Chapter 16

The base exchange, or BX, at the Sirius Fleet Outpost in orbit around Sirius B was not exactly a supercenter, particularly not in comparison to the BX at TNB back in the Sol, but it still had enough of the basics to make the re-supply run a success.

Gath, Taz, and their crew of three helpers—all of them wearing on-duty Fleet uniforms—entered the modest compartment of the base only forty minutes before it closed for the day and each of them grabbed one of the large levitating carts to load supplies onto. From there, they split up, each heading for separate aisles in the store, their commers in their hands showing a shared list in which items would be marked off as collected on everyone’s screen to avoid duplication of efforts. They then began to load up, gathering bags of coffee, cartons of dairy products, multi-kilogram packages of frozen meat, industrial sized packages of toilet paper, and dozens of other things. Naturally, this attracted the attention of the BX clerk, a second career age male who was probably working part-time to supplement his Fleet pay.

“Did ... uh, you all find everything you needed?” he asked Gath as he dubiously eyed the five overloaded carts that pulled up to his checkout station.

“No,” Gath said, “actually we did not. We could not find any fresh garlic, any tomato paste, any coriander seeds, or any bug juice powder. Do you, by chance, have any of those things in the supply room?”

Hearing Gath’s groundie accent, the clerk’s eyes took on a different look. It was if he now had a partial explanation for the goings on in his usually quiet store. “No,” he said, annunciating the word carefully, as if he were speaking to an idiot. “We don’t keep anything in the supply room that is not on display in the store.”

“A pity,” Gath said with a sigh. “Oh well. At least you have ground coriander and fresh tomatoes for the paste.”

“What the tork is coriander?” the clerk had to ask.

“It’s an herb that a certain spice is made out of,” Gath told him. “The plant itself is called cilantro, and you had some of that back there, but the seeds are what coriander is made of and you didn’t have any of that.” He shook his head in bewilderment. “If they shipped you a supply of cilantro, what the purg did they do with the seeds?” He looked over at Taz. “I bet they torkin’ threw them away at the processing point, not realizing they were good for anything.”

Taz rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Spacies can be really moronic sometimes, can’t they?” she asked him.

“You got that slag right,” Gath responded.

The clerk was now showing an expression of caution, as if he were dealing with a volatile group of lunatics. “Is ... uh ... all of this stuff together?” he asked slowly.

“It is,” Gath told him. “I’ll lay derm for the cost. Go ahead and process it.”

The clerk looked at the five carts again, making no move to start processing. “This is an awful lot of slag you all are buying,” he said.

Gath looked back at the load for a moment, as if evaluating and quantifying it. Finally, he nodded. “Yes,” he said, “it really is. So, can we process it now?”

“What is all this stuff for?” the clerk asked—almost demanded.

“Well...” Gath said, taking his own turn at talking to someone as if they were an idiot, “most of it is for the preparation of food.”

“Food?” the clerk said.

“Food,” Gath confirmed. “You know? Ingestible nutrition that is taken orally for the purpose of maintaining homeostasis in the human body?”

That one went well over the clerk’s head. “Where did you all come from?” he asked.

“We’re with the Magnum,” Gath told him. “A ninety-nine ship in transit to the Redreams. We’re here to replace our consumable stock.”

That confused the clerk even further. “Why are you buying consumables in here? With your own credits? Don’t they stock you at the yard like they do everyone else?”

Taz handled this one. “Of course they do,” she said—although they really wouldn’t, not without a consumable stock requisition attached to their orders, something that had been deemed too risky to try to forge as it would increase the number of people perusing their orders. “We just don’t like the issued consumables very much. Gath here makes us fresh consumables when we’re out on deployment runs.”

The look of I’m dealing with the mad came across the clerk’s face again. “Fresh consumables?” he asked. “What the purg does that mean?”

“It means I make our meals by hand,” Gath explained. “Most of the time anyway.”

“By hand?” the clerk asked, never having heard of, or even conceived of such a thing. “Why would you do something like that?”

“Because it tastes good,” said Specialist Boogie, their weapons repair technician who was doubling as a kitchen helper of late.

“Tastes good?” the clerk said, his tongue flitting out and licking slowly across his upper lip.

“It’s a groundie thing,” said Spacer Second Floozy, an engineering technician who doubled as kitchen clean-up crew.

The clerk shook his head in bewilderment. “Whatever you say,” he told them, picking up his scanner. With a wave of it, he inventoried their load and his computer named the price. “One hundred, ninety-three point six two credits, please.”

Gath laid some derm and the amount was subtracted from his account. “Appreciate it,” he told the clerk. “Do you have some boxes in the back we can stow this slag in for the trip back to the Magnum?”

It turned out he did have some boxes and was happy to get rid of them since it meant he would not have to break them down later and send them to the recycle point. He even helped them package up their load for the trip.

“Ain’t you a medic?” he asked Gath while they were putting the last few items in.

“I am,” Gath confirmed, tapping the star of life on his shirt.

“Then why do they have you cooking slag on your ship?” the clerk asked. “That ain’t a medic’s job, is it?”

Gath put a look of bitterness on his face. “It’s not supposed to be,” he said, mock resentment in his tone, “but that’s the way we groundies get treated in the Fleet.”

“Really?” the clerk asked, shocked.

“Really,” Gath confirmed. “It’s just another way The Hume keeps my people down.”

“That’s torked up,” the clerk said righteously.

“That it is,” Gath agreed.

Thirty minutes later, with the assistance of an Uber autotransporter, they had their nine boxes of supplies back at the skiff docks in the lower part of the outpost. It took the better part of another twenty minutes to stow the boxes in the skiff and then pile in themselves for the trip back to the Magnum.

Their ship had finished taking on liquid hydrogen by this point and was now keeping station in a queue area two kilometers away from the hydrogen storage facility. Gath, feeling slightly nauseous due to the zero gravity conditions in the skiff, took slow deep breaths and tried not to look at the forbidding surface of Mouge, the rocky, desolate planet that was third from Sirius B, passing six hundred kilometers below. At last, they docked with the Magnum, returning gravity to their bodies. Gath’s nausea came close to erupting at this point—the sensation of heavying was not, by any means, one of life’s greatest—and then began to calm down. By the time they were safely inside the ship and ready to start unloading their groceries, he felt almost normal again.

They could not leave until everything was safely and securely stowed, so everyone not performing some vital ship function—and this included even Ox—pitched in to help put their supplies away. With twenty plus people concentrating on the task, it was accomplished in less than twenty-five minutes.

“All right,” Ox said to the bridge crew once all compartments reported ready for departure. “How about we blow this scene?”

Manny contacted local STC and was given permission to move the Magnum out of the queue and into the local transit corridor for the trip to the interstellar transit corridor. This corridor, labeled IST-13O on the holo map of the system stretched between the base and the SAR circuit point that lay at the barycenter between the red giant Sirius A and the ringed gas giant Julio which orbited it at a distance of seventeen AUs. As they made the trip they passed the berthing area of the outpost. Currently there were two ships at anchor there, one a Diamondback class destroyer, the other a Fleet personnel transporter. In addition to the ships at berth, there was one vessel—a ninety-nine their computer identified as the Beretta—half an AU out from the outpost and in the midst of a deceleration burn. They would have to pass that ship—although with a separation of over two hundred kilometers—as they accelerated out. Ox was grateful that he did not know anyone on that particular vessel. The less small talk they had to make, the better.

So far, no one had questioned their orders or their presence in the Sirius system. And though they could no longer actively detect the Blacksnake guarding the Sirius Prime circuit point, their STC telemetry showed it was still there. The contingency plan in case of discovery was to simply run like purg toward SAR and hope to get through. Once on the Redreams side of the circuit, they could start putting their plan into action. The SAR point, however, was currently nineteen astronomical units away and there were two ships—the dreadnought Covington and the anti-stealth carrier Rollins—who were in positions along their path to intercept them if so ordered. And other ships could come out of that circuit at any time. It was going to be a long, tense trip.

“Sound acceleration alarm,” Ox ordered once they entered the interstellar corridor.

“Sounding alarm, Captain,” Tull reported.

After the requisite amount of time, Ox ordered the engines lit at two Gs.

“Two Gs, aye Captain,” Tull said.

The engines lit up and the Magnum began to accelerate once again. They were on their way.

They passed the Berretta without incident and continued their burn until they were moving at 0.005C once again. Once the effects of acceleration were not an issue, and once the Phent-D that the Earth natives had taken had a chance to wear off, Gath gathered the four of them and Yank in the wardroom so they could start working on their presentation for the Redreams and beyond.

“A presentation?” asked Cedric, enunciating the word as if it were a particularly vile slang term for a particularly vile sexually transmitted disease. “What do you mean by that?”

“It means we’re going to record a holographic file of everyone here,” said Yank brightly. “It’s kind of like the documentary that Gath originally told us was the reason for our coming up from Libby, but we’re really going to do it this time.”

“I thought we were going to talk to the people who make decisions directly,” said Fears No Darkness. “Surely our words will have more impact that way.”

“That is the eventual plan,” Gath said, “but that is for when we arrive—if we arrive—in the AZ system where the spaceborn government and Fleet operations are based. We’re not going to have time to stop anywhere in the Redreams—” He looked at Yank, who was obviously about to start going on about the alluvial delta system to be found there. “—at least not on the outbound leg. To start passing the word about what is going on in the Sol, we’re going to broadcast the holo we’re about to make to all of the Redreams media outlets as we blast through there. We’ll then invite them to ask questions and clarify details by means of return messaging. At that point we will appear live—although with the inevitable lightspeed delay—and answer those questions before we hit the RG circuit point.”

“I see,” said Fears No Darkness doubtfully.

“I don’t,” barked Tom in disgust. “What is all of this drivel about talking to these overseers in charge of things? Talking solves nothing!”

“Agreed,” said Cedric. “The application of superior force is what solves matters! We should take this ship directly to the headquarters of the overseer CEO and destroy it with the weaponry aboard!”

“Fuckin A!” said Tom, excitedly. “And after that, we should transport down and shoot any survivors and then put their heads up on spikes on the fortress wall! That will serve to show we’re serious about putting a stop to this genocide!”

“Yeah...” said Gath carefully, “that would show we’re serious all right. How about we try my plan first, though? My people don’t react to violence all that well.”

“Your people are pathetic,” spat Tom.

“Beyond pathetic,” said Cedric. He turned to Fears No Darkness. “They did not even wipe out our army after they defeated us at Crescent City. Have you ever heard of such cowardice?”

“You’re upset because they did not kill you all?” asked Fears No Darkness.

“Not upset,” said Cedric, as if he were talking to an idiot, “just contemptuous. What kind of army does not kill every last one of a defeated foe?”

“A civilized one?” suggested Catches No Fish.

Cedric looked at the warrior in amazed contempt. “Civilized?” he spat. “Fuck off!”

“You fuck off, savage!” Catches No Fish yelled at him.

“You call me a savage, you fuckin’ flesh eater?” Cedric yelled. “I’ll rip your mother’s twat off and use it as a fifi!”

Catches No Fish stood up angrily, nearly knocking the table over. “I’ll have your balls for that, savage!” he yelled. “No one talks shit about my mother!”

“Bring it on, dickweed!” Cedric yelled back, standing to face him.

Gath and Yank quickly stepped between the two natives, keeping them apart. It took a minute or two, but they finally got the two of them to calm down and sit back down.

“Now look, humes,” Gath said once this was accomplished. “It could be we’re getting a little off topic here again. Now I know you don’t care too much for each other, but remember our goal with this presentation. We’re trying to prevent a genocide, remember? A genocide of your people. So, let’s try to present a united front, to show my people that your people are a race worth saving.” He turned to Fears No Darkness and Catches No Fish. “That means we keep our judgments about savagery and non-savagery to ourselves, that we do not judge other cultures openly if we do not agree with them.” He then turned to Tom and Cedric. “And that means we do not make remarks about the type of diet another culture prefers, or any allusions to ripping mothers apart and using their body parts for a fifi, okay?”

“What exactly is a fifi?” asked Yank.

“It’s not important,” said Gath, who also did not know what a fifi was. He turned back to the natives. “Can we give this a try?”

Reluctantly, they agreed to call a temporary truce.

“All right then,” Gath said. “I will speak first and lay the scenario down on them. After that, I’ll have each of you talk as well. Cedric and Tom, I’m going to have you play your instruments for the holo too.”

“We will play our best,” promised Tom. Strangely, or perhaps not so strangely, the two Norcals actually seemed excited to play their instruments for an audience of overseers.

“That’s all I can ask,” Gath said. “Now let’s get this thing started.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Computer, start new holographic file, unencrypted, standard format, focus of the camera to be a body closeup of whoever is sitting in this chair I am in.”

“Initiating new file,” the computer’s voice replied. “What would you like to name the file?”

“Oooh,” said Yank. “I have a good name!”

“What’s that?” asked Gath.

“Well...” she said, “I think we should name it ‘Requiem of the Great Galaxian Dream of universal civility.’”

“Confirm Requiem of the Great Galaxian Dream of universal civility?” the computer enquired. “Is that your choice of file name?”

“No,” Gath said before Yank could open her mouth. He turned to her and put his diplomatic face on. “While poetic, your name does not clearly spell out what the holo is going to be about. The idea is to make sure the media people are intrigued, even shocked when they see the file name. We want them to open it immediately and see what is in it, not have some admin assistant throw it in a file for later perusal.”

Yank was pouting. “And you don’t think my name will accomplish that?”

“Not with a complete degree of confidence,” he said. “I think we should go literal for this one.”

“Such as?”

Gath thought for a moment. “How about: ‘Information regarding the genocide of the Earth native population by order of the Fleet and the Space Federation Executive Council?’”

Yank wrinkled her nose. “That is very literal,” she said. “It just doesn’t have any ... you know... panache to it.”

“Panache aside,” Gath said, “I think we should go with my suggestion. Computer, did you hear my file name?”

“Information regarding the genocide of the Earth native population by order of the Fleet and the Space Federation Executive Council,” the computer returned. “Is this the file name you would like to use?”

“It is,” Gath said before Yank could add anything else.

“The file has been created,” the computer said. “Camera focus is on the human seated in the chair you currently occupy and will remain so unless instructed otherwise. An ongoing live presentation of the imagery will be shown on the primary stage. Say ‘start recording’ when ready to begin, ‘pause recording’ to pause the recording, or ‘end recording’ to end the recording.”

“Thank you, computer,” Gath said. He then settled into the chair. “Shall we begin?”

Everyone agreed that this was the appropriate beginning point.

“All right then,” Gath said, taking out his commer and putting it on the table before him. He quickly called up the notes he had made to help him through his speech. Like most humans, he was not a big fan of public speaking, but he had done it enough in school, both as an undergraduate and in medic school, that he knew how to present well. “Computer, start recording.”

The computer did not reply, but on the holo stage, a three-dimensional image of Gath suddenly appeared with the bright red RECORDING message floating in the air over his head.

“Greetings,” Gath said, his face solemn, his voice clear and without much in the way of tone. “My name is Gathius Stoner and I am a Fleet medic who, until recently, was attached to the 327^th Marine Division assigned to Planet Earth in the Sol system. These days I am a fugitive, guilty of being absent without leave and conspiracy to commit mutiny aboard a Fleet warship—this warship I am currently broadcasting from, the HSF Magnum under command of Lieutenant Commander Oxford Dripper. We are operating this ship without command authority—we have, in essence, stolen it—and are making a run toward the AZ system. These are all very serious charges and we are all prepared to admit guilt and face the consequences of our actions. But first we have to finish the mission we stole this ship for. We must tell you, the representatives of the media and the people of the independent planets, as well as the spaceborn citizens of the Federation, of the atrocity that is being carried out by the Fleet on orders of the Executive Council in the Sol system and that is being covered up and hidden from public review.

“What I am suggesting sounds quite fantastic to you, unbelievable even, but I assure you, it is real and it is being carried out right now, while we speak. The plan has a name. It is called the ‘concluding resolution’, concluding meaning final and resolution meaning the means by which the Executive Council and the Fleet medical operations are trying to put an end to the race of human beings who inhabit the planet Earth—the people we colloquially refer to as homebodies.

“Let me tell you how this all came to pass:”

Gath explained the events in the Sol system step by step, sticking mostly to chronological order, making clear delineations between things he knew to be fact and things that were speculation. He told of the first rumors that something was going to be happening as far as changing homeland policy and then he spoke of the sudden, mysterious probe shortage that closed down outgoing communications in the Sol system a suspiciously short time before the concluding resolution was officially announced. He told of the reluctance of the ultra-whites and the docs to explain just what the sterilization drug was at first, how it was strongly implied that it was only a birth reduction measure, and how he, Gath, had been among those who had discovered what the drug actually was.

He spent considerable time on the pharmacology of the drug, going so far as to explain the history of male birth control in general and the use of the motile haploid cell inhibitors in particular. He made sure to give enough particulars about the specific MHC inhibitor that was actually being used so that any media rep or even private citizen would be able to look it up in a database and confirm the permanent nature of the drug’s effect. From there, he went into the individual aspects of the conspiracy to conceal what was going on in the Sol. He started with Bookender and Zeal and then worked his way downward and outward, naming names whenever he knew them, finishing up with the ratslag story about the stellar instability in the Sol system preventing ships from transiting the circuit point.

“I can tell you,” he told them, “I was in the Sol system during this alleged stellar instability period and not a single word or suggestion about this alleged phenomenon was put forth to those of us on the inside. There is no stellar instability in the Sol system and there are no scientists recommending that transits be held. None of us aboard this vessel heard anything at all about this stellar instability issue until we’d transited out of the Sol and started talking to Fleet personnel on the other side of that circuit. I’m sure I do not have to spell out what this information means, but I will anyway. Someone, or, more likely, many someones, are furthering this conspiracy from outside of the Sol system, undoubtedly on orders from Fleet high command that probably were initiated at the Executive Council level.”

From there he worked his way into the reaction of the personnel assigned to Sol once the concluding resolution was clarified and initiated. He talked of the strife and division the debate on the appropriateness of the orders had caused, on the breakdown of morale and unit cohesion that was making it difficult to conduct even routine operations, on the efforts of the ultra-whites to flush out those who were opposed to the plan, on the punitive reassignments—including his own—handed out to those who were opposed. Finally, he rounded out how the conspiracy to steal the Magnum was launched and how time was of the essence to prevent the genocide from being carried out.

“So that,” he concluded, “in brief, is what is going on and is the reason for our theft of this Fleet vessel and our subsequent flight from the Sol. And now, in order to illustrate just what kind of people are the proposed victims of this genocide, I’m going to hand the floor over to PhD Dizza Yankeur, a renowned cultural anthropologist who has made it her life’s work to study the natives of Earth. She will speak briefly to you—” He gave her a warning look at the word briefly (they had already discussed her tendency to ramble and how she should avoid that in this forum) “—of the types of cultures and beliefs and lifestyles these so-called savages of the Sol utilize and live under and then she is going to introduce four of these natives themselves so you can get a feel for what we are trying to save here.” He stood and then waved at the chair. “Yank?”

Yank thanked him and sat down in the chair. She then began to talk about the various groups of people found on Earth and the lifestyles they lived by. To Gath’s surprise, she kept more or less on topic. He supposed her teaching experience—she had spent a considerable amount of time in both of her careers as a post-graduate lecturer—had something to do with that.

She talked of the Ukes and the Opies and the Ceepies and how they lived. She then moved onto the various feudal societies that made up the vast majority of the homebodies planetwide. She talked of their good traits, glossing over or not mentioning their more violent and superstitious ones. She spoke of the art that could be found in their structures, of the music they composed, of the buildings they built and their primitive resourcefulness, of the religions they worshipped. It was the art and music she kept returning to over and over however.

At last, it came time to start introducing the guest lecturers. She started with Fears No Darkness. The quarterback was obviously nervous as he took his seat at the table and looked into the camera, but Yank soon put him at ease, asking him questions like an attorney questioning her client.

“Now I know many are put off by a culture that utilizes the flesh of actual animals for nutrition instead of the plant-based proteins most of us use to make palatable food,” she said, her face off-stage but her voice clearly audible. “Many of the opies, however, still eat the flesh of animals because it is how their people have always fed themselves and they pride themselves on not taking any handouts from the Star People—us. Quarterback Fears No Darkness, please tell us how your people keep themselves fed.”

And so, the quarterback began to talk about fishing, and hunting deer, and harvesting acorns and blackberries. His matter-of-fact words and his shy, almost humble delivery of them served his cause well. He was not apologetic for his people, he was proud of their self-reliance, and this air was clearly transmitted into the holograph in a method that served to make the Modoc seem noble and pure.

After he finished speaking, Catches No Fish took the seat and introduced himself to the audience. He took on the task of describing the life of a Modoc warrior from birth to death. As a child he was required to learn to make bows and arrows, knives and axes, to fish from the time he could walk and to bring down his first deer by the time of first hair under the arms. At the age of thirteen he was considered a warrior apprentice and was assigned to an established warrior for training in the art and science of protecting the team. His final task before being considered a full-fledged warrior of the tribe was to trek alone and climb Mount Lassen on the edge of Modoc territory and then return to the village. Once a warrior, he had the right to marry and to enter into contracts with other warriors or the team itself. As he aged, he might one day become quarterback of the team himself. At the very least, if he survived to the age of sixty, he would become a respected elder of the team, one whose words it was the duty of all to listen to and consider.

Gath stepped back in at this point, not taking the seat, but taking over the job of questioning the Modoc. “You say you’re a warrior, correct?” he asked him.

“I am a warrior,” Fears No Darkness confirmed in no uncertain terms.

“How many people have you killed in your life?” Gath asked him.

“I have killed no one,” Fears No Darkness said, “and I hope I never have to.”

“Have you ever actually been to war?” Gath asked him next.

“We do not make war on others,” Fears No Darkness said. “We are warriors, trained in the art and science of war so we might protect our teams from others who might do us harm. So far, no one has tried us.”

“So, you’re saying you’re a peaceful people who only want to be left alone, but you will protect yourself if need be?”

“That is correct, Gath of the Star People,” the warrior confirmed.

Gath looked up at the ceiling. “Computer, focus the holo camera on Fears No Darkness for a moment, if you will.”

The computer shifted focus, putting the quarterback back in the picture.

“Fears No Darkness,” Gath said. “Tell us about the law your people have regarding use of items or food from the Star People.”

“It is forbidden,” Fears No Darkness said simply.

“Could you elaborate a bit?”

“No Modoc may use anything made by the Star People or even the white people who live in other parts of the planet. We may eat none of the food you provide. We may not drink from your water sources. We may not wear any of your clothing or use any of the gadgets you distribute.”

“And what is the penalty for violation of this law?” Gath asked.

“Death,” the warrior said simply.

“And how many people have you had to sentence to death for violating this law?”

“There has never been an instance of violation of this law in our collective memory, which stretches back all the way to the Great Collapse of Earth Society itself.”

“So, your people take this law pretty seriously then, right?”

“This law is held sacred above all other things,” he confirmed.

“Very interesting,” Gath said. “Now you and Catches No Fish accompanied me on this mission. We left your territory in a hydrogen powered hover. Since you’ve been with us, you have eaten our food many times, have worn our clothing, have utilized our computers and communication devices, have flown in surface to orbit craft and interstellar space vessels. Is this not a violation of your law?”