by Devin Hanson
“How do you think? You know the thirteenth tenet as well as I do. There is only one response possible.”
“There is action,” Alana said carefully, “and then there is action. The tenet calls for a response an order of magnitude greater than the threat but does not call for wasteful revenge.”
“You heard Wharton,” Cynthia said quietly, “he’s involved the entirety of the extras on Nueva Angela. Hundreds of men and women are complicit in his crime now.”
“Still, there are forty thousand people on this habitat, probably a great deal more if his speech was anything to go by. Horizon couldn’t intend to kill all of them. The systems were built to exceed expected population density by twenty-five percent, which means closer to fifty thousand. Catastrophic population numbers wouldn’t happen until nearly a fifty-percent overload.”
“Which is what, a third of a generation? Wharton had his numbers right, then. Ten years is likely a generous estimate.” Cynthia coughed a rueful laugh.
“What?”
“We were just discussing this the morning before making the trip to Nova Aeria. Alec was worried about the unrest in the mega-habs. I guess he had every right to be.”
“It shouldn’t be possible,” Alana scowled. “The central computer would have red-flagged the population growth and alerted Horizon long before it developed into a health hazard for the residents.”
“You’re assuming it wasn’t,” Cynthia shrugged. “If the right person was bribed, the alert could have been ignored or deleted.”
“And I thought I was the cynic,” Alana said with a reluctant smile.
“I know how Horizon functions. It might not even have been malicious. What is the expected protocol in a situation like this? Build a new mega-hab and split the population? Imagine the expense! And no guarantee that the residents wouldn’t have a fresh population boom as soon as they were out of danger. It’s just not sustainable.”
“So, ignore it?”
“Delay, more likely. Hell, it’s what I did when I heard about it. I put it off until a more convenient time, then promptly forgot about it. When you’re talking about spending a few billion credits, that delay can get stretched out indefinitely.”
“Economics,” Alana said sourly.
“You’d know it better than most,” Cynthia gestured, giving Alana credit. “When you boil it down, our Venusian credit currency is only a symbol of the true wealth of Venus: the habitats. And the materials to build more have to be purchased from Earth.”
“You needn’t lecture me,” Alana sighed. “As much as I dislike the taxes placed on my off-world exports, I know the importance of Earth-based currency to our survival. It’s a burden I’ve accepted.”
“And what do these common folk offer?” Cynthia asked. “Their economy is localized. They produce nothing of external value, certainly nothing that would be worth exporting to Earth. So why go through the enormous expense of expanding their living space? There is no return on investment.”
“I didn’t think you’d be so callous,” Alana said, a little admiringly.
“I’m not. But that’s the argument the bean counters on Horizon would use. I’m not surprised Nueva Angela’s alerts were ignored.”
“Let it come to a head and clean up the mess afterward,” Alana grimaced. “Truly policy worthy of the matriarchs.”
“Well, there’s that.” Cynthia shook her head and settled down on one of the two low cots. “And that will be the argument for continued expansion of the mega-habs. Once my mother finds out about it, it will be the first thing she brings up. Then there will be a lot of finger pointing and excuses.”
Alana chuckled darkly. “I’ve met Annette. I wouldn’t want to be the one offering excuses to her.”
“Wharton was right. His little revolution will create change. I doubt the policies that will be enforced to control population was quite what he had in mind, though.”
“At this point, there isn’t anything that can be done. It will take decades to construct another mega-hab. There isn’t enough raw material in orbit for it, so new asteroids will have to be coaxed in. Not to mention time for the core foam to be shipped from Earth.”
The two fell silent, deep in their private thoughts. Cynthia was starting to drift asleep when Alana spoke.
“It won’t take long for Wharton and his friends to come to the same conclusion. There is no saving this population from the purges to come.”
Cynthia opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling. Alana was right. Even if things went exactly as Wharton hoped, there was no quick fix for the problems Nueva Angela faced. “Our lives will not be worth much when that happens,” she commented.
“So long as we are locked in this room, our options are limited. We are the mercy of the men and women on the other side of that door.”
“Then we must get the door open.”
Alana snorted. “How?”
With a sigh, Cynthia rolled to her feet and walked over to the door. She rapped on it with her knuckles, and after a moment, the observation hatch slid open. A bearded man, his eyes belligerent, scowled at Cynthia.
“What?”
“I wish to speak with Wharton.”
“He’s busy.” The hatch swung shut.
Cynthia glanced back at Alana and the other matriarch tapped her fingers against her palm in mocking applause. Cynthia rolled her eyes and repeated her rap on the door.
When the hatch opened again, the man only looked angrier. “Keep making noise, and I’ll forget to give you the evening’s water.”
“You are fortifying against the Horizon attack,” Cynthia said quickly. “I have information that will be vital to your successful defense.”
“Why would you care?” the man demanded.
“It’s simple enough,” Cynthia shrugged. “If you fail in your defenses, the first thing Wharton is going to do is come here and execute us. If my aid can help you succeed, then I have a better chance of living through this endeavor of yours.”
The man’s brow furrowed and Cynthia could read the confusion and suspicion on his face. “I was warned that you might try and trick me,” he growled.
“It’s no trick. I only want to live.” She focused on what she could see of the man’s face through the hatch. It was difficult to read him without being able to see his body language, and any subtle emotions were being overridden by his anger. “All I ask is that you forward my request to Wharton.”
“Tell me your information, and I’ll see if it’s worthwhile,” he said.
Cynthia smiled sadly. “It isn’t that simple. I am in possession of a bargaining chip. You wish to survive the week, and I have the information you need for that to happen. But I will only give my information to Wharton.”
The man growled something that she didn’t catch, and the hatch slammed shut again. She heard the thump of his footsteps retreating, and the indistinct mutter of voices discussing something.
“You are going to sell out?” Alana asked. It wasn’t said accusingly, but there was disapproval in her voice.
“I’m getting the door open,” Cynthia replied. “I’m buying us options.”
Alana scowled, but she nodded. “I don’t agree with your method, but you must do what you must.”
“If the marines are coming,” Cynthia pointed out, “there isn’t a damn thing these extras can do to fight them anyway.”
“You aren’t wrong.” Alana’s scowl softened. “My sons will be here by now. It is possible that the marine strike will be delayed.”
Cynthia swallowed. A sudden, desperate loneliness swamped her. She missed her sons. She missed Leila. The thought of her sons being somewhere on the habitat searching for her gave her a powerful yearning for their company. “We can only hope.”
The sound of the door unlocking snapped Cynthia from her light doze. It hadn’t been much more than an hour since her conversation with the door guard, and she hadn’t had time to fall completely asleep. She swung to her feet and ran her hands over her h
air, smoothing down the flyaway hairs and straightening it as best she could. Her skin felt oily and her hair hung heavy. She hadn’t bathed properly in nearly three days.
With a clunk, the drop bar was released and the door swung inward. Wharton stepped into the room, a metal rod in one hand. He held it up so Cynthia could see it, and electricity arced angrily between the contacts.
“There’s enough juice in this thing to put down a man twice your size. Test me, and I’ll let you have it.”
Cynthia held her hands to the sides. “I’ve no intention of testing you. We matriarchs are a pragmatic sort. You’ve the power, you made that clear.”
Wharton gave a disbelieving snort. “Right. You’ll not sucker punch me again, so save your honeyed words. Mandau said you have information for us. I’m here, so let’s hear it.”
Cynthia nodded. “That’s correct. Now that you have sent your demands to Horizon, there can only be one response. They will strike this habitat with a force of marines.”
“You’re threatening us?” Wharton laughed. “What happened to your meek submission?”
“That was no threat,” Alana said from her cot. “She is stating fact.”
“When I was young, I served on Horizon with my mother,” Cynthia said. “I have seen the marine barracks and have had explained to me the contexts in which they could be deployed. Capture and ransom of a matriarch was high on the list. I’m only telling you this so you are aware of the threat you face.”
Wharton scowled at Cynthia, and she read the doubt and fear in his gaze. Bravado in front of his men was one thing, but Wharton wasn’t stupid. She could tell he believed her. “Speak your piece,” he growled.
“Very well. The marines will have one primary objective: putting down those who would dare ransom a matriarch. Rescue of the two of us will be a secondary effort. I’m telling you this so you know an attempt to use us as a shield will not succeed.”
Wharton sneered. “Very dramatic, but I have a hard time believing you. What about their tactics? What approach will they use?”
“I will have to see the area,” Cynthia shrugged. “I could give you a general concept, but without knowing the layout of the area you intend to defend, I can’t offer specifics.”
“Try.”
“How many lifts come down to this level?”
“Three. Two have been locked.”
Cynthia shook her head. “Unless they are physically disabled, that will not be enough. And even then, they will still use the lift shafts as a way to gain access.”
Wharton nodded. “You’re right. I hadn’t thought of that.” He jerked his head toward the door. “Alright, Everard. You’ve bought yourself some time. But no funny business, or you’ll get the prod.”
“Thank you. I promise you will have no need to use it.”
“What about you?” Wharton asked Alana. “Any insight you want to offer?”
“I hope you die horribly,” Alana said with a toothy smile. “I’ll not offer my tormentors the slightest shred of aid.”
Wharton blinked, a little taken aback by her refusal. He looked to Cynthia. “Your friend doesn’t see things the way you do.”
Cynthia pursed her lips and gave a little shrug. “We have a difference in principles.”
He chuckled nastily. “You’re a sellout, she’s not.”
“That is one perspective,” Cynthia smiled blandly. “Shall we?”
Wharton was still amused after he had escorted her from the room and locked the door on Alana. “Okay, Everard. Here’s how this is going to work. We take one turn about the place, then we come back here and you can give me all your insight. If you’re helpful, I’ll see what I can do about making your stay more comfortable.”
“I have no argument.”
“You walk in front of me. Nice and slow. If you try to make a break for it, or fail to follow a command, I’ll take you down and you’ll spend the rest of your stay on Nueva Angela tied to a cot.”
“Very well. Which way should I go?”
Wharton pointed, and Cynthia set off. She kept her pace to a slow stroll, taking in the structure of the Basement, searching for anything that could be used to help her escape. She did her best to ignore the extras welding together makeshift barricades, and refused to meet the eyes of the people staring curiously at her.
It quickly became apparent that the Basement, both the larger club area and the side sections like the restaurant and the storage area she had been imprisoned in, were retrofitted engineering bays. In a single- or triple-stack habitat, the Basement would be filled with quick-release liquid carbon dioxide tanks, battery banks, cryogenic distillation compression chambers, and the other highest-mass equipment in the habitat. All the weight would act as ballast and would stabilize the habitat in strong winds.
For Nueva Angela, that equipment would have been redundant, with only a few of the stacks having their lowest levels burdened. The seven stacks of Angela provided a deal of stability, and the greater height of the central stack would offer more mass/distance leverage.
When she reached the center of the club floor, she paused and did a slow turn, examining the corners of the roof for the telltale blinking red lights of recording cameras. She found one and paused, staring directly at it for several seconds, before shaking her head and turning to Wharton.
“I’ve seen all I need to.”
“So,” Wharton asked, “what is your opinion of our defenses? What can we improve?”
“You have no mounted heavy weapons,” she shrugged, “which is both good and bad. Bad because sidearms will have difficulty penetrating the armor the marines will be wearing, good because it will keep your people dispersed without putting too much faith in their heavy weapons.”
“Armor?” Wharton was looking a little sick. “What other equipment can we expect the marines to have?”
“Besides body armor and assault rifles, they will probably attempt to use gas grenades, but nothing fatal. They are unlikely to use explosives in their first attack, as preserving the habitat’s structural integrity will be important. But don’t expect them to hold off if your defense is successful.”
Wharton nodded, his shoulders bowed. Then he shook himself and straightened up. The fear and uncertainty were pushed down and determination took their place. “Gas grenades we can deal with, but I hadn’t considered explosives. Anything else?”
There were a dozen things Cynthia could think of, weaknesses in the fields of fire that could be improved, modifications to the barricades to help resist explosive forces. The marines cared not at all about the habitat. In fact, they would likely be deployed with instructions to destroy the whole thing if they were unable to subdue the extras.
Instead of saying any of that, she just shook her head. “No, but you should disable the cameras. The marines will have overrides to the central computer databases. No sense in giving them free insight to your deployment.”
Wharton looked up, startled, and followed her pointing finger to the camera she had seen earlier. He cursed, then sighed. “Okay, Everard. You’ve earned your reward. Don’t let anyone say Remer Wharton doesn’t hold true to his word. Your friend is staying in her box, but there’s a more comfortable place we can put you up in. If you have any more helpful suggestions, please let us know.”
Cynthia let Wharton lead her away and focused on maintaining her submissive demeanor. She hadn’t counted on being separated from Alana, but that might be a good thing, in the end. For now, she had a lot of thinking to do.
Wharton and his extras had done a passable job at fortifying the Basement, but they were delusional if they thought they could hold out against the full might of the Horizon marines.
She might get out of this yet.
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
Most matriarchs found a great deal of interest in educating themselves. It was a trait emphasized by the Challenge and was only magnified once the new immortals truly grasped that they would be alive for tens of thousands of years.
The average matriarch had several degrees, often in wildly differing courses of study. Even those who quickly settled to a profession had more personal experience in their fields than any doctorate on Earth could ever hope to achieve.
Centuries of active work in their respective specialties advanced Venusian science at rates impossible to grasp in more traditional contexts. It was like the explosion of technology that followed the industrial age, where humanity went from the invention of the computer to handheld tablets in less than fifty years, except across all fields of science.
The humanities were not left behind either. There are those among the matriarchs whose grasp of psychology and human response would be considered supernatural among Earth practitioners. While most matriarchs ultimately chose other specialties, the vast majority took at least a two-year course of study into the human mind. For an immortal, the only real danger that remained came from within, and mastering their own minds was a natural precaution.
Dennison jerked awake as his tablet burst into raucous alarm. He slapped it silent and sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Tabitha, update.”
“Matriarch Cynthia Everard has been located.”
The last of his drowsiness vanished and he jumped from the bed and started dressing. “Elaborate.”
“The bottom three levels in Stack C have been retrofitted into an unofficial extra club, called the Basement. Six minutes ago, the cameras on all three levels went dark. Review of the footage from the time recording stopped found Matriarch Everard looking directly at a camera for some seconds, only a minute before the cameras were disconnected.”
“Pipe it to my tablet, please.”
Tabitha complied, and Dennison watched the unmistakable figure of Cynthia Everard being escorted about the floor of a club. He wasn’t familiar with the matriarch personally, had, in fact, only met her twice, but the carriage of the woman was undeniably that of a matriarch and her long plait was unmistakable. As Tabitha had described, Cynthia paused and looked directly at the camera for a count of five, then turning to her companion.
