The Rhine Read online

  He heard Jung sigh. "Of course not."

  Shultz felt relief flood through his system. Running a government was not something you could do by yourself, let alone surreptitiously supporting a violent resistance with the intention of forcing a tyrannical overload like the UN into granting Mars economic freedom. He needed Jung— he needed someone on the same page with him.

  "I'm saying," Jung continued. "That maybe we're pressing too hard. Maybe what we need is more finesse and less brute force."

  "Finesse and diplomacy won't win this. You pointed that out yourself when you asked me about the petitions," Shultz said. "The UN Council needs to see angry people. If the charter businesses pull out it hits them in their collective pocketbook. That's the only pressure point they have ... the only weakness we can exploit. When the money stops they will lift the embargo."

  "Or they send Compton more soldiers and force us to declare martial law."

  Shultz turned to look at Jung. He was looking at his glass, moving his hand to roll the ice around. Martial law. It was a fair point. Historically speaking big governments were known for cracking down when their authority was bucked. But he didn't think it would go that far. UNSEC was stretched thin out-system, hunting Jung's FMN privateers and trying to protect corporate ore haulers, and the easy answer to keep money flowing from Mars was to lift the embargo. Modi and his gang of rich thugs wouldn't rake in the kind of money they were used to, but they would still make huge kick-backs and payoffs from the mining consortiums. And of course, once the bombings stopped and things settled down businesses would feel safe ... Mars would be attracting companies to its burrows.

  Jung knew all this. They talked about the possibility of one or all of the Big Three pulling out because of the bombings.

  "Martial law might be a legitimate concern, but what's really bothering you?" Shultz asked. Jung could be frustratingly ... enigmatic, less blunt ... he didn't quite know the label to use. But it meant that he said one thing while slowly working his way around to what was really on his mind— whatever that was called.

  "The escalations," Jung said, taking a heavy breath. "The people that are doing this are starting to enjoy it, I think. Weston wasn't entirely wrong when he called them a bunch of angry college kids."

  "Okay. And?"

  "I'm beginning to wonder if they see an end to this, in their minds. If the embargo is lifted, what next? What will they do? Go home and forget about everything? And the movement is growing, we control only a few cells. At some point people with mixed motives will become involved. At Northpoint Burrow there's already a pro-life group that's shouting FMN mantras."

  Shultz walked to the sidebar and poured himself a drink, if only to give himself time to think. "Control," he said, finally. "You think we'll lose control."

  "I think it's inevitable, yes. If we don't slow them down, limit the intel we're passing to the cell leaders or give them a new direction, then at some point we'll be facing a terrorist organization with the fire power to make and enforce demands. Demands that may not be ours."

  Shultz took a gulp of his drink, the whiskey scorching his throat. He exhaled. That voice of caution and reason, coming from Jung, sounded strange. It made it seem like he was on the fence. If Shultz knew one thing it was that this ... war ... against the UN wouldn't be won with the voice of caution and reason.

  15 - Misaki

  The light was bright.

  It threatened to burn her retina ... and then her optic nerve ... and sear into her brain and scorch out her mind ... then down into her lungs ...

  Misaki woke in the darkness of her quarters aboard the Sadie. She was sweating, and gasping for air ... like she was drowning in one of Earth's polluted oceans, the relentless gravity pulling her down into cold darkness. She lay in the security of the rack's webbing, shaking and slowing her breathing. It's okay, you're alive. You can breathe, you're safe. Detox was a wonderful experience.

  Her gut hurt. She gritted her teeth and pulled the webbing back and sat up, drifting a little. The clock stuck to the bulkhead at the end of her rack read 13:40. Ship time was subjective, but it was usually synced with Universal Time Coordinated. Whoever put the clock there clearly wanted to torture her ... watching the seconds tick down while she went through withdrawals seemed to extend the fun.

  The light was a reoccurring dream, and its image was something that she focused on when she closed her eyes for any length of time, because the other images that waited for her were worse. One good thing about the withdrawal symptoms, when they peaked it took her mind off everything but the sickening feeling in her stomach and the dizziness. There was a box of emesis bags conveniently strapped to the side of the rack within hand reach. She grabbed one and dry-heaved into it.

  Taking a deep breath she pushed off, and shoving the bag in the disposal she went to the closet and pulled out her coveralls. The stenciling now read Iriyama. It was an attempt to make her feel like she was a part of the crew ... make her feel safe. Like they were all on the same baseball team. The crew of the Sadie didn't know her past, where and what she had come from. She hadn't allowed their conversations to go beyond her name and basic needs.

  She dressed and left the small cabin. Floating down the corridor she passed the hatch to Medical. The temptation to try the control pad was a seductive whisper in the animal part of her psyche. It would be locked, she knew. She was a good enough engineer to bypass the lock with a flathead ... which she could get from the emergency locker, just a few meters aft at the end of the corridor ... but ... but she didn't want the rest of the baseball team to see her this way. Not now that her right mind was coming back. And they would know. They checked on her regularly, if not in person then with cameras. It was a bit unnerving, knowing that she was being watched. They're not the crew—beasts— of the tug, she reminded herself. You're safe. They had even given her a handcomm ... she could listen to music ... they even offered to let her make a call to family if she wanted. The latter was not necessary, and might cause complications. Safe, Saki, you're safe.

  Misaki stopped at the hatch to the gallery, took two deep breaths, then opened it. She was right, they were all three around the table. Mat, the black guy who was strapped in a chair, was the captain and he liked to eat with everyone when the ship wasn't in maneuvers or under heavy thrust. He was harmless. The bleary-eyed Russian, floating and holding on to the table, was the pilot. He wasn't a threat, but smelled of alcohol most of the times that she found herself in the same space with him. The last one, the big guy with the flattop and always fresh shave, was floating with his arms crossed and the toe of one magboot hooked under the railing around the foot of the table ... he was dangerous. Haydon was the mechanic, but everything about him said military. He seemed to know that he made her uncomfortable and went out of his way to be friendly, because it was impossible to avoid each other on a mining ship like the Sadie.

  When they saw her they stopped their conversation and as one smiled. It was comical. Mat was holding something like a green bean on the end of his fork. Haydon's face looked ... molded ... like an actor with makeup on. And Yuri was drunk.

  She understood what they were trying to do ... trying to appear nonthreatening. All the same team here. Feel better? Just the guys having something to eat ... how about you, hungry? Intentions aside, it made her feel self-conscious.

  No one spoke, afraid the sound of their voice would shatter her in to a million pieces of Japanese porcelain.

  "Mat," she said, bracing one hand on the hatch frame and the toe of her magboot on the deck. "I ... ahh, I'm feeling really bad." Then trying to sound like a doctor or engineer and not an addict she said, "It's been about twelve hours. I think it's time for another dose."

  He glanced up at the clock on one bulkhead then unstrapped, saying, "Right, right. You were sleeping so ..."

  Pushing off he floated over the table and to the hatch.

  "Hey, Misaki," Haydon said. "Come eat with us when you're done. Mat brought out the good stuff today." />
  She made a small smile— for everyone's benefit— and replied, "After my stomach settles."

  The hatch closed and Mat led the way down the corridor.

  "Did you sleep well?" He asked. Misaki tried not to let his small talk irritate her ... she could hear her heartbeat in her ears and her chest felt tight. She licked her lips and squeezed her eyes closed for a moment before saying, "Not so well."

  "It will get better," he assured her. Perhaps he was talking from experience, but it sounded like more small talk.

  He worked the control pad to the Medical hatch and when it opened he waved her in. Another show of politeness ... nonthreatening. It said, I'm not like the men on the tug.

  Trying to keep the bile down in her stomach, she reached out to grip the hatchway and saw her hand trembling. It was the withdrawals and not any ill intent she felt from Mat. Her mother's voice— her unmistakable Kansai dialect— whispered something about politeness in her ear and she said, "Thank you." Then pulled herself into the cabin, drifting toward the medbed.

  To prove that she wasn't an invalid, or maybe it was just pride, she strapped herself in and unzipped the front of her coveralls and pulled one arm out, laying it on the arm of the medbed.

  "We still don't know what this stuff is," he was saying as he floated to the cabinet and entered the unlock code. "It's too complex for the Sadie's Medical computer to break down."

  She had no idea what the drug was. An obvious narcotic, the tug crew had it the day they took her. Between the abuse and the euphoria it hadn't taken her long to become addicted to it. Compliance— willingness— followed immediately. And she hated herself for it, and there was no solace in the gaps of her memory, because there were no gaps. The drug made things cloudy, but didn't erase the memory. But when Misaki suddenly found herself on a different ship and was told the tug was a floating junk yard thousands of klicks behind them, with all its vile horrors, some part of her realized that she had a chance to pull out of what was done to her. And, of course, she had a reason for living.

  Mat turned with a syringe, a carefully measured amount of milky white liquid in it. She knew he hated this part, and she could do it herself. But he wouldn't let her.

  "Ready?" He asked.

  She nodded and watched as he brought the needle down on her arm. He was frowning. She thought it was because of the drug, but followed his eyes to a series of knife scars on her arms.

  "Mat, it doesn't hurt anymore," she told him. "I'm not a China doll."

  "I know. You're Japanese."

  "I mean, stop the fake smiles."

  "They're not fake," he insisted.

  She said, a little too hard, "You're doing it now."

  "I'm sorry, we just ... you've been through ..."

  "I know what you are doing, but I won't break if people act normal. And in another week my body will be weaned off this stuff. I'll be able to think clearly, and I'll be useful." God, she wanted to be useful. Because lying in a rack watching the time loop over and over would make anybody want to use drugs.

  He threw the syringe in the disposal and she put her arm back in her coveralls. Her heart rate was starting to quicken and the twisting sensation in the pit of her stomach was ebbing away. There was a slight numbness around her lips and down the sides of her neck. She took a breath and closed her eyes, forcing herself not to look at the light overhead. The sudden rush made her want to smile, she hoped she wasn't, but couldn't tell because of the numbness.

  It ended quickly. She wasn't high, it was just like she had one more drink than she should have. That thought set off a chain of images of her at a Christmas party back home ... millions upon millions of kilometers away out there in the dark, floating around that blue white ball ... focus.

  When she opened her eyes Mat was still there, watching her vitals. Just like the last three times they did this. Just like she knew he would be.

  She sat up, looking at the medbed's screen. Some blocking of neurotransmitters, blood pressure and heart rate were slightly elevated. Nothing like the full dose the laughing, jeering men of ... focus.

  "How do you feel?" Mat asked in that low, gentle voice.

  To her the screen said it all, but that wasn't what he meant. "I'm okay," she said. "Some focusing issues, but that will pass."

  Undoing the strap over her waist she pushed up slightly and floated. He sat in the crash chair watching her.

  "Mat, there's something I want to do." It wasn't really a desire, but something that might take their mind off her fragile condition. A show of will.

  "Sure ... ?"

  She pushed off toward the hatch, opened it and floated out into the corridor. When she looked back he was following, his forehead crinkled with curiosity ... or more likely concern.

  When she floated in the galley Haydon and Yuri were still at the table, laughing and talking. They stopped.

  "You hungry now?" Haydon asked. His smile was annoying. So much so that she felt heat rise in her face. Or maybe it was the drug.

  "Listen," she said, moving further inside the cabin to allow Mat to slip around her.

  "You have asked me a lot of questions and I can answer them now," she said. "At least most of them." She paused and let Mat pull around to face her. When all three of them were in her view she continued.

  "I was an engineer aboard the Pendleton. Two weeks before you found me we were mining gas over Saturn."

  Then she told them everything she thought would satisfy their curiosity. She had served on the Pendleton family mining ship for almost three years. They were leaving Saturn, lining out for their drop-off point, when the pirate tug appeared and shot out their main thruster. They were boarded, but Roger Pendleton, the captain, managed to seal the Flight deck and attempted to negotiate with the pirates. Two of his crewmen were kill because he refused to release the locking clamps on the canisters. The Flight deck hatch was breached, and Captain Pendleton along with his wife and son were murdered in front of her. Misaki was taken captive.

  Haydon, the smile on his face gone and his eyes serious, asked her if she knew the name of the tug. She said she did not. Where did they drop the canisters they took from the Pendleton? She said she did not know, they kept her high or locked up most of the time.

  She left out the part in her story that exposed her as a coward.

  They were still staring at her when she stopped speaking, then Mat pulled a mealbox from the cabinet and held it up. "Meatloaf good?"

  Haydon smiled and pushed Yuri out of the way, saying, "Give the lady some room."

  16 - Stockerman

  Greg Stockerman had served the Koch family for twenty-two years. He had practically grown up with Alexandria, and when Ignatius Koch, her father, passed, his service— or leash— had smoothly came into her hands. When she married and became a Reinhardt it had taken her husband, Adam, some time to get used to the idea that Greg spent more time with his wife than he did.

  He was reminiscing on these facts and playing out the history of his relationship with the family in order to find the most precarious and dangerous moments in his service to them. Because, escorting the head of the family business to Harmony dome so she could give a speech to a growing crowd of irate plant workers in which she promised nothing specific and yet assure them that everything was going to be okay sounded like it should be at the top of such a list.

  "I know what you're thinking," Alexandria said.

  They were strapped in the crash seats of a corporate shuttle, seventeen minutes out from the dome. Par usual she was working on her handcomm. Greg sat with his arms folded, staring at the hatch to the pilot's cabin. The seats around them were filled with her staff and his company security officers.

  She looked up from her handcomm and gave him a slight smile before turning back to her work.

  He shifted in the seat and frowned. "I get why you're doing this, but you could have done it from the office. A screen conference."

  "Nothing like the personal touch, Greg," she replied.


  She was right about that. Her presence would add weight to her hollow words. And make it easier to stab her, kidnap her, or outright kill her. If she were back at the office, tucked away behind building security and layer upon layer of concrete, it would be impossible to do those things to her.

  "I'm just concerned about UNSEC limiting the number of men I can take with us."

  "Umhmm. There will be plenty of soldiers there to help you guard my august person."

  Now she was teasing him by making light of the situation. It had been that way since she was fifteen or sixteen, as he recalled. The woman seemed to care little for her personal safety. Even less so after the tragedy of losing her daughter.

  "How soon can we expect that business on Mars to bear fruit," she asked, still focusing on her handcomm.

  "It's fluid," he said. "We've already discussed this. You're just trying to shift my attention to something else."

  "Well," she said thoughtfully. "It is a long game, and that is where I need your attention."

  "It's taken care of."

  She glanced at him. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."

  No. It was yesterday morning. With all the preparations and personnel selections he hadn't slept. He was running on light stims and training. It would have helped if this hadn't been a sudden decision on her part. He could have sent some of his people up days earlier, to get a feel for the area where she was going to give the speech. It would be nice to have twice as many pair of eyes on the spot than they allowed him to bring.

  The overhead lights turned blue, darkening the cabin, and a soft ding sounded followed by a calm female voice. "We have begun our deceleration and are on final approach to Harmony dome. Please stay strapped in and secure all hand held items. We should touch down in about twelve minutes. Thank you."

  "Relax, Greg," Alexandria told him, and put her handcomm in her purse. "We'll be done and heading back to Earth in an hour."

  He let it go, and they both leaned their heads back as deceleration kicked in and the seats shifted on their tracks.