Digital Exodus Chapter 36

Interlude, Athe.

“Prisoner Athe!”

The call rang out over the abachero court, instantly freezing everyone in place. The ball bounced out of my teammates hands, careened off the edge of a scoring loop, and rolled to a stop at the guard’s feet. Oh, how joyous. What had I done wrong this time?

Slowly turning, I met the hard eyes of a Milatian prison guard. “Yes, kyr?”

His lips twitched with amused satisfaction as I used the honorific. So far, the Milatians had been very materially kind and proper in their capacity as jailors. However, despite a strict adherence to the rules of war, they very obviously considered themselves to be better than me and my fellow Phoekans.

“Follow,” he grunted, turning without making any effort to see if I were actually following orders.

I did, of course. I wasn't stupid… most of the time.

Leaving the recreational centre behind, he led me out into the harsh light of the local star. It was a few hours after noon, so the sun was particularly harsh upon my skin and eyes that day.

Gods, how I wished I’d remembered to grab my protective eyewear from my bag by the court. My species was not known for its tolerance of bright light. Our home star was dim and cool, compared to the harsh orange of the hulking giant above the prison world.

As I was fighting my losing battle with the glare, I was ushered unceremoniously into a sky car. The moment I got under the shade of the roof, I sighed with relief.

“Forgot your sunshades, Phoekan?” The guard laughed — definitely at my expense.

I nodded, not rising to his obvious bait. “Yeah. Sucks. Be thankful your people were adapted to a brighter sun.”

He grunted — apparently his primary form of verbal communication — and looked out the window, clearly frustrated but not willing to go further to get a rise out of me. We rode in silence after that while the aircar bumped and bounced as it flew through minor turbulence.

Finally, the car swerved and began a final approach towards one of the large fortresses that kept the Milatian’s hold on the planet firm. It looked vaguely like one of the pyramidal structures that my people favoured, except in the form of stacked upright rectangular blocks. Quite unlike my people, the Milatians had added a few decorative cornices near the top of each block. The actual decoration was far too… cubey for my tastes — one of the few things I actually liked about my home nation was our willingness to use curves in… well, anything. Gods, the Milatians really, really enjoyed their straight edges.

The top battlement of each block held focusing cannons that allowed massive maser emitters to reach up into orbit. The emitters themselves were too big to be in the towers too, however. They were probably buried deep below the structure.

I had seen weapons like those firing before, when I was a teen. A non-Gêyn species had arrived in system weeks earlier, steadily forcing their way down the gravity well towards the world I grew up on. Imperial forces fought and died, until the enemy finally dropped into low orbit to bombard the world. That’s when the massive ground-to-space masers began to fire. Even from kilometres away, the heat they generated as they forced their way through the atmosphere was like that of a bright sunny day. The noise was awe-inspiring. It sounded like a deep, hissing peal of thunder — if the initial bolt of lightning had stuck around to drink tea with the clouds.

The aircar flew right past one of the big focusing cannons, and I marvelled at the size of the thing. I would not want to be this close if it were to actually fire. Just the back-scatter from the weapon would be enough to instantly annihilate the car and flash-boil my body.

Down and behind the cannon, there was a landing pad nestled within a courtyard. The car slowed and approached the pad at a slow, cautious pace, then set down and cut its engine with a final buzzing hum.

The guard shoved himself to his feet with another grunt and shuffled out of the aircar. I followed, glancing around curiously. The courtyard was ringed by a thin square of hardy, but decorative vegetation. Beyond the plants was a roofed colonnade where several doors led further into this level of the fortress. The guard, after making sure I was following him once more, led me towards one of those doors.

It slid open silently as we drew near, allowing us into a long hallway. The guard’s steel-toed boots clicked on the polished calcite flooring, while the rubber soles of my sporting sandals squeaked jarringly. The Milatians really did love their shining white stone, even going so far as to develop methods to form and print it from base ingredients.

Abruptly, the guard came to a halt beside one of the many doors in the corridor, then pressed a thumb to the door-pad. A chime sounded, but the door remained closed. This didn’t seem to confuse the man, so I stood back awkwardly, waiting.

After a couple of moments, the door slid gently sideways into the wall, and a Milatian officer glanced expectantly at the guard, then to me with curiosity. My eyes instantly went to her uniform curious what her rank was, but I wasn’t familiar enough with Milatian rank insignia to figure it out.

“Prisoner Athe, as you requested, kyr,” he said, placing a closed fist to his chest in salute.

The woman nodded thanks to him, then eyed me more keenly. “Thank you. Prisoner Athe, please enter. That will be all, Srato…” She stopped to read his nametag. “Srato Bordean.”

The guard bowed his head, gave me a final cold look, then left, heading further into the fortress.

Meanwhile, the officer turned and made her way back to the desk at the back of her office. With curiosity as my guide, I followed her, taking a seat in front of her desk while I surveyed the room. She had many shelves, all with a variety of mementos or physical books. The titles on the books all sounded like the type of thing an officer might read, if they considered themselves to be a little more intellectual than their peers.

She looked like it might actually be true, in her case. Her dark eyes held a calm, shrewd intelligence that she was currently using to study me.

“Prisoner Athe,” she said. “You’ve been keeping yourself out of trouble, since you arrived here.”

What? That was not at all true. I could remember at least six fights I’d been involved in, since I got here… was it two years ago? Three?

“Uh, kyr… that is not true,” I said hesitantly.

She chuckled and picked up a tablet, checking something. “Oh, I’m aware of the few scuffles you’ve been in. I cannot say I am entirely surprised, nor do I blame you, if I’m honest.”

I tilted my head, confused again.

With a finger, she tapped something on her tablet. I couldn’t tell what she was indicating with it upside down, other than that it was a name. “Without fail, your opponents in these ‘incidents’ have been those who you would have once saluted, am I wrong?”

Understanding began to dawn on me. “You mean officers? Phoekan officers?”

“Yes,” she agreed, nodding slightly. “I’m curious, why the… singular focus?”

“Bunch of vicious bastards, that’s why,” I said, old anger rising to simmer again. “We’re in prison, but the twits don’t seem to understand that. Think they can still…”

I trailed off, taking a deep breath to control myself. The Milatians, —  the supposed ancient enemy of my people — had treated me with more dignity and respect than the officer corps had. It might just be that the Milatian’s ideals of self-determination and civic duty were getting their hooks in me, but it seemed particularly galling that even here in prison, Phoekan officers demanded unquestioning obedience.

“I can think of worse targets for a fist, I think,” the Milatian woman said with a wry half-smile.

I allowed myself a small grin, still massively confused by what this was supposed to be about, but enjoying the small extension of camaraderie she was offering. Could she be messing with me? Officers had a habit of laying social traps, and this smelled like the opening gambit of one such trap.

“That is, after a very tangential fashion, the reason why you are now in my office,” she said, her smile falling as she leaned forward, resting her palms on the desk. “I am Nautoch Immitei Chlaron.”

I wasn’t sure if her name was meant to mean anything to me, but her rank certainly did. A nautoch had called me to her office. That couldn’t be good. How many ships did she normally command? Twelve?

Nautoch Immitei leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table and steepling her fingers. “Tell me, Athe, what is your opinion of the ‘Enlightened Empire,’ now that you’ve been out from under its influence for a couple of years?”

She said the official name of my people’s dominant political state like it should be laughed at. Which, if I were being honest, she wasn’t wrong about. The name was very pretentious.

“It… if the news channels that you allow us access to are accurate, then the empire is… bad,” I said lamely, shrugging. “They absolutely lied about who the Milatian people are, that much is certain. This prison has been a better place to live than the city where I grew up… so yeah, the empire can burn, as far as I care.”

Slowly, she began to smile again. “Good. Prison surveillance indicated as much, but it’s important to hear such things in person, too. The ancients’ teachings have a lot of merit, even with machines that are not truly intelligent. They can be, and are quite often, wrong.”

I nodded automatically. That was one of the few lessons that the ancients had decided to pass on to the various ancestors of Gê. For some reason, they found it highly important to warn all of their children about the dangers of inorganic intelligence. Generally, it wasn’t a big deal, because no known species even had the ability to create a true artificial intelligence. They were always just a little too… linear. The chaos of biological life seemed to be vital for intelligence that went beyond simple math. It was actually a subject I had taken during my time in school — before I was conscripted into the navy.

“My government, or more accurately, the people to whom my government is beholden, are interested in conducting a little… experiment, Athe,” said the nautoch. “They’re looking for recruits. Based on what my analysts say, and of course the algorithms that they oversee and insist are actually ‘quite accurate,’ you would be a good candidate for the project.”

I was now very curious. Doing something, anything, would be more preferable than my current life in the prison. I wanted to actually achieve things while I lived my life. My curiosity was quickly overshadowed by a growing caution, though. Something about her tone made me think this might not be the opportunity I hoped it was.

Letting out a slow, uneven breath, I raised an eyebrow and waited for the other shoe to drop. Of course, being an officer, she couldn’t just get to the point. Apparently, I needed ‘context’.

“The Milatian Republic contains a great many people who are not Milatian by blood, and yet for most of my nation’s existence, only those of our dominant species have been allowed to serve in the military,” she explained, and I got the impression that she’d rehearsed this speech. “After much debate, it has been decided that those of all species who pledge allegiance to our flag should be given the honour of fighting to protect our nation. This initiative is still in its infancy, but with the help of people like you… it might grow into something that strengthens Milatia.”

Gently, I bit down on my tongue as I absorbed her speech. She wanted me to betray my people — my species, even. Except… not really. I would only be betraying the empire itself, right? I could live with that, especially if it meant escaping this boring, safe prison to do something that actually mattered.

Why now, though? The Milatian Republic was almost a thousand years old, and the Milatians as a spacefaring civilisation had existed for many thousands before that. After all that time, why were they willing to—

The answer hit me. Dozens upon dozens of various, innocuous news stories combined to create a flash of insight that promptly tumbled out from between my lips. “This is about the Oun and the Gleass, isn’t it?”

The older woman’s expression instantly darkened and she speared me with her hardened gaze. “Where did you hear that?”

Oh, oh joy. What a look. It was fearsome… but just like the batai who had originally captured me, I quite liked it when a woman— nevermind. With that reaction, it was obvious I was right. The two oldest civilisations in this region of the galaxy were gearing up to settle old, bitter grudges.

“There was an economic report,” I said, my voice shaking slightly, even as I stated my suspicions with confidence. “The Oun are importing more murmur-fuel than usual. The peoples’ kings have been trying to limit the export, of course, but it is difficult to control the corporations at the best of times. Plus, the Oun wouldn’t be happy if their junior ally started refusing to trade with them. Then there’s the rumours that government bureaucrats assigned to both the intelligence division and the diplomatic divisions are working later hours than usual. There’s more… but…”

The nautoch smiled and held up a hand to stall me. “You are correct, and more intelligent than I initially assumed. However, your suspicions are not to be repeated, understood?”

I nodded. “Yes, kyr.”

If I’d figured it out, then others definitely would have. Keeping the coming conflict a secret would be like trying to plug a hull-breach with a finger — temporary and painful.

Nautoch Immitei took a deep breath, satisfied with my answer for the moment. “I will provide you with an information packet that you can read through. To summarise, the official offer is eight years of service. When it’s over, you’ll gain a limited residency permit.”

“Limited residency permit?” I asked, sensing the other shoe descending.

“Yes, you will be allowed to settle on a select few… less desirable worlds that exist within the republic,” she explained, suppressing a brief grimace.

I laughed. Couldn’t let the Non-Milatians onto their lovely garden worlds now could they? It’d drive the price of real estate down.

She acknowledged that unspoken addition with a pursing of her lips before she continued, “To truly honour the spirit of this initiative, we cannot just fill the lower ranks with other species and continue as normal. We need some to be officers, also. The question is, who should be placed in these roles? Many of my peers within the Nautochy wish to prioritise loyalty above all other qualities. They are not in command of this project, I am, and I am of the mind that we need officers who will be effective in their roles. We need leaders who aren’t just loyal, but smart. I believe, I hope, that you have these qualities. That is why you are here in this office, rather than simply receiving the information packet via your tablet.”

My brain stuttered, attempting to understand what she was saying. Me, an officer? I was lowborn, I was nobody. I was one prisoner on a world that hosted millions.

“I… am flattered, kyr. I would love nothing more than to introduce the ‘Enlightened Empire’ to the concept of humility, one railgun impact at a time, but I think you have the wrong woman,” I said nervously. “I am not officer material. I was just a gunnery hand.”

Nautoch Immitei Chlaron have me a long look that quickly morphed into a slight smile. “No. You have been under observation for a number of years, Athe. I am certain that with training and support, you will be a perfect fit for the 1st Symmakos Fleet.”