by C H Gideon
Jenkins deadpanned, “Please don’t filter your speech on my account.”
“As you wish,” she said with an inclination of her head.
As she did so, Jenkins noticed a pair of discrete data ports, similar to but smaller than the ones all Terran Jocks and pilots had installed for vehicle interface. He briefly wondered just how many more subtle implants she had beyond those he could see in her eyes and neck, and recalled just how mixed his own feelings had been prior to receiving his pilot’s implants.
“What was the objective of your mission on Luna?” she asked bluntly.
Jenkins’ reply was equally blunt. “To prevent a Jemmin backdoor, built into every piece of Solar processing hardware, from initiating the mass destruction of the human tree’s Solar branch.”
“Such an objective hardly seems probable,” she riposted without missing a beat. “But putting probability aside, how did you seek to achieve this objective?”
“Over the last few months,” Jenkins explained, “my people have been deployed to a variety of different worlds for seemingly unconnected reasons. Each deployment fit the standard Terran Armor Corps mission profile, which kept anyone outside of the Metal Legion from wising up to our clandestine objectives, which generally took priority over the official mission briefs.”
“Details, Colonel,” she pressed. “How did you come to learn of this supposed ‘backdoor’ you claim that you and your people came to Sol to close? How did you devise a method by which this backdoor could be safely closed?” She leaned forward intently, her eyes blinking for the third time. “And how did you manage not only to transit into Sol after the wormhole gates went down but also elude the entire Solar network of sensors long enough to reach Luna One, where you broke into the most heavily-fortified military installation in human history and overcame the best virtual defenses ever devised by humanity?”
“In a word?” Jenkins cracked a tight, lopsided grin. “Aliens.”
“Go over this again, Captain Xi,” urged the dark-skinned, square-jawed Solarian interviewer. “Aboriginal military structures confuse me.”
“The way you keep using the word ‘aboriginal,’” Xi retorted irritably, “makes me question the value of the Solar education system.”
“My apologies,” the man, who claimed to be named Matthew, said without a hint of sincerity. “I’m having trouble understanding how your branch of the Terran Armed forces could act with total unilateralism on such an important operation. If, indeed, your goal was to save all of Solar humanity from an apocalypse of self-destruction,” his mouth twisted into a moue of disdain, making clear just how little he believed in the truth of her responses, “why not incorporate other elements of the Terran Armed Forces into your mission? Surely you could have arrived in something more formidable than a lone crippled assault carrier if indeed the fate of humanity rested in the balance as you repeatedly claim.”
“We came to save Solar humanity, asshole,” she snapped. “We ‘aboriginal’ Terrans were doing just fine, no thanks to our oh-so-enlightened Solar cousins. Out of curiosity, just how much of you is meat and how much is metal?”
He cocked his head in seemingly genuine confusion. “I can understand most Terrans being afraid of cybernetics, due to your regressive culture’s consistent rejection of even the most obvious paths to progress, but I find it curious that you seem threatened by them,” he said with a subtle gesture to Xi’s neck, where her neural linkage ports protruded more obviously than his One Mind jacks.
“Threatened?” she repeated archly. “Only an idiot is threatened by tools, and since you don’t threaten me, I guess that means I’m not an idiot.”
“That’s probably considered clever where you come from.” He cracked a wan smile, causing Xi to scowl as he continued. “Primitive linguistic tricks aside, how did you manage to maintain information security throughout the multiple deployments that saw you gather the supposed resources you claim to have used in ‘saving’ Sol’s residents from self-annihilation?”
“General Akinouye was the ranking member of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the highest-ranked officer in the Metal Legion,” Xi explained for the fifth time in the interview. “As such, he was endowed with the authority to conduct high-level clandestine operations using assets exclusively attached to the Terran Armor Corps. Every operation we conducted prior to coming here was done with at least one eye toward saving Earth, even though nobody on the ground knew it at the time. He kept the entire thing as close to his chest as he possibly could, like any good poker player would under equally high stakes.”
“Again, I must apologize.” Matthew sighed. “This aborig— Excuse me,” he corrected, causing Xi to flush with anger even though she suspected that was the purpose of his aborted insult, “the Terran Republic’s military hierarchy seems to feature multiple catastrophic failure points just in terms of information security. What happens to Sol if General Akinouye dies before disseminating this information? What happens to the operation if someone within the Terran Armor Corps is part of this, forgive me, ludicrous ‘Jemmin conspiracy’ you repeatedly reference?”
“Ludicrous or not,” she said through gritted teeth, “the Jemmin are, according to every bit of evidence we collected, conspiring to subvert humanity’s development, and have been doing so for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. They wiped out their own people, erasing over ninety percent of their society fifteen thousand years ago. The information we found suggests that they’ve already snuffed out at least one entire species using a systematic series of manipulations precisely like the ones they’ve used against humanity.” She folded her arms defiantly across her chest. “We weren’t about to stand by and let them do the same thing to humans. Or Solarians, for that matter.”
“Again,” Matthew gave a wan smile, “that probably passes for clever where you come from.”
“Nah, it passes for an insult,” she retorted, “because that was precisely what it was. You fucking One Minders hung out here, pruning the so-called ‘tree of humanity,’ as your precious founders called it, while Terrans bled and died by the millions out in the colonies. And what did you do about it? Not a fucking thing.” She snorted. “You watched, impassive as granite statues, and ignored my forebears’ pleas for help while shutting your gates to the Republic.”
Matthew sighed again. “Your government has consistently produced anti-Sol propaganda that warps your citizenry’s view of reality. The Solar government has accepted over one hundred and forty-nine million returning colonists to her bosom with open arms—"
“Accepted?” Xi blurted. “Is that what you call forcing cybernetic implants on those returning colonists prior to giving them access to basic food and shelter? Is that what you call the forced re-education programs those implants subject people to?” Xi demanded. “You may have conditionally accepted millions, but you watched with indifference while thousands of others suffered and died on your doorstep because they didn’t want to sacrifice their individualism on the altar of Solar ‘progress.’ Is that really what passes for acceptance in the so-called cradle of humanity?” She shook her head dourly. “Sitting here across from you, I’ve never been so glad that my ancestors flew the nest when they did.”
“I can see you’re getting agitated—”
“You think this is agitated?” she snapped fiercely, leaning across the narrow table separating them and pinning the Solarian to his chair with a fiery gaze. “Put me back in a mech, and I’ll show you what an ‘agitated’ Metalhead looks like.”
“Tell me more about its capabilities,” Sandra, the Solarian interviewer, urged Podsy.
“I’ve already told you.” Podsednik rubbed his eyes wearily. “I don’t know Jem’s capabilities, but I do know that Jem is every bit as sentient and self-aware as you and I are; every single test humanity has ever devised shows that Jem is more than a pre-programmed device and is sentient. It’s capable of significant self-modification, it wants to self-preserve, it has a distinct personality that it is unable to adj
ust—”
“You just referred to the device as ‘it’ four times, Lieutenant Podsednik,” the Solarian interrupted pointedly.
Podsy glared at her. “That’s because Jem doesn’t have a fucking gender, and the only genderless English pronoun that comes to mind and doesn’t sound like I’m going through linguistic gymnastics with every utterance I author, is ‘it.’ I could say ‘they,’ but that’s grammatically tortured and potentially subject-incorrect since I’m talking about an individual and not a group. Although,” he added thoughtfully, “Jem is a gestalt, so maybe ‘they’ is indeed the correct term? But that would seem to invalidate Jem’s individuality, which I understand is par for the course here in Solaria but out in the Terran sticks, we cling to traditional ideas like ‘individual sovereignty’ like you people cling to your data links.”
He shook his head in frustration. “Look, the point is that I’m using the word ‘it’ naturally and you’re purposely prodding me when you use ‘it.’ You’re an interrogator, I get that, so your job is to antagonize me while you try to dig up whatever truth nuggets I might have buried in the backyard. You’re doing a bang-up job of it, by the way.” He offered a golf clap. “I’m sure your parents are extremely proud.”
“Solaria?” Sandra repeated bemusedly. “I’m sorry, I’ve never heard that particular linguistically-questionable derivation used as an epithet.”
“You should get out more. I hear it’s good for the skin,” Podsy retorted, snapping his fingers for emphasis as he added, “Thickens it right up.”
“I find it curious that you so ardently defend Jem’s sovereignty,” Sandra mused, “and yet seem to regard the One Mind, which you clearly do not understand to a workable degree, with such disdain. Fundamentally, Jem and the Solar One Mind are similar. Both feature multiple distinct contributors where each lends individual distinctiveness to the whole. That whole expresses, at least in many respects, as a sovereign individual according to the very criteria you referenced when describing Jem. How do you explain that incongruity, Lieutenant?” she asked with an arched brow.
“Honestly?” Podsy recoiled in surprise. “Yeah…I don’t understand the One Mind. And do you know why that is? Because you people don’t let anyone examine it. You rebuff any and all outside attempts to understand it that don’t transform someone into a One Minder. You claim it’s a voluntary gestalt, but you don’t let anyone interact with it on their terms. Jem has agreed to every single test we’ve suggested and offered a few more besides. Have we learned much from Jem through those primitive inquiries?” He shrugged. “Not really. But Jem hasn’t obtusely kept us in the dark, while you lot have done exactly that. So that’s one difference: transparency.”
“I can assure you, Podsy,” Sandra said matter of factly, sending a chill down Podsednik’s spine at using his nickname without permission, “that there is nothing more transparent than the One Mind network.”
“From the inside, maybe,” he allowed. “But from the outside, it’s got all the transparency of a black hole. And don’t call me that,” he added flatly. “We’re not friends, we won’t ever be friends, and jabbing me isn’t going to produce anything but animosity. I’ve answered all of your questions to the best of my ability, and will continue to do so because that’s what this operation requires: transparency. We did some awful shit on Luna,” he added, feeling his guts twist into knots at the mental image of Sergeant Major Trapper’s battered body, “and we deserve what we got. But don’t fuck with me any more than is absolutely necessary. I’m cooperating. You don’t need to poke me or fill me with chemicals to get the truth.”
“My apologies,” Sandra said, and for some reason, Podsy believed she was at least partially sincere. “I have an objective, just like you did when you arrived in Sol aboard the Dietrich Bonhoeffer, so I think you’ll understand when I say that some of what I’m required to do in pursuit of that objective is distasteful…and possibly even cruel. But I’m going to do whatever it takes to achieve it,” she added with a piercing look that would have shaken Podsy to the core just a few days earlier. “Just like you did, Podsy.”
He set his jaw but deep down he knew she was right. Referring to someone by a word they disliked was far from torture, and if that was as far as things went, he would consider himself lucky.
“Fine,” he allowed.
Her eyes flashed with something approaching sympathy before once again frosting over with professional indifference. “Let’s get back to Jem’s capabilities…”
20
The Closing Arguments
Twelve hours after completing the first round of questions, Matthew returned to the interrogation room. Xi had remained there in the interim. A small cot alongside the wall had provided little comfort, but she had managed a few hours’ sleep during the break.
“Good morning, Captain,” her interrogator greeted her, looking pointedly at her untouched meal tray. “Not hungry?”
“I’ve earned every meal I’ve ever eaten.” She grunted. “I’m not about to break that streak.”
He cocked his head in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“This whole interrogation…” She gestured to the four walls and the table as she resumed her seat opposite him. “It’s a performance. An act. It’s not real. You’re not actually asking me questions because you want my answers. You’re studying me. What I say, and how I say it when I say it. You’re poking and prodding me like some kind of lab rat in hopes of figuring me out. And hey, fair enough.” She shrugged. “I’m a complicated bitch who takes more than one or two poke-sessions to understand. But as long as there’s nothing genuine about these interactions, and as long as all you’re interested in doing is observing me rather than interacting with me, I’m not earning my keep. As such, I don’t deserve whatever nutri-paste you’ve put under that gleaming silver cloche. I’m a human, not an animal, and call me picky but I think I should be treated like the former rather than the latter.“
Matthew smiled, and this time it seemed genuine. “You’re…bizarre, Captain Xi.”
“Word to the wise.” She leaned smugly back in her chair. “Terran girls don’t generally consider ‘bizarre’ a compliment. ‘Sexy,’ ‘alluring,’ ‘mysterious,’ hell…even the word ‘dangerous’ might drop a girl’s drawers if deployed correctly, but ‘bizarre?’” She shook her head condescendingly. “That’s a crash-and-burn approach where the payload will definitely be left on the rack at impact.”
“Unlike your payload,” he observed neutrally, sitting in the chair opposite hers, “which you mercilessly expended on people whom you call ‘Solarians’ with a zeal rarely matched in human history.”
Xi’s playful attitude evaporated as he broached the subject of the battle on Luna. She fought the urge to squirm, knowing that he had chosen the direct approach because he wanted to see how she reacted.
Jutting her chin out defiantly, she nodded. “That’s right. I killed a lot of my fellow humans on Luna. But despite what you might think, I’m not proud of that. I’m…” Her voice trailed off; she was unable to find the right words to describe her ambivalent feelings about Operation Antivenom’s ultimate outcome.
“You’re what?” he pressed in the growing silence.
She shot him a glare before once again trying to rally her thoughts. “I’m…” Her voice trailed off again, unable to find anything that felt like an accurate description of how she felt. “Fine, you know what? Yeah, I am proud of what we came here to do,” she finally declared. “We came here with love in our hearts and tears in our eyes, knowing that no matter how well we did, a lot of people would die as a result of our actions. You called me merciless? Maybe that’s fair, and maybe it’s not. Maybe it was mercy that made me risk my life… That made all of my fallen Metalheads give their lives,” she continued, tears welling up in her eyes as the reality of the situation slammed into her with the force of a falling star. “Maybe I thought that somewhere, deep down, Solar humans weren’t quite as different from us as we thought. M
aybe I thought it was possible, however unlikely, that you’d view what we did as an act of love and not hatred…or worse yet, cold indifference,” she continued, tears running down her cheeks as she refused to give in to the warring emotions raging within her. “Maybe we kept Antivenom secret, even from our own brass, because we cared that much about you. But yeah,” she bit out, leaning forward and sneering in disgust, “you go ahead and tell everyone we’re heartless. Merciless. That we only came here to carve our initials on the surface of the Moon like some kind of disowned punk returning home under the cover of night to deface his parents’ garage.”
“The crimes of which you stand accused are grave, Captain,” Matthew said neutrally. “The death penalty is warranted on at least sixty-eight separate counts in your case.”
She nodded knowingly and leaned back in her chair while maintaining eye contact with her interrogator. “I understand that. I really do. And what you might not understand is that I was ready for that outcome. Whether on the battlefield or in front of a Solarian firing squad, I knew this mission was a one-way ticket out of this ‘verse.”
“Lethal injection is the preferred execution method in Sol,” Matthew casually clarified.
“Well, you won’t have to strap me down to the table if it comes to that.” She shrugged. “Because in the end, no matter what my intentions might have been, I wronged you. I wronged the families of the men and women I fought and killed on Luna. There’s no forgetting that, and God knows I’d never be able to forgive it if I was in your shoes. So yeah, if you decide I need to die for what I did on Luna, hand me the syringe and I’ll do the deed myself. But understand this,” she added, leaning forward intently as the stream of tears finally stopped and began to dry on her cheeks. “Knowing what I did then and what I do now, I’d do it all over again. Maybe that makes me unrepentant. Maybe it makes me evil. But I believed in our mission, just like everyone else aboard the Bonhoeffer. Now it’s up to you to decide what that means.”
