by R J Johnson
The soldiers, seeing his robes, immediately stood at attention and turned aside. One of the sentries wordlessly pushed a button on his armbar to open the gate to allow him entry.
He looked down at the golden robes that rolled around him. Maybe looking dumb had advantages after all.
Meade walked down the hallway, ignoring the two sentries he passed, knowing they were watching his every move. The robes were his ticket in, but so far as they were concerned, he could be a threat.
Of course, he was a threat, only they didn’t know it yet, he mused, as he entered the dark tower.
Chapter Fifty
They Will Come
Emeline and Peter rode the lift in silence as he typed a message out using his armbar. He still had a lot of paperwork to take care of, he told her.
She wasn’t sure if she believed him, but what other choice did she have? The professor’s operation depended on Meade following his orders. He hadn’t said anything about what Emeline could do. That left her free to investigate the real story behind why the professor was trying to re-start the war between the Coalition and Consortium.
“I can’t believe there’s enough ORI in the entire system to build something this massive,” she said, breaking the silence.
Peter straightened his back.
“Yes, the first-generation prototypes were far smaller than the final versions. It was only after the near-disaster with Rosetta that the Consortium agreed to…” he cleared his throat, “donate the ORI mined from that project.”
He cleared his throat, looking embarrassed. “It was the least they could do after their secret nearly wiped out humanity.”
“Downright decent of them,” Emeline said, not hiding the sarcasm in her voice.
Peter grinned. “Besides, once we had the designs for the second and third generation prototypes, I had discovered a more efficient way to use the ORI supply in a way that effectively doubled our inventory overnight.”
“Martians can get pretty creative when resources are scarce,” Emeline said.
Peter nodded, enjoying their shared moment. “Indeed we can.”
The lift slowed, and a chime rang out, announcing their destination.
“Ah,” Peter said, looking pleased. “Allow me to show you what is truly special about this ship.”
He escorted her past a series of crewmembers, all of whom ignored them as they passed, staring intently on their work.
They moved through the maze of corridors until reaching an enormous white door.
Peter held out his armbar and unlocked it, which hissed as it opened. She stepped back as a light fog rolled out from inside the room.
“No need to be alarmed,” Peter said, seeing her reaction. “Nothing in there can hurt you.”
The massive door swung open on hinges that she estimated to be at least a meter high. Lights inside the room flickered on and she peered inside, seeing endless rows of what looked like bunk beds.
“Impressive dorm,” she said, meaning it. It had been designed to hold thousands of people without breaking a sweat. Of course, it might get uncomfortable after a few days.
“It’s more than a dorm,” he said, entering the room behind her. He moved toward one of the beds and touched a glowing green button on the side.
The cover to the bed opened and she jumped back in shock when she saw the slumbering form inside.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said. Peter placed his hand on the back of her neck and pushed her not-so-gently closer to the pod. “It’s beautiful.”
Emeline moved forward, albeit unwillingly. She had a bad feeling about this.
“But what is IT?” she asked, still not understanding.
“The future Ms. Hunan,” he whispered.
She tilted her head, looking back at Peter in horror. A grin, far more devious than the innocent one that had been on his face moments before, was spread across his face.
“Did you think we wouldn’t know who you are?” he said, the smirk playing across his face. “The professor said you’d come, and if you did, to show you exactly what you and Mr. Meade are fighting for.”
She pushed the fear that was now surging through her body back. She looked up at him, trying to play for time.
“We’re not exactly hiding ourselves here,” she said, trying to sound amused. “The whole system knows our faces.”
“Yes, but soon they will know you both as something far more than the savior of the Homeworld,” Peter said, advancing on her.
She looked around wildly for a weapon but found none.
“Stop,” she said. This ended now. She lunged forward, grabbing his wrist, ready to twist and throw down a beating on him, but she was too slow.
Fifty-thousand volts shot through her body and she seized up, unable to move, falling to the ground in a painful pile of limbs that had become useless.
Peter stood over her and extended his hand, waving at the vast sea of pods behind him.
“Let me introduce you to the future of humanity and the galaxy Ms. Hunan. Thousands of specially designed clones by the Professor and his wife Dr. Hahn. All of them designed and engineered to spread humanity’s genes and influent throughout the galaxy and guaranteeing that humanity will never go extinct again.”
“You’re mad,” she choked out, still heaving from the shock.
“I’m not so bad,” he chuckled, “I’m just cloned that way.”
Her eyes widened at the implication. A devious grin spread across his face as he used the taser to shock Emeline again until she passed out.
Chapter Fifty-One
Never Meet Your Heroes
Meade sat in the Ambassador’s lobby for what felt like hours, but he knew it wasn’t any more than thirty minutes at the most. The whole ordeal was excruciating for him – starting with the way the receptionist had fussed over his arrival, insisting that they announce him in the proper Consortium manner required for all visiting diplomats.
Eventually he assented. If he was playing the part of Ambassador for the MiMs, then he needed to accept the inconveniences that came along with it.
At least the food and drinks weren’t bad.
He finished the second plate of food they had offered him. Consortium cuisine didn’t offer much in the way of exotic flavors, but it got the job done and he had been hungry.
Besides, who knew the next time he might have a chance to eat, real, non-replicated food?
The receptionist cleared her throat and he looked up from the plate feeling guilty having eaten so much.
“Finished another one,” he said. “Hope you don’t think I’m trying to eat you out of house and home.”
“Of course not ambassador,” the receptionist said. Meade could tell the man was having trouble keeping his tone professional. “You can go on in now.”
He stood and placed the plate on the receptionist’s desk.
“My compliments to the chef,” he said, accidentally fumbling the plate, breaking it on the counter.
The receptionist looked at the pieces as if Meade had spilled toxic sludge on his desk.
“Through that door sir,” he said, pushing a button on his desk.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” he mumbled.
Meade retreated from the receptionist’s desk, leaving the mess he had made behind and entered the Ambassador’s office.
He stepped into the office and found himself inside a cavernous office with a view that looked out over San Angeles. The walls were decorated with dozens of tapestries, each one depicting some famous battle that had happened sometime in history.
He looked then up and down, admiring the craftsmanship, but he didn’t know much about the battles themselves. History wasn’t exactly his strong suit. All he saw was a lot of things blowing up and people being impaled by lances and swords.
Until he reached last tapestry located on the right-hand side of the wall. Even he was able to understand this one.
It was an image of the Homeworld - that is, before The Last War turned it from a gr
een paradise into a burned-out cinder.
As he moved closer to get a better look at the tapestry, he saw it shimmer and change depending on his angle. He moved closer to the window where he saw the decoration change into the dirty, dull Homeworld it became after the Last War.
He changed his angle a few times, watching the picture shimmer back and forth between heaven and hell.
“It’s awe-inspiring, isn’t it?” the voice asked from behind him.
He glanced back and was surprised to see the Consortium Minister of Defense enter the room from a side door.
“It’s definitely the first of whatever those are that I’ve seen,” Meade said, entranced by the moving patterns of silk.
“They’re called adaptive fibers,” the Minister said, approaching him and standing at his side. “They allow the weaver to loom two different scenes within the same tapestry.”
“It’s beautiful,” he said, meaning it.
The Minister clapped his hands, turning toward him.
“I can’t imagine you traveled millions of kilometers to talk the finer points of adaptive weaving,” he said. “Ambassador Meade, what can I do for you today?”
They moved toward a pair of chairs sitting conversational style in the center of the room and they sat.
“Well, your uhh… excellency,” he began, unsure how to address a man he’d lived his whole life hating. “I was under the impression I was going to meet with the Consortium Ambassador to Mars today.”
“When I heard you were visiting our little compound here ahead of the treaty renewal, I had to meet you for myself,” the Minister said. “After all, you are the reason the Consortium still exists as it does today.”
Meade’s face reddened. “Rosetta.”
“Rosetta,” the Minister sighed. “That was a dream better left unrealized.”
The Consortium’s Minister of Defense examined him for a moment. “My thanks to you.”
“I’m jus’ happy humanity is still chugging along,” Meade said. “But, that’s not why I’m here.”
The Minister looked amused. “I can’t imagine what other business you might have with the Consortium. After all, it’s not like we have a presence on Mars.”
Meade cleared his throat. “I represent the Martian Independence Movement and we are requesting a formal hearing for full recognition by the Coalition and Consortium.”
The Minister leaned back in his chair, tapping a finger to his chin. “I see. And you believe the time is now for your rebellion to take control of the territories you’ve wrested away from the Coalition?”
“We have reason to believe the Coalition is losing interest in the fight,” Meade said, trying his best to sound diplomatic.
The Minister waved a finger, “Go on.”
Meade leaned forward, eager to make his pitch. For the first time since getting involved with the rebellion, he wasn’t trying to convince a bunch of drunken runabouts that they would be better off without the Coalition ruling over them. Now, he was making his pitch to someone who made actual decisions. This was a rare opportunity and he didn’t intend on squandering it.
“We already have the infrastructure in place for a democratically elected government,” Meade said. “I have it on good authority that the Coalition is looking into moving their base of operations back to Luna and focus on their clean-up efforts on the Homeworld,”
Meade sat back, feeling satisfied with his pitch.
“The winds are shifting Minister,” he added. “It’s a good time for the Consortium to officially recognize the MiMs and get in on the ground floor.”
The Minister looked at him, nodding slightly, a smile tugging at the edge of his lips.
“You’re a natural at this Mr. Meade,” the Minister said.
“Ambassador,” he tried to correct him, but the Minister waved him off.
“Let’s dispense with the formalities. You may be a natural, but you’re still dangerously naïve to the actual business of politics.”
Meade felt his face redden, “Now hang on a second.”
“Let’s also do away with the idea that you’re really here to try and gain recognition for your little independence movement,” the minister continued, ignoring Meade’s interruption. “The Coalition and Consortium have gone through months of difficult negotiations to get this treaty renewed and commit to the joint generational ships project. Any indication the Consortium was entertaining the idea of recognizing your band of misfits would instantly throw this system back into chaos.”
“Then why even meet with me?”
“I wanted to see if you lived up to the legend.” The minister stood, shaking his head. “I’m afraid the old adage – ‘Never meet your heroes’ rings true.”
The dig stung, but Meade refused to be baited by the man.
“Look, we’re offering you a good deal,” Meade said. “The Consortium has been trying to get influence on Mars ever since I was a kid. This is your chance.”
The Minister stood, shaking his head.
“I’m afraid our time is up Mr. Meade,” the man’s tone becoming frosty. “I’ve enjoyed our time together, but there’s so much work to do in the run up to the treaty renewal. I’m sure you understand.”
Meade understood perfectly of course. He was being pushed out, which meant it was now or never to make his move.
“If I could speak with the Ambassador to Mars for the Consortium,” Meade said, knowing he was sounding desperate. “I’m sure I can convince you two of the benefits…”
“Who do you think really makes the decisions here?” the minister said.
The Minister’s aide opened the door to the office and nodded to the Consortium official.
“Ahh, Mr. Meade, I’m afraid our time is up,” the minister said, rising to his feet. “Several diplomats from the Consortium and Coalition are going on a tour of the generational ship scheduled to launch tomorrow.”
Meade pretended not to notice that the Consortium official had dropped his honorific. His mind raced and he briefly wondered if he would have to kill the Minister to get to the Ambassador.
If he was going to do it, it would have to be right now.
He reached into his pocket for the pills the professor had given him and then he stopped, thinking about the Minister’s comment about the generational ships.
In a flash, all the events of the last few days came together, and he looked up in panic at the Minister, clearing his throat.
“My apologies, I’m still suffering a bit of lag after the trip from Mars,” he croaked, trying to remain focused on the man in front of him. “I apologize for wasting your time.”
The Minister cocked his head, raising an eyebrow.
“Perhaps you aren’t as natural at the science of diplomacy as I thought,” the Minister said, dropping his hand. “It was… interesting to meet you Mr. Meade.”
The Minister walked through the side door which closed behind him leaving Meade alone with his thoughts.
A few moments later, the main office door opened, and the Minister’s assistant reappeared at the door, politely waiting for him to leave.
Meade took a moment, still trying to absorb the implication of what he had realized during his conversation with the Minister of Defense. He got up from his seat and began striding through the ornate hallways, making his way to the exit.
He didn’t dare to try and contact Emeline from inside these walls. There were far too many ears listening.
He made it outside the Consortium palace and moved to summon a nearby bubble-car. One melted out of the nearby pavement and he stepped inside, to excited about his revelation to be nervous about flying over the city.
Opening his armbar, he pinged Emeline. After a few moments a dark image appeared, and he began chattering excitedly.
“Em, I understand how they’re going to do it. It’s the Generational Ships! They’re the key to…”
A man stepped forward revealing himself on the armbar’s holographic image. It was the professor.
Meade could also make out Dr. Hahn in the background.
The professor’s face was twisted in a sneer as he tutted several times at Meade.
“Ahh, ahh Mr. Meade.”
“Professor,” Meade said through gritted teeth.
“I had hoped you were going to continue with the tasks I laid out for you.”
“I got busy,” he snapped.
“So I see,” the professor said, looking amused. “It appears you’ve figured out our plans for the generational ships.”
“Restarting the Last War is hardly a return to humanity’s moral foundations,” Meade said, spitting the professor’s words back into this face. “Killing and replacing these people so you can start a war? Why?”
“Oh, this is far more than some war,” Dr. Hahn said, stepping forward. “This is about a clean slate.”
“The two hyperpowers have kept the peace for decades now,” Meade said growing heated. “I’ve got problems with how they do business sometimes, we all do, but there’s no denying the Coalition and the Consortium have served their purpose in creating and keeping the peace.”
“Their usefulness has passed my dear Mr. Meade,” the professor said smoothly. “It’s time for someone competent to lead humanity for once.”
“The dreadnaughts,” he muttered. “Yeah, I saw the plans. You’ve already turned them into warships haven’t you?”
“Indeed,” the professor said, smiling. “The finger-pointing after the ship reveals itself to be armed will be enough to turn the system into chaos. Nothing will stop the war from escalating and the two hyperpowers will eventually destroy each other, finishing the job they started sixty years ago.”
“And you’ll be there watching the fireworks huh?” he asked, his eyes narrowing. The professor and his wife were far more dangerous than he ever suspected.
“Oh no,” Dr. Hahn said, stepping forward. “We’ll be too busy rebuilding humanity using the DNA and brain scans we’ve been collecting over the last ten years. We have enough samples to send hundreds of these generational ships to star systems far and wide and ensure humanity never goes extinct.”
