The Long Mars

‘That guy Cutler,’ she grumbled as she poured Mac his whisky. ‘Never known a guy who fit his role in life so well.’

Mac grunted. ‘And wouldn’t fit anywhere else. Whereas you are a bit more amorphous. Which is why he reports to you, Maggie, and not the other way around. Our senior commanders aren’t entirely idiots, not all of them.’

‘A ringing endorsement. But, you know, there was scuttlebutt about Cutler and his role in the mission even before we left the Datum in the first place. I remember Nathan Boss coming to me with below-decks rumours about Cutler having some kind of special assignment from Davidson.’

But Mac was dismissive. ‘So what? Look, Ed Cutler doesn’t matter any more. He’s done his job. All that matters is how you use that switch on the desk before you.’

‘I feel like smashing the thing, Mac. That’s the truth. I’m being asked to consider, not just the fate of these few “Next”, whatever the hell they are, but everybody else in this community too. This is a nuclear weapon we’re talking about. There’ll be collateral damage—’

‘But you can’t just push this choice away.’

‘No, I can’t. I need to take this seriously.’

‘A career-defining moment?’

‘More than that, Mac. Life-defining. Whatever I decide I’m going to have to live with it for the rest of my days.’ She massaged her temples. ‘One thing’s for sure. Sitting in here staring into my own conscience won’t be enough. I need to open this out. Take some advice.’

‘Hold a hearing,’ Mac said.

‘Hmm?’

‘Get a couple of advocates. One to argue each position, to nuke or not to nuke. They don’t have to be proponents of the position they defend. Just logical about it.’

‘That’s not a bad idea.’ She looked him in the eye. ‘Guess what? You just volunteered.’

He sipped the single malt. ‘I thought that might happen. It’ll be a pleasure.’

‘I’m afraid it won’t be.’

‘Come again?’

‘I can’t call on some swivel-eyed bigot to argue the case for a nuke. Ed Cutler, for instance? I need somebody sane. You, Mac.’

‘Hold on a minute. You need me to argue for the nuking?’

‘You just said the advocates don’t have to be proponents of their cases, personally—’

‘I’m a doctor, for Christ’s sake. How can I possibly argue for mass slaughter?’

‘By setting your conscience aside, and appealing to logic. Just as you said. You’re a doctor but you’re also a military man. Look at it this way, Mac. If the logic you come up with is compelling, then the argument will have been won.’

‘You spoke about needing to live with this action for the rest of your life, one way or another. If I was to win the argument – I couldn’t forgive myself. Not even a priest could pardon that.’

‘I appreciate what this will cost you, Mac. Will you help me?’

‘Is it an order?’

‘Of course not.’

‘The hell with it. The hell with you.’ He drained his glass, and stood up. ‘When?’

She considered. ‘The nuke is concealed, but it won’t stay that way. Twenty-four hours, Mac. Back here.’

‘Christ, Christ.’ He made for the door. ‘Who will you get to argue the case against?’

‘I don’t know. I need to think about it.’

‘Christ.’ He slammed the door on the way out.

Maggie sat back, sighed, considered another whisky, decided against it.

Shi-mi slid out of wherever she’d been hiding and leapt on to the desk. She sniffed the briefcase, electronic eyes gleaming with suspicion. ‘I did tell you that Cutler was aboard as a weapon, Captain,’ she said.

‘Yes, yes.’

‘My intuition was good. But even I didn’t imagine it would be quite so literally true as this.’

‘OK, smartass. The question is, how we go forward from here.’

‘You have a choice to make,’ Shi-mi said. ‘This idea of a hearing is a good one. But as Mac asked, who should argue to save the Next?’

‘One of them, I guess.’

‘No. It can’t be one of the Next.’

‘Why not?’

‘Consider the logic,’ Shi-mi said. ‘The whole point of the case against them is that these Next are not human. They’re a new species. That’s precisely why they’re a threat to humanity. As a consequence this is a human decision to make. It can’t be made, even in part, by the Next themselves. You need a human to argue their case for survival, a case based on the interests of mankind, not the interests of the Next. Of course that advocate can gather evidence from whoever he wants.’

‘Why do you say “he”? Who are you thinking of?’

‘Joshua Valienté.’

‘The super-stepper guy? You know him?’

‘He’s an old friend.’

‘Why aren’t I surprised? And he’s here? How would you know that? . . . Ah, the hell with it. Of course you’d know. Can you find him, ask him to come in?’

‘Leave it to me.’ The cat jumped down from the desk.

44

AS SHE PREPARED for the ‘hearing’ with Mac and Valienté, Maggie had time to wonder why it was her who happened to be in this particular hot seat in the first place.

Admiral Davidson must have been under intense pressure, from the White House on down, to have authorized the loading of covert weapons of mass destruction on to ships that were supposed to be Lewis-and-Clark explorer vessels in the first place, and then more so to mandate the deployment of a nuke against Happy Landings, a civilian settlement within the US Aegis. But Maggie had known Davidson a long time. And he’d proved in the Valhalla rebellion back in ’40, for example, that his instincts were not to fire first. Maybe handing this poisoned chalice to Maggie was Davidson’s way of ensuring that it never got spilled.

But all that was irrelevant, Maggie thought now. However she had ended up with this responsibility, she was on the spot. And as had been pressed on her since the moment she got the command of the Benjamin Franklin, let alone the Armstrong, as a Navy twain Captain she had the autonomy to act as she saw fit, whatever the circumstances. Cutler was right. Hers was the choice to make, not Davidson’s or anybody else’s, no matter how she had got here.

Before she knew it, it was time.

Almost exactly twenty-four hours after that meeting with Mac and Ed Cutler, Joshua Valienté was shown into Maggie’s sea cabin by Ensign Snowy, Maggie’s beagle crewman. Mac was already here, in full uniform for once, with a tablet full of notes on the desk before him, looking as grumpy as hell. He stood when Joshua entered, and he acknowledged Snowy curtly.

Before he left, the beagle leaned forward and sniffed Joshua’s face. Maggie knew by now that this was close to a beagle’s way of shaking hands, toned down in some physical details for human society.

‘Joss-shua. How is-ss you-hrr back?’

‘Not even a scar.’

‘And the hh-and?’

Joshua flexed his artificial fingers. ‘Better than the original. No hard feelings.’

‘Good to hav-vve ss-seen you again, Joss-shua.’

‘You too, Krypto.’

After Snowy left, Joshua sat down, and Maggie ran through a quick round of introductions. An orderly pushed in a trolley laden with water, coffee, soft drinks. Maggie herself got up to pour the drinks, water for Mac and herself, but Joshua asked for coffee – that was an authentic detail, she’d never known a pioneer type turn down the chance of good coffee.

Joshua Valienté wore patched jeans, a practical-looking jacket over a denim shirt, and an Indiana Jones hat he hung on the back of his chair. He looked the part, a Long Earth pioneer, and Maggie wondered if he’d dressed down for the occasion to make the point. Probably not, she tentatively decided. This was the authentic Valienté. But he looked as uncomfortable as did Mac, in his own way.

Once they were set with their drinks, Maggie locked the door.

‘OK, gentlemen, this is it. Bathroom is through the other door, over there. Otherwise nobody comes in or out until we’ve – sorry, I’ve – made a decision here. It’s entirely up to us. We are being recorded, however, for the court-martial that’s probably coming my way later.’