Ben Chaney - Son of Sedonia

“We got it,” she said to Matteo, “Corey should have everything working soon. You sure you want to do this?” Matteo knelt by the muddy water. A metal flower with a small lit candle in its center drifted from his hands, joining a flickering current of flowers. He stood, turned, and looked at her, rubbing his fingers tightly against his palms. After a deep breath, he nodded. Looked back out at the water.

“Thousands of people are about to watch my life… They should know what I think about it,” Matteo said.

“They should, indeed,” said Utu. Matteo shook the nerves out of his arms and squared himself to Liani.

“Okay,” he said. Liani pressed a finger to her temple, calling up her Neural’s camera mode.

“Remember, you’re just talking to me… tell me what you want to say,” she said, framing him in the floating interface. She tapped the record button and held up her hand.

“Okay… five, four, three,” Liani held up two fingers. Then one. Pointed at Matteo. He lowered his head. Took three long breaths into his belly, and looked up into Liani’s eyes.

“My name is Matteo. But I was born Aden Rindal. Son of Alan and Patricia Rindal. I’ve lost family on both sides of the Border. My City mother and father when I was a baby. My Rasalla brother who raised me, to the War. You’re about to see events in my life that… that changed yours. All of ours. And you’re about to see the plans of the people who think they own the world. I won’t tell you what to think about all this. Your life is up to you. But after you’ve seen this story, take a look around. Ask how you’d change things if you could. Then know that you can. I am a Son of Sedonia, from both City and Slums. We’re in this together.”

THE SLIGHT COLD, burning sensation in Janice Prescott’s veins grated at her last nerve. Each one of these yearly treatments felt worse than the last. Probably because these sadists keep upping the dosage. A cadre of the world’s best doctors and nurses buzzed around the pristine infirmary, monitoring Janice’s vitals, taking samples, and fine-tuning the fresh nanotech as it settled into her decaying cells. Hooked up to wires and tubes, she felt like the TVs of her twentieth century childhood. All the irritations that came with immortality.

The Narayana progress reports didn’t help. Documents in her Neural showed that fuel was frozen at eighty-two percent capacity. Not near enough for launch. Leave alone the fact that entire sections of the hull were still open to Space. It was comfortable progress for their pre-Intervention timetable, but the ‘Son of Sedonia’ broadcasts stuck a fork in those plans.

A thousand needles suddenly raked Janice’s chest. Ugh, god dammit, just stick a fork in ME!

“Please, Mrs. Prescott, try to relax,” said the doctor through his clean-mask, “A spike in your cortisol production could complicate the exchange.”

“Relax. That’s your advice, Lucius? Just relax? Have you even been conscious for the past month?! Do you have a planet’s worth of damage control to manage?” Prescott’s anger cooled to a sour distress as she saw the Doctor’s reaction. The anti-aggro dose had made the man bloody sensitive. The nurses cowered too as they monitored and adjusted the state-of-the-art equipment.

“We’re done here,” Prescott said, swinging her frail, Augged legs out of bed, “I have far too much on my agenda right now to—”

The door to the hall whispered open, revealing a familiar face at the door.

“Marcus, my savior! Take me away from all this,” said Janice. Marcus, second on the PRG board, stepped into the room with the soft clack of his lambskin shoes. Hands folded behind his back. The usual charming humor she’d come to admire was gone from his tanned, weathered features.

“Nobidyne has called a meeting. We’ve assembled on the Veranda,” said Marcus.

“Right…” Janice sighed. She straightened her neck through a stab of pain, “Give me a moment to ‘detach’ and dress. I’ll meet you in the hall.”

The nurses around her quietly got to work removing the tubes from Janice’s taut, dry skin. Fire shot up her arm as one of the IVs slipped out of a vein.

“Enough!” Janice waved them off and did the rest herself.

With brittle posture forced upright by the Augs under her pantsuit, Janice met Marcus in the vaulted hall and from there they walked to the tram entrance. Together, they entered the open car and sat facing each other. She studied his grim, wrinkled expression as they coasted to top speed.

“How bad is it?” asked Prescott.

“Bad,” said Marcus, “They want to clip our time-table by another six months.”

“ Six months?! That’s—”

“Impossible, yes. But Alhaka, Qin, and Seelatek are all on track to launch their fleets before that . The trip to Gliese may take twenty dull years of travel time, but months are going to count in the first land-grab,” said Marcus. “Territories will be claimed.”

“New nations founded on prime real estate, yes. But if we launch prematurely, we won’t make the fucking trip! ” said Janice.

“And if we don’t accelerate, Nobidyne will leave without us. Taking the lion’s share of the supplies, personnel, and equipment with them. Three G-ships to our one,” Marcus, short of breath, tapped a few buttons in his Neural. Took in a smooth, even breath with the sudden release. “They need to be reassured.”

“Reassured,” Janice repeated to herself. She looked, with weary eyes, out of the tram’s clear canopy. The sprawling green preserve below them was coming along, to be sure, but the workers were still in the planting stages. Full crop rotation was at least another ‘season’ away, and there would be a lot of debugging to do. Both on the facility and the personnel.

“We had their consent to let the Themis riots escalate into a rebellion. The Invasion, the Intervention, martial law… all of it right on schedule. Now they want what? For me to fall on my sword because of this… externality? ”

“Letting Sato handle it was your call, Janice,” said Marcus.

Prescott couldn’t argue with that. Not without sounding like a pathetic child, especially to Marcus. How the hell was I supposed to know what Alan Rindal hid inside his own son?! She pursed her thin lips and scowled. Through the tram canopy and the Preserve’s colossal geo-dome, the curvature of the Earth pressed down on her. Amongst the sprawling grid-webs of light on the planet’s surface, tiny explosions winked in the dark. A few glowing strands and branches faded to black with each blast.

“Regardless,” Marcus continued, “We have to convince them to wait. By any means.”

Janice sighed.

“Agreed.”

Their tram car arrived at the marble pillared terminal, and they both stepped out. Climbed the spiral stairs to the Preserve Veranda. Janice had helped design the modest finery of the circular Veranda platform. Granite tiles, green topiaries around the edges, upholstered wicker furniture… It could have been part of the family’s Mediterranean villa she’d visited as a girl.

The entire board had assembled there, some seated and comfortable, with others standing and shiftless. Janice spotted an extra face among them. Nathan, her eldest nephew, sat on the end of a couch. He took a glass of brandy from one of the uniformed server’s trays. Sniffed it with his surgically straightened nose. What is that idiot doing here?

“It looks like we’re all here. Are we ready to proceed?” asked Prescott. A general mutter of consent answered her. Everyone tapped their temples, revealing a shared Neural display hovering above the coffee table.