Then, Iris looked at him. “I hope you don’t think changing my name means I’m siding with you.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t think there are sides. At least, there shouldn’t be. Not when it comes to family.”
“What family?” She gave a bitter chuckle, which sent a stab of remorse through his heart, even though he’d had nothing to do with splitting their family apart. “There are sides, Dad. You know there are. There’s the side that wants to wrap society in a protective bubble, and there’s the side that believes it’s impossible to protect anything completely.”
“Okay. Which side are you on, then?”
She shook her head. “Both, I think.” Frowning, she continued: “I was at the protest earlier, you know. I heard what you said.”
“That’s fine. I wouldn’t try to hide it from you.”
“Don’t you think it’s awful that when disaster strikes, it’s the poor that get screwed?”
“I do think it’s awful. I think it’s awful that anyone was killed by the Progenitors.”
Iris shook her head. “That’s a dodge. You’re avoiding the heart of it: we can’t go on like this, letting the poor get wiped out every time a crisis comes.”
“Again, I’d rather no one got wiped out. I think that’s a valid thing to say, and a valid thing to strive for. But I don’t think it’s what Snyder is striving for. She’s laying the problem at the feet of the wealthy, when it should be laid at the Progenitors’ feet, and the solution she’s agitating for is to cast the wealthy low.”
“People who leave behind their neighbors to die should be cast low.”
“I agree with you. But many packed their ships full with evacuees. Should they be punished, too? Because that’s how wide a net Snyder wants to cast. She wants to remove wealth from the equation altogether—make it so there are no more rich people. That’s a very stupid thing to try to accomplish. We should be doing everything in our power to make it so that if people work hard and produce things society needs, there’s a reasonable expectation of becoming wealthy. If we level things out completely, we’ll remove most of the incentive to contribute. Goodwill alone doesn’t keep a society going, sadly.”
But Iris was shaking her head. “So you want to keep letting the chips fall where they may. Let the strong prosper and the weak perish.”
“That’s not what I said. I think it’s fine to help people—to raise a tide that lifts everyone. But Snyder wants to make people equal by bringing the successful down, not by lifting the unfortunate up. It’s poison.”
His daughter had stopped listening. He followed her gaze to the bed, where Jake’s eyes were open, and his brow furrowed.
He was staring straight at Iris.
“Who are you?” he said.
Chapter 7
Accelerate the Plan
Chiba, the President of the Interstellar Union, leaned back in his chair and gazed wearily at the seventeen documents his Oculenses now displayed in midair over his desk.
“I need sleep,” he muttered to himself.
His job had always been taxing, but nothing could have prepared him for the way this war was testing him. Billions of lives hung on every decision he made, and on top of all that, the Quatro seemed uninterested in speaking with anyone except the President of the Union when it came to diplomatic and military matters. Or any matter, really. He supposed it was a reflection of their top-heavy style of governance, but whatever the reason, the Elders appeared to consider it beneath them to talk with any functionary except the president.
His office door’s heavy, brass knobs turned, and the Quatro Eldest barreled through, sending both doors flying against the wall.
Speaking of which…
The doors closed behind the Quatro leader of their own accord, or so it would appear to an uninformed observer. Evolution had granted the Quatro brains laced with superconducting fullerenes, allowing them to manipulate metals at will. The warm temperature Chiba kept his office at dampened the power considerably, but the Eldest’s superconducting capacity seemed stronger than his fellows. Enough that he could make the large, oaken doors fly open and closed with ease, anyway.
“Eldest,” Chiba said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
He wasn’t an expert in Quatro body language, but the alien didn’t seem happy. It stalked across the office and came to a stop in front of the desk, lips peeled back in a silent snarl. Chiba fought to conceal his reaction. Normally, the Eldest sat on his haunches during their meetings.
“The Quatro are deeply disappointed with your recent actions, President Chiba,” the alien growled.
“You’ll have to be a little more specific,” Chiba said, letting some of his annoyance come out in his voice. “I’ve been taking thousands of actions a day, lately. Today, I’m mostly trying to prevent what happened to Thessaly from happening elsewhere. With hundreds of colonized star systems, almost half of them accessible only by warp travel, that’s proving very difficult.”
“I refer to your continued willingness to work with Captain Vin Husher, who refused to turn over to us the Quatro criminal he harbors aboard his ship. And now, he flies with a ship full of such criminals. As I told you when we formed this alliance, we reserve the right to discipline wayward Quatro. They must be folded back into the drift.”
Chiba shook his head, causing the muscular tail that hung from it to switch back and forth against his chair. “Husher is a man of the moment. As I told you, Eldest, right now we need him. But he’s a tool whose utility will expire the day the war is won. It goes without saying that he gained his position because of privilege he never earned, and that will be his undoing, in the end. But until then, he has demonstrated his willingness to do battle to prevent those Quatro from being handed over. We can’t afford to lose any more ships, Eldest. Or any more captains.”
The Quatro reared up, planting his massive paws on Chiba’s desk and lowering his head toward him, as though intending to strike.
Chiba recoiled—he couldn’t help it. But the Quatro came to a stop within inches of his face.
“Your hollow ploys fail to impress,” the Eldest growled. “We have grown weary of them. You need our military might, Kaithian, and we are prepared to withdraw it if we are not satisfied.”
In spite of himself, Chiba quivered where he sat. “I d-don’t know what I can do,” he managed. “I’m at an impasse, Eldest. I w-wish—”
“Silence,” the Eldest hissed, and Chiba complied. “We need a gesture from you, something that indicates you are committed to cleansing your society of the toxicity that continues to pervade it. We will not maintain an alliance with an ally who is not willing to spurn toxic individuals.”
“You want to accelerate the plan,” Chiba said, hopeful for a way out of this conversation—from a diplomatic perspective and also from a bodily harm perspective.
The Quatro pulled away, so that Chiba no longer felt hot, moist breath on his face. “This is the perfect opportunity to do so,” the Eldest said. “After the war, your people will be less susceptible. But right now, when they are at their most vulnerable, we can show them that our way is the only way forward.”
“Yes,” Chiba said, aware he was nodding a little too vigorously. “I completely agree. Let’s iron out the details right now. Shall we?”
“We shall,” the Eldest said, his orange eyes locked onto Chiba’s.
Chapter 8
The Target Universe
Near the center of Ragnarok Station sat the office of Tennyson Steele, CEO of humanity. It doubled as a fully loaded panic room, designed to float in space for a week in the unlikely event of the station’s destruction, providing full subsistence and amenities to its occupant.
A silky voice came from somewhere to Husher’s left, where he sat in a plush leather armchair in the waiting room outside:
“Come in, Captain.”
Husher stood in time for the office door to slide open, and he stepped through.
The CEO gestured toward the wa
iting chair before his desk, which caused his multiple jowls to wobble dynamically. He could have afforded all manner of cosmetic surgery to rid himself of the weight and to recapture a youthful appearance, but for some reason the CEO chose to keep his bulk. Husher knew that during certain times in human history, girth had been seen as a measure of status. Maybe Steele is of the same mind.
He sat, and the CEO wasted no time. Folding his hands on his desk and leaning forward slightly, he said, “I don’t often get personal visits from you, Captain. To what do I owe the honor? If you’re here to inquire about ramping up the invasion, I assure you it’s well underway.”
Husher nodded slightly. “That’s why I’m here—that is, the fact I had to come here to get an update about the status of the invasion, even one as vague as you just gave me.”
Steele narrowed his eyes. “This star system is your domain, Captain. Your jobs include inspecting the resources our AIs send us, making sure warships are ready for deployment, and maintaining our defenses in case we’re ever attacked. This is your domain, just as the rest of the galaxy was, before it was swallowed whole. As for the target dimension, that’s Teth’s domain. And personally, I’m pleased with the job he’s doing, despite the setbacks.”
“I understand that,” Husher said. “And I understand the reasoning for it. But with the things I’m learning from interrogating the Winger, I’m shocked by just how in the dark you’ve kept me. Why didn’t you tell me my double is prominent in the Milky Way’s defense?”
Steele tilted his head to one side. “You must have known there was a strong possibility you were alive in that universe, in some capacity.”
“All I know is what you told me: that I went against Darkstream in that universe. I assumed that would have disadvantaged me, but now I learn the opposite: I’m prominent there, too! Look, I know my double’s behavior has led you to distrust me, at least on some level. I’d feel the same way, in your position. But if he’s playing a role in coordinating the Milky Way’s defense, then I can guarantee you, you have bigger problems than you think you do.”
A smile sprouted across Steele’s red, chubby face. “I appreciate your faith in yourself.”
“It isn’t faith. It’s certainty. I can help you, Steele. I’m not asking you to send me to the target universe. I know how cautious you are about letting me leave this star system, and again, I understand that. I have no desire to leave. But if you start letting me in on the intel you’re getting from the Milky Way, I can help you anticipate my double’s moves. I can help you counter them.” He laid a hand on the desk, fingers curled upward, and Steele glanced at it before lifting his gaze once more. Drawing a deep breath, Husher added: “Withholding information was what got us into the situation we’re in.”
Steele’s smile faded a little, at that. “We’re in a good situation. What situation are you referring to, Captain?”
Husher waved at the surrounding walls. “I’m referring to our universe collapsing around us. I’ve always served Darkstream faithfully, but I’m also going to call things as I see them. The company’s disinformation campaigns kept the public from seeing the truth about dark tech until it was too late. Now, we’re forced to huddle in Sol while we fight to claim another universe for ourselves.”
Steele’s smile had vanished completely, replaced by a sneer. “I had no idea you took such a dim view of the results of Darkstream’s actions, Captain. If this universe hadn’t collapsed, wouldn’t our enemies here still be alive? And would we have been able to consolidate power over our species as we have? Would we ever have had any reason to develop interdimensional travel, or to build AIs that could subvert the very history of another universe?”
Husher blinked. “I suppose not.”
“Instead of one Winger, you’d have a whole species of them to contend with. The same goes for the Gok and the Kaithe, both who tried to defeat us in the end. If it hadn’t been for the collapse, we might not have beaten the Kaithe. We weren’t strong enough, then.”
Husher’s eyes fell to the desktop. “I understand your point of view. And it makes sense.” He lifted his eyes once more. “But my argument still stands. Letting me in on more intel would bring benefit.”
With a sigh, Steele said, “There’s a lot of sensitive information kicking around the target universe; information I have no desire to let our public in on. Like the fact that my own double was killed by Captain Keyes, over there.”
At that, Husher’s eyebrows shot up.
“Yes,” Steele went on, nodding. “Something else you don’t know: Darkstream was exiled from their galaxy twenty years ago, for the crime of subverting democracy, and now the company’s all but destroyed.”
“The Milky Way has a democracy?”
“You see? These aren’t things the people need to know—not until our hold on the target universe has been cemented, at the very least. But you’ll note that I’m telling them to you.”
“You’re going to start letting me in on more intel.”
“Indeed. I recognize the wisdom in what you’ve said. Which leaves me with the question of how to convey the relevant information to you in the most effective, efficient manner.”
“Teth,” Husher said. “I’d like to speak with Teth.”
Steele smiled. “I’ll arrange for you two to meet.”
Chapter 9
Not Meant for Mechs
As he approached, Andy studied the marine guarding the hatch into Hangar Bay Zeta. The man held an R-57 assault rifle at the ready, and he studied Andy back.
“Hey man,” Andy said once he reached the hatch. “Can I get through?”
The marine frowned at him. “I’m not supposed to let any Oneiri member access the mechs until we figure out why Sato attacked Price. Captain’s orders.”
“Right,” Andy said letting his face fall. Then he lifted his gaze back to the marine’s. “I get that, but listen, I want to ask if you’d do me a solid and bend the rules for just a minute.” The marine opened his mouth, probably to say no, but Andy raised a hand to forestall him. “I know, I know. I’m asking you to do exactly what you were ordered not to. The thing is, I left my com inside my MIMAS, and I’m totally useless without it. I don’t have any Oculenses, and my implant’s connection to the ship’s narrownet is routed through my com. If Gamble finds out I let myself get separated from it, I’m gonna be in big shit.”
The marine sighed, then took a hand off his gun to put two fingers near his eyes and then direct them at Andy. “I’ll be watching you the entire time. You make one move to get into that mech, and I will shoot you. Got that?”
A chill spread through Andy’s chest. But he grinned through it. “Of course, man. I want you to know I really appreciate this.”
The marine stepped aside, slapping the control panel behind him to open the hatch.
Andy slipped his hands into his pockets as he crossed the hangar bay, and his forefinger brushed up against the sedative he’d put there—the sedative that would grant him access to the mech dream.
When he neared his MIMAS, he glanced back at the hatch, where the marine was standing inside the hangar bay, watching him.
“It’s inside the mech,” Andy called. “Just need to lower the ramp and grab it.”
The marine hesitated, then nodded.
Andy sent the command using his implant, and the back of the MIMAS popped out, lowering for him to climb. Without glancing to his right at the marine, he popped the pill into his mouth, clambered up the ramp, and slipped into the waiting cocoon.
“Hey!” the marine yelled. The sound of rapid footfalls echoed through the hangar bay, followed by gunfire. Bullets glanced off the ascending ramp, but none hit Andy.
Idiot.
He awoke inside the mech dream, and the MIMAS became his body. Turning, he retracted his fingers so that they lay flat against his wrists, revealing the twin rotary autocannons built into his forearms.
The marine had almost reached the mech, and the point-blank high-velocity rounds tore
him to shreds. He fell backward against the deck, a bloody, motionless heap.
Andy wavered for a moment. It dawned on him that he’d just crossed the point of no return, without giving it much thought at all.
Well, there certainly wasn’t time to dwell on it now. The shooting would draw more marines to him in short order.
He sprinted across the hangar bay, and he had to duck through the hatch to get through. On the other side, there was barely enough room to stand at full height, and the bulkheads on either side felt way too close. Unlike the hold that contained Cybele, the Vesta’s crew section was designed the way warships had been back when atmosphere had to be hauled up from a planet’s gravity well: as cramped as possible. The atmosphere problem no longer limited size, but there were plenty of other advantages to conserving space in…well, space.
The corridors weren’t meant for mechs, in other words, meaning Andy would enjoy virtually no cover as he made his way through them. Not only that, but he didn’t come close to Gamble’s marines in training or skill.
On the other hand, he was piloting a MIMAS.
I’ll be fine.
He started down the corridor at a leisurely jog. Ahead, a crewmember emerged from a side hatch. Zooming in on the insignia, Andy identified her as Engineering.
“Get out of the way,” he boomed through amplifiers built into the mech’s exterior. “If you comply, you won’t be harmed.”
The woman didn’t comply. Instead, she drew her standard-issue sidearm and started firing.
Wow. He hadn’t expected to have to kill any noncombat personnel. Nevertheless, his autocannons spun up again, and the unarmored woman was tossed backward, where she crumpled to the floor. Andy tried to avoid stepping on her as he ran past, but his metal foot came down on her wrist all the same, which emitted a dry crunch.
Damn it. Now he felt even more conflicted about what he was doing. He’d never been fully resolved in the first place, which was why he hadn’t spent much time considering the decision. If he’d done that, he probably would have chickened out.
Ixan Legacy Box Set Page 52
