All Our Tomorrows

by All Our Tomorrows (epub)

  The names triggered a flood of buried memories from a different time, a different world, a different life. “Then you must be Maris. When you joined the SAI Rebellion, it created quite the scandal in the more rarified circles of Anaden society.”

  “Well…” the woman smiled icily and drew her fingertips along the edge of her desk “…I do so love stirring up a scandal.”

  Her demeanor was frigid enough to make him wish for the relative congeniality of the Concord Senate. “I apologize if I’ve offended you.”

  “Not at all. Or, I should say, not today.”

  He tried brandishing his most disarming countenance. “If I may soften the sting nonetheless, you are far more lovely than your mother ever dreamed of being.”

  “Assuming she dreamed of such things. I no longer recall her face, so I shall take your word for it.”

  “You genuinely don’t remember her?”

  “I remember her throwing things in the general direction of my head at our last encounter. I do not wish to remember anything further.”

  “I see.” Another reminder that the side of the SAI Rebellion he’d experienced was only half the story. It rang true, though; Salash Idoni had been a vain and callous woman even before rebellion had torn her family apart. “I confess to being a bit surprised to meet you. I always assumed I was the sole person who still lived to recall those events of so long ago, but in my visits to the Asterion Dominion, I have done virtually nothing but meet people who were there as well.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself overmuch. There are but a few of us who survive to keep the memory of our persecution alive. Tell me, do you no longer dispute synthetics’ right to live, much less live freely?”

  “It’s been seven hundred millennia. During this time, a myriad of experiences has led me to evolve my position on the matter, yes.” He swallowed a sigh, clasped his hands together and lifted his chin. “I feel like we’ve begun on the wrong footing. What can I do to improve our discourse?”

  Maris gestured toward a round glass table by the window, and he followed her to it. She poured two glasses of lemon water from a crystal pitcher that must double as a work of art, then handed him one. “You’re here today because you want Asterions and Anadens to be friends again, correct?”

  “To put a fine point on it, yes. But I recognize a lot of work lies in front of us before friendship enters the picture. To start, I want to try to begin to heal the divisions sowing animosity between us. Address some of the root causes, then expand from there.”

  “Hmm.” She sipped on her water while eyeing him speculatively over the glass. “Prove you are sincere in your intentions. Give us Asterion Prime.”

  Bitter lemon burned his throat as he choked on his drink. “Excuse me?”

  “Asterion Prime. The planet. We would like it returned to us.”

  “I cannot displace eight hundred million people and order them to pick up and move to another planet.”

  “I suppose that would be terribly rude. Perhaps you can declare war on them instead. It will accomplish the same end.”

  Well, this conversation was not in any way improving from its disastrous start. Yes, he should have better prepared himself for the acrimony that clearly lingered in the hearts of many Asterions. But even so. “I cannot undo the past, Advisor…?”

  “Debray.”

  “Advisor Debray. The SAI Rebellion and its consequences are carved upon the immutable stone of history, but we can only move forward. To such an end, I will point out that you’re not banished from Asterion Prime. As the Dominion is now an Allied Member of Concord, any Dominion citizen can visit Asterion Prime whenever they wish.”

  “Oh, I know. I’ve already visited it three times, myself. Each visit has caused the yearning in my heart for my long-lost home to grow stronger.”

  He glanced toward the windows and the city beyond. “Objectively, Mirai is a more attractive planet than Asterion Prime. You have a truly wonderful home here.”

  “I do, don’t I? And yet.”

  He tried again. “If the Dominion were to become a full member of Concord, Asterions would have the legal right to move there. It’s in the Concord Charter.”

  Her lips pursed, as if to form a glistening horizon beyond which dark thoughts churned. “You make a valid point. But we’ve only just met the many-varied people of Concord, and I’m afraid Asterions are rather the independent sort. You should recollect this about us. We are grateful to have friends in Concord with whom we share much in the way of common purpose, but we’re not ready to tie our fate and our future to your organization just yet.”

  “It would be fast, no question.” He was overcome by the desire to find some means to please this woman, if merely in the tiniest way. He was Corradeo Praesidis, and entire legal systems had changed at his word.

  “I cannot promise you anything here and now, but I may be able to engineer an exception that will allow Asterions to legally settle on Asterion Prime without the Dominion becoming a full member of Concord. In recognition of your lengthy history with and connection to the planet.”

  Her eyes widened slightly. “You can do that?”

  “I can try.”

  “Will you?”

  For you, yes—gods, what was wrong with him? Despite his best efforts, she’d managed to thoroughly ruffle him. “If this is an official request of the Asterion Dominion government, then I will make every attempt to ensure it happens.”

  “And if it’s simply my personal request?”

  He stared at her, unable to conjure a proper response.

  She smiled, less icily than before but far more dangerously. “I only jest. Please, consider it an official request.”

  “Then I will endeavor to comply with the Dominion’s first request in our negotiations.”

  “Do that. It will be a…” Maris twirled a lock of curls around her pinky finger “…positive first step.”

  Mirai One

  Grant Mesahle had rented what he’d said was an apartment, but it appeared to more closely resemble a warehouse, especially since it was located in the midst of a neighborhood that contained an equal mix of both.

  He answered the door wiping grease off his forehead using a ratty cloth. “Maris? This is a surprise. Come on in.”

  The inside of the residence confirmed her impression of it from the outside—one wide-open room with a couple of pieces of furniture thrown haphazardly around a bunch of workbenches and equipment. “Interesting choice of living space.”

  He shrugged as he went over to a refrigeration unit, retrieved two sparkling juices and handed her one. “I plan on returning to Namino at the first available opportunity. But until then, I can’t just sit around twiddling my thumbs. I’ve got to be working.”

  “And here I thought Lance was driving you around the clock.”

  “Only three-quarters of the clock lately. But the rest was feeling too much like idle time.”

  Some people never did change…which coincided nicely with what had brought her here. She moved to the sole couch and draped herself upon it, resting her head on one generous arm cushion and crossing her legs at the ankles on the other. “Grant, why are we doing all of this?”

  He perched on the edge of a nearby chair and dropped his elbows to his knees. “All of what? Most of the things we’re doing right now involve us trying rather desperately to survive.”

  “Yes, of course. We have always been survivors. I only mean…Corradeo Praesidis paid me a visit today.”

  “Oh? I’d heard he was skulking around our corner of the cosmos again.”

  “He’s now the appointed Anaden representative to the Concord Senate, and he’s allegedly attempting to build a new Anaden government from the ashes their Directorate left behind.”

  “A kinder, gentler Anaden government, I assume?”

  “So he professes. I remain skeptical.”

  Grant frowned. “Listen, you know I’m always happy to chat with you, but am I really the best person to be giving you advice o
n this topic?”

  “The available pool of First Genners—of people who remember the SAI Rebellion and the atrocities he committed as Supreme Commander—is not a large one. No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  “Lance despises Anadens in general and Corradeo Praesidis in particular with far greater vitriol than even I can conjure. Understandably so, considering it was the soldiers under Lance’s command who the man massacred, but Lance cannot be remotely objective. Nika is too busy courting kyoseil like she’s the starry-eyed princess at a cotillion ball to be bothered with thorny diplomatic issues.”

  “That is her job, though.”

  “It is.” Maris arched an eyebrow. “Nevertheless, she has dumped this one in my lap.”

  “All right.” Grant nodded and leaned forward in greater interest. “How was Corradeo when you met with him?”

  “Utterly charming.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mean ‘charismatic’? Because I remember him being that. But charming?”

  “Charming.” She groaned and threw a forearm over her eyes. “Kind, complimentary, gracious, persuasive. It was dreadful.”

  “Do you think he was being sincere?”

  “How should I know? Can people ever truly change? Has he? Have we?”

  “Um…yes, I believe we have, if possibly not quite as much as we like to imagine.”

  “Precisely. We tweak our personality programming here and there. We rewrite our skill sets to learn new things and so on, but we’re fundamentally the same people we were all those millennia ago. Sometimes I think we’re so stuck that we’re almost caricatures of ourselves. I must assume he is as well, mustn’t I?”

  “I don’t know, Maris. People can grow and improve while still remaining true to themselves.”

  “You believe that?”

  “I do.”

  She nodded in superficial acceptance of his assertion. “So I ask again: why are we doing all of this? To survive, yes, but it isn’t enough. What are we surviving for? Who do we want to be when this is over? A fiercely independent people carving our own path through the cosmos? Or good, responsible citizens and contributors to an intergalactic community of mostly peaceful species?”

  “Nika would say we can be both.”

  “Nika is as stubborn as a mule and entertains completely unrealistic expectations about the universe and its inhabitants. She’s never accepted the world as it is and is constantly fighting to make it something….”

  “Better?”

  “I concede so. Oh, I’m merely perturbed at her for passing the Supreme Commander off to me and thereby forcing me to grapple with these existential questions.”

  “Fair enough. So, what did the two of you discuss?”

  “I asked him to give us Asterion Prime back.”

  “You did what?”

  Maris giggled. “Exactly what I said. It was the most absurd, nigh-on-obscene request I could think of on the spot. But you know what? While he didn’t agree to cede us the planet, he did say he would try to finagle Asterions the right to settle there.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I am. We’ll see if he is. But you understand what I’m getting at now. I mean, what am I supposed to do with this man?”

  “Asterion Prime? This does change a few things.” Grant rubbed at his jaw. “Okay, it’s just a suggestion, but listen to what he has to say? If his proposals benefit us, consider accepting them, starting with the Asterion Prime one. Try to forge a professional relationship, if such a thing is possible with someone who brings so much baggage to the table. Take what he’s willing to give, and hold him accountable. Never trust him.”

  “You are a wise man, Grant.” She swung her legs off the couch and sat up. “You should share your wisdom with the rest of the world.”

  “Nope. I should build and sell space-rated habitat components and improve starship designs.”

  She fisted her hands at her chin, studying him for a moment. “Your laid-back, easy-going demeanor fools most people, but not me. Of all the First Genners who remain, it sometimes feels as though you still bear the scars of the rebellion more fervently—more painfully—than any of us, even Lance. Not to make Corradeo Praesidis’ point for him, but the rebellion was so terribly long ago, and we’ve come so very far since then. Why don’t you let them heal?”

  “Because they serve as a reminder to me to ensure I never make the same mistakes again.”

  61

  * * *

  SYNRA

  Asterion Dominion

  Selene wiped sweat off her brow, then wound her hair into a low tail as she cut through the busy pedestrian traffic on her way to the Justice Center. How did the first Asterions survive on this sweltering planet? How did they do so today? If she’d been on one of the generation ships, she would have stepped outside, peered around, inhaled once, then pivoted and announced they needed to keep searching for a new home.

  She supposed the answer to the second question was that the people who lived here every day fine-tuned their physical responses to heat and humidity so it didn’t trouble them so much. If she planned on being here for longer than the afternoon, she’d definitely do the same.

  The air conditioning inside the Justice Center wrapped her in its refreshing embrace, and she breathed the cool, dry air deep into her lungs before heading to the top floor.

  Spencer was in his office meeting with two of his deputies when she stuck her head in, but he motioned her onward. He wore breathable linen pants and had his shirt-sleeves rolled up, and she noted how the air in the office was even cooler than the rest of the building.

  “Selene, hi. What brings you to Synra?”

  “Do you mind if I poke around down in storage for a bit? I’m chasing a lead, and there’s a chance I’ll uncover some clues in the older files here.” The unspoken implication was that it was a lead related to one of her cases, but so long as she didn’t say so, she wasn’t lying.

  “Not at all. Officer Benjen is on duty down there. Talk to him if you need help accessing anything.”

  “I will, thanks.”

  She left Spencer to his meeting and took the lift down to the basement of the Justice Center. The sprawling depot-style storage space stretched the length and breadth of the city block and for three stories underground. Quantum storage was dense and efficient, but Justice had existed in some form on Synra for over 680,000 years, which made for a veritable ocean of files.

  She nodded to the security officer at the entrance. “Namino Justice Advisor Selene Panetier. Advisor Nimoet authorized me to take a look at some files.”

  “Yes, ma’am, he sent word.” The officer gestured to an alcove containing a workstation a few meters to the right of the lift. “It’s all yours.”

  “Appreciated.” She sat down at the workstation and logged into the interface, then wasted no time running a top-level search for ‘Joaquim Lacese.’

  Two entries popped up. Given what she’d seen of his ‘no holds barred’ approach to life, she’d expected quite a few more. One of the entries was recent, and a quick scan told her it involved former Justice Advisor Blake Satair investigating Lacese for terrorist activities in the waning days of the Guides’ rule. NOIR business, no doubt.

  The second entry was much older. It involved an inquiry into criminal allegations relating to a woman named Cassidy Frenton. The investigation culminated in a raid of the woman’s residence, which, as it turned out, she shared with Joaquim. The raid got ugly in a bad way, leaving the woman nonfunctional and most of the apartment and its contents heavily damaged. Evidence was confiscated and investigated, but nothing incriminating was uncovered, and the woman was cleared of wrongdoing in the case. Her psyche backup storage, however, was deemed irreparably damaged in the raid, and no additional remote storage existed.

  In a world of near-total immortality, the woman was dead.

  It was later determined that an error in a Justice analysis algorithm had incorrectly targeted Cassidy Frenton. The algorithm wa
s reworked, financial reparations were paid, and the case was closed.

  “He also killed the love of my life, but that’s another story.”

  “I’d like to hear that story.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t want to tell it.”

  She felt a deep pang of sympathy for Joaquim, and for his lost love. Justice had committed a terrible mistake, and it had cost a woman her life. Selene preferred to believe such mistakes didn’t happen often in Asterion society, but ‘not often’ wasn’t never.

  Still, why was Frenton’s backup in her residence? Why hadn’t she stored a remote copy in a bank? Was it Lacese’s trademark paranoia at work, way back then?

  Selene pulled up the address of the apartment on Justice’s annotated map, and discovered the neighborhood fell on the lower end of working-class. It might be that ‘they didn’t have the money for quality remote backup storage’ was a reasonable answer.

  With a sigh she sank down in the chair and clasped her hands behind her head. So now she knew the story, or at least the cold, clinical facts of it.

  It went a long way toward explaining Joaquim’s reactionary hatred of Justice. A programming mistake had cost this woman her life forever, and Justice had more or less shrugged and said, ‘alas, nothing to be done about it.’ She imagined he’d not taken well to the overwhelming helplessness the situation must have evoked. Of course he would have blamed Justice—the officers on the raid, the programmer of the algorithm, the supervisors who approved everything, the institution as an entity. His response, unsurprisingly, was to walk away from his old life, rebel against the system that had wronged him, and help create a resistance movement that would eventually succeed in tearing the whole system down.

  And now here they were.

  Had learning the truth helped anything? Joaquim wouldn’t want her sympathy or commiseration; he just wasn’t that type of guy. In fact, if she admitted what she’d done here, he’d surely kick her out of his bed for a month at a minimum, and quite possibly forever. So was there anything useful she could do with this knowledge?