As it drew nearer, I noticed a parabolic dish mounted on the cube’s roof — one of those fancy gadgets for eavesdropping on people a long way away, and for talking back to them if you felt like it. That’s how Sam had heard what we were saying and put in her two cents worth. When you thought about it, that kind of communication system would be pretty useful in a war like Troyen’s. Thanks to the Fasskister Swarm, there were almost no radios on the planet… so if you wanted to talk to soldiers on the other side of a battlefield, you had to use something different, like tight-focused sound waves. The big hearing dish would also be handy for listening in on enemies: picking up battle plans, status reports, and juicy stuff like that.
So here was another reason Sam had won the war. No other queen would have a flying command post with all kinds of complicated audio equipment. It was kind of surprising Sam could have that kind of stuff… but then, she was doing business with the Fasskisters and our own navy. She must have got them to smuggle in a few goodies that were immune to anti-electronics nanites.
As the cube soared over the palisade, defenders on the ground peppered the glass with crossbow bolts; but the arrows bounced off as if they were toothpicks. The instant after firing, the guards ducked for cover… because the cube had an escort of four Laughing Larries, one floating under each bottom corner, like round gold casters holding up a floor-model fish tank. None of the Larries tried to fire — they weren’t even making a big howl, just a leisurely spinning whistle — but the warriors below weren’t taking chances.
The cube stopped a stone’s throw away from us, hanging in midair, level with our parapet. The blue glow coming from inside still didn’t reveal much; nothing but unidentifiable shadows. It occurred to me, we probably weren’t seeing the interior at all — just a video projection, all murked up, like a thick gauze curtain that hid almost everything but let through enough to catch your attention.
No matter how hard it was to see in, I was sure Sam could see out just fine… with fancy nightscopes and sensors that showed our group as bright as if it were sunny afternoon.
"So. Edward." Sam’s voice sounded clearly from the cube, as if we were talking face-to-face, not separated by thick arrow-proof glass. "You’ve finally come back to me."
"I’ve come back," I said. "But not to you."
"To whom then? Those poor castaways from Willow! By now you must know there’s only one left; Daddy rather used up the other one. I can’t tell you how angry he was that they stayed behind — he hates loose ends."
Tobit gestured to the unconscious man with Festina’s knife to his throat. "At this moment, your dad’s a loose end himself."
"Yes, I figured you’d take him hostage." Sam gave a theatrical sigh. "Pity you won the tug-of-war. Daddy was up on Willow, cannibalizing parts to make some more Laughing Larries—"
Plebon gasped. "You’ve got Willow here?"
"And a ship of my own," Sam told him. "A pretty black one. We do a lot of manufacturing up there, where we don’t have to worry about Fasskister nanites. Anyway, I told Daddy not to try a landing, but he insisted it would be safe. He’d tapped into your own satellite sensors, and watched Edward break that anchor box. He thought it was the only one you had. Idiot. And speaking of idiots, brother, why did you smash the box?"
I didn’t answer. Eventually, Sam sighed again. "I’m hurt, Edward. You never used to keep secrets from me. But then, you’re probably upset. I’m sure Gashwan has been telling all kinds of awful truths about me."
The front of the cube bloomed into a big view of my sister’s face, as if the whole surface was a single huge vid-screen. Even blown up three stories tall, Sam still looked beautifuclass="underline" eyes warm and twinkling, her skin flawless, her face gaspingly perfect.
"So, Edward," she said, "I figure you have an hour before my troops kill you. Any last words?"
"Yes," I said. "We surrender. Any terms you want. Just call off your soldiers."
She shook her head sadly, the way she always did when I was too stupid to understand something obvious. "You heard what I said about loose ends — Dad doesn’t like them. Two weeks from now, a group of navy diplomats are scheduled to show up here, ready to establish new relations between the Technocracy and poor war-torn Troyen. By then, we don’t want anyone left alive who knows what actually happened. That means we have to kill all of you, plus Gashwan and anyone you might have talked to."
"What about the High Council of Admirals?" Festina asked. "Don’t some of them know the truth?"
"Certainly not — it’s Daddy’s little secret. Not even Admiral Vincence knows… despite all the energy he’s devoted to meddling in Daddy’s affairs. The High Council is always such a hotbed of spying on each other. Do you realize, Vincence had bought off the Executive Officer of Daddy’s own ship? That’s right: the XO of Willow was in Vincence’s pocket. It was the XO’s idea to pick up Edward on Willow’s way out of the system; that wasn’t in Daddy’s plan at all. He wanted Edward on that moonbase, where we could keep an eye on him. When Daddy interrogated your Explorer Olympia and learned Willow was taking Edward back to civilization… my, my, my, there was quite the tantrum."
"Why would Dad care?" I asked.
"Because you know things, Edward. And you are things. I’m sure you don’t understand what’s going on, but if you ever got home and told Vincence everything you’ve seen… well, Vincence has brains."
"Unlike us," Tobit muttered.
"Don’t pout," Sam told him. "The average Technocracy citizen is simply less capable than humans once were. The Admiralty has statistics to prove it; four hundred years ago, when the navy began testing recruits, they scored much higher in almost every area. All nine indices of intelligence… psychological maturity… emotional stability… you name it. Homo sapiens as a species has gone into decline, and nobody knows why. Maybe our pampered lifestyles. Maybe too many people with inferior genes, surviving and having children. Maybe some environmental factor was present on Old Earth but not where we live now. Navy researchers are quietly trying to figure out what’s gone wrong, but the diminishment is undeniable, especially on Technocracy core worlds. Four centuries ago, idiots like Prope on Jacaranda wouldn’t have been allowed to command a rowboat; now she’s the best captain the navy can find. Isn’t that appalling?"
Samantha paused for us to comment… but she didn’t wait too long. Sam loved making speeches, especially to a captive audience. "So what to do? The civilian governments are gutless incompetents; they lost control of the fleet ages ago, and don’t even realize it. As long as there’s no interruption in imports of Divian champagne, they don’t give a damn what the navy does. Same with most of the navy itself. Captain Prope is the rule, not the exception."
"Not in the Explorer Corps," Festina answered. Her voice was quiet, but tough as iron.
"I wouldn’t know," Samantha replied with a breezy wave of her hand. "Explorers have nothing to do with anything. All I’m sure of is the Technocracy suffers a major shortage of brainpower. It’s time for new management to take the situation in hand."
"Meaning you," I said.
She smiled. "Old Japanese proverb: Who will do the harsh things? Those who can."
Kaisho growled. "In defense of my ancestors, they were talking about shouldering difficult responsibilities. Not acting like a bitch because you can get away with it."
"I know what they meant," Sam said, "and I mean the same thing. People in the Technocracy are no longer able to govern themselves. Someone more gifted has to take charge. So my father and I intend to create the best leaders humanity has ever seen."