Despite being the Head of Desia’s Defense Fleet, Vanessa never would have suspected she’d be getting interrogated by the infamous Seamus Clark himself, current Minister of Defense and heir to the PUC Surgical Equalizing Unit Program. Feeling a trickle of sweat roll down between her shoulder blades, she thought she had been able to maintain something resembling an air of composure, but she couldn’t be sure.
Looking practically exuberant with energy, the compact military figure sat down in the chair across from her and motioned for the guard outside to close the door. When the door clanged shut, Clark leaned back and looked Vanessa in the eye, satisfaction plain on his weathered face.
“Your frigates didn’t put up much of a fight,” he said. “I half-expected to have a bloodbath on my hands, but except for a few stubborn ships and gun-operators, your people practically handed the Pillon System over.” He shifted in his seat. “It’s almost as if they wanted to be under PUC command.”
Vanessa fixed his gaze, fighting to stay calm. She knew he was baiting her but it was hard not to take it all the same—to snap and reveal all of her insecurities in a single fatal second.
“Desia has a voluntary defense force,” she said coolly. “Most of the people employed come on to learn a skill and earn a paycheck, and some of them feel that that bounds them to a certain duty.”
“But not all.”
“Not even most,” Vanessa said, stating the fact simply. “Most are just here to escape—to find some semblance of peace in a universe that has kicked them to the curb. People taking shelter in the Pillon System have come here because they’ve been ostracized by the PUC in some way. Sure, your laws and policies help some people. Hell, let’s be overly generous and say that they help most people.” She shook her head. “Still, a law will always put someone in the margin. There will always be the outlier that gets ground beneath the wheels of progress.”
“I’m not following,” Clark said, though his face told a different story. This was obviously an argument he had heard a hundred times before and he just wanted to hurry through the motions of letting Vanessa say her piece so they could move on.
“The Pillon System is a home for those outliers. A necessary neutral system that can house and support people pushed to the margins.”
“And?”
“And,” she said, failing to keep a bit of bite from her voice. “You might think you understand what you’re doing—and maybe you even do on some sort of theoretical level—but you don’t. Not wholly. Not bodily.”
“Bodily?” Clark asked, raising an eyebrow. This time he actually did seem to be confused.
Vanessa leaned in. “What I’m saying is, maybe you can save 99 people by killing, shackling, and oppressing one. But until you’ve felt that oppression—that violence—then you’ll never understand the full implications of what you’re doing. Not totally. Not responsibly. You may think you know what you’re doing but that level of violence always rebounds.”
“But that’s my job now, isn’t it?” Clark tilted his head to the side. “I have to enforce those rules or—if we’re sticking to the analogy—the whole 100 die. The world is a violent place and if we don’t impose some sort of order on it then the entire interplanetary system will devour itself in chaos.”
Vanessa reached up to rub the back of her neck but was quickly reminded of her current position when the chain snapped tight, her hands only halfway raised to her face. She lowered them back down, breathing out a sigh of defeat.
“You can hold the entire world in your hands,” she said softly. “But if you try and squeeze it too tight, I think you’ll find it’s a lot more dangerous and unyielding than even you.”
Clark leaned in, dropping his voice for effect. “That’s why I’m giving you a chance, Vanessa. You see, I don’t want to—” he fluttered his hands lightly “—squeeze the world as you put it. In fact, if I had it my way, I wouldn’t even have to raise a finger.”
Vanessa remained silent. The man was clearly on a roll now and he’d get to the point with or without her interjection.
Clark leaned back again, reaching up to pull on the lapels of his uniform. “In about thirty minutes, I’m going to be walking through the doors of a secret facility just ten miles south of here and I’m going to flip a switch. And when I do, the Pillon System will be the last barbaric hold-out to be dragged into a more enlightened age—a more connected one.”
Vanessa couldn’t hold back her reaction this time and the look of alarm must have shown plainly on her face because she watched Clark practically laugh with satisfaction. “What are you saying?” She asked hesitantly, though she thought she had an idea.
No, she thought to herself. Not already. They should have had more time.
“The Light Wire is fully constructed,” said the minister, confirming her fears. “It is fully constructed and operational and all it needs is an input code from yours truly and the Pillon System will finally be connected to the rest of the world.”
“But we are connected to the rest of the world,” Vanessa shouted, unable to contain herself any longer. “That’s the whole point. We’ve always been connected. Our actions have always affected you and your actions have always affected us. That’s how the world works. We do communicate with other systems. We speak and pass information just like anyone else. What you’re talking about isn’t connection, it’s a monopoly on information. It’s tyranny and control.”
“And how else would you like me to stem the tide of vitriol and misinformation that is constantly gushing from this backwards little world you live on?” This time it was Clark who was unable to keep the scorn from his voice. “Do you know that one month ago four refinery workers on Onyx bludgeoned a woman to death thirty-five feet from her own home? When they were questioned after the incident, do you know what their excuse was?”
Vanessa felt her heart sink. Of course, she knew what the reason was. The story had played on every news network for a week straight at the time and she doubted there wasn’t a single person in the entire planetary system that hadn’t heard, but she let him tell it anyway.
“They killed her because of a recent unauthorized news bulletin written by a man named Dennis Plaine, living here in Glenhold. In this very city. It stated—and I quote: ‘It is interesting to note that those who are in synthetic research and development are often of Asian descent.’” Clark slammed his hand down on the table, causing Vanessa to jump in her seat. “The woman they killed owned a fucking grocery store. Maybe it’s not me who needs to watch how they’re inflicting their will on the world, Vanessa. Maybe you need to take a little goddam responsibility for it yourself.”
Vanessa didn’t know what to say. While it was technically true that a lot of the leading scientists in the R & D sections of synthetics were of Korean descent, Plaine’s statement had obviously been a thinly-veiled racial attack that had then lead to a racially-motivated crime on a planet destabilized by the friction between human and machine labor. The news article had been equal-parts hateful and irresponsible and when it had been traced back to a militant faction on Desia, Vanessa had felt a deep stab of shame.
The whole reason she had taken the job of Fleet Command on Desia had been to provide people with shelter and refuge, but what the man across from her was saying was true. The Pillon System was also a home for militants and insurgents. Some of them fought honorably to create a new world while others simply lashed out at people they despised. Some used this safe haven as a removed outpost from which they could spill hateful rhetoric.
“I am deeply sorry for some of the things our citizens do,” Vanessa finally said. “But it’s not for me or anyone to say what free people should do. That’s the point.” She tilted her head. “And I can guarantee you that you will not be hauling Mr. Plaine into custody.”
“Oh? Are you going to defend his precious freedom regardless of how much you disagree with him?” His voice was mocking.
“You will not be arresting him because he’s already dead.”
This caught Clark off guard but he recovered quickly. “So I see you take care of dissenting opinions the same way we do.”
Vanessa shook her head. “We don’t know who killed him. But one week ago, he and four other people who he had been living with turned up dead. Butchered. The place was so torn up that there could have been anywhere between four and forty people in there carving those men up. But the point is: that man knew what he was doing and the possible consequences. And he paid for them.”
“And that makes it okay?”
“None of it’s okay. What I’m saying is, he’s an outlier. Most of us just want to be left alone. We want to work and come home to our families at night. That much should be obvious considering how many people fled the moment you showed up. They don’t want to fight or stick it to the man or anything. They just want peace.”
“Well,” Clark said, lifting his wrist to look at his watch. He dropped his arm back down again. “I’m going to give you a chance to let them have that peace.”
“Mmmmhmmm.”
Clark laughed. “I’m serious Vanessa, this is your one shot.”
“And what do I have to do? Sacrifice my firstborn on live television or something?”
“Quite the opposite,” Clark said. “In fact, if you do what I say, Byzantine’s record will be wiped clean.”
Vanessa felt her heart clench.
“Oh yes, of course we know of your connection to Byzantine Jackson, infamous crewmate of known thieves and murderers. Do you know they stole a Light Core from that base they wrecked? A Light Core. Those aren’t cheap and neither were the lives of the men and women they killed—men and women who will never get to go home to their families.”
A heavy silence permeated the room as Vanessa looked on. The ideological debate was clearly over. Now it was time for dealing. Leveraging. She just wished she knew how much she was willing to give up, because when it came right down to it, her heart would have her set Desia on fire if it meant saving one of her children. If she let it, that was.
“All you need to do is say that you agreed to set up the Light Wire on Desia,” Clark said, as if it were nothing more than picking up a gallon of milk at the grocery store.
“Why me?” she asked. “Surely there are more influential people in the Pillon System.”
“Not here,” he said. “You have an image with these people. Nothing in this city escapes your notice. I know I could ask you for every name associated with the murder of Dennis Plaine and, while you might not want to give them to me, you’d at least know them. Desia has no President—no Prime Minister. All they have is a volunteer defense force and you are at the head of it. You’re the closest thing these people have to a leader Ms. Jackson.”
“It’s Mrs. Jackson, thank you. And I’m not these people’s leader. They lead themselves.”
“Regardless,” Clark held up a hand. “Your word goes a long way.”
“So what? I’d just get up and endorse you? Is that it? Say—yeah a massive military naval fleet just knocked down the fucking door and killed a bunch of people in the streets, but it was all in the plan. They’re good guys. No need to worry. Something like that?”
“Desia is home to Kingsbane,” the minister explained, as if she were hearing this for the first time. “Kingsbane is one of the largest militant insurgent groups in all of interplanetary space. I’ll give a short speech and then flip the switch. Then all you have to do is say that they took control and pulled Desian forces into a battle that they weren’t prepared for and a lot of innocent people died in the process. It’s sad. It’s unfortunate. But it’s taken care of. Then we move on with the endorsement.”
“And if I do this, you’ll wipe my daughter’s record?” Vanessa asked.
Clark nodded.
Good, she thought. If he knew she was here on this planet they’d be negotiating for Byzzie’s life, not her record. So at least there was that.
“Can I have some time to think on-”
“No,” he cut her off. His face was suddenly stone. “You cannot. I’m leaving now.” And to drive this fact home, he stood up.
Vanessa tried to stand up too but she hit the end of her chain and snapped back into the chair. Shit, she had to think. There wasn’t any time though. She needed more time.
“I’ll do it,” she blurted. “Clear Byzzie’s name and I’ll do it.”
Clark wore a stony expression, assessing her. Betraying nothing.
“If you go back on this,” he said, his voice made of solid ice. “I will kill you and every single person with the last name ‘Jackson’ living inside or outside PUC space. You understand?”
Vanessa nodded. She hadn’t agreed in her heart yet. Not totally. She needed time and this was the best way to buy it. There was nothing she could do sitting here in a cell. This way, at least she could keep her eyes open for any opportunities to turn the tables on Clark.
And she would. One way or another. Even if she got up on live TV and lied her heart out to all of her most-trusted allies, she had already decided that Seamus Clark was going to die. She didn’t know how yet, but it was inevitable. He had stepped too far and if the death of Dennis Plaine had taught Vanessa anything it was that there was a price to pay for such things.
Seamus Clark had incurred a debt the moment he passed through that Void Gate with a whole fleet at his back. Now it was just a matter of time.
7
Prisoners
When presented with his first chance to escape—a call over the comms that distracted not one but both of the men escorting him—49 did not take it. He could have gotten away, sure, but the location was all wrong. Standing smack-dab in the center of the city, soldiers and civilians hustling by in groups of no less than ten at a time, the chances of collateral damage were simply too high. And if the soldiers were that inattentive, they’d slip up again, and hopefully they’d be in a better spot at that point.
They did and they were.
“Where am I going?” 49 asked once the three of them were on the edge of town. His voice was calm. Non-threatening.
“There’s a prisoner processing station just through the woods here,” one of the soldiers said. He was young and walked with the sort of confidence an unconfident person got when they held a gun. From what he could tell from the two men’s conversation, this one’s name was Kinsey and the other, Barnes.
“A processing station?” he asked. “In the woods? That doesn’t sound like an ideal location.”
“We didn’t have time to-” Kinsey began, but Barnes shot him a glance, immediately silencing him.
49 didn’t need any more information. He understood. The blitz invasion of Desia had had a fair deal of planning put into it—where they would but the prisons, the interrogation rooms, and other things like that—but as with every operation, there were things they couldn’t plan for. If 49 were to guess, he would bet that any number of outliers were being kept in this hastily established processing station. These soldiers and generals were used to dealing with two groups of people: enemies and allies.
But what happened when you found a diplomat or senator that wasn’t supposed to be here? Or an activist group pushing for Desia to join the Light Wire Network and PUC controlled space? What happened when you found a glowing metallic android?
The processing station was likely just a holding cell for people that they didn’t know what to do with. Those who couldn’t be readily called enemies or allies. Chances were good it was also where they were downloading information from other non-combat synthetics in their never-ending war for information.
“What will happen to me?” 49 asked. He felt the metal manacles that secured his wrists behind him, testing their strength. The two men had to be in the exact right position for his plan to work.
At first, no one said anything. It was clear that neither of them was sure how to address this new shiny being they had unexpectedly come across. If they treated him as an enemy soldier then they wouldn’t talk to him due to protocol
. And if they treated him like a docile synthetic, then they wouldn’t talk to him because they’d see him as nothing more than a simple object—they’d treat him the way one might treat a fancy toaster.
But if he could let on that he had something they might want, they might be willing to break protocol. After all, if there was one thing that 49 had learned in his time dealing with humans, it was that the strictness of any rule could always be softened by a little selfish ambition…
“Is this where you brought the other Silver Assets?” 49 asked. He delivered the question nonchalantly, dangling the bait just within reach.
Barnes glanced back at him, his pace slowing. Kinsey slowed down to match his partner. 49 wanted to push further but he let the silence hang, staring straight ahead.
Barnes finally broke. “The Silver Assets,” he said carefully. “What is their purpose?” The question was simple and direct, stated the same way someone might type a command into an AI terminal.
“The purpose of all Silver Assets is to safeguard sensitive militia intelligence. If one is captured, protocol is to wipe all memory.”
The two soldiers abruptly came to a halt. Kinsey looked over at Barnes, the two of them visibly excited. 49 could almost see the reel of promotions and commendations playing through the two soldiers’ heads.
“Did you wipe your memory when you were captured?” Kinsey asked. The crucial question.
“Negative,” 49 replied. The two men were close to him, but not close enough. Not yet. “Captain Tariq was in the process of inputting rendezvous coordinates. Any input process overrides the memory wipe command.”
Shattered Light Page 8
