“Our mechanic was all for looting ruins. I guess it’s my father who wanted the money. I wanted to see what’s out here. Others wanted adventure. And Betty hated the idea but we outvoted her so she was stuck.”
This crate was mostly teddy bears. He tossed them into a bin in a steady stream as he spoke.
“So what do you think now that you found us?”
“I want to tear your fucking Censorate apart and bury the Censor in the ruins. As soon as I figure out how.” He finished that with a grin at his own hubris.
She laughed. “I won’t object. Just try to not get buried yourself.”
***
The spaceport tavern was near empty with the lunch rush gone. Vychan explained the deal he’d made with the customer for the tractor parts. “They said they could deliver four more grav sleds but wouldn’t have them until the ninth. Can you wait that long?”
“Certainly,” said Captain Landry. “I’ll take all the floaters I can get.”
“Good.” The broker made some notes on his tablet. “Oh, Mourning Day is almost here. Do you have your outfits?”
“What’s—”
Vychan flung up a hand to cut off the question. He looked around the tavern. The nearby tables were empty. None of the staff or remaining patrons were paying attention to them. But it was still a bad idea to reveal Landry’s ignorance of Censorial traditions.
“Do you have pure black clothes for every member of your crew?”
The captain shook his head.
“You’re spacers, it doesn’t have to be fancy. Send me a message with everyone’s sizes and I’ll find outfits. I’ll bring them to the ship tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
“Just taking care of my friends.” The broker scooped up his tablet and left.
***
The actual delivery was made by Dilwyn Goch. Ten unlabeled black bags held all black clothes.
“What’s with the big socks?” asked Soon. She held up a foot-shaped object, too loose to fit comfortably on skin.
“If you don’t have black shoes you pull that over them,” explained Dilwyn. “It’ll keep you from being written down by some Censorial.”
Tets shoved his shirt back in the bag. “I’d rather skip the whole thing.”
“You can’t do that!” Dilwyn’s eyes widened in shock. “The Censorials check everyone’s thumb. I was throwing-up sick once and my parents still dragged me out for it. They’ll give people shocks for laughing or falling asleep. If you don’t show at all—” He shuddered.
***
On the day, only half the usual number of ships were in port. Landry wondered if being off-planet was an acceptable excuse or if there’d be make-up sessions.
A Censorial officer visited Azure Tarn on the eve to provide exact times and places. The crew promised to obey.
In the morning they set out a little early. The tram station let them out into a stream of people going into the park. A line of posts held thumb-readers, minimizing the wait. A native police officer watched.
The crew huddled together in the vast crowd. The park was being filled shoulder to shoulder. Landry hoped it would be a calm event. If a stampede broke out, there’d be thousands hurt and no way to escape.
A hologram globe hovered over the middle of the park. It twisted slowly around to make all sides visible while turning on its axis.
“What is that?” asked Roger.
After a moment, Marcus whispered, “It’s Earth. Earth without the oceans. See, there’s where South America meets Antarctica. And now Africa’s coming into view. That crater’s different though.”
All the Fierans had taken a year of Earth history in school. They could recognize the continents even if they weren’t used to seeing the continental shelves around them. The crater in the corner of Africa made them twitch.
The globe kept turning. India was easily recognized. It had two craters. Tibet was unaltered. The east coast of Asia bore four craters. Landry looked away.
Censorial officials were scattered among the crowd, on floating disks that held them at shoulder height. Presumably they were the ones who’d administer punishment to anyone not showing the proper attitude.
A platform stood at one edge of the park. A few rows of people sat on it. Their clothes were visibly elaborate despite being pure black. Landry noticed many in the crowd wore tailored outfits. He felt underdressed in his pajama-like clothes. Which was silly if he’d never need to wear them again.
A Censorial officer in the normal dress uniform walked to the front of the platform. Projectors cast his voice over the crowd. Landry hid a smile. It was Koing, the same officious subaltern who’d inspected Azure Tarn.
“My fellow subjects of Censor Longinus. We gather today to mourn and remember the people of Earth. Planet Earth had peace and prosperity as part of the Censorate. They received protection and order. The people raised their children knowing the next generation would enjoy the same happiness their parents did.”
The Censorial’s tone went cold. “This was not enough for some Earthers. Their greed for power inspired them to revolt. The conspirators recruited others who loved to harm people by giving them an excuse to wield violence in their cause. Innocents who stumbled across their secrets were murdered, or forced into silence by threats to their children.
“Then the conspiracy struck. In a single day they murdered the hard-working administrators who kept Earth in order. Any Earthers who objected to the slaughter were killed as well to cow the population. Earth shivered in fear as the conspirators set up their blood-covered thrones.”
Sounds of shock and horror came from the crowd. Landry dismissed them as fake, then wondered why he’d reacted so strongly. A few more reactions let him realize the reason. The gasps were synchronized, as if they were prayer responses in church.
“The only Censorial official left to fight back was the local naval commander, Commodore Wenliang. He gathered all available ground troops and launched a counter-attack. He hoped he could free the administrators awaiting execution. But the revolt had suborned factories to make heavy weapons. Despite their bravery, the Censorial Dragoons were overwhelmed by wave after wave of artillery fire. The supporting Navy ships were badly damaged by missiles and forced to withdraw.
“As they left they saw warships under construction to spread the revolt to other systems.
“Commodore Wenliang tried precision attacks from space next, losing more good men and ships to the secret weapons of the revolt. That left only one way to free Earth from the conspirators. Wenliang’s ships found asteroids and pushed them into trajectories for Earth. Each was targeted on one of the leaders of the revolt.
“Once the rocks were falling toward Earth, Wenliang took his squadron back to the planet. His ships surrounded the world outside the range of the missiles. They broadcast the news of the asteroids.”
The Censorial officer’s voice shifted again. Instead of projecting the emotions of the story it became a dry lecturer’s recitation.
“All subjects have the duty to serve the Censor. In normal times, this duty is to pay taxes and obey the law. In an emergency all may have to serve to repair damage and tend the injured. When a catastrophe strikes, duty will demand more.”
Anger flowed into his voice. “The people of Earth failed in their duty. They were required to fight back against the conspirators. Suppress the revolt. Some did. If more had, there would be a happy ending to this tale. But most did nothing. They ignored Commodore Wenliang’s pleas for action. They bowed in fear to the conspirators. And they paid the price.”
More synchronized gasps greeted this.
“The Earthers did nothing. Commodore Wenliang could do nothing in response. The rocks fell.”
The hologram overhead brightened. The craters glowed red and yellow as if they’d just formed.
“A population of billions. Too lazy or scared to do their duty. Unwilling to take down a conspiracy of less than a million. They failed in their duty to the Censor. Willfully failing the Censor is
treason. The penalty for treason is death.”
Marcus muttered, “This isn’t mourning. It’s gloating.”
Landry grabbed his son’s shoulder. “Shut up.” He hissed into his ear, “Are you trying to get us all shot?”
“Let us mourn the cowardice of Earth,” continued the Censorial. “Let us mourn the lost future of Earth. Let us mourn the plants and animals lost forever because humans failed to enjoy peace and order. Let us mourn the children of traitors, not responsible for the disaster around them.”
Now the prayer responses were sobs and weeping. Landry looked around. He didn’t see any tears.
The officer shifted from history to current times. He praised the people of Corwynt for doing their duty. Taxes were paid. Crime was low. People volunteered for Censorial service on other worlds. Disasters brought out volunteers.
That part of the speech was repeated with extra details for the city of Bundoran. Then specific people—all natives—were praised for exemplary performance of their duty. They were the ones seated on the platform behind the officer. Each one stood for their mention.
Landry clapped with the rest of the crowd for each name. He glared at any member of the crew inclined to rest his or her hands.
When the last honoree sat, the hologram of ruined Earth became a man’s head. He looked sixtyish. The expression was stern yet just. Landry couldn’t match the face to any ethnic group found in the Fieran Bubble. Probably a new group hybridized from mixing all the others.
“Hail Censor Longinus!” cried the officer.
Landry echoed it with the crowd. There were two repeats. And then, thank God, they were done.
He expected a surge for the exits. Instead people stood around chatting. Maybe leaving too quickly was a sign of a Bad Attitude. Even if it was, he wanted out.
Picking their way through the crowd wasn’t hard. From overheard conversations it seemed many locals were catching up with rarely seen acquaintances from other clans.
The seat on the tram car was much softer than it had felt on the way out.
***
The crew were silent on the tram ride, and walking to their ship, and even going up the ladder to the upper deck. The captain and first mate retired to their cabin. The chief engineer went to the engine room. The younger members of the crew gathered in the galley.
Tets spoke first. “Can you believe that shit!”
“I don’t know. The Censorate has enough control over information to get away with faking it.” Marcus was taking the question literally. “It could be fiction. It could have happened to another world. I just can’t think of a reason to say it was Earth instead of some world nobody ever heard of.”
Soon shivered. “It makes a difference. Destroying that history, where our ancestors were from, every plant and animal terraformers didn’t take off-world . . . that’s worse than some random colony.”
“Who cares why?” demanded Betty. “Let’s lift off and get the hell home before they execute us.”
“That’s up to the captain,” snapped Roger.
“I’m not talking mutiny. I just want to get out of here.”
“So do I,” said Alys. She’d put a kettle on to boil. “But we need to finish trading first.”
“Do we?” asked Welly. “We have all that metal. Isn’t that enough profit?”
They all looked to Marcus. “We’re not just getting money in the trades. These people have improved anti-grav technology. Or maybe we lost some tech when the Bubble was settled. Either way we need to bring some home, so we can figure out how to duplicate it.”
Roger thought about that. “You’re not just looking for a profit. That’s to help the Bubble against the Censorate.”
Marcus nodded. “We’re going to have to face the Censorate sooner or later. Best to get all the advantages we can find.”
Alys set tea cups out on the counter. “Can’t we just hide? If they don’t know we exist, they won’t bother us.”
Soon shook her head. “The inlet in the shoals is widening. If the Censorate sends a survey out, they’ll find it. And find us.”
“That only matters if they don’t execute us first,” snarled Betty.
Welly started at that. “Wait, why would they kill us? We haven’t done anything.”
“Some of our cargo is prohibited in the Censorate,” said Marcus. “Plus, they might consider us spies.”
“I guess we are spying on them,” said Roger.
Tets threw his hands in the air. “Nice to know I’ll deserve to be shot when it happens.”
“We need to spy on them,” said Soon. “Maybe not sneaking around spying but finding out everything we can. The Censorate is dangerous. We have to be prepared.”
Welly snapped, “Prepared to what? Fight? Then Fiera is an airless rock covered in craters. Don’t be stupid. Life’s not so bad here. Why not go along with them?”
“Give up Shakespeare?” cried Roger. “Give up our history?”
“Is that worth having our planet destroyed? The people here are happy. There’re no beggars on the street. Nobody dies alone in their house, unnoticed until the smell bothers the neighborhood.” Welly wiped her eyes.
Marcus spoke firmly. “I think that’s the culture on Corwynt, not the Censorate. But it doesn’t matter if you’re willing to surrender. There’d never be support in the Bubble for joining the Censorate. We’re too stubborn.”
“Damn straight,” said Tets. “My grandpa still goes on about fighting in the Sweetmeat War and the Apprehension wasn’t nearly as bad as this Censorate.”
Betty muttered, “Yeah, that was a nasty war. Makes me wonder if the Bubble can cooperate enough to fight the Censorate.”
Alys passed out cups and poured tea.
“There’s nothing like a common enemy to make people work together,” said Soon.
Tets quipped, “I had a coach like that in school.” That drew some chuckles.
As Alys handed a tea cup to Marcus her fingers caressed his.
“So what are we going to do?” asked Welly.
Marcus answered, “The plan is to do our trades and go straight home. Until the Captain says otherwise we’re going to stay with that. When we get home, we can all tell people what we saw. Then the politicians argue about what to do.”
“God help us all,” said Betty.
***
Bridge Yaeger didn’t like working at breakfast. It was the one meal where he could chat with his wife instead of talking business. But he’d been away for two months visiting the other six systems he governed from Corwynt. Now that he was back, all the decisions that couldn’t be delegated were waiting for him.
So, breakfast was early, his wife was asleep, and bureaucrats made reports standing across the table. Yaeger didn’t invite them to sit. If it was unimportant enough that they didn’t want to stand, it could wait until next week.
“. . . for an effective three percent of total tax revenue,” concluded the Director of Commerce. “Closing this inheritance loophole is essential for meeting our Censorial obligations and should be done immediately.”
The Director held out a tablet with the text of the revised tax law for the gubernatorial thumbprint.
Yaeger kept chewing his eggs. He could have swallowed them right off the fork, but he wanted to savor them. Today it was real bird eggs, flown down from the North Pole Archipelago. If the job made him deal with poltroons such as this one, he’d damn well enjoy the perks as well.
He swallowed and said, “No.”
The Director inhaled to object, but shut up at Yeager’s wave.
“This is Corwynt. Real estate and businesses don’t belong to people, they belong to families. If we try to change that they’ll go into hysterics. I’m not calling in the Dragoons so you can squeeze three percent out of these people. There’re better places to push on the budget.”
The governor let ‘such as your staff’ go unstated.
“What else?” Yeager took another delicious forkful of scrambled eggs.
<
br /> The Director reeled off a list of statistics. All were in the normal range. Yeager asked for them to check for fluctuations the Director might not mention.
It ended with, “Merchant ships are in port from the planets Lompoc, Shian, . . .” The director listed a dozen more worlds. Only one was unfamiliar to the Governor.
“Fiera?” he asked.
A tap on the Director’s tablet brought up more details. “The Azure Tarn, carrying refined metals from Fwynwr Ystaen. It’s making an extended stay to establish relationships with local businesses. Most of the crew is unmarried.”
Yeager laughed. “Ah, bringing bachelors to marry into a clan. Those people know how to do business on Corwynt. You could learn from them.”
He didn’t remember a Fiera. Which was odd. He knew all the inhabited worlds in the provinces bordering his own. No point in asking the Director. He wasn’t cleared for any information outside their own province.
The governor waved him aside for the next bureaucrat.
The Director of Order stepped forward, forcing Commerce to scoot aside to avoid an elbow.
“Good morning, Governor Yeager. There are eight death sentences awaiting your approval.”
He put his fork down. Best not to eat during this part.
***
Landry knew an invitation to visit Goch Home “as soon as practical” was not good news. When the usual chat with a dozen relatives was reduced to a wave and “good evening” while they went straight to Vychan’s study, it had to be bad news.
Then the broker unlocked the cabinet with the good brandy.
Landry sniffed the fumes as his hands warmed the glass. “How bad is it? The Censorate coming to kill us?”
Vychan poured himself a little bit, drank it, then filled it halfway. “Not yet. But I do owe you an apology.”
This called for a sip of brandy. Best to let the native explain at his own pace.
“Secret societies are supposed to keep our existence, or at least our membership, secret. We want to share what we know. Carefully, so as not to bring the Censorate down on us. We’ll send out a rogue net message or write something on a wall. If someone reacts we watch them to see if they’re a Censorial infiltrator or a potential recruit. If they look good, we’ll test them.”
Storm Between the Stars: Book 1 in the Fall of the Censor Page 11
