Mutiny in Space (2 page)

Look, you might think that I’m an idiot for not realizing the obvious. But I’m not. I was just the kind of sixteen-year-old kid who was more interested in taking apart starship engines than in discussing politics to death.

The night everything fell apart, I was sitting on the couch in my mom’s apartment, watching a video on my screen, when Sergei stalked inside. He had grown a scraggly beard that he thought made him look like a revolutionary, but just made him look dirty, and he had taken to wearing the unofficial uniform of the Social Party activists—black T-shirt, black jacket, and a black stocking cap all marked with a red fist that was supposed to represent the blood of the oppressed or something.

It was too hot for the jacket and the cap, but I didn’t tell Sergei that.

“Mom here?” said Sergei.

I shrugged. “Haven’t seen her. I was with Corbin all day.”

He sneered. “That loser?”

“He’s not a loser,” I said.

“He’s a reactionary,” said Sergei. “A running dog of the old order. When the revolution comes, men like him will learn their place.”

“He’s a starship mechanic,” I said, turning my attention back to my screen. “Men like him make three times more money than Mom.”

“Mom helps advance the cause of the revolution,” said Sergei. “Corbin repairs the machines of corporate profiteers.”

“Yep,” I said. “And when the revolution comes, he’ll repair the machines of the revolutionaries or they won’t be going anywhere.”

“You’ll learn,” said Sergei, who didn’t have an answer for that. We both knew he wasn’t going to repair them. “Sooner or later, you’ll learn. Hopefully before it’s too late.”

“And maybe someday you’ll learn how to connect your device to the net without asking me,” I said. Sergei scowled. His complete lack of technical skills was a sore spot.

“Whatever,” said Sergei. “Anyway, if you see Mom, tell her I went to the speech.”

“Speech?” I said. “What speech?”

“Alesander Ducarti is coming to address the local Party membership.”

“What is an Alesander Ducarti?”

“Seriously?” said Sergei, genuinely incredulous. “You don’t know who Alesander Ducarti is? So know-it-all little Nikko doesn’t know something? Here is a first.”

“Seriously,” I said. “So tell me.”

“He’s high up in the interstellar Party leadership,” said Sergei. “They say he started revolutions on three separate colony worlds, and has the death penalty in a dozen systems. They say he’s the greatest revolutionary leader of our time!”

“Sounds like a swell guy,” I said. Corbin’s warning about staying out of trouble flickered through my mind,. Sergei’s shenanigans, I could handle. But this guy sounded like serious trouble.

“He’s giving a talk tonight,” said Sergei, “about his experiences with the Party on other worlds, and how the Party can be more effective here on New Chicago.”

That didn’t sound like a good idea for a number of reasons. For one thing, listening to a bunch of old guys in red-badged caps and jackets drone on about interstellar politics would be boring beyond belief. For another, this sounded exactly like the sort of thing that Corbin had been warning me about for years.

“No thanks,” I said at last.

“Come on, Nikko,” said Sergei. “Do you want to spend your life fixing engines and staring at your stupid screen like every other bore-juiced idiot on the planet? Or do you want to change the Thousand Worlds forever?”

“I just want a hot girlfriend,” I said. “And right now, a cheeseburger.”

“After the Revolution,” said Sergei, “there will be cheeseburgers and hot girls for everyone.”

“Really?” I said. “Have you seen most of those Party women? They look like old potatoes wrapped in leather. If that’s what girls are going to look like after the revolution, I think I’m a monarchist.”

Sergei stared at me for a moment, incredulous, and then burst out laughing. “You’re a mouthy little bastard,” said Sergei, shaking his head.

“Maybe. Although as far as I know, Mom was married when I came along,” I said. “If she wasn’t, then you’re a bastard too.”

“Oh, come on,” said Sergei, still chuckling. “Just come to the speech. It won’t be that long. We can go out afterwards.” He grinned “Some of the guys at the meeting will know how to make fake IDs, and we can buy some liquor. If you want to meet hot girls, that’s the way to do it.”

I hesitated. I should have said no. I really, really should have said no.

“Sure, why not?” I said. “Let me get my coat.”

And that’s how we went to hear Alesander Ducarti, the greatest revolutionary of our time, speak.

The gathering was not far from the main spaceport of New Chicago, close to the Starways Hauling Company landing pads and hangars where I helped Corbin repair the company’s freighters. Social Party diehards, various academics and administrators from the University, and younger guys like Sergei gathered to hear the speech at an abandoned warehouse. They only filled about half the space. The Social Party, despite repeated efforts, had never become anywhere nearly as popular on New Chicago as it wished.

So we had plenty of room to get close to the improvised stage, which meant I had a good, long look at Alesander Ducarti.

He was noticeably different from most of the other people in the warehouse. If you’ve met the typical Social on a world that the Party doesn’t actually rule, you know what I mean. The men were mostly middle-aged and doughy, while the women were either skeletally thin and heavily tattooed or morbidly obese with dyed hair and various body modifications.

By contrast, Alesander Ducarti looked strong and fit, with thick black hair and deep black eyes over a nose like a hawk’s beak. He reminded me of the mercenaries who sometimes came through the spaceport, hard men with harder eyes. Corbin and the other techs always kept well clear of the mercs, and I had followed their example. Ducarti looked
dangerous
. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I didn’t like him. I was, I realized,
afraid
of him.

At the spaceport, you could always tell which guys would be dangerous and which were just loudmouths blowing off steam. Ducarti looked like he could kill someone without even blinking.

Even before he opened his mouth, he held the crowd of Party members rapt, and it made me think of a herd of sheep staring at a wolf.

“Brothers and sisters of the revolution,” said Ducarti. He had a deep, resonant voice, calm and controlled. “I must commend the great work you have done on New Chicago. Step by step, you have spread the message of the Social Party through this corrupt society. It is true that your brothers and sisters on other worlds have known more success. Other worlds now are governed by the just hand of the Party, their oppressors liquidated and their populations now know greater equality than ever before in their history. Other worlds have, to date, done more to bring the cause of universal revolution to mankind. Here, you have been hindered by the corrupt oppressors of New Chicago’s government, and that is why you have been able to accomplish less. But the work you have done here, brothers and sisters of New Chicago, has been no less valuable to the revolution!”

They applauded. I looked around, bewildered. Why were they applauding him? Couldn’t they see that he had just insulted all of them?

Ducarti’s speech went on and on, longer than I would have imagined possible, and the attendees applauded dutifully at all the appropriate pauses. After he finished and stepped back to thunderous applause and enthusiastic cheers, a pair of local Party officials made some brief remarks. Ducarti stood there listening with a faint half-smile, and I wondered if anyone else could see the contempt on his face. After the speech, the crowd moved to the tables along the walls, where refreshments had been provided. I suppose the Party couldn’t plan to overthrow the government without cheese and crackers.

“Sergei, let’s get out of here,” I said in a low voice. “You said we could go after the speech was done.”

“In a minute,” said Sergei, craning his neck around, looking for someone. “I just want to meet Ducarti first.”

“Oh, there you two are,” said a woman’s voice.

I turned my head as Mom joined us, and I fought down the urge to laugh. She had done herself up for the occasion, complete with the requisite chain-bracelets. It was always funny to see how women dressed for Party meetings. The official Party doctrine rejected things like makeup and jewelry as tools of the oppressors, so Party women who wanted to make themselves look prettier tended to go with tank tops, tight jeans, and high-heeled boots, and wear chains and tools as decoration. Despite her age, Mom was still in good enough shape to pull off the look, though God knows some of the heavier women looked like too-much sausage squeezed into too-little casing.

It suddenly occurred to me that Mom wanted to make an impression on Ducarti, and my amusement turned to disapproval. I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t set her off, though, so I didn’t say anything.

“Why, Nikolai, I’m surprised you’re here,” said Mom, delighted.

I gave an indifferent shrug.

She offered me a brittle smile and turned her attention to Sergei. “Sergei, I would like you to meet Alesander before he goes. He has excellent connections. He will be able to help you advance in the Party, whether you stay here or go off-planet.”

“But Sergei,” I said. “You said–”

“We’ll go in a bit,” said Sergei. “You heard what Mom said. Maybe he’ll set me up with something good!”

Mom led us through the crowd, and soon we stood before the stage, where Ducarti was speaking with several of the local Party officials. He turned as we approached, and his dark eyes swept indifferently over us, finally setting upon my mom.

“Ah, Professor Rovio,” said Ducarti, with an enigmatic smile. “So good to see you again. These are your sons, I take it?”

“Yes, Alesander,” said Mom, beaming at him. “This is my oldest, Sergei, and my youngest Nikolai.”

I shook hands with him. I didn’t want to, but I didn’t see how I could avoid it. His hand was cold and dry and hard, and strong enough that I suspected he had spent a lot of time lifting weights.”

“You both remind me of your father,” said Ducarti. “Did you know that I knew him? Fine man. A true believer in our cause. If he had been on the Central Committee of Novorossiya III instead of some of those other fools… well, suffice it to say, Novorossiya III would not have fallen again to the reactionaries. But we must dwell upon the future, not the past, for it is our revolution that offers the best hope for all humanity.”

“It is indeed, Alesander,” said Mom, her eyes all but sparkling as she looked at him. She really liked him, and I suspected she intended to visit his hotel before he left the planet, her current boyfriend notwithstanding. My contempt for them all sharpened. Couldn’t they see Alesander Ducarti for the con man that he was? Why were they all fawning over him as if he was a rock star or something?

“And you, Sergei,” said Ducarti. “I understand you recently joined the Party.”

“I did, sir,” said Sergei. I blinked. Sergei never called anyone “sir.” My big brother straightened his back and stuck out his chest as Ducarti looked at him. “I joined as soon as I turned eighteen. I want to serve the Party like my father.”

“Excellent,” said Ducarti, as a ghost of a smile crossed his lips. “With the help of bold young men like you, we cannot fail.” The predatory black eyes turned towards me. “And how old are you, Nikolai?”

“Sixteen,” I said.

“And will you join the Party when you come of age as well?”

I almost lied and said yes to avoid causing a scene, but the contempt I sensed in him hardened my resolve.

“No,” I said, meeting his eyes squarely.

The temperature in the warehouse suddenly seemed drop several degrees. Mom stiffened, and Sergei scowled. Ducarti, though, only looked amused. One side of his mouth curved up, just a little, as he glanced around the room, then returned his attention to me.

“Well, some must learn their lessons before they are convinced,” said Ducarti. “What do you intend to do, if you will not serve the Party?”

“I’m going to be a starship mechanic,” I said.

Some of the Party members listening to us laughed.

“A starship mechanic?” said Ducarti, smiling. “A noble profession. We are the Party of the workers, after all.”

“Working how?” I said. “Flying from planet to planet making speeches for a living?”

“Rhetoric defines reality, boy,” said Ducarti, his eyes narrowing. “There is no objective truth, only how mankind perceives that truth. The task of the Party is to define the proper truth for mankind, the truth of the classless society we shall construct. Everything else is irrelevant.”

“Isn’t that just an educated way of saying that you make stuff up?”

Silence abruptly fell over the Party members close enough to hear the conversation.

“Nikolai,” said Mom in warning, but Ducarti waved her quiet.

“We serve a higher, nobler purpose,” said Ducarti. “We work to end all oppression and all inequality. One day, all humanity shall speak of the revolutionaries of the Social Party with the same reverence now wasted upon Christ and Buddha and Joseph Smith. There is nothing wrong with practical skills or fixing starships, Nikolai Rovio, but as a son of the Revolution, you have more potential than that. If you waste that potential by voluntarily embracing the chains of the oppressors, then you will sacrifice your chance to rewrite the course of history.”

I was sick of his pompous words and his stupid accent, and his naked contempt made me want to punch him. I just wanted to leave. I had decided to go home by myself when Sergei spoke up.

“He is right! We are sons of the Revolution, not workers. You stain our father’s memory by talking like that!”

“Father’s memory?” I said, my temper snapping. “Hey, Ducarti, our dad got himself blown up, right? Someone screwed up a bomb.” The spectators shifted nervously, and my mom turned white with anger. “Maybe if he had learned some of those practical skills, he would have known how to put a bomb together and not gotten blown himself up like some stupid…”