The High Commission

DATE: Year 308-B, Sol 425

LOCATION: Addis Ababa Station (in Hohman transit orbit between Mars and Venus)

The station never stopped moving.

Addis Ababa station was the crown jewel of the Earth Zionist Movement. It was a massive, converted propellant depot caught in a permanent gravitational loop between Mars and Venus. A fortress orbiting in the sun. The EZM built it themselves, with funding from the Saganites during the troubles. The Sagan Cities didn’t condone the flippers and viewed it as abandoning their duties, but they wouldn’t abandon the young people in return. So they found themselves on the EZM side of the controversy as more of their youth joined the rebel ranks. So now they weren’t rebels anymore, they were legitimate members of the New Earth Governing Consortium.

EZM Chief Commissioner Vanderpool stood at the viewport of the Commission Chamber. The glass was thick, layered with radiation shielding that turned the stars a sickly green.

He watched the telemetry feed from the Inner System.

-The bulletin has propagated to the Vesta relay, Vanderpool’s assistant, Kemi, said. She sat at the long table. It was a slab of polished black basalt imported from the Qaddafi Authority.

-The Directorate on Vesta is holding the press conference in one hour.

The Directorate was EZM’s political leadership, its public face, based on Vesta in the Belt, where many EZM recruits came from.

-Good, Vanderpool said, keeping his back to her. How is the narrative holding?

-Sympathy is high, Kemi said. The 'Martyrs of the Halo.' Donations to the EZM emergency fund are up two hundred percent. The NEC has approved our hardship grant.

-It’s a good lie, a voice grunted from the shadows. But watch out for the Saganites.

Captain Clinton stepped into the light. He wore a pressure suit with the helmet off.

Clinton tossed a data-chip onto the basalt table. It clattered loudly in the quiet room.

-We’re not in the clear yet, Clinton said. The MTC deep-range sensors picked up the energy spike in the Halo, he continued. They know The Cold Moon was baited into a debris cascade.

-The MTC won't talk, not to the Saganites or to anyone else, Vanderpool said, turning around. They lost a capital cruiser to a scavenger pilot. They can’t admit that. They need the tragic accident story just as much as we do.

-Maybe, Clinton said, unconvinced. He tapped the table, projecting a holographic star chart. A red vector line shot away from the Earth Zone, curving toward the sun.

-But the MTC isn't the problem. The problem is this vector.

Vanderpool looked at the line. It was a flight path.

-They survived, Kemi whispered, her hand going to her mouth. Market saved them.

-Market is dead, Clinton corrected. The telemetry confirms his pod was vaporized. But someone else is flying that fleet. And they’re burning hard.

-Where are they going? Vanderpool asked.

-Venus.

-Into the trash.

Vanderpool walked to the table and poured a glass of water. It was clear, distilled, and cold, a luxury.

-This was supposed to be a clean purge, Vanderpool said quietly. Get rid of the old fanatics and the flippers more concerned with the fantasy of resettling Earth than the reality that we fought hard for the legitimacy we have and need to focus on building our capacity. Hundreds of years we’ve been exiled from Earth. We can wait longer to return.

-Yeah, we can do it together, Clinton said sardonically, repeating a line the EZM made popular when joining the NEC. We can do it together. Resettle Earth as one human family.

Vanderpool pointed at the red line on the map.

-We have two thousand radicalized, starving, stateless fanatics flying toward Venus under a rogue flag. If they land, if they make contact with the Warlords, they could trade our secrets for food. They could figure out they’d been set up.

-We should’ve shot them into debris as soon as they got far away enough from Jupiter, Clinton muttered.

-Maybe they won’t do anything, maybe they won’t care, Kemi offered quietly, but no one listened.

-The Saganites wouldn’t have it, Vanderpool said, responding to Clinton. I’m sure their sensors go a lot further out than we imagine.

-In any case, the NEC could revoke our Charter, Clinton continued. We go back to being terrorists. The blockade returns. The starvation returns.

The room was silent. The station’s engines hummed, a constant vibration in the floor.

-We can't let them land, Vanderpool said. Our narrative only works if they stay dead.

He looked at Clinton.

-You have the Defiance prepped?

-Blockade runner. Fast. Heavily armed, Clinton nodded. I can catch them before they hit the Venusian atmosphere.

-Go, Vanderpool responded.

-A rescue mission? Kemi asked hopefully. She knew better.

-Containment, Vanderpool said coldly.

The chief commissioner looked at the polished table, the symbol of the legitimacy he had built by pruning the rot.

-Send an order to Vesta, Vanderpool told Kemi. Tell the Directorate to execute the dead men protocol. Revoke their citizenships. Freeze their accounts. Erase them from the database.

He looked Clinton in the eye.

-We already listed them as dead, Clinton. The paperwork is filed. Make the reality match the record.