Future Shock, page 15
Wentworth snorted. “And they want an entire world!”
“It’s a small price to pay,” Garland said, as if the decision wouldn’t be made well above their pay grade. “And it puts some distance between us and them.”
Hamish couldn’t disagree. It wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot, but it was the best of a bad set of options. It would give the future folk time to build up both their civilisation and technical base, while allowing the influx of future technology to be controlled in hopes of minimising disruption. And Coventry ... the world was technically worthless. No one had staked a solid claim to the system, not when there were a dozen more habitable worlds within easy reach. It was a small price to pay, as Garland said, for a very large return.
“We’ll see,” Wentworth said. “What if they make a bargain with China? Or Russia?”
Hamish met his eyes. “Why would they?”
***
“Thank you for coming, Commodore,” Secretary-General Mbonambi said. “I know it has been a difficult week for you.”
“It has been a very trying week,” Ethan agreed. His proposal was still being debated, with an endless series of diplomats, politicians and military leaders insisting on having their say, while he found himself handling countless requests for private meetings and alliances from just about everyone. The entire world decried underhand diplomacy and secret alliances, it seemed, while practicing them enthusiastically. “We do need some progress. There is a war on, you know.”
He sighed inwardly, allowing his eyes to wander around the private meeting room. It was comfortable rather than elegant or gilded to the point of obscenity, with sofas and cushions rather than tables and chairs ... not remotely formal in any sense of the word, he noted, but surprisingly like home. Was it deliberate? Hamish had been prowling through the datanet, when he was aboard John Birmingham, trying to find inconsistencies that would suggest he was being tricked ... Ethan made a mental note to check up on it. It was worth finding out.
“We know.” Mbonambi motioned for Ethan to sit. “The alien prisoners are proof enough of that.”
He poured them both tea, then met Ethan’s eyes. “I’m sorry about the delay,” he said, tiredly. “If everyone didn’t want a say ...”
Ethan nodded, curtly. The planetary disunity was a nightmare. It was going to get worse, according to the history files, before it got better. In this world ... would humanity grow into a post-scarcity society? Or ... he kept his face a blank mask. Given time, it would happen. The only question was how painful it would be.
“I do understand your problem,” he said. There was nothing to be gained by nagging the secretary-general to hurry up. Mbonambi had as much power as the Great Powers allowed him to have, and that was almost nothing. He could talk to world leaders and diplomats and men of power and influence, but he couldn’t force them to do anything. “However, we do need answers sooner rather than later. I have people who want off my ships.”
Mbonambi nodded. “We can probably arrange some manner of shore leave,” he said, taking a sip of his tea. “However, there is another matter I wish to raise with you.”
He paused. Ethan felt, just for a second, like a young officer being called out by his superior for doing something stupid. It wasn’t uncommon for a young officer to make mistakes through ignorance and inexperience – he’d done it himself – and senior officers had a duty to point out the problem before it was too late. He reminded himself, sharply, that he wasn’t a very junior ensign any longer. And yet, there was something about Mbonambi’s manner that suggested trouble.
“We have a crew of specialists studying your ships,” Mbonambi said. “They’re very impressed. They think they can draw some conclusions about your technology from the sensor images of your hulls.”
Ethan nodded, slowly. John Birmingham was elegant and beautiful and completely impossible to duplicate with contemporary technology. The fleet carriers and battleships deployed by local navies were crude structures, prefabricated sections wrapped around a drive tube and covered with armour plating. They were about as functional as one could imagine, their appearance dictated by the limits of contemporary shipbuilding technology. His ship wasn’t. The limits that bedevilled the locals hadn’t existed for her designers. She was a true work of art.
“Your ships are quite remarkable,” Mbonambi continued. “Our researchers think you drew inspiration from a dozen science-fantasy shows.”
“The designers might have,” Ethan noted. “I wasn’t part of the design team.”
Mbonambi smiled. “You would be sued, if you were,” he said. “The designs violate copyright.”
Ethan chuckled. The idea was just absurd. Compared to all the other issues he had to handle, somehow, it was so minor it wouldn’t even register. The idea of being sued for that ... he shook his head. It hadn’t been his fault, and if the design did violate copyright in this time, it didn’t mean it was a violation in the future. Such a lawsuit would be dismissed at once, as unbearably frivolous. But here ... he shrugged. It wasn’t going to happen.
“I’m sure it would provide some humour for the history books,” he said, finally. It was hard to keep his irritation out of his tone. “But is that really why you called me here?”
“No,” Mbonambi said. “The point is that you have ten ships, and one is so strikingly different from the others that our xenospecialists believe it isn’t a human ship.”
Ethan kicked himself, mentally. There were countless fictional alien starships in science-fantasy, from immense black cubes to starships patterned after birds of prey, but ... it had honestly never occurred to him that the locals would realise Vendetta wasn’t a human ship. And yet they had ... he supposed he might have given them a hand, quite by accident, when he’d handed over the Diyang ships. Even a cursory inspection of the captured vessels would give trained xenospecialists plenty of data.
We never quite told Hamish and his peers about the Zargana. He’d thought it best not to discuss their presence until they came to some agreement with the contemporary powers. They hadn’t been precisely dishonest – they certainly hadn’t lied – but he was fairly sure the locals wouldn’t see it that way. And now it has come back to bite us.
“And your history records note contacts and alliances with other alien races,” Mbonambi continued. “Is it a human ship?”
“No.” Ethan knew better than to lie outright. It would spread mistrust at the worst possible time. “She’s a Zargana heavy cruiser.”
Mbonambi leaned forward. “The Zargana?”
“The Zargana were our enemies, then our allies,” Ethan said. There had been a very nasty war and then an intervention and then ... he pushed the thought aside. The modern Zargana were in no way responsible for the crimes of their ancestors, any more than he was for his. He didn’t know if there were any scumbags amongst his ancestors – if he went back far enough, it was almost certain there’d be someone whose mere existence would offend his enlightened sensibilities – but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t responsible and trying to blame him – or anyone – for his ancestors was the mark of an immature mind. “They fought with us against the Killers and got slaughtered. That ship is the last of their kind.”
“Except there are presumably others in this time,” Mbonambi said. “What about them?”
Ethan hesitated. “The modern Zargana are nothing like their ancestors,” he said. “And it is unfair to judge them by their ancestors.”
“What a remarkable attitude,” Mbonambi said. “Mature, too.”
He leaned forward. “What do you intend to do with them?”
“Set up a colony and help them rebuild their modern society,” Ethan said. “Once we’re ready to make contact with the Zargana of this era, they can show their peers a better way to live.”
Mbonambi cocked his head. “And how can you be sure they wouldn’t side with their contemporaries instead?”
Ethan felt a flash of anger, even though he knew it was a reasonable question. It had taken decades for the hatreds unleashed by the war to settle, for the Federation to relax and refrain from regarding the Zargana as potential threats. They’d had their own problems, he was sure, and it had taken years – and an intervention – for the reformists to win their civil war and start reforming their society. The idea of throwing all that away was just ... ugh. Only a complete idiot would do anything of the sort.
“Imagine you’re a young Japanese or African-American woman,” Ethan said. “You grew up in modern America or modern Japan. Would you really go back in time to 1860 or 1939, where you’d be a slave, and assist the Confederate States or Imperial Japan? Governments you know are not only evil, so evil they make your government look saintly by comparison, but also doomed to lose. Would you help them?”
He shook his head. “The Zargana of this era wouldn’t reform, nor would they be willing to tolerate their descendants. Our allies know it.”
Mbonambi frowned. “A Japanese Navy officer might think he could influence Imperial Japan even as he wins the war for them.”
“It would be immensely difficult,” Ethan countered. “And our allies know better than to try. The best they could hope for, if they did, would be a quick execution.”
“And if we ask you to intern them?” Mbonambi met his eyes. “They are a potential threat.”
“It would be difficult as well as dishonourable,” Ethan said, flatly. “Getting troops onto their ships would certainly start a fight, which could end very badly. We could assign liaison officers, but ...”
“You think they’d turn on you?”
“The Zargana are a prideful race, even now ... I mean, in my time,” Ethan said. “They would not take the suggestion they might turn on us very well. And it would end badly.”
He looked back at the secretary-general. “I’ll discuss the matter with them, but ... we would be better served keeping them as allies, rather than making it clear we don’t trust them and provoking the revolt we fear.”
“I hope you’re right,” Mbonambi said. “If you’re wrong, it could cost us a great deal.”
“I’ll take full responsibility,” Ethan said. He took a sip of his tea, then changed the subject. “Now, about preparing to go on the offensive ...”
Chapter Sixteen: New York, 2308
There were times, in all honesty, when Cassidy Waters wondered why she bothered getting up.
She had promised herself a glittering journalistic career and gone into heavy debt to study journalism at college, only to discover that it was incredibly difficult to become a reporter without money and connections. It had taken nearly a year to get even an entry-level post in a media company, and the price she’d paid for that was being sexually harassed by her boss, who’d haunted her until she’d managed to find a slightly better job at a different company. There had been no point in making a complaint, she’d thought, not when the bastard had enough connections to bury the whole affair. She’d told herself she’d live well instead ...
Her heart twisted, painfully, as she sat up in bed. The apartment was cramped and shabby, the wallpaper damp and stained with something ... she had no idea what, and she didn’t want to know. The air smelt funny, a legacy from the previous tenant who had apparently been arrested one day and never returned. She wanted somewhere better, somewhere neat and tidy and safe, but there was no such place, not on her budget. She’d been damn lucky to get the apartment, and she knew it. And she was even luckier she didn’t have a roommate.
She forced herself to get out of bed and stagger into the bathroom, glowering at herself in the mirror. She was tall and blonde, naked and shapely ... and her eyes were tired. She was twenty-six years old and felt fifty, perhaps older. There was no way she could stay in New York much longer, even if she managed to avoid becoming yet another crime statistic. Everyone with money and connections stayed in gated communities, with private security and bodyguards escorting them into the city ... if they didn’t work at home. The rest took their chances. Cassidy shuddered, helplessly. Nearly half her female friends had been raped, and she knew she’d come very close to being raped herself. The streets below the apartment were just unsafe. The mayor didn’t care. He was more interested in promoting himself than helping his community. It was no surprise to Cassidy that hardly anyone bothered to vote. It didn’t change things.
“Fuck,” she muttered. She splashed water on her face, then pulled on a robe. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
She cursed, again, as she made her way into the tiny kitchen. She’d spent hours cleaning up, after moving in, and it still smelt distinctly unpleasant. The landlord company didn’t care. They did nothing to help, and had to be nagged into making even basic repairs, but they had no hesitation in sending assholes around to collect the rent if it was late even by one day. Cassidy suspected she was going to need a roommate, sooner rather than later, although that would open up a whole new can of worms. Her apartment was her safe space. It wasn’t something she wanted to share with the world. It was just impossible to know who could be trusted these days.
The coffee tasted vile, of course. It was a cheap and nasty brand, the only one she could afford on her budget. She wished, sometimes, that she’d joined her older brother when he’d applied for a land grant on a colony world or even followed her younger brother into the military. Or perhaps not ... there was a war on, after all, against an alien force of unknown power and resources. Cassidy had hoped she’d have a chance to be embedded in the military, something that might boost her reputation to the point she could write her own ticket, but she’d been denied. The slots had gone to older reporters ...
“Fuck,” she muttered, as she finished her coffee. “What am I going to do?”
She walked back into the bedroom and sat down in front of her laptop. It was blinking frantically ... she’d received a message. Of course she had, probably her boss wondering why she wasn’t already in the office. Asshole. Cassidy knew perfectly well she wasn’t due in until ten o’clock, and it was only eight ... she’d have a shower, when she felt human again, and head off to work shortly afterwards. She’d have to pay for a taxi, another demand on her very limited budget, but better that than the alternative. The less said about the subways these days the better.
The Mayor probably gets kickbacks from the taxi companies, she mused. Everyone used taxis these days, after private cars had been banned from the city. If only I could prove it ...
She tapped the laptop and froze as the message unsealed itself. It was from an unknown address.
Cassidy frowned, trying to trace the email back to its sender. It was pointless. Most civilian emails could be tracked down easily – civilian encryption was so limited they’d be safer sending messages in the clear – but corporate, military and government emails were a great deal harder to trace. Even trying could draw unwanted attention from the FBI or any one of a hundred intelligence and counter-intelligence agencies, some unknown to the general public. She hesitated, feeling her heart starting to pound, and then opened the email. It was ... she blinked in honest surprise. A fleet from the far future, an alien attack effortlessly defeated, a future ambassador in the UN complex ...
“Insane,” she breathed. And yet, she had heard weird little rumours. The United Nations Security Council was normally a worthless talking shop, and even after the war had started, most discussions had been held at a far higher level, but the UN Compound had been sealed and all reporters had been barred. “If this is true, it changes everything.”
Her blood ran cold. “If.”
She read through the rest of the email, then tried to confirm as much as possible. Titan Base had been sealed off, all civilian ships told to go somewhere – anywhere – else. That was odd, even in the middle of a war. The base was supposed to be open for all. A large slot had been cleared in the high orbitals, a full exclusion zone declared ... even odder, given how crowded the high orbitals normally were. She narrowed her eyes as she checked a handful of other sites. There was a report that USS Grant and her squadron had found something and made all haste back to Titan Base ... even a report of life support bubbles being gathered and forwarded to Titan Base. She couldn’t find any solid confirmation, but ... it felt real.
Her heart raced. It could be a trick. Anything could be deepfaked, these days, from nude images to reports of encounters with aliens or angels. She’d heard all kinds of horror stories about reporters who’d been tricked into believing utter nonsense, going live with their stories only to be exposed as credulous fools. It could cost her everything, if it was some kind of trick. But if it was real ...
Cassidy knew what her boss would say. He’d tell her to bring the email and the attached datapacket to the office, to ensure the staff could check the email first before they did anything they couldn’t take back. And then he’d take the credit. He’d put his name out there first and to hell with her. His career would be boosted, hers would die ... he certainly wouldn’t want her hanging around, reminding everyone that she’d been the one to get the email. The thought was intolerable. If it was a trick, she would pay the price. But if it was real ... she would reap the rewards. And her asshole of a boss wouldn’t be able to screw her in any sense of the word.
She forced herself to work, taking the details from the email – and what confirmation she’d been able to find, as limited as it was – and composing the story, rereading it carefully before uploading it to the national news network. There were all kinds of tricks a reporter could use to get the word out, and she used them, hopefully ensuring the story spread far before someone shut it down. Sweat prickled down her back as she leaned backwards, feeling all too aware the die was cast. She’d either launched her career into orbit or exploded it so completely future reporters would use the episode as an example of what not to do.
“Well,” she muttered. “The die is cast now.”
She stood and hurried to the shower, washing herself before changing into her regular clothes. Her boss wasn’t blowing up her phone with calls and messages, not yet, but she’d have to get into the office to explain herself before it was too late. It wouldn’t do to let him get his story in first, when the big bosses heard the news ... no doubt he’d still try to claim the credit even though she couldn’t see how. It would be ...
