by Matt Levin
Thinking about her daughter made it feel like her heart was about to rip through her ribcage. But growing up under her parents’ harsh regimen had always made it easy to compartmentalize. Isadora could let the longing to see Meredith subside. Her heart would just have to claw at her in the background.
Feeling satisfied with her preparation, Isadora headed for the Preserver’s airlock to meet the security detail. One of the Union’s disease-scanning drones passed her by, oblivious to her presence. On the way, the computer explained that it had brought three additional crew out of cryo, as she had requested. The trio was waiting for her outside the starboard airlock. They introduced themselves tiredly.
There was a quiet, thin, unathletic man named Vincent Gureh who explained that he had worked as an engineer for the same company that had first designed the cryo pods. He’d handle logistics, including who to bring out of cryo and when. With the beginnings of a grey streak around his temples suggesting he was in his early or mid-30s, Vincent had dark skin and thick, wavy black hair. Isadora pegged him as subcontinental in his Earthly origins.
Then there was Nadia Jibor, who the ship’s computer had tapped as a potential settlement surveyor based on her experience working for a refugee resettlement nonprofit. Nadia looked about a decade Isadora’s junior, and she couldn’t help but admire the younger woman’s youthful features, wistfully remembering what she looked like a decade ago. Nadia’s angular face and high cheekbones hid behind long, curly black hair that she wore parted to her left. Nadia’s origins were harder to place. Isadora could have seen her coming anywhere from North Africa to the Central Asian steppes.
And last was her security adviser, a tall, wiry man named Russell Kama who promptly asked her to call him Russ. He might have been pale once, but exposure to the elements back during his time in the Earth Defense Forces left his tawny face creased and tanned, belying his thirty-two years. He sported a circular beard the same reddish-brown as his hair.
She wondered if she should ask them what it had been like when the ship brought them out of cryo. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to know the answer. Somehow Did you spend the first half-hour stumbling around like a blind lunatic too? didn’t feel like the most appropriate question from their new boss.
“I know this has been a lot to process,” she said instead. “And I know you all have questions I’m sure the computer couldn’t answer fully. To be honest, I’m just as lost as you are. But if we’re going in blind, at least we’re going in together. This will be our first impression in our new home,” she said.
The other three almost seemed too tired to respond. “Of course,” Nadia said at last. “We’ll make sure these people know we want to start things off on a friendly foot.”
Vincent just gave her a friendly smile. Still tired, Isadora thought. Or shy. Probably both, actually.
Isadora might have liked to get to know her new advisers better, but time and nutrition constraints made that impossible. She was sure the computer had already briefed the other three that, should negotiations with the Union prove unsuccessful, they might not have anything to eat tonight. Or tomorrow.
And besides, it had taken her over an hour before she had fully overcome the effects of hibernation sickness. The trio had been awakened within the last hour. Probably better not to overburden them with conversation right now.
As they moved to receive the boarding party, Russ walked over to her side. “Can I have a minute, ma’am?”
“Of...course?” she said. She didn’t want to start off their working relationship by refusing to hear him out, but she couldn’t fathom what was so important he had to tell her right now.
“We need to be careful around these people,” Russ said quietly.
“We’re guests in their system,” Isadora said.
“They could just as well see us as invaders,” he countered. “Sure, we’re all human, and we all originally came from Earth. But we were born there. They’ve lived out here for over a century. We might as well be aliens to them.”
With everything that had been happening, Isadora realized she hadn’t even taken the time to speculate what the Union’s motives might’ve been. It had been too easy just to assume they’d be friendly. But she found herself unable to dismiss Russ’ concerns out of hand.
“Thank you for your advice,” she said. “I don’t know what we can do, but I’ll go in with both eyes open.”
The inner airlock hissed open, and the four of them stood by silently as armored Union marines entered the ship to begin their security sweep. Russ in particular seemed to bristle at the presence of foreign military personnel on board. But the prime minister of the entire damn Union was out there on one of those warships, and the only way Isadora would get to meet with her was if she agreed to a security sweep of the Preserver. A reasonable precaution, she had to admit.
A half-hour later, the prime minister shuttled over to the Preserver. The marine detachment stood at attention and saluted as Tricia Favan walked through, followed by a small cohort of diplomats. She returned the salute lazily, and the marines relaxed.
Isadora immediately realized she needn’t have bothered with her overly conscientious presentation. Tricia just wore a rumpled shirt underneath a military bomber jacket. She extended a hand as she approached Isadora. “So, you’re basically the prime minister for the sleepers, yeah?” she said in a raspy, deep voice.
It was the first actual spoken language Isadora had heard from one of the Natonese people. Tricia spoke with an accent, to be sure, but not a recognizable one. At first Isadora thought Tricia’s speech sounded vaguely Australian—no, that couldn’t be right, South American?—no, that wasn’t quite it either. The universal translator in her ear wasn’t dubbing over Tricia’s speech, suggesting that she was speaking some recognizable variant of English.
“It’s an honor to meet you, Madam Prime Minister,” Isadora said. She felt stupid almost immediately after. Tricia had asked her a question, and she had been too nervous to do anything other than blurt out her prepared opening. “And, er, yes, I suppose you could say that.”
A single, deep chuckle escaped Tricia’s mouth, which curled into a wry grin after. “Well then, prime minister to prime minister. Let’s talk.”
Isadora led the Union prime minister to a room on the Preserver’s habitation deck that Isadora’s three advisers had prepared as a makeshift meeting area. An ovular, onyx table sat in the middle. With only two chairs, Isadora and Tricia sat at either end. Nadia, Vincent, and Russ lined up behind her while Union marines took position in every corner. The Union diplomats lined the table on either side.
“How much of all that junk we sent you did you actually get through?” Tricia asked.
“A decent amount, actually,” Isadora said. “Honestly, we’re kind of in awe. We set out for this system before your first ships even arrived. We had no idea what we could expect to find.”
“It’s been a hell of a ride,” Tricia said. “I have to say, we were pretty surprised when our long-range scanners picked up your ship about eight months ago. We’ve been trying to figure out what the hell to do about your impending arrival. We practically resigned ourselves to having no contact with the rest of our species again, given how damn far away we are from Earth.
“But not everyone is as amiably curious as I am,” Tricia said, her voice taking on a more serious air as she leaned forward. “We kept news of your approaching vessel classified until about two months ago. Once public, however, the news got around fast. There have been protests—riots, even—and lots of political action groups founded to oppose letting any of you settle here. There’s the Natonus People’s Alliance, the Solar Communities First Association—”
Isadora thought she could hear one of Tricia’s advisers briefly whisper something that sounded like the word offspring, but no one else seemed to react. Isadora figured her still-thawing mind was just playing tricks on her.
“I’ll be honest,” Tricia continued, “most of these groups are just a
bunch of nativist assholes with nothing better to do with their lives. If I were a dictator, I’d ignore them and let you settle wherever you damn well want. But I’m not, and I have to represent everyone’s opinions. Even the assholes.
“And besides, my people have real anxieties. There are people worried about losing their jobs. Most of our major cities are already overcrowded, and people don’t want to have to leave.”
You have nine, or at least six, entire planets, Isadora wanted to say, and you’re expecting me to be sympathetic to the idea that you couldn’t just expand your damn cities to make room for us?
“We understand,” Isadora said instead. “I can appreciate that you’re in a difficult position.”
Isadora had pondered how to approach her first meeting with the Union leader. Even if the Union didn’t appear hostile, she had to concede Russ’ point that she knew nothing about the Natonus System and its people. The only information she had was provided by the Union government itself. And the constant internal reminder that 40 million lives depended on her actions made Isadora want to play things carefully.
“Moreover, I understand the weight of the situation,” Isadora continued guardedly. With 40 million people on board the Preserver, the refugees would account for an overwhelming percentage of the local population on nearly any planet where they touched down. The Natonese might have something to say about becoming minorities on their own worlds overnight. “We’re perfectly happy to let you take the lead.” Maybe it was her imagination, but she could almost feel Russ bristling again behind her.
“Look...I’m not really one for decorum,” Tricia said, leaning forward. “But this is unprecedented. Normally, the Union Parliament passes colonization charters for anyone trying to settle a new world, but I don’t know if the usual procedures are quite up to the task in this situation.”
“We don’t have to intrude on your territory,” Isadora said. “I know there are planets outside of the Union’s jurisdiction. We could make a home for ourselves there and stay out of your way.”
Tricia stifled a laugh. “Have you read much about the outer planets? One is still in the middle of a civil war. Another is home to outlaws and vagabonds who hate all outsiders. Both sides are fighting over a third planet, and the fourth is as lifeless as it is cold. Respectfully, settling out here isn’t the best idea.”
The refugees’ options were therefore more limited than Isadora had realized. If the Union wasn’t going to make it easy to settle on their worlds, and if the non-Union planets were too dangerous, it might take time to figure out a viable settlement option.
And beyond that, the refugees would depend on local infrastructure. Normally, sleeper ships like the Preserver could be repurposed upon arrival at their destination to facilitate the easy construction of prefab shelters, transit networks, and other forms of early settlement infrastructure.
But breaking down the Preserver wasn’t an option while they still needed the ship to sustain all the others in cryo. Isadora felt as though she were in a maze with no escape, while all Tricia could do was make some vague sympathetic gestures from above.
“We had hoped you might pass along any information you may have about what happened to the rest of our species back home,” Tricia continued. “We’ve been alone for so long, we can’t help but be curious.”
Isadora wanted to grin, but she stayed cool instead. “I can sell you that information, Madam Prime Minister.”
“Sell it,” Tricia repeated, unmistakably agitated. “We sent over our primers free of charge, as a peace offering, and—”
“—sell it in exchange for food,” Isadora interrupted. She immediately felt stupid—had she seriously just interrupted the most powerful woman in the Natonus System?—but Tricia brushed it off in stride.
“Our ships need food for the return journey to the capital,” Tricia said. “But, I suppose we have supplies to spare. It’d be nutra bars, mostly.”
Nutra was a bland protein paste, cheap enough to mass produce, and an absolute staple for humanity’s dreams of exploring the stars. It was oddly comforting to Isadora that the Natonese still used the same basic fare that every human colonist did after departing Earth.
“We would appreciate anything you can spare, Madam Prime Minister,” Isadora said. “I’ll forward the information we have upon receiving your spare nutra.”
Tricia rolled her eyes. “No need to stand on circumstance. ‘Tricia’ works just fine.”
Isadora nodded. She had to remember that, in some sense, she was Tricia Favan’s equal. She was negotiating as the head of one political entity with the head of the other. But it didn’t matter how true that was from a diplomatic standpoint. The fleet of warships parked outside and the marine detail made it abundantly clear where all the power lay.
“I appreciate your generosity, Tricia,” Isadora said. She was careful not to sound too casual, even while using the prime minister’s first name. Better to keep playing everything safe.
The continued formality in her speech seemed to disappoint the other woman. “Right. Well, I should get back to the capital,” Tricia said, standing up to shake Isadora’s hand again. “Like I said, I’ll get to work on those settlement charters. But I’m not a miracle worker. If you need to talk, you know how to reach me. Just yell at one of the ship captains and they’ll patch you through,” she said with a wink.
Isadora chuckled. “Thank you. For everything.”
“I’m sure you have plenty of work to do,” Tricia said, departing with her protection squad.
Isadora was mostly happy with how that went. She had kept things warm, if a little professional, with Tricia. But she didn’t have time to be too satisfied with her first performance as representative of the entire refugee population.
She would need to get a better handle on the system’s political situation, figuring out which planets her people could settle on. She would need to coordinate with her three advisers and establish a working system of governance for a sleeping population of 40 million. And she would need to form a contingency plan if settlement negotiations with the Union went south. Or if one of those interest groups Tricia had mentioned thwarted their efforts.
The prime minister was right: there was plenty more to do.
CHAPTER 3
* * *
The first news reports coming in had changed Russ Kama’s life forever. The enemy fleet had arrived in the Sol System, and the Earth Defense Forces had been forward-deployed to Mars to meet the challenge. Russ and the squad he commanded wasn’t called up, however, which meant that he was lucky enough to get to read that thousands of his colleagues, along with the entire Martian population, had perished instantaneously in a nuclear inferno.
It also meant he was lucky enough to assist in the evacuation instead. While the EDF brass—at least, the survivors from the first and only battle of the invasion—rode off on the doomed Anointer, the rank and file desperately stuffed as many millions onto the Preserver as they could.
Russ wondered if that was partly why the computer had settled on him as the most qualified individual to serve as Isadora’s security adviser. Just thinking about the weight of his position made Russ clam up again, remembering all the dead back in the Sol System, or on the destroyed Anointer, or who had been sucked into space when that asteroid hit the Preserver. The fact that a mere squad leader was now somehow the ranking EDF member among their people was a testament to the utter demolition of the chain of command. He’d been feeling a strange mixture of inadequacy, sorrow, and rage ever since that damn computer woke him up in his underwear.
He glanced at the two footlockers that lay at the foot of the bunk he was using temporarily, until Isadora finished making permanent room assignments. Inside one was an unopened bottle of Kentucky bourbon, one of the few comforts he had taken from his old barracks on Earth’s moon.
Russ felt the temptation burn in his throat. But Isadora had called for a crew meeting half an hour from now. Showing up with the stink of alcohol on your
tongue was a surefire way of getting your boss to hate your guts. And he wanted Isadora to like him.
He refocused his attention on the datapads on his desk. The one on top displayed a holographic schematic of the Union’s latest warship design. The same kind used for the fleet holding position next to the Preserver. The Union vessels had skeletal torsos, with gigantic missile silos at the rear that could annihilate entire continents, if not planets.
Russ wondered what the EDF might have been able to do with even just one of those ships. Maybe they might have stood a chance against the conquerors that drove them from their home. But he’d never know, and trying to change the past was the path to madness.
What bothered him now was that the Union had enough of those warships to control almost every sector of space in the entire Natonus System, and the Preserver didn’t have so much as a single point-defense turret. If the Union ever decided that they didn’t much like the idea of 40 million refugees emigrating to their system, they’d be able to take out the entire Preserver population with a single missile strike.
That wasn’t a particularly pleasant thought, but it was now Russ’ job to consider the possibility. In the security business, optimistic assumptions were a rookie mistake. If you were lucky, it was a mistake you made before it counted.
Russ finished studying the schematics for the Union warships and turned to a datapad detailing the military history of the system.
Ten minutes later, his wrister—the EDF way of referring to a wrist terminal—buzzed, informing him that the meeting Isadora had called was about to begin. Russ shut the displays off on the datapads and stacked them up, edges aligned, at the corner of his desk. He exited his room and instinctively double-checked the handle to make sure it was locked.
The habitation deck still felt new to him, although he knew, logically, that he had already wandered around most of the deck before the computer directed him to his room after he came out of cryo. Most of that was a blur.
