Winds of Vengeance (7 page)

“There are only one hundred sixteen of us. How is that possible?”

“We must rely on automation, Meleager. We must build a force of robots to ensure our safety.”

“But that is forbidden. If the president or the Assembly found out…”

“Then we must be sure they do not, at least not until we are ready. We are isolated out here, and they prefer it that way. They leave us alone to do as we please, secure in the knowledge that there are only a few of us. We have many projects underway. With proper care, we can build a reasonable force of security bots in secrecy. I have designed a few prototypes. I believe I have even improved on the old First Imperium models.”

Meleager stared back at Achilles, his indecision again apparent. But then he looked around the table. The others were nodding, some enthusiastically, others with grim resignation.

He sighed. “Very well, Achilles…but I must have your word, here and in front of all of us, that these bots will never be used to attack any humans, nor even as a force to threaten them. They will be defensive only.”

Achilles sat, staring back at Meleager. The room was silent, but he could see the others looking on, many nodding their approval of Meleager’s provision.

“You have my word, Meleager. All of you do. The bots will be used only to protect us…and our right to create more of our kind.”

The others nodded with considerable conviction, and after a few seconds, Meleager joined them.

Achilles sat silently, considering the true meaning of the words he’d added to his promise. The others would resist the move to allow the renewed creation of Mules…and Achilles had every intention of using all power at his disposal, including an army of battle robots, to ensure that his people had a future. He would defend his people’s right to produce more to their kind, whatever that entailed.

Chapter Five

Excerpt from Underground Vid Circulated via Deep Network

Humanity. It is a word we use often, and usually without a thought of its true meaning. Humans, men and women, rose up on Earth, they tamed a world, reached out for the stars. It was not animals who did this, not copies manufactured in some laboratory. And certainly not monstrous mutations, perverse combinations of human and alien DNA.

The fleet fought its way to Earth Two, struggled in battle after battle, lost two-thirds of its complement, men and women left behind, dead in the sands of alien worlds, blown to plasma in desperate space battles. These brethren of ours—and those of us who survived the epic journey—were, every one of them, naturally-born human beings.

Now we watch as the fruits of their sacrifice, this new world we are building, becomes increasingly dominated by clones, hundreds of copies of each genetic contributor. These copies are possessed of the DNA of their progenitors, but are they truly human? Do they possess that spark that separates human beings from animals? Are they individuals? Or merely imitations of a real human being?

And worse, still, are the Mules, grotesque perversions of human stock, mingled with alien DNA and manipulated in a dark laboratory. Who are these beings who live by themselves, outside of our fair city, pursuing arcane research without supervision? It is no secret they consider themselves better than us, gods to rule over mankind. Do you wish to have a genetically-engineered human-alien hybrid as your master? Or do you say, now and for all time, that humanity is special? That men and women are naturally free, and that no manufactured creatures, be they stronger or faster or more resistant to disease, will ever rule over us, make us slaves.

This is our creed…and if you feel as we do, if you would halt this technologically driven nightmare, join us. Join the human league, and preserve humanity for our naturally born children…and grandchildren.

Supreme HQ – “The Rock”

Victory City, Earth Two

Earth Two Date 10.30.30

“You can’t do this, sir.” Over the years, Harmon had practically begged Frasier to call him Max, but the lifelong Marine had never been able to bring himself to speak so informally to his commander-in-chief. “We need strong leadership now, not chaos.”

The republic’s president looked over at his top general, at his friend. Connor Frasier was a big man, almost two meters tall and broadly built. He’d been very handsome when he was younger, but he’d suffered catastrophic wounds when he was unable to get far enough from the atomic weapon that destroyed the Regent. He had survived—a miracle itself—but even with multiple rounds of skin regens, he carried scars all over his body…and his face. His hair had only grown back on one side of his head, and he’d eventually shaved it all. The result was a fearsome visage, the grim and deadly Marine commander. It was something he’d adapted to over the years, even learned to enjoy, Harmon sometimes suspected.

“I appreciate your loyalty, Conner, but I don’t think there is any choice. The Assembly is up in arms, there are protests in the streets. The Human Society is demanding increased restrictions on the Tanks…and the Tanks are calling for all limits on quickenings to be removed. The rhetoric has reached dangerous levels on both sides. There was almost a fight in the hall at the last session. And, while the different groups are fighting with each other in every possible permutation, they agree on one thing. They’re all upset with me.”

Max Harmon had never been a politician. Like everyone who had served in the fleet, his background was military. He’d been thrust into the civilian leadership position, the unanimous choice of Admiral West, Hieronymus Cutter, and the rest of the fleet’s key personnel, but he knew he’d never mastered the sleazier arts of political maneuvering. As a man, he was glad. He considered true politicians to be an affliction on mankind, and he was reassured that the necessary motivations seemed to be missing from his character. But as a practical matter, his inability to lie and cheat with the dexterity of a practiced politician had led his government—and the nascent republic—to the brink of the abyss. He wanted to preserve freedom for all his people, but as the years passed, he’d come to realize that all most of them wanted was to impose their own views and opinions on the others.

He looked at the Marine general, and he shook his head. “I always hated the politicians back home—and I still do—but now I wonder if true governance is possible. If man is capable of living in anything but anarchy or a long slide toward a corrupt, totalitarian nightmare.” Harmon knew he’d had more than one chance to move the republic toward the latter. More than one time his aides and deputies had implored him to crack down on the various groups threatening the public order without the backing of the Assembly, in essence, to make himself a dictator.

“Sir, Admiral Compton always took whatever action was necessary…whether he liked it or not.”

Harmon sighed. Everyone—friends, rivals, enemies—they all invoked remembrance of the great admiral when they were arguing a point. Any point. Harmon understood, but he’d become tired of it. No one in the fleet had known Terrance Compton as well as he had.

“General, Admiral Compton was leading us through a war. No, worse than a war…a desperate flight. We faced almost certain destruction then. Even so, it was very hard on him. Few people saw what some of that did to him, how it hurt him to turn his back on every sense of what he believed was right and wrong. I miss him terribly, even still. But I wonder if things didn’t work out for the best. How would it have hurt him to have done all he had done…and to watch over the years, as gratitude and loyalty withered away, as they always do? I sometimes think it would have been worse for him than that assassin’s bullet. Now, he is a hero forever. He is loved, even as I am resented. If he had lived, would he be angry, broken…devastated to see all he had fought for reduced to nothing but a smaller version of Earth, along with all the same petty squabbles and pointless disputes?”

Frasier looked back, silent for a moment.

Harmon shook his head. “Enough of that…we have too much to deal with to slip into recollection and regret. And the situation is dramatically different now from what the admiral faced. Our arms have not seen a shot fired in anger in more than two decades, not since the last of the First Imperium forces were destroyed. We are alone, with no contacts, no enemies, unless we make them from among our own people. If I refuse to call an election, if I even appear to seize power, it will enrage them all. It would be the spark that ignites civil war.”

“Sir…”

“Connor, your loyalty speaks well of you…and it has been one of the pillars on which I’ve supported my burdens all these years. But I believe you may not have thought past honor and steadfastness. We must also consider reality. Would you want to receive an order to bring your Marines into the streets? To open fire on the people? Would you obey such a command? Or would giving it finally cost me your allegiance?”

“I will do whatever is necessary, sir.” The words came out almost as a reflex, but Harmon could detect the doubt there. Frasier would never turn on him…but he knew the Marine was a man of honor, one who would struggle mightily with an order like that.

“And will your Marines? What if the Tanks rise up? How many of your Marines are clones? Half? No, it’s more than half, isn’t it?”

“The Marines will follow their orders, sir. Always.”

“Will they? I can think of some Marines who disobeyed unconscionable orders. Elias Holm and Erik Cain to name two. Would your Marines feel it dishonorable to follow such examples?” It was a low blow, Harmon knew. Holm and Cain were epic heroes of the Corps, larger than life Marines that still inspired their descendants.

“Generals Holm and Cain faced different circumstances, sir.”

“Do you think Erik Cain would have ordered his Marines to fire on his own people if he had been a Tank?” Harmon could see Frasier was getting upset. He was backing the Marine into a corner, trying to force him to admit there were limits to what commands he would honor. But there was no point to it. Max Harmon had no intention of putting himself in a position to issue such orders. He didn’t know if Compton would have—the admiral had been a stronger man, he believed that with certainty, but he wasn’t sure which way that would have pushed him. But Max Harmon was not going to be the man to order his forces to kill his fellow citizens.

“Never mind, Connor. It doesn’t matter. I’ve already made my decision. I’m calling an election in six months. That gives me half a year to make my case, to desperately try to heal some of the rifts and put together a workable coalition.”

“And if you fail, sir? What then?”

Harmon sighed. “Well, my friend…in that case you will be taking orders from someone else.”

*    *    *

“There are rumors Harmon is going to call for a new election. It is time. We must rally our support and make our move…and secure the purity of our species for all time.” Jacques Diennes stood in the dimly lit room, talking to a small group. The restaurant out front was a profitable business, but its primary purpose was as a cover. The Human Society wasn’t an illegal enterprise…at least it hadn’t yet taken any direct action against the government. But Diennes had instilled a sense of secrecy among the higher echelons of the group.

“I agree, Jacques. It is not only time…it is perhaps our last chance to secure our aims, at least through peaceful means. The naturally-born humans on Earth Two are still a majority, but if the limits on quickenings are loosened, we could find ourselves outnumbered in a few years.” Emi Kahn looked across the small room at the Society’s leader. The two were both Pilgrims, but the Society had considerable support among the Earth Two born NBs as well. Indeed, they had greater participation among the younger element of society than those who had served on the fleet. “We cannot allow that to happen.”

Kahn been one of Diennes’ earliest followers, and the two had worked feverishly to secure the Prohibition, the law forbidding the creation of any more Mules. The Society considered the mixing of human and alien DNA to be an outrage, an immoral act that had to be stopped. And they had seen it done.

The Society had long sought to ban the quickening of more Tanks as well, though with far less success. They had helped to pass the laws setting annual limits, but amid the well-recognized need to populate the republic, they’d failed to garner enough support for an outright ban.

The Society’s positions weren’t based on religion, at least not any designated, establish belief structure, but its members were committed to the notion that there was a special spark in humanity, one that couldn’t be replicated in a laboratory. It considered the Tanks second-class citizens, devoid of the essence that made humans complete.

Though some of its political rivals cast the Society as dark and dangerous, its goals had never included any hostile actions against the Tanks, nor even active discrimination against those already existing. It just demanded that no new Tanks be quickened, and that they be allowed to naturally die out. The Society’s position on the naturally-born children of the Tanks was still a matter of debate within the organization, with some considering the offspring tainted by their origins and others looking at them as the same as any other NBs.

The Mules were another matter entirely. The Society looked upon them as dangerous abominations, and called for them to be confined and observed at all times…or worse.

“So, you will launch your campaign now? You will seek the presidency?”

The excitement in Kahn’s voice was unmistakable, and Diennes understood the source of it. For years the Society had used its minority seats in the Assembly to pursue its goals, wheeled and dealed with the other factions to gain a victory here or there. But now they were ready to reach for the power, to take control over Earth Two. The presidency was a powerful office. For whatever reasons, Max Harmon had failed to truly utilize its true powers…a mistake President Diennes would not repeat.

He looked right at Kahn and smiled. “Yes, Emi…it is time. We will announce the campaign tomorrow.”