Random Chance and the Paradise that is Earth (6 page)

“My pleasure,” smiled Random as he watched
Earth spin above him.

“Shall I cue up some Beatles?”

“Sounds good. Early Beatles, if you wouldn’t
mind.”

“I wouldn’t mind at all.”

~~*~~

Nine planetary governments and over
twenty-seven thousand subgovernments made up Parliasolis, or the
Parliament of the Solar System. The Oligarchy was comprised of
Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, and the Pluto Darken, which represented
twenty-five of Sol System’s most distant worlds. Oligarchist
governments were little more than dictatorships hiding behind the
appearance of democracy in the manner of the most corrupt
governments of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Their
populaces, while loudly proclaiming their freedoms via the
SolarWeb, were anything but free.

The Nyett Zhong was born on distant Sedna
beyond Pluto. The revolution became official when shipyards on
Pluto were overrun by resistance soldiers before being bombed out
of existence. Nyett Zhong guerillas commandeered eighteen
long-range cruisers, all in various states of disrepair, and
disappeared back towards the Inner Solar System, converting them
into rag-tag warships along the way. That’s when the resistance got
its teeth.

Nobody had ever fought a full-scale guerilla
war in space before then—at least not one against as well-organized
a force as the Nyett Zhong. Oligarchy warships were not permitted
closer than thirty million kilometers to non-Garky planets; and
civilian travel, while still permitted between Garky and non-Garky
governments, became increasingly sparse over the following decades,
to the point that today it was only a fraction of what it once was.
The Solar System was bitterly divided and teetering on the brink of
annihilation.

Jameson Chance, Random’s father, was born
and bred an Oligarchist, a label he wore proudly for decades. But
when Random became a teenager, General Chance had a change of
heart. It wasn’t fast, that change, but by the time Random was
ready to leave home (Garseld, on Mons Olympus’ south slope), his
father was being held for suspicion of providing non-Garky
governments with vital information regarding Oligarchy plans, ship
deployments, and weapons upgrades.

The court martial was a farce, put on only
to give the impression of fairness. When Random’s mother came
forward to admit that it was she who turned her husband in, Random
was crushed.

He was there at his father’s execution. On
that day his mother was at an ultra-swanky spa over Enceladus, and
reportedly threw a party when word arrived that General Jameson
Samson Chance had been incinerated.

His father had willed him a generous living,
one his mother contested. Surprisingly, the Garky court sided with
Random, who to that point had shown no rebellious or traitorous
tendencies. She appealed, and lost again. Their relationship, never
a close one (he had, for all intents and purposes, been raised by
nannies), was irreparably damaged. When she died in a spaceliner
disaster less than an Earth-year later, Random didn’t attend her
funeral. A plaque to her memory was in some mausoleum on Mars. He
had never visited it.

Jameson Chance’s will included
something quite odd: a brand new, top of the line,
Benito-manufactured RV. Random picked it up on Miranda with the
intention of selling it immediately. But it was clear that
The Pompatus of Love
,
which he christened it not long after, was anything but an ordinary
recreational space vehicle.

The fuselage, computer mainframe, and
subsystems were state of the art military grade, for one, capable
of self-upgrades via the latest in software and nanotech.
Navigational and gravitational controls were made for attack craft,
but tailored perfectly and unobtrusively: it would take a team of
highly trained engineers days to figure out what was what.
Communications were standard for luxury boats—but had redundancy
systems that rivaled colony starships. The engines were
hyperefficient and deceptively powerful; life support and solar
batteries could keep him breathing for decades; shielding was the
finest solar-derived nanotech in existence; and the food and waste
recycling processors could go indefinitely provided he wasn’t more
than one hundred AU from Sol.

His father had bought him an RV that, if not
able to outrun or outfight an enemy, could survive a full-on
assault. All engineered and expertly hidden.

Random hated his father when he was a boy.
Jameson Chance was just like his wife: a sniffing, bigoted elitist.
But by the time he was executed, they had become as close as a
father and son could be. And so instead of selling this utterly
unique craft, he decided to call it home and make a new life for
himself. It was what his father wanted, and Random had no
intentions of going against his wishes.

Jameson Chance guessed that his
son was special, and told him so via a hidden file Random
discovered shortly after. Random watched it on the occasions when
he was particularly low; he’d plug into a VSB port and find himself
back in his dad’s study. It was how he discovered
The Pompatus
’ remarkable
features.

“We had you implanted with the latest
nanotech, of course,” his dad said.

Random would always sit next to him.

“But there was something about
you,” Jameson Chance went on. “The tech behaved very oddly with
you. Strike that. It behaved
extraordinarily
with you. That’s the
proper word. Doctors and specialists couldn’t figure it out. It
organized itself in biomatrices never before seen, especially
here—” he put his hand on Random’s heart—and in your amygdala,
where humans feel emotions, especially love. They wanted to
experiment on you, cut into you. But I refused. You were very, very
lucky, son. I was in a position of power, and so the government
backed off. Had you been born in a less influential household, I
honestly don’t know what would’ve happened to you.”

“What do you want me to do, Dad?”

“I want you to live free,” said his father,
patting his knee emphatically. “I want you to take that turtle and
live free among the stars. Find a woman or a man—or hell, women and
men!—and make a life out there. That RV is big enough for a family
of five. It’s got solar tech and batteries that’ll last centuries.
The drive cells are self-upgrading. They’ll become more and more
efficient over time, provided you’ve got a friendly port to land
in.”

He took a sip of whisky, his face lined with
worry.

“Dad?”

“That’s the big if. I’ve seen the
Oligarchy’s plans. They’re vicious. If carried out successfully,
humanity will be little more than slaves, and Earth will become a
dead and baked husk.”

He brought his intimidating
gaze to bear on him. “You’ve got a gift, Random. I’m certain of it.
I don’t know its form or function or parameters, and neither does
anyone else, but I know—I know—it’s extraordinary and can be a
tremendous force for good. For peace. For
freedom
. So use it for all three …”
His hawkish features softened. “… please? For your old man?
Please?”

It was possible to have full and original
conversations with his father. It was like he had never died. It
was possible to hug him, which he always did before disconnecting
from the port; and when parting, Dad always said, “Freedom love,
Mr. Chance.”

“Freedom love,” whispered Random, coming
back to the present. Earth was slowly receding; a sliver of a new
moon shone over a brilliant backdrop of spilled stars. The Milky
Way painted a dusty jeweled path outbound.

“Rand?”

“Just thinkin’ of Dad, Hewey.”

“Want me to fire up the port?”

“Nah.”

“Holdin’ steady at five-fifty kilos. I filed
Intent to Land at Vesta. We should be there in a week. And I’ve got
some good news for you.”

“Yeah? What is it?”

There was a brief bit of silence. “Hello,
friend Random.”

“Cubey!”

Chapter
Seven
Mia
~~*~~

Vesta

THE POMPATUS OF LOVE
floated slowly down Shaft 18A as other spacecraft
floated up. The shaft was dug centuries ago and looked it. The
white metal shielding here and there had weathered countless
take-offs and landings, mostly from tremendous mining craft. As a
result much of it had dark burn streaks. Some of it was dented;
still more of it was in tatters. As technology advanced, the old
shielding became unnecessary. Nanobots used the sturdy and dense
iron-nickel crust of the asteroid to forge a working barrier to
space many times stronger and safer. As
The Pompatus
descended deeper and
deeper, the shielding slowly disappeared. Eventually they were
surrounded by nothing but stone on all sides, which nanobots had
reshaped into domes and inlets and pipes and whatever else miners
needed to keep their operations going. The shaft glowed softly
green, with the occasional bright white guide lights passing
by.

Vesta was known as the “nuclear rock”
because of the abundance of uranium found deeper within the mantle.
Close to twenty percent of all fine-grade uranium used by humanity
came from Vesta and Ceres. As such, both asteroids were considered
a vital resource, which meant that both the Oligarchy and the
Governments of Earth, collectively Parliasolis, constantly fought
over them.

Vesta City, located twenty-five kilometers
deep in the mantle, was the asteroid’s only municipality. Shaft
18A, which led directly to it, was almost like an archeological
record or a deep canyon with sediment layers. Random watched it
rise and pass out of sight. He’d been here before, and the old
airlocks and mining boats and personnel carriers fascinated him.
Most were inhabited by what the citydwellers called “countryfolk”:
people who didn’t enjoy crowds and the hustle and bustle of city
life. They’d find an old lateral shaft or large airlock or
abandoned vessel and fix it up and move in kilometers away from
Vesta City itself. Others populated old domes on the surface,
though those were more expensive to renovate due to their age and
the extra solar radiation shielding needed. Lots of richies up
there.

Mia lived almost exactly halfway to Vesta
City—thirteen kilometers down. She and several friends had bought
and renovated a five-hundred-year-old cargo transport originally
built for thirty. Random had loaned her the bulk of the cash needed
for the work, which, he considered, he wouldn’t have done so easily
or happily with the girls in the other ports he occasionally
visited.

So, he thought to himself for what had to be
the millionth time, what was it about Mia that separated her from
the others? She wasn’t the prettiest girl he knew. She wasn’t the
richest (which wouldn’t have mattered to him anyway), nor was she
the one keenest for sex or for having a good time, for drunkenness
and partying or even for having the lightest moods.

She was very comfortable in her own skin, he
considered. She did nothing to impress anybody, including him. She
had little use for those who didn’t accept her as she was. As a
consequence, she knew few and had even fewer friends.

He met her on Mars. She was one of five
human receptionists at Radimer’s largest hotel, which meant that
she dealt exclusively with only the wealthiest guests. Purely by
coincidence, she told him later, she saw his name on the guest
registry and knocked on his door. She had known his father, she
told him. He had treated her very kindly, and had tipped her so
generously that she remembered his name. She was hoping he was with
Random, and was very sad to hear of his execution.

Random asked her out for a drink. She
accepted, but said they would have to meet at another hotel, as
this one frowned on employees fraternizing with guests outside work
hours. They met at a less upscale inn a short taxi ride away and
watched the Martian sunset through the biodome. They parted, and
Random knew he wanted to keep in touch. She accepted with a mellow
smile and gave him her SolarWeb address.

That was six years ago. They’d
kept in steady touch. She wasn’t like so many others who said
they’d call and never did, and he appreciated that. There was a
year when she got involved with a man who took exception to her
friendship with him, and the waves diminished somewhat, though they
never went completely away. When she ditched the man (Random never
met him), she went back to waving him once a week, sometimes more.
Random, making a life aboard
The
Pompatus
, wasn’t immune to the loneliness
deep interplanetary space sometimes engendered, and was grateful
for the chance to communicate with someone, even after Hewey became
conscious.

The other girls … he suspected they liked
him because he had money. He wasn’t a violent or selfish lover, and
that was probably a plus too. For the most part they didn’t stay in
touch, or if they did what they had to say was superficial and
pointless. Mia’s waves were always interesting and
thought-provoking.

She had rechristened her
renovated transport
The Glowing
Girl
, in deference to where it had been
abandoned.

Hewey called out, “Got a kilometer to go,
Honchorito. Slowing to an eighth. Wanna bring her in?”

“I wouldn’t want to deprive you of one of
your greatest joys,” said Random.

Hewey loved docking. His original
programming wasn’t so good at it; now he was far superior to Random
at it. Random had asked once what about docking made Hewey feel so
good, to which his best friend answered: “Don’t know, really.
There’s just somethin’ about it makes me feel good to be
alive.”

The Glowing Girl
rose up before them. Hewey eased
The Pompatus
in as Mia’s
voice came over the comm channel: “Hey, hey! There’s my favorite RV
in the whole universe!”