It’s Thursday, so it must be time to go back to Volume Three!
You know, it’s really weird to me. In my mind, this is the most recent book – and I guess it is, since it’s the ‘most recent’ one which is fully available. But it’s been finished since November, and since then I’ve written another novel, gotten that one out to my First Readers, and have started on the FIFTH book in this series.
Wow.
Anyways, yes. Back to the matter at hand. Last week was a ‘phone call’ between Cass and Dogfish; what’s going to come of that, I wonder?
Well, you’re not going to find out this week. Nope, you’re headed back to Artemis City. Enjoy the visit!
(And click any of the images to purchase the book!)
CHAPTER SEVEN
Artemis City
The undercity was never a good place to be.
When the entire colony thought you were dead, it was worse.
And when the official – and unofficial – leadership would be embarrassed if you ever surfaced, it became a course in advanced survival.
Davie didn’t know how she would have survived the first week, let alone six lunars, without Marc’s help. A lifetime serving the Colony may have left her skilled in political infighting, but she was sorely lacking in street smarts, something she learned within seconds of meeting him.
Now, at least, she held her own. Mostly.
“Dammit, Davie, you have to stop doing that!”
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“Doing what?”
“That,” repeated Marc. “When you pass people from the upper city, you can’t make eye contact!”
“But I didn’t!”
“You weren’t looking down, that’s nearly as bad.”
She sighed.
A dozen lunars ago, she’d been Minister of War for the Artemis Colony, and the de facto Minister for the Solarian Union. That made her commander of the most powerful navy in human space. Then came the Terran Federation and her Primus’s obsession with destroying it. That was problematic, since when the Primus said jump, Artemesians tried to put dents in the ceiling.
Artemis Colony, still called that despite not being anyone’s colony for generations, was a representative democracy. There was a legislative body, and an executive, and a judiciary; there were elections, and a Council of Ministers to guide the President. None of that mattered. The actual government was an oligarchy, teetering on the brink of tyranny, ruled by the Four Families of Artemis: Newling, Dent, Pitt, and Whitmore. The actual leader was granted the title of Primus, and it went to whoever proved themselves the most ruthless, bloodthirsty, and power-hungry. Currently the position was held by Vasilia Newling, who repeatedly demonstrated her willingness to do anything necessary to retain her power. Her favorite method of shoring up her support was to have the offending person, be they supplicant or Minister, tossed onto the surface of Luna without a spacesuit.
Initially, the Primus hadn’t been bothered by the Terran Federation; that was largely due to a lack of interest in most events Earthside. As long as the rare earth metals guaranteed to Artemis by the Accords and Amendment kept flowing, the politics and activities of the planetary nations were largely irrelevant.
The day the Enterprise was launched changed it all.
In an instant of realization the Primus became aware of the fundamental threat that the starship brought to her power. The Accords, and the Amendment, only held the governments of Earth in thrall by depriving them of the materials necessary for high-tech applications. The Federation was not so bound; they had no requirements to turn over materials, and as long as they operated in countries which were not signatories Artemis had no claim.
Additionally, the nature of the ship itself was as direct an assault on the power of Artemis and the Union as could possibly be. If humanity, specifically Terran humanity, could escape the Solar System, why would they care for the dictates of the Solarian Union? Humanity would be free, and Artemis would be irrelevant.
After launch day, as the Primus rejected all suggestions for a negotiated solution, Whitmore had become more and more convinced that her Ministry would be called upon. She had drawn up plans and, when the moment seemed opportune, presented them. The Primus had accepted them, but had added a stark warning: succeed or die.
The first half of the plan had succeeded; the second half had failed. Rather than risk her future on the fickle mercy of the Primus, she’d made hasty plans to disappear, ending up in the undercity of Artemis.
She was still learning.
“Look at the ground when you’re walking, dammit,” corrected Marc. “Looking up draws attention. You can’t draw attention to yourself.”
“I know, I know,” she muttered, impatient with herself.
“Then do it!”