Renegade (4 page)

“Once again, humanity’s chah'nas friends nurtured us. Barely one hundred million strong, out of so many billions before, only those humans living off-Earth at the time had survived. Humanity rebuilt its industry, in a hundred years of tireless work, out in the dark, in habitations of steel and stone, we rebuilt ourselves for the purpose of war, and steeled ourselves for battle.

“This time, when the humans struck the krim, we were finally at and past their military level. With nothing to defend, we knew only attack, and we drove the krim from one system after another. What we occupied, we turned to engines of industry to power our war machine, as the galaxy watched on in amazement. Again the tavalai intervened, right at our moment of triumph, to dissuade us from final victory. But by now humanity was too strong, and the tavalai dared not strike. The krim race ended there, killed to the last living vermin we could find, and today not a trace of them remains. Humanity made a statement, to all who would make genocidal war on us — we shall deal with you in kind. The galaxy heard us, and those who would make war on the weak and innocent have trembled.”

Odd, Erik thought, that this telling had never bothered him before. This cheerful endorsement of genocide, this utter annihilation of an entire species, down to the last living child… to be sure, the krim deserved it, and that was no crude human propaganda. Nearly every species had been pleased to see them go — an evolutionary mistake, most agreed… with the possible exception of the sard, who were perhaps another such mistake themselves. But it did not change the fact that of all sentient species in the galaxy today, only one was responsible, and indeed happily revelled in, the successful genocide of another race. It was one thing to cheerfully recall that tale in the blood-curdling joy of just deserts. It was another thing to have seen mass killing in person, and to realise what it must have actually meant to do it.

“For five hundred years, we built our new spacefaring civilisation upon captured worlds and new technology,” Alice continued. “But still the tavalai made us trouble. They blamed us for upsetting the old balance, with our new ships and weapons. They demanded that we disarm, as though we had not nearly been exterminated for that lack of weapons. They denied us membership of the ruling bodies. They blocked our trade routes, and intercepted our trading missions. They harassed our shipping, and destabilised our worlds. Their vicious allies, the sard and the kaal, launched many raids against us and our friends.

“Obviously this could not be allowed to continue, and so once again we joined with our chah'nas allies, and with our newest allies, the wise and powerful alo, to win our freedom and secure our rightful place in the galactic order.”

Erik glanced around to see if there were any alo present, but predictably there weren’t. Alo were not sociable, and their manners made chah'nas seem paragons of etiquette. They thought humans smelled bad, in more ways than one, but their combined wealth and knowledge was said to be more than all of human and chah'nas space combined.

“We three formed the Triumvirate Alliance, and today, one hundred and sixty one years from its commencement, this grand project has finally succeeded. Let us raise our glasses in a toast. A toast to humanity. A toast to victory. A toast to friendship. The human race has been in space for fourteen hundred years, and we’re just getting started!”

T
he next morning
Erik awoke to silken sheets and a distractingly comfortable bed. He was back in the family Homeworld residence — there were numerous, on all of humanity’s major worlds, but this one was home, the place of all his childhood memories. The far wall was glass, so clean it seemed invisible. Beyond, a view of Shiwon from the high hills that surrounded it, a tall and gleaming city before a glorious blue harbour. Above the ocean horizon, Balise’s huge crescent filled the sky, pale in the glare of daylight.

Erik lay for a moment and contemplated this change of circumstance. It didn’t feel real. His life here, or his life on
Phoenix
— one of them had to be a dream. He just wasn’t sure which. Why would anyone leave this? His shipmates had asked often enough. Exchange this room, and this house, for ten years of cramped Fleet quarters, dreary food, fake sunlight, and a final three years with the very real possibility of sudden death. Fleet hadn’t desperately needed him, there was no conscription. He could have stayed here, like his sisters, and run the various family businesses in luxurious safety.

‘What, can’t rich people be idealists too?’ he’d joked whenever one of his shipmates had pressed on it. It was a good way to deflect the questions, but even then, he hadn’t been sure he believed it. An idealist about what? The need for human victory? Everyone was that, and five hundred years of war against the krim had pretty well ironed all the pacifist delusions out of the human race a long time ago. Humanity’s spacefaring age had been born in fire, and the inability to fight well at the established galactic level had at one point cost ninety-nine percent of the human race their lives. They were all descendants of the survivors of that Holocaust, and when such descendants said ‘never again’, they meant it.

But Family Debogande had appearances to upkeep. A long tradition of military service, among the men of the house. No one had told him he had to go, but he’d felt it, that needling expectation. And so he’d gone, and could not now for the life of him say whether it was a genuine passion for the cause, or the desire for the family to think well of him. Was that truly bravery, or cowardice — the seeking of favours and approval? Or was this onset of melancholy doubts just that he was tired, and no longer so enamoured of the war as he had been? And what kind of thinking was that anyway, to be doubting this last phase in humanity’s war of survival just because it hadn’t been as brutally hard as the first phase, and humanity had been winning for a change?

He sighed, rubbed his eyes, and rolled from bed to do his exercises. Then he went for a run, and the family security staff tailed him out the gate in big dark cars, but no one on these high, exclusive hill-top roads noticed or cared. He ran past mansion after high-walled mansion, up and down slopes, happy just to be out in the open air. Some spacers reported mild agoraphobia after too much time in space, but Erik loved the open sky, and the sense of freedom every time he rounded a corner to a beautiful, unobstructed road ahead, flanked by lovely green trees and alive with birdsong, was indescribable.

Time to get out of Fleet, perhaps? The war was over now. But there were vast new territories to patrol, and the defeated races weren’t going to accept their new status easily. Some enforcement would be required for a long time to come. The new colonial age was beginning, and colonial ages required large fleets. A man with important friends and a strong service record could progress far in such an age… and the truth of it was, as much as he knew he must be insane for leaving this life, he truly didn’t find the world of corporate management all that inspiring. It didn’t
matter
, not like service mattered.

Or like politics mattered, he had to admit. If he wanted to go in that direction, Mother would back him all the way, and those pockets ran indefinitely deep. The way Spacer Congress politics worked, he’d need a longer and more distinguished service record than he had now. Three years on
Phoenix
was a start, but he’d held no combat command, and won no battles. Captain Pantillo was not in the business of career planning for his underlings, but he had let slip occasionally that he thought Erik could go far in Fleet, if he chose to. Another ten years in service, perhaps even twenty… and then a political run? With lifespans at two hundred years, he’d have plenty of time to enjoy the big houses and open roads when he got back.

The family were all up when he returned — one of those rare occasions with everyone together in the house, and breakfast was an entertaining talkfest in the big dining hall and adjoining kitchen with a similarly grand view as his bedroom. No one asked him about the war, for which he was thankful, and Katerina’s young children were fun and happy. Her husband was a scandalously self-made man, builder of his own network business before meeting Katerina, and having no holdings beyond that. But Mother had been pleased, surprising some, because her new son-in-law Diego was smart, skeptical and driven — something that those born into wealth too often lacked, she said. ‘Your mother cares more about genes than portfolios,’ Walker had explained to Erik in a vidmail. ‘Diego’s got those, and she’s delighted.’

Erik was quizzing Lisbeth on her latest boyfriend (Mother disapproved) when the house minder alerted his uplink that Fleet Admiral Anjo would like to come and talk to him, would half-an-hour’s time be suitable? Erik put fingers behind his ear, the universal sign to indicate he was uplinked, and formulated an affirmative reply.

“Who was that, darling?” Alice asked when he resumed eating.

“Fleet Admiral Anjo wants to come and visit. In half-an-hour, I said yes.” Because he’d really rather it was later, but you couldn’t tell the third-in-command of the entire war that breakfast with family was more important.

“Really?” asked Diego, eyes wide. “Fleet Admiral Anjo comes to you? You don’t have to go to him?”

“Of course,” said Lisbeth, with droll humour. “Who exactly did you think you were marrying?”

“Don’t gloat Lisbeth,” said Alice, helping her grandson Paul to butter his bread. “Erik dear, did the Admiral say
who
he was coming to see?”

“Me,” said Erik.

“Oh,” said Alice, a little surprised.

“She doesn’t like that,” Cora observed with a grin around her cereal.

“Oh stop it,” Alice reprimanded, smiling. “Erik is a very important man now. I just thought, since we
do
build a quarter of all the Fleet’s ships, he might have wanted to say hello.”

“I’m sure he’ll say hello, Mother,” said Erik. “Now I’d better rush if I’m going to dress in time.”

“Surely it doesn’t take you half-an-hour to put on your uniform?” Lisbeth teased.

“It does too,” Erik retorted. “I haven’t worn it in so long, I’m out of practice.”

S
ure enough
, Alice Debogande greeted Fleet Admiral Anjo in person before the lower doors of the big rear study, and Erik gave her the full five minutes to go through her list of concerns about ongoing projects. Then he entered, polished shoes clicking on the floorboards, and walked to the door to rescue the Admiral from his mother.

“I’m sorry about that Admiral,” he said ruefully while inviting the man to sit. “She does like to do business in person, and she always complains about the lack of facetime with Fleet.”

“That’s quite alright, Lieutenant Commander,” said Anjo. He was African-dark, broad but not tall, and no longer all that fit. With military augments and upgrades, you had to seriously abuse the diet to get rotund like that. It was the sign of an officer who hadn’t seen line duty in a long time. “You Debogandes have it down to an art. But it’s always a pleasure to speak with your mother.”

They sat, while the Admiral’s two aides waited in the garden outside, and a robot butler brought them drinks. Anjo admired its flowing, graceful movements as it poured green tea. “That’s an ANX-50 series, yes?” he said.

“That’s right. He’s called Toby. My little sister Lisbeth’s idea,” Erik explained to the Admiral’s frown. “He’s been in the family about fifty years, so she figured he deserved a name. Thank you Toby.” As the robot awaited instruction after pouring the tea, and now retreated.

“You’ve had him inspected?” Anjo asked.

Erik nodded. “He’s within parameters. A long way from sentient, he doesn’t have to do much more than pour tea.”

“Yes, well just make sure he stays that way. You hear these stories about rich families with pet AIs who think the laws don’t apply to them. It’s a sad way to get a criminal record.”

Sentient AI was illegal throughout the known galaxy. The second-oldest known sentience in this quarter of the galactic spiral were colloquially known as ‘The Fathers’. They’d set up the precursor of the present galactic civilisation about fifty thousand years ago, until a poorly managed transition to new-generation AI had brought about a full scale robot uprising. It had ended the Fathers, whose creations had decided their creators knew them too well, and were therefore a threat, and exterminated the lot.

The Machine Age had been the greatest horror the galaxy had ever seen, before or since. Twenty three thousand years of terror, peoples enslaved, systems harvested, organic civilisations laid waste. Various rebellions had been ruthlessly crushed, until the AIs had begun fighting amongst themselves. That disarray had finally opened the door for a successful rebellion, led by the parren, a warlike species whose primary positive attribute was the ability to suffer colossal losses without despair. The parren had had a partner in their uprising — a junior species new to spacetravel at the time, called the chah'nas, and together they’d led an effort that ended the machines for good. Eight thousand years after that, the chah'nas got tired of the parren and deposed them too, though somewhat less ruthlessly, to establish the also eight thousand year Chah'nas Empire, which had lasted until the First Free Age led by the tavalai.

Nests of those old surviving AI were still found sometimes, here and there, in deep space and far from the energy and resources they needed to thrive. Whenever they were found, species would drop whatever else they were doing and rush to exterminate the nest. Even humans and tavalai, in the midst of the last war, had on several occasions suspended hostilities to cooperate in those exterminations. The tavalai had continued the long-standing rule that banned sentient AI, and now that the tavalai were no longer in charge, no one even thought to question its continuation.

“So Lieutenant Commander,” said Anjo, relaxing back in his chair. “Congratulations on making it back alive. Those last few months were some serious duty.”

“All thanks to Captain Pantillo there sir,” said Erik.

Anjo smiled. “Indeed. How does it feel to be home?”

“I’m not sure yet. Confusing.”

“Have you had any thoughts on where you’d like to go next? Your sisters are all becoming very prominent in the running of Debogande Inc, surely your parents would welcome you back? I’d imagine with your Fleet experience, you’d be in an ideal position to oversee those contracts.”

“Yes sir, I suppose that’s possible.”

Anjo looked at him closely over the rim of his teacup. “You don’t seem convinced.”

Erik grimaced, not liking to be put on the spot like this. Truthfully, he didn’t know
what
he wanted to do next. But he could hardly object — most people would kill to have Fleet Admiral Anjo take such personal interest in their careers. “Actually sir, I was considering staying in for a while. Policing all of our new territory is going to take a lot of ships. It might be nice to do some deployments where not everyone’s shooting at me for a change.”

Anjo made a half-shrug. “Oh I wouldn’t bet on that, I wouldn’t trust the tavalai to make me a cheese sandwich.” Which struck Erik as an odd thing to say — tavalai showed little sign of treachery. Indeed, many officers thought if they’d been
more
devious, they’d have done better in the war. “But yes. The new era promises some very active duty. You’re seriously considering it?”

Erik took a deep breath. He’d put ten years of his life into Fleet, and he just wasn’t sure he was willing to give that up yet. Because back here, in this house… well he had to face it, he was by far the least accomplished person here. He’d be starting from the bottom again, patronised by all. As much as he loved his family’s company, that lowered status did not appeal to him.

“Yes sir,” he said finally. “Yes I am.”

Anjo smiled. “I’m very pleased to hear that, Lieutenant Commander. Very pleased indeed. Forgive me not getting to the point, I didn’t want you to feel I was pressuring you into anything. But if you’d genuinely like to stay in the service, I’d like to propose something to you.”

Erik blinked. “Of course sir.”

“There are going to be a lot of new business opportunities opening up in the new territories. We have a lot of colonial possessions now, and once we’ve finished working out what now belongs to us, and what still belongs to the tavalai axis, there’s going to be a lot of investment required to secure our holdings. Industry and private enterprise is the anchor that binds a new territory to human control. That is the lesson we learned against the krim. Military heroics alone did not win us that victory — it was industry, men and women like your parents, who built us the resources and capital needed to build the Fleet.

“Now we’re going to do it again, on an even larger scale, and we’re looking for officers well positioned to identify those opportunities and develop them. Given your background, I think you’re the ideal man for the job.”

Erik frowned. “I’m sorry sir… I’m a third-shift warship commander. I’m not sure I have the relevant experience to perform an industry liaison role…”

“Not a liaison,” Anjo interrupted. “An administrator. We’re planning to roll out industrial development on a grand scale across a number of key systems. Fleet will have to coordinate it because we’ll have to guarantee the security of space lanes across those regions, and without those lanes, nothing happens. We need people in those positions who understand the bigger picture. Your performance reviews have been outstanding — Captain Pantillo can’t praise you enough. I think you might be the man for the job.”