Roboteer (4 page)

Gustav had no appetite for the socialising that followed. Rodriguez hovered relentlessly by his side like some kind of pet or parasite. It was all Gustav could do not to let his fury show.

The real question was how the Prophet had learned of his delay. Gustav felt sure he knew the answer. It had to be Tang. In his eagerness to begin the full military phase of the operation, he’d sold Gustav out.

Tang was a fool.

Gustav was relieved when a white-liveried data valet approached him, his visor winking.

‘General, sir. Your presence is requested by Lord Oswald Khan for a private audience.’

Gustav exhaled. Oswald was his ally at court. Maybe he could do something about this intolerable situation.

‘I will attend him immediately,’ Gustav replied. ‘Gentlemen, I apologise.’ He nodded his respects to the new batch of courtiers surrounding him and set off.

Rodriguez started to follow, but the valet stopped him in his tracks.

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he told the disciple nervously. ‘Only the general was invited.’

Rodriguez glowered angrily for a moment before he could paste an expression of nonchalance over his features. ‘Of course,’ he said lightly. ‘I shall be here, General, if you need me.’

Gustav arched one eyebrow, then turned and walked quickly towards the exit.

The valet hurried to match his leggy pace. ‘He’s waiting for you in the Reconsiderist apartment, sir,’ he explained. ‘Room four-four-eight-three. The Fern Garden.’

Gustav nodded. He’d already guessed his destination.

The valet signalled the door open and Gustav stepped into the executive lift. He tried to compose his thoughts as he ascended. Oswald was the only person Gustav knew with the political power and skill to get Rodriguez dropped from the project. There was reason enough to think he could – Oswald was the man who’d created Reconsiderism. Gustav respected his political ability almost as much as he respected the Prophet’s. For the longest time, Earth’s Muslim population had been losing out to Truism. Islam specifically dictated that Mohammed was God’s last prophet. Thus Muslims could not join the Truist cause, and so were excluded from the military and economic reforms sweeping the world. Reconsiderism had offered a way out of that economic trap. It claimed that God had seen the Terror Century and, in disgust, had changed his mind. He had given mankind one more prophet because they had strayed so far from the path of righteousness.

Oswald had converted Gustav to his new subsect in the slums of Sophia while the Pomak Riots raged all around them. He’d won Gustav over with a solemn promise that his movement would retain the proudest traditions of Islamic culture. To Gustav that meant vigorous rational debate, a strict adherence to law and no compromise over interference from outsiders.

So far Oswald had been as good as his word, even to the extent that Reconsiderism had become the Truist church’s unofficial scientific division. Gustav hoped Oswald could stick to it now.

The lift reached its destination. Gustav strode out into the brown-and-white-tiled Reconsiderist apartment and down the hallway to the Fern Garden. He pushed through the old-fashioned revolving door into the sweltering air on the other side.

The Fern Garden was a greenhouse of sorts set at the corner of the great tiered palace. It was full of large fronded plants, most of which had been extinct on Earth for over a generation. New specimens had been brought back from Mars after the crusade. Not entirely accidentally, the Fern Garden’s sprinklers and steam machines played havoc with surveillance equipment. Quirks in the room’s construction also made wireless comms almost impossible. It was private, and the Reconsiderists kept it that way.

Gustav followed the narrow stone path, took the stepping stones over the artificial brook and found Oswald by the far window, looking out. Oswald was a tall man with nut-brown skin and a ring of white curly hair around his balding head. He turned as Gustav approached and smiled a little wistfully. His face would not have looked out of place on some ancient Ethiopian king.

Gustav bowed. ‘My Lord.’

‘It’s okay,’ said Oswald. ‘We’re alone.’

Gustav relaxed a little. He and Oswald had remained close ever since that day in Sophia, despite the different directions in which their work had taken them. As close, at least, as Gustav ever let his allies get.

He got straight to the point. ‘I want that snowboy off my team.’

Oswald winced at Gustav’s language and slowly shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, old friend. I did my best, but Sanchez was adamant. He’s determined to shut you down. Rodriguez is going with you to make a feasibility assessment.’

Gustav experienced a moment of horrible bewilderment. ‘What do you mean,
shut me down
?’

‘I mean it’s over, Gus. Sanchez wants to close the Relic Project.’

The words took a few moments to sink in. ‘He can’t,’ Gustav blurted.

‘Unfortunately, he can.’

Gustav fixed Oswald with a stare. ‘Doesn’t he get it? You can’t keep something like the Relic secret for ever. Sooner or later, someone’s going to find out.’

Oswald nodded. ‘I know, but the High Church doesn’t see it that way. It frightens them, Sanchez most of all.’ He spread his hands in a gesture of appeasement. ‘Had it not been for Galatea, I doubt they’d have let us get this far. It was only because they needed the suntap.’

Gustav grimaced. Trying to bury the Relic was a crime against science. But more importantly, it was politically stupid. Sanchez had made the problem for himself years ago when he dismissed the possibility of extraterrestrial life on theological grounds. He’d decided at the very dawn of Truism that with so many conflicting religions to unite, no mere text would be strong enough to sit at the centre of his new faith. There could be no Bible or Koran because people would always prefer the books they already had to what he could give them. So he’d declared the human genome itself to be the living embodiment of God’s word.

Unfortunately, that meant many of the Prophet’s arguments hinged upon the idea of mankind’s superiority among God’s creations. Revealing the discovery of an ancient and highly advanced alien civilisation would cause an outcry in the Following, even if that civilisation was long since dead. In Gustav’s opinion, a justification for the Relic’s existence needed to be seeded slowly, carefully and soon.

‘Maybe I’ll have to give them an incentive to see sense,’ said Gustav.

Oswald regarded him sadly and sighed. He clearly knew exactly what Gustav meant. Several times in the past they’d talked about leaking the news to the public in a controlled way, spun so as to minimise the unrest while also spurring the church into action.

‘They’d kill you.’

Gustav shrugged. ‘Perhaps. If they were rash. I could make it very expensive for them.’

Oswald laid a hand on Gustav’s shoulder. ‘Gus, listen. If the truth comes out now, the crusade will grind to a halt.’

Gustav smiled dryly. ‘I doubt that.’

‘And there is your problem, my friend,’ said Oswald sadly. ‘You’ve been away from Earth too long, hiding in your secret laboratory.’

‘Meaning what, exactly?’

Oswald pressed his palms together and looked down. ‘While you have been gone, the Prophet has become … unwell.’

Gustav peered at him. There had been no news of this. But then, of course, there wouldn’t be.

‘His doctors tell us he doesn’t have long to live,’ Oswald continued. ‘I believe this is why he’s decided to end the suntap project now. He doesn’t have the strength to lead the people through such a big change to dogma, and he doesn’t trust those who follow him to do any better. So he’d rather not have it happen at all.’

Gustav could guess the consequences of leaking the Relic’s existence at such a bad time. With the High Church weakened, some subsect or other would break the truce and the entire crusade would go on hold while Earth’s factions vied for power. In the worst case, they could collapse back into civil war. In the meantime, the Galateans would regroup. They might even try to liberate the other colonies. The chances of Earth mounting a viable second crusade would be poor.

Oswald nodded as he saw realisation dawn in Gustav’s eyes. ‘That’s right. If you decide to speak out, you must be ready to live in a future in which the Kingdom exists beside Galatea. Perhaps even trades with them.’

That option was intolerable. It spoke of a future in which there were a dozen planets of poor, unmodified humans and a single barely populated world of the genius rich. The cycle of inequality that had oppressed Gustav’s people for generations would repeat itself. Earth would be back where it started: poor and exploited. In other words, in exactly the situation that had caused the Terror Century in the first place.

‘So you see, my friend,’ said Oswald, ‘you find yourself in a powerful position. The Prophet knows that, which is precisely why he’s been so generous. Your next move could shape the course of the war.’

Gustav shook his head. ‘You exaggerate.’

‘I’m afraid I’m deadly serious. I beg you, bide your time, because hope is not lost. There is a way out of this.’

Gustav folded his arms. ‘I’m listening.’

Oswald leaned close. ‘Two nights ago, the Prophet promised me in private that he would act on Rodriguez’s counsel, regardless of what he found. This could be made to work in our favour. Disciple Rodriguez is not a clever man. The Prophet trusts him for his faith and doggedness, but he’s also greedy for influence and fearful of his credibility. If you can convince him that it’s in his best interest to see our point of view, the Prophet will have no choice but to accept his word. The project will be saved.’

‘He’s High Church,’ Gustav pointed out. ‘We can’t bribe him.’

‘True, but there are other ways to make an ally. He must be made to see that it is in his political interests to keep the project open. Make him realise where he would stand if the project was closed down and word still leaked out.

‘If you succeed,’ Oswald added, ‘I will do the rest. For the last six months, my people have been working on a report outlining how to spin the Relic to the Following as a miracle. So far, Sanchez has refused to read it. With Rodriguez’s recommendation, he will have to. The speeches are already written. The press reports are ready to go.’

Gustav pulled a bitter face. He could feel the shackles of compromise clanking shut around his wrists. He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

‘You know me, Oz,’ he muttered. ‘I’m no diplomat.’

Oswald shrugged. ‘What can I say? If I could send myself out there, I would. But it has to be you. It’s your project.’

‘All right.’ Gustav looked away.

Oswald touched his shoulder. ‘Thank you.’

Gustav looked out at the filthy sky. ‘I’ll tell you now, though, my people won’t like this. The moment they see that white robe, they’ll smell trouble. They won’t want to cooperate.’

‘Then make them understand how lucky they are,’ said Oswald. ‘Sanchez’s other option was group termination. I told him it would be cheaper to buy you and your people off than kill you. I reminded him of just how badly he needs the support of the scientific community right now. If your people are careful, they could come out of this with an estate each and still get to finish their work.’

Oswald gave Gustav’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. ‘And now you should head downstairs or people will start to wonder where you are. Let them see you,’ he said as he stepped back. ‘And try to look happy. We can’t have you appear ungrateful for the Prophet’s gifts.’

Gustav laughed darkly. It was a dangerous game they were playing, but he could see no other choice. Earth simply couldn’t afford to let a planet of genetic racists thrive and prosper. And to defeat them they needed a united church, at least for the time being.

He bowed his respects and turned to go.

‘Good luck,’ said Oswald. ‘You’ll be in my prayers.’

Gustav nodded and headed back the way he’d come – towards the lift, Rodriguez’s eager company and another round of unwelcome congratulations.

2.2: WILL

Will took the overground transit to the headquarters of the Fleet’s Roboteering Division. The car was empty except for him, though it had enough bright-yellow ergonomically designed seats for fifty. That was normal on Galatea. Will had never seen one full.

It was the first time he’d been home for weeks and his eyes hungrily sucked in the sights. Beyond the train window, a plain of butter-coloured scree stretched away under a deep-blue sky. Laid out in perfectly straight rows as far as the horizon were circular pools of steaming turquoise water tended by black-furred robots. They hadn’t existed last time he came this way. The pools no doubt constituted another desperate attempt by the Terraforming Corps to prevent the nascent Galatean ecology from collapsing back on itself.

The rows made hazy diffraction patterns as the train carried Will soundlessly past them. They were also a welcome distraction from his anxiety about his upcoming review session.

He’d only been home for a day. He hadn’t expected the Fleet to call on him so soon. Evidently they were taking the matter very seriously.

The return flight hadn’t gone well. Franz filed a public report declaring that with adequate roboteer supervision, his SAP would have cleared the disrupters – a statement that was false but hard to completely disprove. After that he hadn’t spoken to Will again.

Captain Klein had refused to comment on the matter and Will hadn’t heard a thing from him since he filed his memory log. It had made for an uncomfortable week. Today he’d learn what the captain had to say, and he wasn’t looking forward to it.

The problem was that Will had knowingly disobeyed a direct order. While the Galatean Fleet was the most relaxed and pro-initiative fighting force in human history, it still considered an order something sacred. Even if the Fleet condoned Will’s actions, as he felt sure they would, some kind of formal reprimand was still on the cards.

Will bristled at the injustice of it. If he lost this position it would be his third transfer. No captain was likely to take him on after that. He’d be reduced to loading work on the evacuation arks – forced to flee with children and grandparents while the Earthers massed to destroy everything he cared about. He didn’t think he could stand that.