Invaded (Alienated, #2)(71)
One by one, each clone in her class stepped forward, extended an arm, and fired a burst of energy as naturally as a kid squirting a water pistol. Cara glared at her arm holster and the uncooperative weapon nestled within.
Whatever. She didn’t need this class anyway.
Cara’s day didn’t improve once she joined the colony development panel later that morning. She was beginning to sympathize with the senators and congressmen she’d once disdained in Washington, because bickering with bureaucrats all day was a real downer.
“With all due respect,” Cara said to the six geriatric faces staring blankly at her from their seats, “even some of the most oppressed humans on Earth have more freedom than you’re offering. Can we at least give colonists some input on choosing their own jobs?”
They’d argued this point for days. As state debate champion, Cara never expected to feel so mentally exhausted defending a position, but L’eihrs really knew how to wear a girl down. If stubbornness were an Olympic event, they’d win the gold. Each time she broached the subject, they countered with the same statement…
“Our methods have served us well for several millennia,” said the lead councilman.
Yep, that one.
Their reliance on the age-old credence “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” made Cara want to give herself a concussion by way of rubber mallet. She pressed her lips together and counted backward from ten to one, then offered a placid smile. “I understand. But if I’m not mistaken, The Way wants to emulate a more humanistic lifestyle on the colony.”
A chorus of disagreeable grunts said she was right, but the group didn’t like it. No surprise there.
“And in order for that to happen,” she continued, “we have to let go of the old ways.”
“But what rational human wouldn’t want to be matched with his ideal occupation?” asked one man. “Our functional job assessment ensures the greatest measure of success for each citizen. And success leads to contentment.”
“How about a compromise?” Cara said, smooth as cashmere. She’d catch more flies with honey than vinegar, and even more with manure, which was the very essence of politics. “Let’s keep the skills inventory to identify everyone’s strengths, but allow colonists to choose a specific job based on the findings. Like multiple choice.”
There. They couldn’t say no to that.
With pursed lips and furrowed brows, the members peered at one another in silent conversation. Cara cleared her throat and said, “Excuse me.” When they glanced at her, she reminded them of the Sweeney Rule. “Out loud, please, so I can follow the discussion. It’s only fair.”
The head councilmember set his jaw, looking even more constipated than usual. “We cannot agree,” he said. “I was about to suggest seeking guidance from The Way.”
Of course they couldn’t agree. Politicians. How did anything get done around here? Maybe these Elders were so accustomed to The Way dictating their every move that they’d never learned to make decisions for themselves.
“I’ll do it,” Cara volunteered. “I already requested an audience with Alona, so I’ll discuss the matter with her while I’m there.”
She didn’t share the reason behind the request—that she’d decided to come clean about her knowledge of the Aribol threat. This wasn’t an Aelyx-sanctioned act, but Cara couldn’t stand another moment in limbo, wondering whether her dual citizenship would result in her deployment to an alien planet for a battle she stood no chance of surviving.
She checked the digital clock above the door, a series of dots and dashes she’d finally begun to decipher, and figured she might as well leave now.
Two guards stood outside Alona’s chamber door. One scanned Cara’s wrist while the other stepped inside to confirm the appointment. They allowed her to enter, and Cara took her place on the stool in front of the Elder. Once alone, they opened the connection between their minds.
Right away, Cara felt Alona’s irritation, which stunned her for a beat and caused her cheeks to grow warm. Apparently, requesting an audience with The Way was intended for emergencies, something most citizens never exercised. Alona believed Cara had abused her privilege by returning so soon.
I wouldn’t have come unless it was urgent, Cara insisted.
Alona wasn’t convinced. She nodded, her expression blank. State your grievance.
I know about the Aribol probes, Cara said. L’eihr is preparing for an attack, and that’s why you want an alliance with Earth. You have the technology but not enough soldiers for a solid defense. You want to arm humans with iphals and use them in battle in exchange for decontaminating our water supply.
Alona’s irritation morphed into surprise and eventually resignation. Instead of blocking her thoughts, she widened the mental stream and revealed the truth.
In the span of a few seconds, Cara learned that the Aribol had sent probes—dozens of them landing all over the planet. Linguists had been studying the orbs for weeks, first deciphering their requests, then feeding false information to the foreign database. The Way hoped to stave off further interest by inflating their numbers and exaggerating the scope of their weaponry systems. The Aribol had made no direct threat or done anything to warn of an invasion, but despite that, The Way was nervous. But not nervous enough to blindly agree to an alliance with Earth. If negotiations failed, they’d press humans into service.