Dark Mind. Ian Douglas

complex on the river’s eastern shore, the original Watergate buildings had long ago collapsed into the rising tidewaters that had swallowed much of old Washington. That had been during the dark years of the late twenty-first century, when large stretches of the coastline of the then United States had been abandoned to rising sea levels and storm surges. Under Koenig’s administration, however, many of the abandoned Periphery regions at last were being reclaimed. The D.C. mangrove swamps had been drained, and a system of levees and dams had been constructed to keep the city from flooding again. The buildings were being regrown by nanotechnic agents programmed and released into the freshly revealed mud and rubble. Where possible, historic monuments and edifices had been renovated or rebuilt, but most of the buildings were completely new, as was the city’s overall layout. Whereas the original city had been drafted by Pierre Charles L’Enfant, the new plans were the work of Frank Lloyd WrAIght, an artificial intelligence already well known for its restoration work on Columbus and in the Manhatt Ruins.

      As the dome smoothly rotated, new vistas slid into view. To the south and east, the newly regrown city soared and gleamed, ablaze with lights. The population was still small—fewer than fifty thousand had moved back so far—but Koenig was more than confident that it would grow.

      If anything, there are always those who want to be as close to the seat of power as possible. He shook his head at the cynical thought.

       No—this is a time for optimism. A fresh start after the Confederation destroyed Columbus.

      We’re literally creating a new world for ourselves. He looked over at the man who should have been his enemy, and prayed his hopes were not unfounded.

      After a long moment’s silence, Kurz looked uncomfortable. “Herr Koenig, I’m not sure how to ask this …”

      Koenig had been fully briefed on the Confederation request. Since the massive cyber attack on the Genevan computer net months before, there were precious few Pan-European secrets to which USNA Intelligence was not privy. “I find the direct approach is generally the best,” he said. “Whatever it is, I’m sure I won’t find it that shocking.”

      “It is our intent,” Kurz said carefully in his heavily accented English, “as soon as may be possible, to send an expeditionary force to Kapteyn’s Star. We want to look for survivors, if any. We have reason to believe there may be such … on one of the inner planets of that system.”

      “I see …”

      “We also want to establish contact, if possible, with the Rosette entity.”

      Koenig smiled. His advisors had told him that when the Pan-Europeans made their request, he should put them off, that he should say that he would have to consult with his staff.

      “Of course, Herr Generalleutnant,” he said instead. “We would be most happy to take part in your expedition.”

      Kurz looked at him sharply. “I’m surprised, Mr. President. Gratified, but surprised! Don’t you need time to discuss this with your people?”

      “Not really. I was already aware of much of what you’ve just told me. I’m sure you knew this already.”

      “Well … yes …”

      “And you will also know that I don’t like games, political or otherwise.”

      “I can appreciate that, Mr. President.”

      Koenig glanced around, then pulled up a finder map on his in-head feed. He was in this throng somewhere … ah! There.

      Gene? Koenig called, sending a mind-to-mind call. Get your ass over here.

       On my way, Mr. President.

      Admiral Gene Armitage separated himself from a small mob on the other side of the huge room and made his way toward Koenig and the Pan-European general. Head of Koenig’s Joint Chiefs of Staff, Armitage was his principle military advisor and the man who would get the ball rolling in the planning of any new military operation.

      “Herr Generalleutnant Kurz … head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Admiral Armitage.”

      “We’ve met. Admiral? Good to see you again.”

      “At Geneva last month,” Armitage said, nodding. “A pleasure, sir.”

      “We’re going to be sending a contingent with the Confederation to Kapteyn’s Star, Gene,” Koenig said. “Discuss the details with the general, please, and then make it happen.”

      “Aye, aye, sir.” Armitage’s expression remained shuttered, giving nothing away. Which was commendable, seeing as he’d been the one who’d recommended that Koenig not give the Pan-Europeans an immediate answer.

      The biggest problem, Koenig thought, turning away and leaving the two to talk in private, was the fact that few in the USNA military trusted the Confederation yet. The Brits were okay; their defection during the war had accelerated the enemy’s disintegration as a coherent fighting force. The Russians, the North Indians … the USNA could work with them well enough. But the Pan-European destruction of the city of Columbus the previous year had left the USNA with a bitter taste in its mouth, and the fact that the attack apparently had been carried out by renegade elements within the Genevan government hadn’t made the bitterness easier to swallow. There were still many within the former United States who wanted to charge the Pan-Europeans, in particular, with crimes against Humankind.

      That, Koenig reflected, isn’t going to happen. Behind-the-scenes deals cut by his administration before the public negotiations had guaranteed the Confederation immunity from war-crimes charges if they would agree to the peace talks. That strategy had been strongly urged by Konstantin, the powerful AI located on the far side of Earth’s moon. The USNA was clearly winning the short, sharp war against the Confederation, but they needed peace. They were in very nearly as bad a shape as the Pan-Europeans—worse, possibly, after major strikes against American soil—and with the looming advance of the Rosette Aliens, Humankind needed to come together in a united front now, at any cost.

      Koenig didn’t always understand Konstantin’s logic, but this time it seemed straightforward enough. It still wasn’t clear that the Rosette Aliens were overtly hostile, but they had destroyed human ships and bases, and Humanity had to come before any petty geopolitical squabbles.

      Especially since, in the background, the alien Sh’daar, time-travelers from the remote past determined to block Humankind from its approaching technological singularity, always lurked in ambiguous mystery. They’d agreed to a cease-fire with Earth … but for how long? Their long-term motives were still far from clear.

      Shadowed by his four bodyguards, Koenig made his way to one of several bars set up on the slowly turning floor. They moved with a fluidity that betrayed an essential fact: presidential security was now handled by robots—in this case a quartet of human-looking androgynoids far faster, stronger, and smarter than anything modeled in flesh and blood. They could pass as human—very nearly—though the deliberate blurring of sexual characteristics gave them a touch of the uncanny valley effect. Like the old United States Secret Service, you could tell what they were by the fact that they constantly watched everyone in the room except for the person they were protecting.

      Koenig ordered a jovian from the robotic bartender. One of the security bots closely scanned both the botender and the mirror-polished globe it passed to Koenig.

      “Thank you,” he told the robot behind the bar. He glanced at the security machine and cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t worry. He’s one of yours.”

      “Of course, Mr. President.” But it completed the scan anyway. Security was a lot tighter—and far more automated—since the Confederation strike at Columbus.

      He wasn’t actually complaining.

      “Mr. President,” a woman said behind him. “I haven’t had a chance to welcome you to D.C.”

      Koenig turned to face Shay Ashton—Governor Shay Ashton, rather.