Peter Hamilton - Judas Unchained

“We agreed to back the formation of a navy,” Nigel said pointedly. “I don’t know what else we could have done.”

“Yeah,” Alan grunted. “It’s not exactly underfunded.”

“Relative to a species extinction crusade, which is what this is, I think we could have made more effort.”

Nigel nodded to the knot of people around Doi. “Politically difficult.”

“Which is why we dump them every five years,” Heather said. “We make the decisions, us humble three and the other Dynasties. Doi will do as she’s told, as will the Senate.”

“Not all of them,” Nigel said. “Don’t be that arrogant.”

“We built this civilization,” Heather said. “You more than all of us, Nigel. We cannot stand back when there are hard choices to be made.”

“This is all academic anyway,” Nigel countered. “We’ve lost those planets. Our warship/building program cannot be significantly expanded for months no matter how much we need more ships.”

“Do we need more ships?” Heather asked mildly. “There’s the Seattle Project.”

“Genocide them?” Nigel was surprised to hear her propose that option; he’d always assumed she favored a less drastic solution. Not that he’d ever thought of one.

“I think this has proved it’s either them or us, surely?”

“They’re aggressive, yes, but genocide…Come on, that’s got to be the last resort. I don’t think we’re at that stage yet.”

“You’re applying human scruples to a nonhuman problem. Their next attack will be bigger and stronger. And we know there’s going to be a ‘next,’ don’t we?”

“Once the navy finds the exit point of that massive wormhole the Primes constructed, we’ll be able to block them,” Alan said.

Heather gave him a disappointed smile. “Eliminate Hell’s Gateway? Care to bet your life on that? Because that’s what you’re doing.”

“Fuck you,” Alan spat. “It’s my territory that’s in the front line.”

“Let’s just calm down here,” Nigel said. “Heather, he’s right, we have to give the navy a chance to do what we built it for. I’m not prepared to authorize the genocide of an entire species, however belligerent.”

“And after their next strike takes out half of phase two space?”

“Then I’ll press the button myself.”

“I’m glad to hear it. In the meantime, I will be taking the same kind of precautions you’ve been doing for the last few months.”

Nigel sighed; he should have known the other Dynasties would eventually find out what he was doing. “Yeah well, I’m just playing safe.”

“That’s a very expensive way of being safe,” Alan said. “How much are you spending on those ships? I mean, Christ, Nigel, the hole in Augusta’s budget was big enough for us to find.”

“Which is why I don’t understand your reluctance to genocide the Primes,” Heather said; she sounded genuinely curious.

“Morality. We all have it, Heather, to some degree or other.”

“And your morality includes flying off and leaving the rest of us in the shit, does it?”

“If those ships are ever used, it will be when we’re past the point of salvation. There won’t be any Commonwealth left to protect.”

“Well, I hope you’re not going to deny us equal access to your hyperdrive technology.”

Nigel couldn’t help the flicker of disapproval on his face. “Progressive wormhole generator.”

“Excuse me?”

“FTL starships use progressive wormhole generators.”

“Right,” Alan said, nonplussed. “Whatever. We need them, Nigel.” His hand waved down at the refugees. “Given this crock of shit, I’m putting my Dynasty’s escape route together. All of us are.”

“You can have generators for your ships,” Nigel said. “I’ll be happy to sell them to you.”

“Thank you,” Heather said. “In the meantime, we’d better present a united front for the War Cabinet and the Senate.” She nodded down at the President. “She has to be given a big injection of confidence. People will turn to her; they always do in times of crisis. If they can see for certain that she’s firmly in charge, it’ll help keep the panic down.”

“Sure.” Nigel shrugged.

“What about Wilson?” Alan asked.

“What about him?” Nigel said.

“Oh, come on! Twenty-three worlds invaded, and Wessex targeted as well. That asshole let it happen. He’s responsible.”

“He’s the best one for the job,” Nigel said. “You can’t replace him.”

“For now,” Heather said. “But another screwup like this, and we will eject him.”

He gave her a hard look. “And replace him with Rafael?”

“He’s pro-genocide. That gets my vote.”

“We don’t need games right now, Heather.”

“Who’s playing? We’re facing extinction, Nigel. If the solution involves shifting the navy to my control, then that is what will happen.”

Nigel couldn’t remember the two of them going raw like this before. The trouble with Heather was that she could only think in terms of everything that had gone before. She had an astonishing determination and political ability. You couldn’t build a Dynasty without those qualities. Nigel always considered her flaw to be a lack of originality. Even now, she saw the Prime situation purely in terms of its effect on her Dynasty. “If that’s the only solution you can see, then go for it,” he told her. It drew him a suspicious look. He ignored it. If she couldn’t see her way around this problem, he certainly wasn’t going to tell her.

***

Despite all she’d triumphed through on Elan, Mellanie still felt a great deal of trepidation as she stepped up to the dark wooden door of Paula Myo’s Parisian apartment block. It said a lot about the Hive woman that just the idea of confronting her again could do that. Mellanie knew that she was the special one now, that the SI inserts gave her huge powers, that she actually had the courage to stand in front of MorningLightMountain’s soldier motiles and take them down—well, the SI had through her, but that didn’t alter the fact that she hadn’t turned tail and run. So why do I feel so nervous?

She checked the bulky centuries-old intercom box beside the door, and pressed the worn ceramic button for Paula Myo’s apartment. Somewhere inside a buzzer sounded. Her e-butler immediately told her Paula Myo was placing a call to her unisphere address. Mellanie resisted the instinct to look around for a camera. Even if the sensor was big enough to be visible, it was late evening, and the sunlight had almost faded, dropping the narrow street into deep shadow. Above her, the windows looking out from the high walls were all shuttered. The few intermittent streetlights above the uneven pavement did little to alleviate the gloom.

“Yes?” Paula Myo asked.

“I need to see you,” Mellanie said.

“I don’t need to see you.”

“But I did what you said. I talked to Dudley Bose.”

“And what has that got to do with me?”

Mellanie gave the door an aggravated stare. “You were right, I did find something interesting.”

“Which was?”

“The Starflyer.” There was such a long pause that Mellanie thought Myo had cut her off. She had to check her virtual vision to confirm the channel was still open.

The lock clicked loudly. Mellanie just had time to square her shoulders before the door opened. She’d toned down her clothes for this encounter, selecting some of the more sober items from her personal fashion line: a half-sleeve burgundy jacket and matching skirt longer than her usual, its hem nearly halfway to her knees. It was a compilation that should emphasize how serious and professional she was these days.

A single polyphoto circle was fixed to the top of the deep archway that led to the block’s central courtyard. Paula Myo was silhouetted in its yellow glow, dressed in her usual conservative-cut business suit. Mellanie hadn’t realized before, but she was taller than the Investigator.