The Ascendant Stars (41 page)

‘Sorry, I don’t follow … ’

‘Look, I’m 109 years old so I’ve had a few modifications done to the old brainbox, enough capacity to run two or three fractalised sentiences like you if I wanted. Anyway, the main event is about to begin – oh, I took a copy of the Farag report, by the way, while we were in transit, so to speak. Okay, he’s almost here so keep watching.’

The image of the old man dissolved into a view over rocky slopes and sheer mountainsides sheathed in icy white while wind-driven snow whirled and streamed past outside. There was a glass surface, Julia realised, between the observer and the raw elements and she speculated that this was some kind of research station, high in some range of mountains.

The observer (who Julia took to be the elderly Nicodemus) looked to the right, revealing that he stood in a glass-covered walkway which curved out of sight around a strange, brick-built edifice. There was the sound of a mechanical door opening and closing and Nicodemus turned the other way to see a diminutive figure in a dark coat approaching. As he drew near Julia realised that he was familiar, a Chinese man with grey hair and glasses – a name came to her, Tsu Chung Ho, Earthsphere overcouncillor of Shandong–Jiangsu co-territory, a senior representative of long standing.

Tsu Chung’s deliberate pace did not vary until he halted before Nicodemus. Smiling, he wagged a finger.

‘Thirty years go by and you wait till I am on holiday before coming to see me. Shocking behaviour, Nicholas, especially since my travel plans were supposed to be secret!’

Laughing, the two men shook hands.

‘Shameful, yes,’ said Nicodemus/Nicholas. ‘But to such a data-nibbler as myself there can be no secrets. I heard about the legs.’

Tsu Chung made a dismissive gesture. ‘Undetected preaneurysmic condition, minor stroke, and my legs … well, brain surgery has been recommended, but there are risks, you know? I do not feel I can take small chances at the moment.’ He shrugged then gave Nicodemus an amused, considering look. ‘You’re
looking very well, Nicholas, ageing gracefully, one might say. But why would my old teacher leave his electric citadel to hunt me down? Did I forget to hand in an assignment?’

Nicodemus shook his head. ‘No, Tsu Chung, quite the reverse, to be frank. I assume that you know about the Earthsphere ships currently heading to join the Hegemony armada.’

The overcouncillor gave a sad nod. ‘Indeed I do, old friend, my grandson is serving aboard one of them. There is deep disquiet about this, even more than there was over continuing the Yamanon deployment. But the coalition is still holding, still backing the president.’

‘Darien is going to be punished, Tsu Chung,’ Nicodemus said. ‘That is what the Hegemony does.’

‘I know.’

‘What if I could – no, what if you could offer up proof that the potential tragedy is far, far greater than anyone thinks? That the survivors of a lost Sino colony have reached Darien to fight alongside the planet’s defenders?’

‘Wait … you’re talking about that joke clip that went around earlier today. Is that why … ’

‘No, Tsu Chung, what you saw was a grey intel hatchet job. The original is very different.’ He took a small silvery card from an inside pocket. ‘Can I show you?’

Tsu Chung Ho smiled and gestured for him to proceed.

Nicodemus stuck the card to the inside of the glass enclosure, unfolded it to a hair-thin screen about a foot square, then thumbed a symbol on its lower-right corner. At once, Kaphiri Farag’s report began to play. The overcouncillor remained outwardly impassive all the way through. When it was over he took off his glasses and cleaned them with a piece of fine tissue which he then used to dab lightly at the corners of his eyes.

‘It appears authentic,’ he said.

‘Tsu Chung, I assure you … ’

The overcouncillor stopped him with an upraised hand.

‘I don’t doubt it for a second.’

‘Your trust is not misplaced. The question is this – will this be
enough to persuade your regional colleagues to back a call for the Earthsphere contingent to either withdraw or stand down?’

Tsu Chung spread his hands. ‘I would have to be able to prove that this report is genuine. Can this be done?’

Julia nodded – this was the sticking point.

‘Well,’ said Nicodemus. ‘This much I do know – the Security Director’s own netlaw division believes it was genuine. They deployed a fully remoted cohort of agents into the Glow a couple of hours ago, instituted a full lockdown on the Electric Theatre City and detain-tagged 104,761 citizens, including four of your own Sino colleagues from the Overcouncil. Now it’s true that I lured them there with the intention of springing the Farag report on them, and it’s also true that a certain amount of second-order circumstantial evidence was leaked to netlaw contacts. But this is incidental next to the ripple effects – go online and you will see the outrage that’s gripping the Glow right now, the endless analysis cycles and the voxpop aggregates saying that Glow freedoms were savagely crushed. When you call a press conference and reveal the Farag report, the surge of popular support should be … considerable.’

The overcouncillor looked thoughtful. ‘One moment, Nicholas,’ he said, his eyes glazing over as he accessed some kind of Glow-linked implant. A moment or two later he blinked, gave Nicholas a wide-eyed look and began to laugh. Nicholas joined in.

‘It’s … better than you say,’ he said eventually. ‘One of the netlaw subministers has already resigned! But I shall have to move with this immediately … ’ He glanced around and beckoned to one of his bodyguards. ‘I will see if the management of the Jungfraujoch can extend the use of a private room where I can conduct some Glow politics … ’

‘Interviews?’ Nicodemus said as he took down the little screen and refolded it.

‘Spot commentaries, group declarations, and all the other features of my rebellious campaign. You know, the way things are I may be able to get the president to have our fleet take control of
Darien, under some kind of diplomatic legacy. That should help safeguard the colony, and the new arrivals.’

‘Thank you, Tsu Chung. Some people I know will be heartened at this news.’ He handed over the folded screen. ‘So … now it’s time I made myself scarce and let you work.’

The two men shook hands.

‘And Nicholas,’ Tsu Chung said. ‘Please don’t wait another thirty years until next time, hmm?’

‘I guarantee it!’

As Nicodemus turned and walked away from the overcouncillor, the screen picture faded away to grey.

‘My apologies for deceiving you about the Electric Theatre City. It was a necessary part of the ploy.’

Back in the cramped little study, the older ponytailed Nicodemus was now sitting in the armchair Julia had occupied.

‘You used us as bait,’ she said.

‘And we succeeded.’

Frowning, she glanced at the unresponsive Harry. ‘How can we be sure? How soon before we find out if your Sino friend has got the president to rescind her orders?’

Nicodemus chuckled. ‘The Glow is all afroth with anger at the moment – I’ve never seen it so volatile! If President Castiglione attempts to defy Tsu Chung’s demands, she could well find herself swept away … we’ll know in about an hour.’

‘What about Harry?’

‘His internal activity continues, but there are indications that the self-check may have hit a cyclic block.’ Nicodemus shrugged. ‘I made contact with your sponsor, this Emantes, and he says to just erase it since he has a copy.’

Startled, she stared at him, a suspicion forming in her thoughts.

‘Is that what you’ll do?’

‘Hmm, not sure. Perhaps I’ll tinker with his code, see what turns up.’

‘I understand. Well, since our business here is concluded, I am keen to return to my sponsor. Are you able to translocate me?’

The elderly Nicodemus smiled. ‘You don’t feel like sticking around to watch the political fireworks?’

‘Thanks, but there is somewhere else that I have to be very soon.’

‘Of course – places to go, ungodly villains to smite … ’

Questions to ask, missiles to stop
…

‘ … okay, you’ll be going via several net-junctions – are you ready?’

But before she could answer the translocation kicked in and her world folded up into tightly packed darkness.

After a microjump aboard the
Starfire
and a hasty trip in a shuttle on loan from the Vox Humana, they reached the rebel Tygran ship,
Vanquisher
. The shuttle docked at one of two underhull recesses and when Greg and Lieutenant Berg emerged from the airlock they were scanned for weapons. They were then escorted up two decks to an empty hold where the meeting with the mutiny leader was to take place.

The
Vanquisher
’s interior was markedly roomier than that of the
Starfire
and had a decor that was predominantly of a rich, dark blue, offset with softer shades. Corridor bulkheads, pipes, lines and spot monitor readouts were concealed by access panels, giving the ship a much less cluttered feel, while the lighting was smooth and diffuse. In a way it reminded Greg of the Darien Institute’s admin offices.

The hold, however, was brightly lit and functional. The mutiny leader, Braddock, was waiting when they arrived, standing by a long table with three other officers. All wore light body armour in dull green and grey, standard non-combat duty dress. Greg was in ordinary civilian wear with a long black coat, because Ash wanted him to appear as civilian as possible. Braddock had insisted on speaking with a Darien representative before opening any discussions on force dispositions.

And here I am
, Greg thought.
Trouble is, the Vox Humana admiral is now making the same demand since she finds
communications with the Imisil ‘lacking in due courtesy
’.
Hell’s teeth, what does she want – missives written on parchment and hand-delivered by forelock-tugging peons?

Braddock came forward to shake hands, then gestured Greg and Berg towards the table. Braddock, a wiry man slightly shorter than Greg, had an intense air about him. His dark hair was regulation bristle-short, and his complexion was sallow coupled with a pitted coarseness that could have come from a skin condition. His eyes were bright and seemed to miss nothing.

But now I have to find out what you want
.

Seated opposite the man, Greg smiled but before he could begin the Tygran spoke first.

‘Mr Cameron, before we begin I’d better tell you that Lieutenant Ash has briefed me on your background so I understand that you don’t really speak for the colonial government.’

‘There isn’t really a colonial government to speak of at the moment,’ Greg said.

‘And yet you have a certain position, a status that gives your opinions weight and impact, yes?’

Greg frowned.
That might be true, considering what I’ve been through … aye, but I’m not alone in that
.

‘Maybe so,’ he said. Then a thought struck him. ‘Are you looking for political asylum?’

‘That is our favoured option,’ Braddock said. ‘And not just for me and my crew but also for many of my fellow Tygrans who are now seeking a new home.’

Lieutenant Berg had been tight-lipped up to now but suddenly he leaned forward.

‘Are you referring to ordinary citizens back on Tygra, Nightwalker?’

Braddock stared at Berg. ‘Yes, Stormlion, that is the case.’

‘Why?’

‘You should know – the story goes that Gideon’s crew were the first to view the Rawlins testament, and now you’ve secured yourself a pleasant bolthole on this world.’ Braddock shifted his gaze
back to Greg. ‘When you see this ship and its crew in action you’ll realise that we are at least as deserving of asylum as those who arrived earlier … ’

‘Have a care, Nightwalker,’ said Berg, rising from his chair. ‘As I speak, my captain is on the planet’s surface, struggling against Brolturans and combat droids … ’

‘Whoa, wait just a minute, the pair of ye!’ Greg grabbed Berg by the shoulder and firmly pulled him back into his seat while Braddock settled back into his. ‘Right, I don’t know what kind of competitive sports thing this is all about but get this into your heads – there’s an almighty drittstorm heading our way and nobody’s getting anything if we go under. And before we go any further I’d like to know a bit more about this Rawlins testament … ’

Braddock turned to one of his officers, who produced a flat black datapad from a document case and passed it over. Braddock thumbed a control at one of the corners and a thinscreen extruded from one of the sides. ‘I thought you might like to see this,’ he said, turning the screen to face Greg.

As he watched, an elderly Tygran officer introduced himself as Captain Rawlins. He went on to summarise the official history of how the early Tygran colonists vied with a native sentient species, the Zshahil, and how forty years of friction and confrontation led to war. The war culminated in the surrender of the defeated native tribes and their en masse migration to a less hospitable equatorial landmass across a narrow sea. Then Rawlins began to uncover the true history. His report had been recorded outdoors, at a ruined coastal port from which the Zshahil were supposed to have sailed. Greg saw Rawlins use scanning equipment to reveal numerous burial pits around the port, and a digging machine to bring up soil-caked clumps of non-Human bones. Finally, after he arrived at a rough tally in excess of a quarter of a million, Rawlins’s report ended with the words, ‘So now we know the truth, which is that we are capable of murdering an entire race. But will this truth set us free, or will it damn us?’