Reggie wasn’t convinced.
‘But Earth won’t permit you to open these planets without wanting some control over them, and I’m not so sure we’d like that either. We wanted you out of Trevon politics for a reason. That reason hasn’t gone away. We wouldn’t want to subject millions of people to the same way of life. We want genuine democracy. We want our freedom.’
Petroff could see the desire for independence was stronger than for semi-autonomy. Now it was a question of getting them to accept that the corporations, at least Lynthax, would remain a big part of their lives while they achieved it.
They needed to understand it was a question of choosing between the lesser of two evils. It was a clear-cut choice: between gaining independence for themselves or paying tribute to Earth, along with everyone else in the Outer-Rim.
‘Look, it’s an easy enough proposition for you to grasp,’ Petroff replied. ‘We’re offering you freedom. You’ll never be able to control how the rest of the universe develops—it’s going to be too big. Nor can you set yourself up to be the universe’s conscience. If we had to start over, I’m sure you’d make changes to the way Earth is run, but you can’t. It’s too big, too complex, and, by being chained to it, you’ll be subject to all its infighting.
‘Full independence cuts the link. It allows you to start over, to manage your neck of the woods for your people. It’ll also give millions of other people the chance to get off Earth; to live on a planet with the prospect of full employment, with enough food to go around, decent housing, and clean air—yes, clean air.’
He saw Nettles eyes widen as he imagined the benefits of a fresh start.
‘If we don’t open these planets then no one will. No one else can. Only we have the technology; technology we have spent billions on,’ he lied. ‘And if these planets aren’t opened, Earth will collapse into itself.’
A silence fell over his audience as it digested the benefits to Earth if they were to abandon their rebellion now. Petroff decided to make it an easier decision for them to make.
‘We don’t need you for this. We can find others. We can start small and get bigger on our own. We just think it’ll serve our purposes better, and more immediately, if we had the support of the New Worlds while we’re developing these new planets; making them fit for habitation. That means an end to this insurgency and it requires your co-operation.’
Petroff paused, but allowed his frustration of the past few years to creep into the room:
‘But remember, if you disagree, several of you here could be executed, and with the Western Bloc’s approval. You’ve really farked us about over the past five years, and some of us are quite keen to get on with a day of hangings. I’m sure no one here wants that. We’re being generous to the defeated.’
Faces hardened. This was the stick. No one liked being subject to someone else’s whim, but Scat knew that Petroff was as keen a hangman as he was a megalomaniac. He could now imagine his fingers digging deeper into Petroff’s throat, his eyes diluting, his tongue going blue.
He made to lean over the table, but felt a hand on his arm. It was Reggie.
Nettles rode over Petroff’s last comment and focused on the positive. He turned to face his colleagues, trying to lean an elbow on the table.
‘Let’s look at the alternatives,’ he suggested, ‘On the one hand, we, the rebels, want independence from Earth. We were about to negotiate semi-autonomy, and were grateful for the chance.
‘On the other hand, Lynthax wants a trouble-free period in which to develop more planets for its own self-serving purposes, a consequence of which is we get full autonomy, effectively independence, and Earth’s people get “lebensraum”.
‘New planets make Lynthax richer. They just also happen to help Earth reduce its own burden. That’s what capital and private enterprise is meant to achieve: it serves a purpose, satisfies a need and makes a profit.’
Petroff began to feel more optimistic about the outcome. Nettles was talking common sense.
‘As I see it,’ Nettles continued, ‘if we don’t help Lynthax, they get to open the new planets anyway, and with the possibility that we never see the light of day again, leaving ISRA with a weaker hand to play against the corporations. That means we probably don’t ever get to push them out of the democratic process. To me, it’s a no-brainer. The devil is in the details,’ he added, looking at Petroff, to let him know he should start negotiating terms. ‘Would our own people be permitted to emigrate from the New Worlds to more suitable planets?’
‘Yes. Of course.’
‘And would our current worlds have genuine sovereignty over all local affairs, including taxation, the making of laws—including commercial law?’
‘Yes but in stages. We don’t want you to get what you want without being able to achieve our own objectives first.’
‘But why do they offer us anything?’ Scat asked his colleagues, suspicious of Petroff's sudden generosity. ‘Lynthax could find its own Pathfinders, or whatever they’re called, run the operation from here, open new worlds and still get what it wants.’
Petroff realised he had missed making an important point:
‘It’s a question of scale, Scat. You just don’t understand the scale of what we’re about to do. We’re not talking about 10 or 12 planets, as in the OR, over the next 50 to 100 years. We’re talking hundreds and thousands in one year or two, across a galaxy, in an operation that needs resources, lots of it, up front. The New World planets have those resources, and they’re our current base of operations. It just makes good sense.’
Scat persisted.
‘Why don’t we just let ISRA develop the galaxy? Why don’t you hand the technology over? Lease it? Let Earth manage the whole thing.’
Petroff shook his head.
‘They don’t have the resources or the free capital—whereas we do. And for the same reasons as you wanted autonomy, Scat: Earth is too inward looking; it’s fractious. If you think we’re the personification of vested interests, take a look at the thousands of competing interests on Earth.
‘Anyway, we’ve made our offer. It’s a decent one. Its suits your purposes as it suits ours, and it’s an offer made to be accepted, not debated over. You can throw it away, and hope for a better future, or accept it. But our offer only stands for the next 12 hours.
‘And, of course, it’s only good for all the Lynthax Outer-Rim worlds who sign up to it and all the others who do where we have influence.’
‘And if some don’t?’ Scat asked.
‘Well, we’ve plenty of accommodation here. And we’ll help ISRA maintain sovereignty over their planets—probably even frustrate their attempts to negotiate semi-autonomy.
‘Basically, if you refuse, your worlds won’t get to hear about what we’ve discussed. You won’t be going home until we’ve achieved our initial expansion plans in any case, and that could be a few years. But if you support us in opening up these new planets, we’ll support your push for your independence.
‘We’ll fund your independence efforts, vote the right way, and cede our leases over time. You can nominate a politico to monitor the whole thing from here, while you and your boys are opening up our planets for us.’
Reggie thought he had seen a flaw in the plan.
‘How will our worlds know they’re to provide you with support?’
‘The politicos can return home, unless they want to oversee events here. But understand this: if they talk about our deal, or attempt to shaft us in any way, we have you.’ He pointed at Scat and two other rebel leaders. ‘And we’ll drop the idea of supporting your full independence. So, make up your minds. And do it soon.’
It looked as though Petroff was finally done talking.
The guards let them walk at their own pace back to the pens, but they followed them with their thumbs ready to press down on their PIKL-mounted neural disrupters.
Scat walked alongside Nettles, staring directly to his front. He spoke quietly.
‘Do you rea
lly buy any of that, Terrance?’ he asked. ‘An “amnesty”, the working for the betterment of mankind, the offer of democracy crap?’
Nettles chuckled gently.
‘You’ve forgotten something, Scat: I’m a politician. But it’s clear that a change of heart is as good as a fresh start. If they’ve spent so much money on what could prove so helpful to Earth’s people, then maybe we should give them the benefit of the doubt.’
‘So what’s next?’
‘Nothing. We go along with it until Lynthax gives us a reason to do otherwise. It gets some of us off this planet, so we do it happily and enthusiastically. In the meantime, we bide our time: learn some stuff; find an advantage. Isn’t that what you do whenever you suffer a set back? Wasn’t that one of your first rules of an insurgency?’
Scat felt a little sheepish. Nettles was right.
‘So you’re not caving?’
‘We’re adapting to our new reality, Scat.’
‘What about the others?’
‘What about them?’
‘Are you going to talk to them about playing along?’
They walked on a few paces more before Nettles replied. It sounded as if he were still thinking.
‘No,’ he said, slowly. ‘Best not. Let them agree to Petroff’s offer based on its own merits. If they don’t look as if they’ll vote in favour, we can talk to them then. Unless absolutely necessary, I’d rather not let anyone know that we’re really holding back, or why.’
114
For the rest of the day, the politicos briefed their own people on the proposals and discussed their options.
As Reggie laid out Petroff’s offer to Goosen, Paul, Khan and the rest of the Trevon Chapter rebels, Marvin grew increasingly convinced that the insurrection was over. The Trevon politicos would gladly accept independence, and, so long as Scat could pretend he was comfortable with it, so would the rebels.
It was now down to a question of trust. Could Lynthax be trusted to give up the Trevon lease, and was its support for Trevon’s independence worth more to its people than the Inter-Space Regulatory Authority’s offer of semi-autonomy?
On the question of trust, he guessed yes, again if Scat could play along. After all, Lynthax could have killed every one of the 400 or so rebels they had brought to Runnymede, and no one would have been the wiser. To then offer so much meant they had a lot to gain in return, enough not to want to screw it up by being duplicitous.
And in reality, if Trevon accepted Lynthax’s proposals then the other rebel chapters and politicos would probably follow suit.
Scat listened to Reggie summarize the proposals with mixed emotions, gently stroking his re-broken nose to check if Goosen had set it straight.
He had to be realistic: his days as a rebel were over.
There were only two options on the table, unless one considered escape a third option, but escape to where, from where – he didn’t even know where Runnymede was! Then what?
Besides, he was stateless and penniless, and mothers everywhere used his name to frighten the beJeezes out of any child who wouldn’t eat his or her vegetables—if they had any, that is.
On reflection, he probably wouldn’t fit back into society right away.
‘Is this what you want, Birdie?’ he asked, squatting in the corner of their pen, listening to Nettles and Reggie talk up the deal.
‘If what Nettles has just said is kosher, then it seems OK. I know it’s hard to think that Lynthax needs us and that its willing to offer such a deal, but less than a day ago I wouldn’t have believed in instant space travel either. What are you thinking?’
Scat summed up:
‘I see it like this—tell me if I’m out of line: Lynthax has let us into their little secret knowing that, if we refuse to help them, they can just wipe us out and keep their secret safe. Nettles seems pretty keen to grab a deal and to get home again, but that’s no surprise. And Reggie wants a deal before he goes the way of the Old Man. The rest of them are just plain tired. But in my book, none are good enough reasons to do a deal with the devil.’
‘You’re probably right, Scat, but what can we do? The game has changed. The rules as well. We don’t even know what they are.’
Scat hung his head.
‘Nettles suggests we suck it up until Lynthax shows us a little more leg, or we get the chance to hit back on our own terms.’
‘He’s right, of course,’ Goosen replied. ‘Does that piss you off?’
‘You bet it does.’
As it grew dark, Trevon voted to end hostilities. It was a signal to the others. Nine of the other 11 New Worlds quickly followed suit. Only Ashmore and Constitution held out beyond Petroff’s deadline.
As Reggie and the other opt-ins handed Petroff the results of their polls, the Ashmore and Constitution politicos asked Petroff for more time.
He agreed.
Petroff got his unanimous vote after he loosened the rules on contact.
It had been a tough few hours.
The rebels weren’t happy with quarterly-only visits, and monthly-only messages via the companynet. They needed more frequent contact than that.
Eventually they settled on free communication, but with caveats: Lynthax would issue the rebels with false identity cards; they were to use them when they logged on to the buoy network, and they were never to use their own names, or refer to personal matters. They were odd demands, but Petroff was quick to explain: ISRA would be searching for them, and they would be monitoring all the politicos’ communication once they returned home.
Secondly, the communication would be by email only, not by video.
‘Thirdly, the content of each email is to be reviewed by my local media security crew,’ Petroff insisted. It was non-negotiable.
But it was better than nothing.
Reassured that they would remain in contact with their own people, the politicos began returning home.
The end-of-talks surprise was a move out of the pens and into standard accommodation. They were bunked two men to a room, each room fitted with well-sprung beds, media centres, and en-suite bathrooms. If they ignored the bars on the windows, the guards on the main entrance door and the plastic cutlery, it felt less like a prison.
Once they settled in, Petroff added one final condition. It was added as though it was an afterthought, although it was nothing but. The rebels were to stay away from the general project population: very few of them were familiar with the finer points of the project; most of them were contract workers employed to crunch data, and they wouldn’t know where the data came from or who sourced it. The only employees allowed uncontrolled access to the Pathfinders were his positively-vetted employees, and only these employees would be aware of the wormhole.
He wanted to keep it that way.
115
Project Last Horizon training began with a more detailed briefing of the goals of the “mission”, as the ex-rebels now referred to it.
The mission was to open up new and man-ready worlds for mass migration from Earth; across incredible distances, instantly, and without the need for spacecraft. For the first time since man had ventured into space, and ever since man began to consider its survival on far away worlds, there was now a chance—a very real chance—that every bloodline would survive. Space wouldn’t just be a refuge for a species, or a few privileged strands of DNA—it was for everyone and every strand.
Scat had slept on the arguments for and against continued resistance, and accepted he was in no position to push against the tide. However, neither he nor Goosen could genuinely accept Lynthax’s reassurances that they wouldn’t exact some measure of revenge a little further down the line. Nor could they trust their political leaders not to accept what Lynthax was offering them a little too cheaply. So they knew they needed to stay wary.
Nevertheless, they could see how the project had caught everyone’s imagination. It was leaving them breathless with anticipation. Somehow, they had to fit in.
It was a hugely ambitious p
rogramme; it was well funded and fabulously equipped. But there was excitement for other reasons. At a personal level, every Pathfinder was going to experience a series of human “firsts”. They were going to make history—every day.
Marvin offered some perspective:
‘Just think, Scat. In 10 or 20 thousand years’ time, people on Earth will be able to look up at one of these planets and see you arrive!’
That gave Scat the creeps.
Each of them received a solida-graf that threw up solid-looking hologram images. It also had a projectable keyboard. It wasn’t solid, of course—something in the solida-graf kept the location of its projection in view, or at least within sensor range, allowing it to sense the striking of the virtual keys. It took some getting used to, but it beat thumbing with one hand.
And bugbots were no longer just remotely controlled surveillance or mini-PIKL platforms; they were now capable of making decisions and operating independently.
The smaller versions carried species comparison and diagnostics software. They could also act as neuralnet interfaces and double up as communication relay stations.
The larger bugbots carried a wider range of hardware: long-range drones; disposable ground survey and mapping sensors; geo-thermal sensors; rad-sensors; mini-PIKLs; stuns; neural disrupters and mini light-tugs. Others carried mini-surgical bots and medical stores.
Everything suggested that Lynthax had been planning the mission for an awful long time.
Scat questioned the use of the high-powered weaponry, but Petroff told him to be patient and, besides, there was no point in getting too excited by it: he disabled the weapons on this side of the wormhole by adding safety-lock routines to the software.
Petroff saw the disappointment in Scat’s face.
‘Just get used to the equipment, Scat,’ Petroff told him. Everyone had to know how everything worked. They expected casualties.
What would cause the casualties, given each of the new planets was Earth-similar, no one would say for the time being.
Training on the wormhole itself was the most eagerly anticipated session of them all. An ex-ORF intelligence Staff Sergeant, known only as Dave, took the Trevon Chapter through their wormhole training. He was young, and good-natured but oozed a quiet confidence.