Vertigo: Aurora Rising Book Two (7 page)

She gestured for him to sit. “Very well. Ask your questions.”

ROMANE

I
NDEPENDENT
C
OLONY

The government transport banked up and away from the soaring towers and cool lavender horizon decorated by the long evening light of Romane’s second sun.

As they entered the atmosphere corridor Marcus Aguirre initiated a livecomm with Prime Minister Barrera. The man took several seconds to look up from a small screen in his hand, and wore a preoccupied visage when he did. “Marcus. How did things go?”

He gave Barrera a troubled grimace. “Not as well as I’d hoped, I’m afraid. Governor Ledesme staked out the moral high ground of peace-loving independence and refused to declare Romane support for the Alliance in the war. She appears to presume the benefits of retaining Federation trade will outweigh the cost of losing Alliance support.”

“Hmm. Unfortunate, but not entirely unexpected. You judge her position to be inflexible?”

“Quite. To be frank, she exhibited overconfidence bordering on arrogance. She overestimates her power.”

“How do you suggest we move forward?”

He made a show of considering the question. “I think perhaps we allow her to discover what it costs to lose them both. We can justify a blockade of the major trade routes along the southern Federation border. It’s a smart strategic move in any event, and will conveniently cut off most Senecan trade to Romane. Publicly we express regret for any disruption it causes Romane and other colonies. Privately we exert pressure on large Alliance corporations to cease doing business with Romane-based interests.”

“You think she’ll fold?”

“No question. Within weeks I expect, if not sooner. Trade fuels Romane, and in its absence her high-minded ‘independence’ principles will quickly succumb to more practical necessities.”

Barrera exhaled; it was a heavy, ponderous act. Prime Minister for only days, the weight of a galactic war was already showing in the deepening lines around his eyes and the drooping set of his shoulders. “I’ll discuss a blockade with General O’Connell and Admiral Rychen later this evening. You’re on the way to Sagan now?”

“Yes, sir. It’s a long trip, but I have several holo conferences scheduled on the way.”

“I expect the Sagan government will be far more amenable to our proposal.”

“They have far less to lose and a reasonable amount to gain. Their support will unfortunately be worth less than Romane’s but will solidify all major colonies in the southeastern region under Alliance control.”

“Indeed, and that can’t be a bad thing. Best of luck, Marcus. Keep me posted.”

“And to you, sir.” Marcus ended the link with a touch of sadness, cognizant it would probably be the last time he saw Luis Barrera. He was a decent man as politicians went, and had been a friend and true ally. But he would be far from the first decent person to be sacrificed for the greater good, and likely not the last.

Marcus was currently flying halfway around the settled galaxy for two reasons. As Foreign Minister for the Earth Alliance, strengthening diplomatic relations with non-Alliance worlds was above all else his job, and one never more important than during a war. This dovetailed with the second reason: the aliens were moving fast—far too fast—and his options were dwindling rapidly.

From where he sat today, the best of those dwindling options was to hypercharge the war, win the war and pull the galaxy inward under Alliance domination. Yet thus far the war was a stalemate at best…which would have been fine if he had more time. A protracted stalemate had even been a key part of the original plan.

But he didn’t have more time. So he needed to find the Alliance more allies and soon. There were twenty-one independent colonies; most were fringe movements or the fantasy fulfillment of wealthy narcissists, but nine or ten held resources, power or a location advantage which would benefit the Alliance. Also not to be discounted was the psychological boon from independent colonies publicly declaring support for the Alliance in the war.

Together it might be enough to shift the tide.

When the alien had first contacted him some thirty-seven years ago, he had not imagined this chaos—this high-stakes game of empyrean brinkmanship—was where it would lead.

Fresh off winning the Miami District Attorney race, he was kicked back at his desk enjoying a Glenlivet 21.

Greetings.

Marcus jerked, startled, then checked his eVi for the source of the communication. There was no name or address attached to it. He hadn’t received nor accepted a livecomm request. Was he being hacked? He instructed his eVi to raise defensive barriers.

Those are not necessary.

He straightened up in the chair. Hearing voices in one’s head was no longer a marker of insanity; in modern communications people heard voices in their heads all the time. But
this
voice wasn’t attached to any person with an identity registered in the exanet infrastructure. He took a deep breath.

“To whom am I speaking?”

We can discuss the matter in a moment. Congratulations on your election victory. It is a notable achievement for one so young. Not your first, though.

“If you’re trying to imply you somehow know a lot about me, you’re doing a poor job of it. A brief exanet query will reveal I’ve achieved much and am expected to achieve much more.”

Yes. Does an exanet query reveal your success as leader of the Catumbi Turma in Rio de Janeiro, or your domination of the Zelones cartel there?

He carefully stood, his voice dropping dangerously in tenor. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I grew up on the Louisiana gulf, where I lived until I went to university in Florida.”

You did not.

“I beg your pardon?”

Marcus Aguirre is a manufactured identity provided to you by Olivia Montegreu in 2269. Your entire life history before the day you arrived at the University of Miami in 2271 is a lie.

That
bitch
! Did she suppose his newfound if modest fame meant she could gain something by holding his past over him? He had thought it beneath her.

Olivia Montegreu did not betray your secret.

“Oh, you can see what I’m thinking as well?”

No. It was merely a logical deduction.

A chill radiated from the base of his neck as he began to realize whatever this conversation was, it was of tremendous significance. He belatedly activated a privacy shield in the office to ensure the remainder of the interaction remained confidential. “Very well. You owe me an answer—to whom am I speaking?”

We are other than you.

“Alien, you mean?” Aliens had not yet been encountered, which didn’t make it any less possible they existed. The other options were, what? Ghosts? Gods? Angels or demons? He believed in none of these things.

It is a sufficient designation.

Jesús Christo, this ‘alien’ was obtuse. “And how do you know these details about me?”

We know many things.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Perhaps not. We are…observers of humanity.

“I see. What is it you ‘observe’ about us?”

Everything.

He paused to consider the assertion. The being could be lying, or generalizing to exaggeration. If it were not, the implications were troublesome to say the least. Such a capability seemed incomprehensible, and for all intents and purposes godlike…then he recalled Sir Clarke’s Third Law: Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Didn’t mean it
was
magic.

“What do you want of me?”

For now, nothing. You are a uniquely talented individual: highly intelligent compared to others of your species, manipulative, deceptive, charismatic, driven, ruthless but not sadistic. You have much potential.

He had nothing to say to that, so he simply waited.

Continue on your path. Focus your ambitions, and you will achieve greatness. If we can provide assistance at certain junctures, we will do so if a manner is available to us. We will call upon you from time to time, as our needs require.

Now he understood. They had resources beyond him—of course they did—but limited ability to act themselves, for whatever reason. They needed someone in a position of power to do their bidding. If he refused them, they were capable of using their other resources to destroy everything he had painstakingly built—his career, his reputation, his growing wealth, his idyllic and only mostly for appearances marriage—and it would be a trivial matter for them to do so.

Unless they weren’t so powerful as their arrogance insinuated…but that wasn’t a risk he dared take. Not yet.

He realized he was thinking of his conversation partner in the plural, because it was how it referred to itself. “Do you have a name?”

No.

“Is there more than one of you? Are you a hive mind? A collective intelligence? You refer to yourself in the plural.”

So I do. No. Consider me a…spokesperson.

He supposed it was the most straightforward answer he would be able to wrangle. “And what should I call you, individually?”

If you require an honorific, you may refer to me as Hyperion.

The titan of Greek mythology…the alien didn’t lack for hubris. “Do you require anything of me?”

We—I—merely wished to introduce myself. And, as was said, convey my congratulations.

Then the voice was gone. It was many hours before he left the office that night, hours spent pondering this new complication in his already exceedingly complicated life.

It was six years before he heard from the alien again. He had been embroiled in a tight race for Southeastern District Attorney against the son of the Alliance Commerce Minister and struggling to overcome his opponent’s superior name recognition and connections. Then the man had turned up dead, despite his spotless reputation found naked in a pleasure club booth. His brain had been fried by an overdose of a particularly potent neuro-chimeral.

The next day Hyperion had contacted him to inform him they were pleased to have been able to clear an obstacle for him.

He hadn’t asked for the help, hadn’t wanted it and believed he hadn’t needed it. The aliens, however, apparently hadn’t been inclined to take any chances that his upward trajectory might be slowed. Or perhaps it had been a not-so-subtle way to demonstrate the power they held, even from afar, lest he consider rejecting future overtures.

If so, he had learned a slightly different lesson. He now knew something of what these aliens could do for him.

6

SENECA

C
AVARE

I
SABELA
M
ARANO TRAILED
her mother through the house, surreptitiously straightening furniture and picking up forgotten dishes and trash. It wasn’t a pit as such, merely unkempt. Arguably messy.

Her mother ambled into the kitchen, and her stealth cleaning became more problematic. She hurriedly dropped the dishes in the sink and the trash in the chute while her mother’s back was still turned.