Earth Awakens (The First Formic War) (26 page)

“Not closure. That suggests he didn’t make it to Luna. I’m certain he did.”

“You say that, but I see the doubt in your eyes.” He sighed softly. “He tried to cross the system in a quickship, Rena. This is impossible. There is no chance your son is still alive.”

“Don’t talk to me about chances. You do not know my son.”

He held up his hands. “I have offended you. That was not my intent.”

Rena ran a hand through her hair, calming herself. “This is not just about Victor. There are other advantages here. With a subscription we would have a continuous link to Themis’s receiver. We’d be in the network. We’d get news from distant places in the Belt. We could better track vultures.”

“These are all wonderful benefits, Rena. But we can’t afford it. We are a salvage ship.”

“What if we weren’t?”

Her question confused him. “What are you saying?”

“What if we made this a mining ship?”

He laughed. “The Gagak is no mining ship. We’re barely a salvage ship.”

“What difference does that make? El Cavador was in no better condition when we started.”

His smile faded. “You’re serious about this.”

“If we’re mining rock, we’ll make far more money. The thought hadn’t occurred to me until now, but it makes complete sense. We can help each other. The women and I want our own ship. The faster we bring in revenue, the faster we can make that possible.”

“Consider what you’re saying, Rena. We don’t have the equipment. We would need smelters, diggers, quickships. We don’t have any of that.”

“So we get it. Piece by piece. We’re salvagers. We find what we need, or we trade for it. We’ve got some of that stuff in our haul right now. Not much, but enough to get started.”

He shook his head. “We don’t have a credit rating, Rena. Even if we could dig, Luna would never take anything we send them.”

“
You
don’t have a credit rating, but El Cavador does. I propose a partnership. Your ship and your crew; plus my crew, our expertise, and our credit rating. We split the profits. It’s not as far-fetched as it sounds.”

He looked uncomfortable. “No. I am sorry. A partnership is out of the question.”

“You can’t do this without us, Arjuna. We know the business. We know the tech. We have the credentials. It’s only fair that you make us full partners.”

“I agree. That is only fair. But I cannot partner with you, Rena. It’s not possible.”

“Why not?”

He hesitated. “Because … you are women.”

His words surprised her so much that it took a moment for their full meaning to sink in. Of course, she thought. He was Somali, a patriarchal society. He would lose face with his crew if he partnered with women. They would think him weak, soft, unmanly. He would lose command, maybe even his wives. A stronger man would step in and claim them, and Rena and the others would be pushed aside.

“You must understand,” he said. “It is nothing against you personally. This is simply who we are. You have your culture, and we have ours. I cannot ignore that for convenience.”

“No, you can’t. The partnership wouldn’t last. We would be ostracized. And so would you.”

“There is one possible solution,” he said, “but I do not think you will like it.”

She looked at him and waited.

“What you are proposing is a merger of tribes, Rena. This happens all the time in my country. It is done through a marriage.”

She blinked. “Marriage?”

“If I marry all nineteen of you, then you would be one with our tribe. My crew would agree to a business partnership. You would not be equal in station to my current wives, however. They are of my tribe by birth. You are not. You would be considered my concubines.”

Rena smiled, and it took everything she possessed not to start laughing. “Arjuna, I am flattered that you would so willingly take us on as your concubines, but we cannot marry you.”

“Then this conversation is at a close. I cannot enter a partnership with women who are not my wives. There would be mutiny.”

Rena considered this then said, “Why don’t we say that our husbands are away? We have never recovered their bodies. And in our tribe, women can speak for the family in their husbands’ absence. Ours would be a merger of tribes that recognizes our husbands in absentia.”

He shook his head. “My crew knows that your husbands have died, Rena. You have discussed their deaths with some of them. It doesn’t matter that we have not seen their bodies. We have seen your grieving faces, and that is worse.”

“What about the boys? Franco is twelve. That’s Bella’s son. He is the oldest male. We could say he is the leader of our tribe and this merger is his wish.”

Arjuna shook his head. “He is not man grown. He cannot speak for the tribe.”

“Then what about Victor? My son. He
is
a man grown. If I can prove that he’s alive, he would be the head of our tribe, would he not? He would speak for us. He could approve this merger.”

Arjuna frowned. “Why do I feel like I’ve just been painted into a corner? Do you lay all of your snares so delicately, Lady of El Cavador?”

“You can’t keep calling me that,” said Rena. “I’m not the only lady from that ship.”

“No, but you are the most regal of your tribe. The most worthy of that title.”

“I didn’t lay a snare. It just worked out that way.”

“That’s what’s every fox would say.”

She smiled. “In my tribe, to call a woman a fox is to call her beautiful.”

“You are certainly that, Lady, but in my tribe a fox has a different meaning altogether.”

“So are we in agreement?”

He gestured toward the helm. “Come. Let us see if the chief of your tribe still lives.”

CHAPTER 13

India

Mazer was running on a treadmill in a government safe house in New Delhi when the call finally came. He looked at his beeping wrist pad, saw that it was Wit, and stepped off the treadmill to answer it.

“Where are you?” asked Wit.

“Exercise room. Trying to keep from dying of boredom. Please tell me we can leave this building and be useful again.”

It was their tenth day in India. After a rocky entrance into the country—during which the Indian Air Force had threatened to shoot them down and fired a volley of warning shots—Wit had gotten on the radio and secured them a military escort to New Delhi. A decontamination crew had met them at the airport, and once Mazer, Wit, and Shenzu were clear of their biosuits, the military had taken them directly to the safe house, where they had remained under house arrest without any contact with the outside world.

“Shower and meet me and Shenzu in the lobby in ten minutes,” said Wit. “A car will take us to Gadhavi’s labs. He believes he has the answer.”

The goo guns they had brought from China had been confiscated the moment Mazer had landed in New Delhi. Dr. Gadhavi and his team had supposedly been hard at work on a counteragent ever since.

Mazer jogged back to his room and hit the shower. He met Wit and Shenzu in the lobby a few minutes later. A car and two junior officers of the Indian army were waiting outside. The officers sat in the front and drove them north of the city to a large government compound surrounded by military checkpoints. The driver weaved through the campus until he parked at the curb of a white office building. A decorated officer of the Indian military in his mid-fifties met them at the curb. He smiled wide when Wit stepped from the vehicle. The two men embraced and then Wit turned to the others.

“Captain Rackham, Captain Shenzu, I present a dear friend of mine, Major Khudabadi Ketkar of the Indian Para Commandos. His men trained with the MOPs before the invasion.”

Ketkar smiled good-naturedly and shook everyone’s hands. “What Captain O’Toole means is that his MOPs ran circles around our PCs. Like a cat playing with a blind, three-legged mouse. He even had the gall to kill me once during a mock battle. In my own office. I’m still assembling the shattered pieces of my pride.” He laughed, winked at Wit, then gestured to the main entrance. “But come. They are waiting for us.”

He led them inside to a security checkpoint, where a woman gave them each a visitor’s badge. A large brass seal hung on the wall behind her. It featured a Bengal tiger standing on an outcropping of rock above a cluster of lotus flowers. It bore the words:
NATIONAL BIODEFENSE AGENCY
. There was more written at the bottom in Devanagari script, but Mazer had no idea what it said.

Ketkar escorted them deeper into the building, passing through a wide atrium. There was an air of opulence to the place—not flagrantly so, but it was certainly not the bland utilitarian décor Mazer had come to expect from government agencies. Marble floors. Palm trees. A fountain. It felt more like a luxurious hotel. They went through another door and then they were outside again, this time in a beautifully landscaped plaza in the center of the building. Benches, flowers, pathways, small fruit trees. Ketkar stopped and faced them. “Before we go down, I wanted to take a moment to apologize on behalf of my government for keeping you confined to the safe house since your arrival. I’ve been ordered to tell you that we did so solely for your own protection, but you’re all too smart to believe that. This is a delicate political situation, gentlemen, as you can imagine, and my superiors are taking extreme precautions. No one was quite certain what to do with you, so they kept you locked down while they argued the matter.”

“What’s to argue?” asked Shenzu. “We came here for help.”

“Yes, but you didn’t come here on behalf of the Chinese government. This was not a sanctioned mission. You came here as three rogue soldiers. That made a few members of our National Security Council uneasy. Our relations with China are tense as it is. Many feared how China would respond if we helped you.”

“If the counteragent works,” said Shenzu, “China will take it gladly.”

“Yes,” said Ketkar, “but we’re not convinced that giving the counteragent to the Chinese military is the best course of action.”

Shenzu couldn’t hide his surprise. “What are you saying? You will let China burn? You will stand by while millions more die.”

“You misunderstand me, Captain. India wants to help. And will help. But handing over the counteragent to your military will not necessarily produce the best results. Your army is exhausted and spread too thin. You’ve lost your best field commanders, and you have pockets of survivors regrouping into units without any clear command structure. You’re fragmented and disorganized, Captain. We’re not certain China can get the job done.”

“You don’t mince words,” said Shenzu.

“This is war, Captain, not a dinner party. India cannot allow the Formics to reach our borders. We must do everything in our power to stop them now, in China. Dropping off barrels of the counteragent at the Chinese border won’t cut it.”

“What are you proposing?” asked Wit. “Troops?”

“Essentially,” said Ketkar. “The president wants to broker a deal with the Chinese in which we offer the counteragent if they agree to allow Indian PCs into China to help administer it. That’s why I’m involved in all of this.”

“The PCs are certainly capable,” said Wit.

“Yes, but the Chinese have been vehemently resistant to outside troops,” said Mazer. “Especially from India and Russia. It’s not like India is an ally. Are you sure China will agree to this?”

“They don’t have a choice,” said Ketkar. “They’re lost without the counteragent. The entire southeast coast has fallen, from Hong Kong to Shanghai. Their economy is in ashes.”

“Even so,” said Mazer. “What if China refuses? India can’t hold the counteragent hostage. China would go public. They’d say you have the solution but aren’t sharing it. They’d say you were letting their people die. They’d paint you as heartless bastards. The world would despise you overnight. China would then put so much international pressure on you, you would be forced to give it to them anyway.”

“It won’t come to that,” said Ketkar. “Captain Shenzu here will see to it that China approves.”

Shenzu laughed. “Whoever told you I have a position of influence is sadly misinformed, Major. I am no one. A lowly captain. Nothing I say to the CMC or Politburo holds any weight whatsoever. I doubt I could even get a message through the people who filter their communications.”

“You underestimate yourself,” said Ketkar. “And it’s not the CMC or Politburo you’d be addressing. It’s the people of China and the rest of the world.”

“What did you have in mind?” asked Mazer. “A press conference?”

“A demonstration of the counteragent,” said Ketkar. “We’d have every major news outlet covering it live via holo. Shenzu and Dr. Gadhavi will be the stars of the show. Gadhavi conducts the demonstration. He would make it theatrical.”

“And what am I to do?” said Shenzu. “Clap and look Chinese? If so, we’re in luck. I excel at both.”

“Your part’s more involved than that,” said Ketkar. “Following the demonstration you would then make a few heartfelt comments to the press.”

“Again,” said Shenzu. “I’m nobody. Why would the press care what I have to say?”

“Because you are the liaison officer of the great General Sima, the brilliant Chinese commander who destroyed a Formic lander. You will say that Sima ordered you to bring a sample of the gas to Dr. Gadhavi in the event that something happened to the Chinese science team.”

“You want me to lie on camera?”

“General Sima is an international hero,” said Ketkar. “And now that he’s deceased, many in China see him as a martyr. A symbol. Sending you here is precisely the type of move a brilliant commander like him would make.”

“So Sima gets credit for yet another victory he had nothing to do with,” said Shenzu.

“Are we certain Sima is dead?” said Mazer. “I don’t mean to be indelicate, but it would be embarrassing if we did this only to have Sima appear on the nets debunking the whole operation.”

“He’s dead,” said Ketkar. “His body was recovered in Lianzhou five days ago. There was such admiration for the man, the Chinese made a concerted effort to find him and handle his remains respectfully.”

Shenzu said, “So I speak to the press and tell a flagrant lie about my former commanding officer. What good will that do?”