Rath's Rebellion (The Janus Group Book 5) Read online

  That’s how cults work, she reminded herself. They prey on the insecure and gullible.

  Eventually, the video ended with a stirring montage of smiling people accomplishing various notable things – climbing a snowy peak, finishing a marathon, graduating from college, getting married. The lights came back on and the guide stepped back to the front of the room.

  “I envy you,” she told them. “Your first time is just a huge rush. You’ll see – it can be overwhelming when you accept Simi’s teachings and really take them to heart. When you first drink from his lifewater, it changes you so much.” She smiled sadly. “And it never tastes quite as sweet again. So enjoy it.”

  She led them back down the corridor, and they waited for several minutes outside the curtained church entrance. Then, at an invisible signal, the woman pulled back the curtain, and an usher took them inside.

  The lights were dimmed inside – candles around the edges of the vast room showed Dasi glimpses of several thousand people seated in rows of chairs. Many of them had turned to look back at the new recruits, watching in silence as they filed into the room. At the front of the room, Dasi could just make out a grand altar under the flickering candles, with a ceremonial well for the lifewater.

  “Welcome,” a voice boomed, and suddenly the room was flooded with bright, white spotlights. Dasi caught her breath, looking up by instinct. The room itself was a natural rock formation, an ancient cave with massive grey and brown stalactites hanging from the ceiling far overhead, sparkling in the light. “Welcome to the NeoPuritan Church, the house that Simi Quorn built.”

  “Welcome,” the congregation echoed, and Dasi felt immediately self-conscious at the thousands of eyes on her.

  An usher led them down the central aisle, and Dasi saw several members seated in the chairs stand up. She spotted Turpin standing, and the usher gestured that she should join him. He took her hand when she reached him, then they took their seats.

  “Woah,” she whispered to Turpin. “It’s big.”

  He nodded sternly, and held a finger to his lips. When all of the recruits had been seated, the priest began his sermon. Dasi tried to pay attention, but it was largely a lecture about the evils of automation and how artificial intelligence removed humans from the decisions of their own lives. Six was unimpressed.

  When the sermon was over, the priest took his position in front of the ceremonial well. Turpin stood, along with the rest of the congregation, and Dasi quickly moved to stand, as well. On the side of the well, a sluice gate opened, and the lifewater ran down a wide spout, pouring into the stone trough along the front of the altar.

  “Let us now drink of his lifewater, that we may believe again in the power of his teachings, and in the power of ourselves. Simi brought us lifewater,” the priest called out.

  “… through it we are cleansed, and transformed into a better version of ourselves,” the congregation recited, in reply. “We live to serve his values, and the Church.”

  As ushers began directing people to the altar, Turpin led the way to the center aisle, where he and Dasi stood on a long line of people, waiting for their turn.

  “What do I do when I get up there?” she asked him.

  “You drink,” he said, frowning. They shuffled forward several feet.

  “I don’t have to say anything special, or pray or something?”

  “No,” he told her, quietly. “Just dip your hands in the lifewater and drink.”

  Turpin fished his phone out of his pocket, and held it up as they reached an acolyte wielding a reader device. Dasi took her phone out, too, but Turpin waved her away. “The men provide for their women.”

  “You don’t have to,” she said.

  “No, I do,” he insisted. “That’s the rule.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Thanks.”

  She glanced at his phone’s holograms as the transaction took place, and saw with shock that he had been charged nearly five hundred dollars. Then they climbed a pair of stone steps, and knelt on velvet cushions laid out along the marble trough that held the lifewater. Dasi watched as Turpin cupped his hands and then brought the liquid to his lips, drinking deeply, his eyes closed. A trickle of water spilled down his chin.

  She turned and put her hands into the lifewater – it was ice-cold, and she nearly gasped. But she drew a handful of water up to her lips and drank. The liquid was sweet, with an effervescent, citrusy aftertaste. Dasi felt a tingle down her spine, and then a heady rush of warmth enveloped her whole body. She smiled unconsciously, as a deep feeling of confidence and optimism filled her.

  She opened her eyes and saw that Turpin was watching her with a faint smile. “You feel it, don’t you?” he asked, standing and offering her a hand.

  She stood up, nodding. “It’s … incredible,” Dasi gasped.

  She barely remembered walking back to their seats – she just had a fleeting recollection of moving along behind Turpin, floating almost. After she had sat, she found herself touching her bare arm, feeling the blood pulsing in her veins. I feel stronger, somehow, she thought.

  >>>Your biometric signs are abnormal, Dasi, Six told her.

  What? She tried to concentrate on the message in her heads-up display.

  >>>Your heart and respiratory rates are both elevated well above baseline.

  I don’t understand, she told Six. What are you saying?

  >>>I believe you’re under the influence of some kind of narcotic.

  It’s true, she realized, with a start. But how …? The lifewater – it’s drugged! Six, am I going to be okay?

  >>>I don’t know what the narcotic is. But logically, the Church would not be in existence today if it poisoned all of its new recruits. The drug will likely wear off in time.

  I’m not sure I want it to, Dasi thought.

  Turpin took her hand and squeezed it, smiling at her. His eyes were unfocused, glassy. “Now you see why I’m so committed to this Church,” he said. “You see the power of Simi’s teachings, his gifts to us. Welcome to your new life.”

  12

  “Let’s come to order, please,” Senator Tsokel said, clearing his throat. The conversation around the conference table died down. He looked over at a grey-haired policewoman, sitting at one end of the table. She wore the traditional five-star rank insignia given to the Interstellar Police’s commanding general. “General, when you’re ready.”

  “Thank you, sir. Gentlemen, in light of recent events, Senator Tsokel asked me to put together an assessment of the security situation across the Federacy. I’m here today to share that report with the Intelligence Committee, and answer any questions you might have.”

  The commanding general stood up, and the viewscreen at the end of the room came on, showing the Interstellar Police logo. “In short, the situation is bad, and deteriorating. You’re all aware that Senate approval ratings have dipped to their lowest point in Federacy history, driven by the recent Guild scandal. But citizens are now starting to take action on their sentiments.”

  Behind her, a series of still photos showed protesters clashing with riot police on several different worlds. “We are now running at the rate of nearly fifty major protests every day – and here I’m classifying a major protest as a gathering of more than ten thousand citizens in one location. That means that every half hour, somewhere in the Federacy there is an act of civil disobedience taking place. And unfortunately, those gatherings are becoming more and more violent.” She gestured at the screen. “Here’s a chart showing number of injuries per protest over time. The upward trend is clear.”

  “We need to get that tax break bill passed, and soon,” Senator Herek commented.

  “With respect, sir, I don’t believe that will do much to counter the unrest,” the commanding general told him. “The people at these rallies want reform. They want investigations, audits … accountability. Cutting taxes isn’t addressing their root concern.”

  “That’s easier said than done,” Herek told her.

  “But your point
is well taken, General,” Senator Foss said. “It’s clear that the Federacy has lost the trust of its people.”

  “They’ve lost faith, yes, sir. We’ve also seen an uptick in threats leveled against government workers, and senators in particular. The Senate Guards have intervened to prevent three known assassination attempts in the past month. None were particularly sophisticated, but it’s an abnormally high number.”

  “How is Interstellar Police faring under the increased pressure of all this activity?” Tsokel asked.

  “We’re drowning, sir. That’s putting it mildly. Most of my planetary commanders are running double shifts by necessity, and have been for several weeks. It’s the only way to maintain a semblance of order. So I hope you gentlemen will support me when I make my request for additional funding next week, and increased recruiting quotas.”

  “I’ll be happy to endorse it,” Tsokel agreed. “Anything else, General?”

  She walked them through a handful more slides, showing them the regions where protests were the most frequent, and the most violent. Then she shut down the viewscreen. “That’s all I have, sir. Questions?”

  Tsokel looked around the room. “It seems not. Thank you for your time, General. A troubling report, but an educational one.”

  The commanding general gathered her briefcase, and made her way out.

  Tsokel sighed. “It’s clearly getting worse.”

  Herek shook his head. “Between protests across the Federacy, and the Jokuans preparing for war, I’m not sure our Federacy will survive.”

  “That reminds me,” Foss said. “Have we heard anything more from the Arclight team on Jokuan?”

  “No,” Tsokel said. “The audio visual feeds went dead some time ago, and I have not received any messages from them.”

  “That’s strange. Perhaps there’s a technical problem with the communications link?” Senator Campos suggested.

  “I think it more likely they were under threat of discovery, and have stayed silent for their own safety,” Tsokel replied.

  “Maybe they were captured,” Herek said.

  “Surely the Jokuans would have gone public with it, if they discovered the team?” Campos retorted.

  “Not necessarily,” Tsokel said.

  “We need to consider another possibility,” Foss broke in. “That the team simply took our money, and left. They are criminals, after all. And they have a wealth of information about other planets’ military capabilities, information the Jokuans would no doubt covet. They could easily have betrayed us, and sold that intelligence to the Jokuans.”

  The room was silent, as the senators contemplated his accusation.

  “It’s a possibility,” Campos agreed, after a time.

  “The longer we don’t hear from them, the likelier it becomes,” Foss said. He leaned back in his chair. “Frankly, I think the decision to hire them in the first place was ill-considered. Allying ourselves with criminals again, no matter how desperate our need, can only end poorly for this committee. And I think the Jokuans are only a threat to their neighbors in the Territories.”

  “If this committee had had the benefit of your guidance when we made the decision, then perhaps we would have chosen differently,” Tsokel said, keeping his voice even. “Unfortunately, the situation is what it is. I will continue to update you gentlemen with any new developments. Until then, I suggest we adjourn.”

  * * *

  Senator Tsokel lowered himself into a deep leather armchair in the Senate lounge, sighing. A uniformed waiter approached him a moment later.

  “What can I get you, sir?”

  “That Merlot I had last week – any of that left in the cellar?” Tsokel asked.

  “I will check, sir,” the waiter replied, bowing.

  Senator C. J. Lask, smiling, took the armchair across from Tsokel. He set his own drink down on a side table between them.

  “How are you?” Lask asked.

  “Aging rapidly,” Tsokel said.

  Lask’s smile faded. “It’s getting bad out there,” he agreed. “I’m still trying to drum up support for the Reform Act.”

  “And?” Tsokel asked

  Lask shook his head. “You’ve heard of ostriches?”

  “No …?” Tsokel said.

  “It was a bird, back on Earth. Apparently they had a habit of sticking their head in the sand whenever they were faced with danger.”

  “Doesn’t that behavior violate the law of natural selection?”

  “You would think,” Lask agreed. “Anyway, this building is full of ostriches. Idiots who can’t see that we’re balanced on a knife edge. Or don’t want to acknowledge it.”

  “They’re too worried about the next election, as they always have been,” Tsokel said.

  “There might not be a next election.” Lask changed the subject. “How’s the committee been? Any news out of that special project we set up before I stepped down?”

  “Their first report was superb. I had high hopes,” Tsokel told him. “But we’ve lost contact with them. I’m starting to worry.”

  “I hope nothing’s happened to them,” Lask said, frowning, as the waiter reappeared with their drinks.

  “Mm,” Tsokel said, taking his wine glass, and sipping it. “Foss thinks they double-crossed us.”

  Lask snorted. “How is he?”

  “Foss? Being a self-righteous pain in the ass, just as we suspected he would be,” Tsokel grunted.

  “Well, he better watch his self-righteous back,” Lask said. “I know Jace Hawken well. His investigation is going to tear that church apart. And Foss will go down with it.”

  “Are you hoping to get your old committee seat back?” Tsokel asked.

  “Damn right I am,” Lask agreed. “And you’re hoping I come back, too, don’t try to bullshit me.” The younger senator swirled the ice in his glass, smiling faintly. “Hawken will get his man. It’s just a matter of time.”

  13

  Rath followed Ricken down the Rampart Guardian’s winding corridor, passing several side passages until they came to a section of crew quarters.

  “A friend of mine is here?” Rath repeated. “Who?”

  Ricken stopped next to a cabin door, and smiled back at Rath. “See for yourself.” He unlocked the door, and then tapped on the release switch. Inside the small cabin, Jaymy turned around in surprise. Her shoulders sagged with relief when she saw Rath.

  “Rath!” She ran to him, and hugged him eagerly.

  “Jaymy! What are you doing here?” Rath asked, wrapping an arm around her protectively.

  “I’m afraid I didn’t give her much of a choice,” Ricken said, with a hint of embarrassment. “We thought she might be the subject of a lot of unwanted police and media attention after your escape, so we took the liberty of bringing her on board before we initiated your rescue, Rath.”

  Jaymy pulled away from Rath, and eyed Ricken. “You kidnapped me,” she told him, accusingly.

  “Temporarily,” Ricken said. “You’re free to go now, if that’s what you two choose. But … yes, we did kidnap you. My apologies.”

  Jaymy turned to Rath. “He’s a friend of yours?” she asked.

  Rath shook his head. “We just met. Mr. Ricken wants my help with something.”

  “Mr. Ricken …?” Jaymy trailed off, studying the other man. Realization dawned suddenly, as she recognized him. “Anders Ricken?”

  “Indeed,” Ricken said. “Rath can catch you up. I’ll leave you two to discuss things for a time. Perhaps Jaymy can help you with your decision, Rath.”

  He turned and strode away down the corridor. Jaymy watched him go, then turned to Rath.

  “This morning when I woke up, I thought I was going to have to watch while they handed you a death sentence. Now I’m on a ship going who knows where, with my ex-boyfriend the assassin, and Anders Ricken? Rath, what the hell have you gotten me into?” she asked.

  He shrugged apologetically. “They basically kidnapped me, too. I would have told them to leave y
ou out of it. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m scared,” she told him, quietly.

  “It’s okay,” Rath assured her. “I think we’re safe for now.”

  “That’s not very reassuring. And I’m still confused as all hell,” she said, frowning.

  “You better have a seat,” Rath said, pointing to the cabin. “I’ll try to explain.”

  * * *

  “They’ll just let us go, if we want?” Jaymy asked, when Rath had finished catching her up.

  “I think so,” Rath said, taking a seat across from her, on one of the cabin’s two bunks. “That’s what Ricken said, at least. I don’t think he’s lying.”

  “But you’re thinking of staying,” Jaymy noted.

  Rath sighed. “I guess I am.”

  “Why?” Jaymy asked.

  “Have you ever done something you’ve really regretted?” Rath asked her.

  She gave him a pointed look.

  Rath chuckled. “Other than dating me. Something you’re deeply sorry for, but can’t take back.”

  Jaymy thought for a moment, and then nodded. “On a shift in the E.R. a few months ago, one of my patients died. He was bleeding internally from his injuries, and I missed the warning signs until it was too late. I mean, the doctors missed it, too, but … I wish I had caught it in time. We could have saved him.”

  “Do you think about him a lot?” Rath asked.

  “Sometimes,” Jaymy admitted. “It still bothers me.”

  “Now imagine if you’d done that with fifty patients, the same mistake, over and over again,” Rath suggested.

  “I’d feel terrible,” Jaymy said. “But as a nurse, I can’t dwell on that kind of thing. I have to move on, and keep treating other patients.”

  “Jaymy, I don’t have another patient to help. So I can’t help but dwell on what I did.”

  To Rath’s surprise, she took his hand in hers. “I think you made a mistake when you joined the Guild. But I don’t think you’d make the same mistake again. I can see that’s not who you really are.”