sound full of fear and pain. The uplink activity monitor registered minor fluctuation at first, but then registered huge amounts of data transmission.
Pederson smiled. “Success, Agent Hoffman. This will go a long way toward breaking the operations of the Mob.” Pederson turned and looked at the students. Only Galomé watched with intent. Three of the others had turned their heads, and Mandagi had passed out.
The enforcer’s screaming stopped short. Pederson saw activity on the uplink had ceased, and the enforcer’s vital signs flat lining. The enforcer’s head hung at an odd angle and drool dripped from his mouth. “Is it dead?”
“I’m afraid so, Agent Pederson,” Hoffman replied. “We’ve been having trouble controlling the telepath’s strength and activities.”
“I would still count this as a success, Agent Hoffman. Keep working on the control factor.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Pederson turned back to his students. “Okay, ladies and gentlemen…”
Pederson’s pockcomp chimed. “Agent Pederson? The Minister is making his final approach. Twenty minutes.”
“Thank you. Agent Hoffman, can you finish up with the students?”
“Of course.”
Pederson grabbed his tablet from the table and exited the room. He swiped and read the device, reviewing the Minister’s file yet again as he made his way to the docking bay, four floors above.
Bacchus Freedman, his predecessor and mentor, had kept dossiers on every notable figure in government, to be aware of whomever the Directorate would need to deal with in the course of carrying out its duties, and to apply pressure, when need be, by exploiting any weakness or vulnerability. These files were illegal of course, but a necessity. Robert McFinn, the just-appointed Minister for Intelligence, had a file with certain possibilities.
Robert McFinn’s record looked similar to the files of many other government functionaries: law degrees from top schools; immediate appointment to Ministry positions through familial connections; a naval officer for a father; a mother with long and distinguished service in the Diplomatic Corps; and piles of money.
It’s almost cliché. However, this looks interesting.
Naval Justice charged Robert’s father, Andrew McFinn, with war crimes for participating in the Neffi Massacre during the Kalix Campaigns of 2580 to 2584. The elder McFinn was accused of bombarding non-combatants from orbit while Captain of the Scheer. The Navy dropped all charges when, late in the court martial, Naval Intelligence uncovered evidence of military activity in the bombarded settlements.
Yeah, right. Manufactured, more like it.
In addition to this, the Navy had charged the elder McFinn with trafficking in Hominin artifacts, but dropped the charges for lack of evidence. To round out the story, the Vice-Admiral’s record contained more than forty non-judicial punishments for various minor offenses over the course of his career, mostly for disrespect of superiors and disciplinary infractions for fighting and gambling.
Seems daddy was a bit of a rebel.
However, the file also listed a number of commendations and Distinguished Service medals for bravery and resourcefulness.
Runs in the family, it seems.
Robert McFinn had stints in the Ministries for Interstellar Affairs, the Treasury, and Interstellar Trade before his appointment to Intelligence. Pederson knew this was typical: expertise rarely entered into consideration when appointing Ministers. Connections and money were far more important.
Then, of course, there was this.
The Minister for Interstellar Affairs suspended him from his duties for a year while the Union Security Service investigated McFinn, a commissioner, for bribery and influence peddling. However, nothing came of the charges: the witnesses left Earth or met with unfortunate accidents, and there was too little substantiating financial evidence.
Heh.
That was just the first in a long list: multiple charges of influence peddling, insider trading, evidence tampering, witness intimidation and b
ribery. Coincident with the list of charges, the man’s net worth more than tripled, and when daddy kicked the bucket, Robert McFinn was worth more than a hundred million credits.
Not bad!
McFinn had always seemed to weasel out of it due to missing or suppressed evidence or reluctant or missing witnesses. However, there was something missing. Usually details of extra-marital affairs, sodomy, or other sexual perversions filled the dossiers of government officials. It seemed to Pederson that power attracted the worst sort of person: such moral degeneracy had contributed to the collapse of United Earth over two hundred years ago. However, in Robert McFinn’s case there was none of that: he married Jane Ackerman in 2605 and the couple had a son, Joshua, in 2606. Either evidence of such extra-curricular activities was missing, very unlikely given the GID’s resources, or the man wasn’t a pervert.
Quite remarkable, all things considered.
Ackerman, the wife, was almost perfect: an accomplished lawyer from a wealthy and upstanding family, with no criminal or moral blemishes on her record.
Why do the nice girls always go for the bad boys?
It seems, however, she got wise to her husband’s shenanigans, and left Earth for New Queensland, one of the Senate Worlds, in ‘23. Pederson smirked: the communications recordings between husband and wife were one long stream of obscenities. No prosecutor could submit these recordings as evidence, because of a married couple’s right to immunity from testimony, but the recordings provided more than enough material to confirm Robert McFinn’s guilt.
Then there was the son, Joshua Andrew McFinn. A bit of a wild card, the man had his grandfather’s balls and the family smarts, but seemed to operate above board with everything. Through his connections, Robert McFinn had set up a nice comfortable posting with the Home Fleet at the beginning of Joshua’s naval career, but the son spurned the position, and volunteered for dangerous duty with the Fifth Fleet. Other than several illicit sexual encounters with his current commanding officer, McFinn had so far served with distinction, even bravery. His role in the Anuvi Incident had contributed to the absolute ruin all of Bacchus Freedman’s plans. However, in hindsight, that was a good thing.
The Borrega Test Page 4
