Embers of Rebellion, page 19
Then, finally, it was Jackson’s turn. As the mechanical arm detached the section of the booth where Jackson and Arthur sat, Caleb held out little hope. The Councilors were almost as dismissive and self-serving as Senator Decimus. Still, as the booth came to rest in the center of the chamber, Caleb found himself leaning forward in anticipation.
Jackson waited until the chamber fell silent. Then he stood, slowly turning to ensure everyone could see him. He bowed for several seconds, a gesture of both respect and assertion. As he straightened, he raised his hands and began to speak.
“Esteemed Councilors, many of you may not know who I am. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Governor Jackson Hawthorne of Newport. I stand here today to exercise my right to speak for my colony, to address this chamber, and to make one simple request of you all.” He paused, looking around the room before continuing, his voice resonating with quiet authority. “I ask you to remember who you are.”
Jackson raised his hands outward, gesturing broadly. He turned in a slow circle to face every corner of the chamber. “This is the House of Councilors. From the founding of the Republic, this house was established to speak for the people of the Republic.” He waved in the direction of the Senate’s building. “The Senate was created to ensure the thirteen founding worlds shared control over our fledgling Republic—to prevent any one founding world from dominating the others.
“But you, the Councilors, were instituted for another purpose. Your role is to counterbalance the Senate’s power. While our thirteen Senators speak for their worlds, you speak for the rest of Humanity. That is your duty. That is who you were meant to be.”
Jackson paused, lowering his hands to his sides. His voice dropped to a near-whisper, amplified to fill the chamber. “But this house has fallen from that lofty position. You have become lackeys for the thirteen. You pledge your allegiances to them. You vote as they instruct. This house has become a battleground where the thirteen Senators fight for control over all of our colonies.”
Jackson shook his head, his voice steady and clear. “That is not how it should be.” He raised a hand, pointing as he turned to face the Councilors. “And all of you know it. Deep down, you know it. You have failed in your duty to protect your people from the overreach of the thirteen—just as I have failed as Governor. And for this, we should all be ashamed. But,” Jackson continued, his voice rising with conviction, “now we have a chance to redeem ourselves. Bill 796 is the greatest threat to the people and the stability of the Republic we have ever faced.”
He let his words hang in the air for a moment before continuing. “The new colonies it will establish, and the subsidies that will fund them, will devastate the economies of hundreds of southern and eastern systems. It will send billions into poverty. Unrest could tear apart the cohesion we have preserved for centuries. Yet, the bill has not passed. We still have time to forestall the damage it will bring. So hear my proposal.”
Jackson paused, scanning the chamber to ensure all eyes were on him. “I am not against the establishment of new colonies—nor against granting them subsidies. My own world was only viable because of the subsidies it initially received. But let us not establish these worlds at the expense of the people we are meant to be protecting. All we need to do is reduce the subsidies in Bill 796 to the same levels already granted to tier-four agricultural and mining worlds. Yes, this would mean the new colonies would grow more slowly, but their growth would be more robust, founded on a surer footing. And, more importantly, we would not destroy the economies of the rest of the Rim.”
He raised his voice as he drove his point home. “Surely this is a common-sense solution. Surely this is what the House of Councilors was established to do—to protect the people of the Republic, not to play the political games of our Senators!”
Jackson raised his hand again, this time pointing directly at the booth where Caleb sat. “Newport’s Councilor will be voting against this bill unless it is amended. And I implore you all to do the same. Thank you.” With that, Jackson bowed deeply to the assembly.
Before he could even rise fully, the chamber erupted into chaos. Councilors shouted and argued, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of anger and indignation. Caleb could feel the tension in the air, thick and palpable. His father’s words had ignited the room like a spark to dry kindling. Though Jackson hadn’t directly accused the Senators of abusing their power, his implication was clear—and he had, by extension, accused the Councilors of being complicit.
As the mechanical arm began to return Jackson’s booth to its position, the uproar only grew louder. It seemed to take the Councilors a few moments to truly absorb the weight of his father’s words, and when they did, it only fueled the pandemonium. Arms waved, fists clenched, and voices rose to a fever pitch as Councilors lashed out at each other.
When the booth finally reconnected to the wall, Jackson stepped back and sat down beside Caleb. He seemed calm, almost amused, as if he had expected nothing less. “Well,” he asked with a faint smile, “how did that go?”
Caleb hesitated, not wanting to disappoint his father. But honesty won out. “They hated it. It’s just riled them up even more!”
Jackson’s smile widened slightly. “Has it?” He held up a hand to stop Caleb from saying more. “Listen.”
Caleb frowned as his father gestured toward the Councilors. He cocked his ear all the same. At first, all he heard was a cacophony of raised voices. Slowly, though, he began to pick out snippets of his father’s words being repeated. They were being shouted down just as vocally. Yet, unlike Sarah and the other Councilors who had spoken against the bill and been laughed at, it seemed his father had managed to spark a real debate.
Caleb turned back to his father. “What do you think? Some seem to be taking you seriously.”
Jackson nodded. “Some are. The question is, how many.” He reached forward and tapped Arthur on the shoulder. “What do you make of it?”
Arthur, who had been slowly turning his head to take in the room, paused and turned to Jackson. “I don’t know. There are a lot more Councilors being vocal for our cause than I had hoped for. But even then...”
“Even then, we are still fighting a losing battle,” Jackson finished grimly. He then leaned in closer to Caleb and whispered, “We’ve given it our best shot. Even if it fails, perhaps we’ve won some sympathy for our cause.”
For secession, you mean, Caleb thought but didn’t say. He still wasn’t sure if his father was truly trying to defang Bill 796 or merely playing the long game. His words were persuasive, though, Caleb admitted to himself. What more could you have wanted him to say? He didn’t have an answer to that. He was no politician. “So, what now?” he asked aloud.
“Now we wait,” Jackson said. “We’ve done all we can.”
The next hour dragged for Caleb. It felt like he was on trial, awaiting the jury’s verdict. His future hung in the balance. If the vote passed, he knew what his father intended next. But if it failed, there was a slim chance he might still return to the Navy—though that chance had grown smaller now that he had drawn Senator Decimus’s ire. Still, there was hope.
As six more Councilors debated the merits of Jackson’s arguments, Caleb found himself counting the seconds. None of them said anything new. None could truly refute the scathing criticism his father had made, though they tried nonetheless. To Caleb, it sounded more like they were posturing to win favor with whichever Senator pulled their strings.
At last, the vote was called. After the long, drawn-out day, the vote itself happened surprisingly quickly. When they had arrived, Arthur had estimated that fifty-seven percent of the Councilors supported the bill, with forty-three percent opposed. Once the votes were tallied electronically, a holographic projection of the results appeared in the chamber’s center.
Cheers and applause erupted, filling the chamber. Caleb’s heart sank. Bill 796 had passed with fifty-three percent of the vote.
Caleb turned to his father, expecting anger or frustration. Instead, Jackson’s face was strangely calm. He turned to meet his son’s gaze and said evenly, “Everything changes now. But at least our path is clear.” He glanced out at the celebrating Councilors, then stood. “Come, we have work to do.”
“What? Where are we going now?” Caleb demanded. They had just lost. How could his father be so composed?
Jackson pulled a comm unit from his pocket and tapped it, sending a message he had clearly prepared in advance. Then he slipped the device back into his pocket and smiled faintly at Caleb. “Time is now of the essence, and we have an ultimatum to deliver.”
Caleb’s eyes widened. “What? Now?”
His father didn’t answer. He was already on the move, gathering his entourage as he swept out of the booth. Caleb, with no other choice, hurried to follow.
As they walked through the House of Counsellors, Caleb had a hunch. Using his implant, he checked on the whereabouts of Senator Decimus. Normally, that type of information was classified, but Caleb was right—it was available. Decimus was currently in an open session of the Senate. Father’s going to confront him right now! Caleb realized in horror. This was really happening.
His mind immediately went to Alexander. There wouldn’t be a chess game tonight. They wouldn’t be making up. By the time we were supposed to meet, he’s going to hear that my father is a traitor, Caleb thought in anguish. There was only one thing he could think to do. Pulling out his datapad, he typed out what was probably the last message he would ever send to his friend. Then, steeling himself, he picked up his pace. As much as he dreaded what was about to happen, he didn’t want to miss it.
Chapter 17
As soon as she received the message she had been waiting for, Rebecca got to work. She quickly paid for the lunch she had been nibbling at and left the restaurant. Then she set off for Senator Decimus’s palace on foot—she didn’t want any aircar logging her flight path.
The palace was surrounded by extensive gardens, some of the only greenery left on Beowulf’s surface. Over the last several weeks, Rebecca had talked Alexander into taking her for several walks through them—until she had finally spotted what she had been looking for.
Beowulf’s regulations expressly forbade anyone from entering the palace gardens, let alone the palace itself. But given how terrified everyone on Beowulf was of being caught and taken by the Regulators, security around the palace had grown lax.
That was why, when Rebecca crossed the street to the hedge that marked the edge of the palace grounds and ducked through a small hole in it, she was confident there would be no guards on the other side.
As she carefully emerged through the hedge, she pulled out a scanner and checked the distant walls of the palace. Three days ago, she had confirmed there were no recording devices watching this part of the gardens, but her training had taught her to take nothing for granted.
Once she was sure no new recording devices had been placed, Rebecca stepped out of the hedge. She immediately straightened and began to walk casually, as if she were out for a leisurely stroll. She couldn’t pull out her scanner again—it would look far too suspicious if she bumped into anyone. Instead, she kept to a carefully planned route that avoided all the security sensors she knew about.
After ten minutes, she reached her objective. It was one of the private doors Alexander had taken her through on their walks. If she wanted, Rebecca could have tapped in Alexander’s access codes—he had made no effort to hide them from her. But eventually, someone would discover what she was about to do, and using Alexander’s codes would lead them straight to him.
Instead, Rebecca pulled out a small device and connected it to the door’s panel. She interfaced with the device through her datapad, her fingers moving quickly. This was the most dangerous moment. If she were caught, there would be no way to explain her actions.
With ease, she accessed the panel’s software. Her datapad recognized it instantly. Rebecca shook her head; the code was centuries old. As she had done countless times in training, she selected one of her prewritten viruses and, in seconds, adapted it for the panel’s code. With a final tap on her datapad, she sent the virus into the panel. A moment later, the door clicked open. Rebecca’s hand flashed out to retrieve her device, then she tucked it and her datapad back into a hidden pocket in her dress. With her other hand, she opened the door and stepped into the palace.
As she did, a brief wave of guilt washed over her. She was only here because of the trust Alexander had given her. Trust that had come because she had spent the last six weeks stringing him along. If he had been the brute his father was, Rebecca wouldn’t have given her actions a second thought—she was used to doing what had to be done to protect her planet and her people. But Alexander was not his father. Apart from his blind spot when it came to the horrible conditions many of Beowulf’s citizens lived in, Alexander was an honorable man.
Rebecca had almost found herself forgiving him for even that. After all, his entire upbringing had been designed to shelter him from the true reality of his home system. In many ways, it was a miracle he had grown into the man he had become.
This was where Rebecca’s guilt stemmed from, for she knew that under different circumstances, she could have genuinely come to like Alexander. For most of their time together, she hadn’t needed to pretend. Her affection and pleasure had been real.
Stop it, she scolded herself. As she had been trained to do, she forced her emotions aside. She couldn’t afford any distractions.
With her face carefully expressionless, Rebecca began walking through the palace like she belonged there. She was counting on anyone who saw her assuming she was on her way to see Alexander. Twice, she passed palace workers. Inside, her heart rate spiked, but outwardly, she nodded and smiled at them. Neither seemed suspicious. Thankfully, they were the only people she encountered. The palace was unusually quiet, with so many of Senator Decimus’s staff at the House of Councilors for the vote or with him at the Senate.
In just a few minutes, Rebecca made it to Alexander’s quarters. Once again, she pulled out her hacking tools, and a moment later, she was opening the door.
“What are you doing here?” Alexander asked in surprise as they almost bumped into each other. He frowned at the device that disappeared from Rebecca’s hand in a flash. “How did you get in?”
Rebecca swore silently to herself. Alexander was supposed to be having lunch with his mother. Why was he back in the palace? She didn’t know. It didn’t matter. She knew what she needed to do.
As if she hadn’t been startled, Rebecca broke into a wide smile. “There you are! I thought we had a lunch date. I was in the palace canteen waiting for you.” She hardened her face a little and placed her hands on her hips.
“Oh,” Alexander said, concern filling his face. “I was having lunch with my mother. I thought you were with Governor Hawthorne?”
Rebecca shook her head. “I told you he only needed me until twelve.”
Alexander frowned as he reached up and scratched his head. “I guess I forgot. Maybe it was for the best, though. Things didn’t go well with Mother. She was asking about you. It seems more than one rumor has reached her ears. I don’t think she’s too happy… wait, how did you get in here again?” he asked as he frowned once more.
Rebecca rolled her eyes. “It’s not like you’re very good at hiding your access code. You can’t blame a girl for keeping her eyes open.” She took hold of Alexander’s hand and added, “Now come on. You just stood your girlfriend up in front of half the palace staff. You’ve got some making up to do. Then we can talk about your mother.”
Alexander grinned as he let Rebecca lead him toward one of his apartment’s sofas. “Okay, but I only have a few minutes. I don’t understand why, but Caleb wants me to go to the Senate’s viewing gallery. He said it was important. I don’t want to let him down.”
“Then you’d better make this one of the best kisses of your life,” Rebecca said as she pushed Alexander down onto the sofa. His eyes widened as she straddled him. This was by far the most intimate they had ever been.
She leaned in and kissed him deeply. As she did, one of her hands cradled the back of his neck, holding his lips to hers. Her other hand slipped into her hidden pocket. A moment later, it emerged with a short hypospray. Rebecca pressed it to Alexander’s neck and, before he realized what was happening, she depressed the trigger, releasing the spray’s contents into his bloodstream.
With a jerk, Alexander pushed her back, confusion etched across his face. “What was that?” he demanded, though his eyes began to glaze over, and his last word was slurred.
“I’m sorry,” Rebecca whispered. She caught Alexander’s head as it lolled to the side. Gently, she lowered him so he was lying flat on the sofa. She allowed herself one guilty look at him, then got to work. The drug she had given him should make his memory of the last ten minutes hazy. With luck, she could still complete her mission and get away undiscovered.
Moving through the apartment, Rebecca went into Alexander’s sleeping compartment. There, she opened a removable drawer to reveal a safe. Once again, it was child’s play for her to hack into it. Inside, she removed one of Alexander’s spare ID cards. It was identical to the one he carried with him to access the more restricted parts of the palace.
Stepping over to Alexander's bed, she sat down and pulled out the third electronic device she kept hidden in her skirt. Slotting the card into it, Rebecca proceeded to reformat the card. From its codes, she quickly deduced the security algorithms it was designed to interact with. Her software easily predicted other codes that would also be accepted by the palace’s security systems. From there, Rebecca changed the personal details on the card to match a palace staff member she knew was currently on holiday.
