The Immortal Empire – Episode 22: Demonstrations
"Have you heard back from him?"
The abruptness of the question caught Jim Hawking unaware. "Heard back from who?"
"Who do you think?" Gene Starwind asked, a parental condescension creeping into his voice. "Fred! Fred Luo!"
Jim held back a sigh as their party of four sat at their rustic outdoor table in front of the café they'd discovered establishment wasn't catering to Terran palettes, even without any stated intention. The next attraction was how inexpensive being returned to the city, following their visit to the Central Reserve Army Depot. The immediate attraction had been how Earthling-like the food was, to the point where it was hard to believe the prices were compared to ever other restaurant they'd examined closely since they arrived on Home. "No, I haven't."
Jim's tone of voice could hardly be considered positive, but a few years ago, the same answer would've been tinged with a distinctly fearful, worrying tone. Now, it mostly just sounded annoyed. I guess he's growing up. Huh, I wonder if I mean Fred or if I mean Jim.
"What're you thinking of?" Jim interrupted his thoughts impatiently.
"Oh, just that maybe it's for the better. Not because of Fred Luo, but because of Luo Enterprises in general."
Jim turned to his right and began explaining to Melfina, "Because our company name is basically permission for any subsidiary of Luo Enterprises to nickel-and-dime after us at every opportunity, of which there are plenty operating across the longest policed border in the known universe."
"Between the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire and Terran space?" Melfina asked cautiously.
"Of course, there are the normal duties and taxes for international commerce, and the payment from Eisensteingrad is accounting for that. But the second I send over our registration and commerce ID, well, you can practically hear gears turning in their heads as they figure out how to they can overcharge us."
"That's what you get for borrowing so much money from him over the years," Suzuka announced dispassionately between sips of tea.
"Yeah, yeah, but you know there aren't that many 'reputable companies' willing to haul twenty tonnes of military surplus missiles, grenades, cannons and energy guns across the border. Which means they can command a high fee as is." Jim buried his head in his hands as he was apt to do. "We really should've tried to figured out a way to cross the border with the Outlaw Star."
Both women turned back to Gene, who was enjoying a bright orange-yellow alcoholic cocktail served in a tall champagne glass, his third one so far. The Ctarl-Ctarl called them "mimosas," presumably after the leafy flower, despite no resemblance. Behind his glass, he was grinding his teeth. "So help me, I will wring Aisha's skinny little neck for that. But putting that aside, I've got some non-Fred Luo connections I can call in." Gene swiftly emptied the glass and then waved in the direction of the waitress, a young woman in the sort of scant, low-cut domestic uniform you might see a Terran waitress wearing on in a cheap bar on any frontier world, or like how Iris dressed at Clyde's Bar. Instead of scurrying over to take his order, the young woman, with her hair in twin ponytails and a look of dismay on her face, glanced back at the slightly older man who was presumably her supervisor, a waiter wearing an apron over a blouse and tie.
"Another one of these mimi-things!" he asked enthusiastically.
"Uh, sir?" the waitress asked with a discernable accent. "I'm sorry, but we've actually closed to bar for the day. Would you mind if I brought your checks?"
"Just send the bill to Her Excellency, Clara Badono-Badono of the Imperial Space Navy," Jim countered, not entirely seriously, but not quite joking either.
"How can you be closed? It's only…" Gene glanced at his left wrist where he might normally wear a wristwatch, frowned, and then turned back to the waitress. "….well, whatever time it is, it's still early!"
Behind the waitress, her supervisor looked exasperated. "This whole street's being closed for the scheduled demonstration, sirs," she explained with a strained smile.
"Demonstrations?" the four Terrans asked, simultaneously.
Down the length of the street, where it merged with the wider throughway, they saw what the waitress had been referring to: hundreds or even thousands of young men and women, neatly ordered into a half-dozen rows along the street, each holding some sort of sign or part of a banner, all emblazoned with brightly colored by otherwise unreadable text and slogans. In the two rows closest to them, the participants seemed to be wearing what looked like factory laborer uniforms, dark blue boiler suits with numerous pockets, along with industrial helmets painted in cautionary yellow. The middle rows, by contrast, consisted of much younger students, teenagers in their nautical-looking white-and-blue school uniforms, many of them wearing neat, rectangular backpacks with shiny metal buckles against dark leather. The furthest rows seemed to consist of the general population in a variety of civilian clothing, particularly the coats and scarves that they'd widely seen among the urban working class.
"You think they're overthrowing the government?" Jim asked, in a loud, forced tone that left no confusion that he was joking.
Gene's face suggested he was about to respond with some trepidation, when he was preempted by nearby shouting. The four turned to see a nearby road vehicle, the approximate shape of a boxy utility van that you'd see on any number of Terran worlds, with a woman standing on top of it shouting through an electronic bullhorn in the same colors as the banners, making vigorous, sweeping gestures at different spots in the procession, as if she had no trouble picking out specific individuals at that distance. They continued watching her for a few minutes longer, apparently unnoticed by the hum of activity around them until Gene gave a frown and raised his hands in exasperation at Jim, but said nothing. He then stood forward and waved at the woman with the bullhorn.
"Hey, excuse me! Excuse me!" Gene shouted at her, causing her to take a dramatic look at them before climbing down from the van. They got a better look at her when she stepped down: like the waitress, she was slightly short, in that way Ctarl-Ctarl women generally seemed to be compared to Earthlings. She wore what appeared to be a blouse and tie under a molded breastplate secured by large straps that crossed her back; as Gene had noticed, she was well-endowed under her breastplate, and Jim noticed him noticing, taking the time to shake his head. Her face had a childish quality to her, light, feathery hair bound in two pigtails on either side of her head, long bangs and freckles under her large eyeglasses, two features uncommon among Ctarl-Ctarl.
"What's all this? Some kind of strike?"
The woman stared at him, then at the rows of people demonstrating with their standards and banners. "No, that was last week. This is an election rally."
The Terrans stared at her, as if dumbfounded.
"For the sub-district magistrate?"
Still no response.
"Because of the recall election?"
"Sorry, is this the Ctarl-Ctarl election season?" Jim asked, piecing together that the woman had expected them to follow the local election schedule.
She laughed, loudly and abundantly. "No, I told you, it's a recall. For the sub-magistrate of South Dorov District. If it was a general election, trust me, you'd know. I'm just a campaigner for the sub-magistracy," she explain, as if campaigning for higher elections was a position far above her own.
"It looks like a general election," Gene mumbled.
Suzuka gave a rare laugh, and he glanced at her. "Please excuse my countryman. I don't think he appreciates the notion that the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire has…public elections for its civil leaders."
Jim gave a very deliberate sigh, putting a hand to his head, the way he was apt to do when explaining things to his older colleague specifically. "Come on Gene, you should know better. Even the one-party-ruled worlds have elections for middle-ranking officials and lower. It's not like when they temporarily suspend elections in the U.S.S.A., how do you think the Ctarl-Ctarl appoint local leaders? Just sell the offices to the highest bidder?"
"What do you call a public election?" Gene fired back quickly. He gave a smug grin to his young partner, before turning back to the campaigning woman. "And so you're…what? The red-and-yellow flag party?"
She grinned back, exposing those large, sharp canines characteristic of her species. "The Socialist Party. This is the Socialist Party of the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire, part of the ruling coalition with a majority in parliament and the office of the prime minister."
In a uniform motion, the Terrans turned back to the rallying demonstrators. "Well, that would explain," Gene announced with a deliberate gravity in his voice. "Jim, Melfina, Suzuka, behold: the Ctarl-Ctarl political left."
The three of them stood in silence until Suzuka broke it. "I see."
"And you're the reason I'm not drinking right now," Gene growled, with a decidedly malicious smile. The campaign woman just stared at him, perplexed. "Good thing I can drink at my hotel room, away from your so-called democracy."
"Way to think outside the box, Gene," Jim complimented him dryly. "Come on then, stop harassing another Ctarl-Ctarl woman and let them get back to work. Please excuse us, ma'am, we didn't mean to bother you."
"Really? You don't want to stay and watch?"
Jim nearly tripped over his own feet, barely recovering and turning back to Suzuka, who stood with her arms crossed elegantly over her chest. "Wha-…Suzuka?"
"You don't find this engrossing?" she asked, with an uncharacteristic smile. "The contradiction between the empire's body politic and thousands of everyday people, subjects of that same empire, marching under socialist banners?"
Gene stared at her. "The body…politic?"
Suzuka ignored him and turned to face the nearest portion of the procession. "I'd like to say I've been all across the universe, but that's not actually correct, I've only been across Terran space. That's true for all four of us. I've seen how governments work across all four empires. There are fewer leftist political parties than there were ten years ago, much less twenty. And if you needed more immediate evidence of that, consider our employer, the Social Democrats in Novokhabarovsk, who are political pariahs across space."
Jim put a panicked finger in front his mouth, almost hissing at Suzuka, now looking at the campaigner. "May I ask you a question?"
The campaign woman raised an eyebrow higher than they would've thought possible. "You don't belong to the foreign press, do you?"
"No, we most assuredly do not."
"Go ahead then."
"On Earth, excuse me, Old Terra, historical socialist political parties were often instrumental to the overthrow of monarchies and empires. Here, you have both. How do you Ctarl-Ctarl, in the Imperial capital, reconcile the fundamental contradictions between empire and anti-imperialism, between elected government and the hereditary monarchy? Or do you Ctarl-Ctarl not have a modern anti-monarchial movement?"
The campaign woman stared at the four of them, her mouth slightly ajar. Gene glanced at Suzuka, at her, then back at Suzuka before he began laughing heartily. "And Suzuka wins the prize for the least politic question of the day. Literally."
"Uh, Suzuka…" Melfina began.
"No; if your question is if the Socialist Party of the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire, the political party that leads the ruling coalition and holds the premiership is anti-monarchist, no, it is not. I've heard you Terrans have an expression, 'The proof of the pudding is in the eating.'"
"We have that expression?" Jim asked. He'd never heard it before.
"Well, I don't know what 'pud-ding' is, but the proof of what I just said is in the political party's public platform, which you, or I, or anyone else in the universe can read," she growled, reaching into the satchel over her shoulder, taking out a handful of printed flyers, strolling up to Gene, and jamming them into his chest so they fluttered across his blazer. "This political party, and its coalition, does not seek the overthrow of the Hashiyo-Hashiyo dynasty, or the reigning sovereign, or the current government, and you can read exactly that right…"
She paused, remembering who she was talking to. "Well, any normal person could read it."
"Someone else must be carrying the translated flyers," Jim offered, as the campaign worker stormed off triumphantly in the direction of the procession. Suzuka took a single flyer from Gene's jacket, un-crinkled it in her hands, and stared at the contents: a large, round emblem printed in red ink, a series of concentric circles enclosing a familiar five-pointed star. Under that, printed in black ink, lines of Ctarl-Ctarl calligraphy rendered in a blocky style.
"Having fun, Suzuka?" Gene asked, with a tense smile.
"Gene, I don't think this is Suzuka's idea of fun," Jim chided him. "But I am curious, what exactly was the point of all that? Besides riling up some random person who happened to be working on a political campaign."
"They do say not to talk about politics over dinner," Melfina offered cheerfully.
"Oh, I don't know about that, James. I think if your business is with the government, you're served by knowing basic realities about how that government works. It's not just some impenetrable curtain of steel, it's an institution populated by mortal beings." She paused, glancing over her shoulder at rows of Ctarl-Ctarl shifting idly on their feet, checking their placards and banners. "Well, mostly mortal."
Gene rolled his eyes in such a dramatic fashion it looked like he might cause himself trauma. "Well then, Suzuka-sensei, honorable mistress of knowledge, what exactly is it that you've learned here by piercing that curtain?"
She answered quickly. "In the end of the day, despite all their pretenses on constitutionalism and democracy and the rule of law, the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire is just that: an empire. You've seen the capital worlds back home, Gene. You know how all politics, and all political discontent and strife and intrigue, ends up in the highest concentration of political power. They are the empire that defeated Earth twice during the Freespace Wars, and the most powerful military force in the known universe. And Gene, in pursuit of this grievance over some pretty cash, you've decided that you want to run guns for them."
Suzuka then stood their silently, evidently waiting for Gene to process her explanation in full.
"A little too long to put inside a fortune cookie, huh?" Jim taunted him finally.
Ron MacDougall knew he had a limited, largely negative experience with bio-androids who were not his brother Harry. He didn't expect that to change with the diminutive bio-gynoid calling herself "Carver", Hoburn's proxy in the region the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire's Outer Periphery.
Unfortunately, the small cabins and internal layout of the Force didn't leave much alternative; he'd been mildly surprised by the habitable volume inside a fairly substantial freighter with a keel length of nearly seventy meters. The old Tri-Force design seemed to sacrifice a great deal of convenience and even safety with the spherical main body to allow for the ship's massive engine blocks in their quadrilateral layout. It meant that there were a scarce few small compartments, primarily consisting of the side-by-side seated cockpit, a small forward passenger compartment and adjacent galley, and what he expected were Carver's living quarters behind a bulkhead door, along with access to the Newton reactor and other systems. When he wondered why it all felt vaguely familiar, he remembered it: the layout of the Horus, the last time he'd been onboard, with Hilde.
You'd be surprised what you've managed not to forget. He probably had told that to Harry more than once. It was a rare model of ship.
"It should be a straight shot to Complex 408-765-444, the protoplanet facility in the southern Outer Periphery regions where your…friend…was killed."
Ron gave an overexaggerated whistle. "You have the astronomic location code, and not just random star code. Impressive. Hoburn must have a good source."
The bio-gynoid Carver twitched under her armor but didn't elaborate, and Ron eased back into the cushions of his passenger seat. "If the data from the advanced probe is up to date, there should be plenty of time to investigate what happened. Who knows, we might even learn something useful, like what Chiong was out there doing in the first place."
"You sound a little detached from his death," Carved said pointedly.
He smirked. "Do I? I've seen a lot of death in my life, you don't get as far in this line of work as I have without viewing death in a detached manner. Even the death of an old colleague."
Carver lowered her arm from the overhead instrumentation console and rested it on her lap, facing away from him at her station. "So, when did you meet this 'colleague' of yours, Chiong?" she asked skeptically.
Though he was confident she couldn't see his face, Ron made a point of not betraying satisfaction at the question. He answered with that same detached voice.
"It was around the time the previous Tendo King was executed. You wouldn't remember it." He regarded her again. "Or maybe you would. Rohang of the Len Clan, an anointed monk and stalwart of the Kei Pirates. After he left, he changed his name to Chiong. 'Probably figured if he was leaving the Kei Guild and the clan, he should keep a low profile." Ron paused, clenching his jaw and staring off into the middle distance for a few seconds in a very deliberate manner. "He taught me most of what I know."
"So he was your mentor?"
He stared at the low ceiling of the cabin above him, as if counting the rivets. "You could say that. He might've become an outlaw late in life, but Chiong was certainly good at what he did. I got my start with him, the three of us tearing up space in the aftermath of the second Freespace War."
"Three of you?" she asked.
He looked down at her with mild surprise. "Another independent agent, an outlaw named Hilde. You might've heard of her, she made something of a name for herself before her death," he said with a sly smile. Carver didn't respond, so he continued. "I gave him that caster weapon the last time we met, a token of our friendship. Do you know how rare they are?"
"No, not really."
"Very rare." He dropped the smile. It had been an expensive gift, he considered, and it was something of a disappointment that it hadn't had its intended effect at the end. "When the economy began to recover from the postwar crash, we each went our separate ways. Chiong's last job must've been preparing that abandoned protoplanet mining facility, probably for the Kei pirates."
He allowed a look of concentration to appear on his face. "What did the Kei Pirates want with an abandoned asteroid base that far into Ctarl-Ctarl space? Even with an entire fleet, they couldn't hope to hold it for long." When Carver glanced over her shoulder at him, he cocked his head as if to say Now it's your turn to talk.
She turned away, looking annoyed. "According to Hoburn, the Kei Pirates have had increased interest in the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire ever since a substantial leadership shakeup roughly two years ago. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
Ron managed to suppress a wince. That shot was too easy for her, well done. "If that's the case, they'd need a partner. Possibly another one of the great guilds, or a national polity that's not afraid of crossing the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire, whichever that would be." If that is what was actually going on, there aren't a lot of people who'd be capable of taking on the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire, much less willing.
"So you really don't know?" she asked quietly.
"I was hoping you would. Or perhaps our shared benefactor, Hoburn." He gave her what he thought was a disarming look. "For all the work I've done for him, I don't know him well."
She seemed to turn away, so he stared at her from the cabin. "I think you have me at a disadvantage, you know something about me after all. You're aware that if we're going to cooperate together like this, you, I, and your employer Mr. Hoburn, we are going to have to share information with one another." He gave her that explanation in a very specific tone, one that he felt was devoid of any sort of overt threat, but at least made it obvious that the courtesy he was extending to her had limits.
Her answer wasn't what he expected. "When we arrived at the protoplanet facility, we'll cooperate to determine what the Ctarl-Ctarl did, and share our findings with Hoburn. There's nothing to be done until then. I would suggest saving your strength, if you can."
Ron permitted a smile. I can't tell if that's a jab at my age, or just something you say to humans when you're a bio-roid. What he did know, and he kept smiling as he considered it, was that he was probably past the age of trying to charm young women, or artificial beings imitating young women, to whatever advantage he could get. He closed his eyes, shifted his weight in his seat, and relaxed. "Very well then, Carver. It seems you already know everything you need to know about me, even if I know nothing about you. We'll proceed from there."
"I don't know that much about you, Ron MacDougall." It wasn't what he'd expected her to say.
"Well, given that we're illegally crossing into the territory of the most powerful government in the universe, I think you know the value I put on former, and current, friendship. That, and personal loyalty," he lectured her, his eyes still closed.
"That you look out for your friends?"
"At least." He raised one eye skeptically. She was still looking at away from him. "And what about Hoburn? He knows his generosity hasn't gone unappreciated by me, I've seen to that, but I can't say much more about him beyond that. Can you?"
"I…I know enough," she assured him, with an awkward lack of confidence he hadn't expected.
Ron smirked loud enough to be heard, then reached into his coat, drew out an old grey persocom, unfolded it and began scrolling through stored files of simple text information. When he found the document he was looking for, he turned the device ninety degrees clockwise and began reading it in silence.
Carver continued piloting with similar silence; he didn't see her using the voice command system common to a modern shipboard A.I. that the Force was presumably outfitted with, nor did she talk to herself or even make the typical sounds of a human focusing on a complex task. Just silence against the quiet hum of the ship's Newton Reactor. I suppose that's how her kind would work. It's not as though Harry talks to himself when I'm not around. Though if I'm being honest with myself, she's a good bit more human than Harry is.
He obliged her silence with his own, broken by his thumb pressing against the tiny mechanical switches that made up the persocom's small keyboard. After an hour, Carver abruptly stood up from her seat and turned to him, her blue eyes shifting underneath her helmet. Ron did his best not to obviously acknowledge her as his thumb pressed the scroll key.
"What are those?" Apparently, she could tell that he was reviewing multiple, separate documents, but not what their contents were.
He barely tried to suppress his grin. "Old Space Forces reports from a hacked database, their intelligence-gathering network in the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire. Obsolete information no doubt, but still useful in their own way."
"How so?"
Wouldn't you like to know? Then again, you're a government bio-roid; maybe you already do. "They're dated before and after the second Freespace War, when the Ctarl-Ctarl sent the Space Forces packing. This entire region of space is pockmarked with the remains of a series of deep operations that seized a few Ctarl-Ctarl colony worlds before they were crushed. If I were still working for the Kei Pirates, it's something I'd be interested in. And it's something Hoburn is interested in today."
He snapped the persocom shut with some dramatic flair. "So, would you like to tell me what it is Mr. Hoburn wants me to do out here in this graveyard to the last great war?"
"We're salvaging weapons and ships."
"But that's a means to an end, isn't it?" he countered. "He's not going to war with the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire, is he? So then what is he up to?" He was almost out of his seat, leaning towards her, with a hostile, almost manic expression that had served him well over his career.
Carver looked uncomfortable, so it had accomplished its purpose. "I don't know."
His posture relaxed and he slumped backwards, calm washing over his face. "No, you don't." She must've been shocked at his immediate acceptance of her claim. "No one knows. Except Hoburn, who knows we don't know. Assuming, of course, you decide to tell him."
Terms to Know:
Constitutionalism - A governing philosophy that the authority of government is derived from, and limited by, a set legal code and body of laws. For the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire, it specifically refers to the constitution drafted at the start of the Third Dynasty, which outlined the role of the hereditary constitutional monarchy.
District Magistrate - An ancient Ctarl-Ctarl municipal official; the highest law officer in an urban district, or municipality, with the shortest electoral term. Particularly populous districts, like those in the Imperial capital on Home, will invariably feature sub-magistrates, who are elected in separate races.
- Recall Election - An election to remove a sitting official before the end of their term, usually the result of some incapacity or legal dismissal, but occasionally in the face of enough public opposition.
Left and Right (Politics) - As among Terrans, the Ctarl-Ctarl conventionally define their modern politics along linear spectrum, which roughly translates to "leftist" (or radical or innovative) or "rightist" (or conservative or conscientious) positions. The empire's ruling Socialist Party, for example, occupies an area of far to center-left; by comparison, the Social Democrats of Novokhabarovsk, would be further to the left. It is assumed that Kasara IV, as sovereign, occupies a centrist position of compromise between radicals and conservatives.
Terran Deep Operations in the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire - The furthest extent of the United Space Forces into enemy territory during the Second Freespace War; for a matter of days or weeks, a small number of worlds in the Ctarl-Ctarl Outer Periphery were blockaded by a combination of U.S.F. special squadrons and the Kei Pirate fleet, and then occupied by Terran armies. While the U.S.F. intended to use the these worlds as launching points to directly threaten the Imperial core, thereby drawing the numerically inferior but qualitatively superior Ctarl-Ctarl war fleet from the front; this strategy was never fully executed, though these were the only occupations of Ctarl-Ctarl worlds by Earthling military forces, in contrast to the long Ctarl-Ctarl occupations of the Terran core.