Across Enemy Space

by L. J. Simpson

  “At last, Clara,” he murmured, brushing his hand gently over the glass. “I see a light at the end of the tunnel.”

  Chapter 13: The Gambit

  Tycho City

  The Equinox Centre was located on the outskirts of Tycho City. The city’s primary convention centre, the complex housed a collection of auditoriums and exhibition halls which hosted all manner of events from pop concerts to political conventions. Dan Powers alighted the metro at the nearby station and made his way towards Hall 5, the venue for the latest Peace Corps rally. Since his initiation at the Bootleg Club, Powers had attended a dozen such events, though this was by far the largest and most publicized, drawing interested parties from across the whole region.

  Reaching the main concourse, Powers was surprised at the number of people headed in the same direction, a good proportion of them smartly dressed and sporting the Peace Corps’ green and white emblem on their lapels. Nearing Hall 5, he saw that the entrance was cordoned off by temporary barriers manned by security forces decked out in full riot gear, with body armor, helmets, shields and batons at the ready. Powers found their presence reassuring, for beyond the barrier stood a large body of pro-war activists staging a counter demonstration. They were vocal in the extreme – which of course was the whole point – but for the present at least, the demonstration seemed to be peaceful; the only things being hurled were insults. Perhaps they were just getting warmed up and the bricks and bottles would follow on later, he thought. A few of the Peace Corps supporters fired back a few choice insults of their own but most simply ignored the abuse, making their way calmly up the flight of stairs to the entrances. If the ill-feeling suddenly escalated into violence, Powers just hoped the security personnel would remember to remain nonpartisan. Approaching the base of the stairs, he cast a wary eye over the pro war protesters. It struck him that though there were a fair number of military uniforms in evidence on the other side of the fence, there were none at all on his side; the decision to leave his on the coat-hanger in his quarters had no doubt been a wise one.

  He wondered who all these people were, what they did for a living and how the war could have affected their lives to the point they felt the need to demonstrate either one way or the other. He supposed that to a greater or lesser extent, the majority of Tycho’s population had simply accepted the conflict as their lot in life, something to be endured, either with pragmatism, stiff upper lip or a heart filled with anguish, but endured just the same. But at either end of the spectrum of opinion were the activists, the militants and the radicals who felt strongly enough to voice their views and seek to persuade those in the middle ground to join their cause.

  Powers made his way to the main entrance where Tom Brady stood waiting. “Hi, Dan,” he said, shaking Powers by the hand. “Glad you could make it. Any trouble getting off base?”

  “No,” said Powers. “I had a couple of days leave coming up. I’m not due back until tomorrow evening.”

  “That’s good. Let’s get you to your seat.” Brady guided him through the lobby and then to a row of reserved seats at the front of the auditorium. “I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you on your own – I’m needed backstage to help out with the organizing. By the way, if you’ve got nothing planned for after the event, why don’t you stick around? A few of us are holding a private party at the Equinox Hotel. You’re welcome to join us, and there are a few people I’d like you to meet.” And one in particular that’s interested in meeting you…

  “Sounds good,” said Powers. “I’ll look forward to it.”

  Brady left, leaving Powers to await the start of the rally whose proceedings promised far more than the first Peace Corps meeting Powers had attended at the Bootleg Club. That particular event had turned out to be little more than a group of part time, left wing activists addressing a meeting of the toolmakers union. They made a grand show of denouncing the government, roundly cursed the military and then called for a revolution, though as far as Powers could see, they had not the slightest notion of how to bring it about. By the end of the evening, the activists were as drunk as their audience, which was of little import as most of the gathering seemed to have forgotten why they were there in any case.

  You’re probably wondering why I invited you here, Brady had said as they made their way back to the metro station. The reason is simple. There are knots of people like this all over the Alliance. They may seem disorganized, ill-informed, uneducated even. But their hearts are in the right place. They see the injustice around them and wish to do something about it. They just need direction and leadership, and that’s where we come in. Our aim is to make these people realize that they are not alone, that they can be part of something bigger and better. And of course, not all our membership is made up of the rank and file. If you’re interested in seeing something at the other end of the intellectual spectrum, we’ve organized a lecture at Tycho State University on the eighteenth.

  A few weeks later, Powers found himself sitting next to Brady in the auditorium of Tycho State’s faculty of humanities and social sciences. The speaker, Tycho State’s resident professor of philosophy, gave a lecture entitled ‘The Case for Peace’. In it, the academic claimed that the war could not be brought to an end until the fundamental, moral imperative for peace was recognized as paramount, surpassing the current moral basis for continuing the conflict. In simple terms, the Alliance was seeking peace by waging war – a grotesque and evil dichotomy, in immoral means to a moral end.

  Powers made the journey home in a reflective mood; philosophers generally had that effect on him. Brady was more pragmatic. In his experience, philosophers rarely solved any of life’s problems – they just excelled at defining them.

  Tonight’s rally promised to be different. It was political rather than intellectual or societal, aiming more at people who – as Brady liked to put it – might make a difference.

  The proceedings began with the usual appeals for a return to a more civilized way of life – a peaceful life. It was followed by a call to intensify the search for some kind common ground between the Alliance and the Combine; something that could lay the foundations for a lasting and meaningful peace, finally bringing an end to decades of death, waste and ruin. Such a search was not just an honorable pursuit, it was a fundamental obligation of everyone who believed in the sanctity of life. It was their solemn duty, and one from which they would not shrink.

  Powers the intelligence operative gave an inward shrug. Noble words and noble ideals, but to the soldier in the field they were just so many meaningless platitudes, or would be until some kind peace finally was achieved. And that was something the soldier in the field tended not to dwell upon, for it served no useful purpose. You concentrated on today. Start daydreaming about peace and you were likely to end up with a plasma round through the head for the trouble.

  Powers the intelligence operative kept his thoughts to himself as Powers the Peace Corps member stood and applauded as loudly and as enthusiastically as was possible with one hand made of rubber.

  Next to take the stage was a retired government official who recounted the total cost of the war to date, in terms of lives lost and cash credits spent. The numbers were huge; too large for the human mind to truly comprehend – just so many zeros on a spreadsheet. Say it quickly and it doesn’t seem as bad. This particular speaker not only made every zero count, he coupled it with a knack of putting the numbers into a perspective that even Powers – who knew the statistics in any case – found hard to digest.

  The subsequent speakers were no less eloquent or persuasive but by the end of the evening Powers had come to the conclusion that the only true difference between them and the activists in the Bootleg club was that they were more… eloquent and persuasive. The Alliance was fighting a war with an implacable enemy. Unless the Combine was in the mood for peace – and his experiences on the other side of the border told him that they weren’t – all the eloquence and persuasion in the universe wasn’t going to help. But Powers’ opin
ions were beside the point, for that is not why he was here.

  The hall was virtually empty by the time Brady returned. Making their way outside, Powers noted that even the pro war lobby had given up for the night, the space behind the fencing now littered with remnants of their banners and posters. Waiting at the bottom of the steps was a car which whisked them off to the nearby Equinox Hotel. The Halifax Room, which had been hired for the occasion, was indeed a far cry from the Bootleg Club. White uniformed waiters bearing silver trays breezed around the elegantly appointed space offering drinks and hors d’oeuvres to the many guests. Powers found himself in the company of a smartly dressed elderly couple who talked politely on a whole range of topics before the conversation inevitably turned to the war. The old man’s hitherto composed expression changed immediately to one of anguish. Then he gazed at the floor and said in a low, tired voice, “It’s just wrong, my boy. So terribly wrong.” His wife gave Powers a half smile before taking her husband by the arm and guiding him away.

  “I see you met Dr. Chambers,” said Brady, choosing that moment to wander over. “One of our staunchest, if less vocal, supporters. He’s retired now, of course, but he spent most of his career in reconstructive surgery, helping to put shattered servicemen back together. He’s one of the unsung heroes of the conflict, though most of his achievements have been kept out of the media for obvious reasons. Pictures of mutilated servicemen – even reconstructed ones – tend not to go down well over breakfast.”

  “No, they don’t, that’s for sure. The man seems scarred by the experience himself,” said Powers, looking over at the old doctor.

  “I imagine the work would indeed take its toll,” conceded Brady. “As would losing both of his sons in the conflict... though of course, he is not alone in such loss.” He paused for a moment and then beckoned to a man standing off to the right. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” Powers turned to see a sharp looking man appear at Brady’s side. The face was familiar but he couldn’t quite place it.

  “Dan, this is Jan Godoy, one of our chief organizers, and one time personal advisor to the Secretary of the Interior.”

  That rang a bell. So that’s where I’ve seen him, thought Powers.

  “So this is the man you’ve been telling me about,” said Godoy. “I hear society already owes you a debt.” He gestured at Powers right arm.

  “Actually, it’s the other one,” said Powers, employing his usual party trick of twanging one of the rubber fingers. “Lots of people make the same mistake.”

  “I do apologize,” said Godoy. “Dan tells me that you are unconvinced that the sacrifice was worth it.”

  “You could say that.”

  “I can’t say I blame you. In fact, I regret to say that you are most probably correct in the assumption.”

  “You think I lost my arm for nothing?”

  “Oh no, not for nothing, Mr. Powers. Just not for freedom and democracy… I wonder if we could talk in private?” He gestured to a small antechamber at one side of the room.

  “Why not,” said Powers. “Lead the way.”

  Powers, Brady and Godoy were soon sitting around a small table in the centre of the anteroom. One of the uniformed waiters appeared and set three drinks on the table top, gave a bow and then exited the room, closing the sliding doors behind him.

  “I believe whisky is your preferred drink,” said Godoy, raising his glass. “Your good health.”

  “Cheers,” said Powers. One sip of the amber fluid was enough to tell him that this particular brand of whisky was far superior to anything served in the bars and eateries over on the east side. “You don’t get stuff like this in the Blue Goose, that’s for certain,” he said nodding in appreciation. “Now this really would be worth fighting for,” he joked.

  “It’s good to see that you still have a sense of humor,” said Brady.

  “I let it out once in a while,” said Powers. “But as a rule I don’t see much reason for cheer.”

  “You’re not alone,” said Godoy, “which is why we continue to lobby for peace. What did you think of tonight’s event, by the way?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Of course.”

  “To be truthful, I was disappointed. All the talk of the waste and the suffering… everyone knows all that already. OK, it doesn’t hurt to keep reminding people, but in the end, what difference does it make?”

  “You were hoping for something more radical.” It was a statement rather than a question.

  “Of course,” said Powers. “You just told me I lost my arm for something other than freedom and democracy, and you don’t have to tell me what it is because I already know,” he continued bitterly. “The damned warmongers and profiteers.”

  “Of course…”

  “So why was there nothing said about it at the rally? There wasn’t even a suggestion.”

  “It’s quite simple,” said Godoy. “The war lobbyists – a consortium of the largest arms manufacturers – hold more power than you can imagine. Far more. Oh, they’re happy for us to hold our meetings, wave our flags and so on, but cross the line and they are ruthless enough to make all our lives extremely difficult, to the point of having us arrested for sedition – or even having people killed if it suits their purpose. These are the men – and women – who truly control the Alliance. Our elected officials rely on them for financial backing to reach government and of course, once there, they inevitably become their pawns. Nothing reaches the senate without the consortium’s approval. You have no idea of just how deeply involved they are in the governing process.”

  “But surely the War Council–”

  “The War Council are the biggest pawns of all. How about if I told you that the Combine proposed peace talks as recently as last month? And that the Alliance War Council rejected the proposal out of hand.”

  “What? How can you know that, and anyway, why would they refuse?”

  “How do I know? Let’s just say I have access to certain sensitive information. And as for why the War Council refused, it’s simple enough. It’s all about power – power, profit and gain. Too many people in high places would lose their positions – not to mention their fortunes – if hostilities came to a sudden end. Oh, they’ll take peace at a price, but they’re prepared to expend as many lives as it takes to get the price they want, and it’s not a price the Combine are prepared to pay.”

  “What kind of price?”

  “The surrender of all Combine border possessions and the decommissioning of a sizable portion of its fleet.”

  “But I don’t get it,” said Powers. “The Combine are winning anyway. Why the heck would they seek terms with the Alliance?”

  “To bring an end to the slaughter. Yes, the Combine will likely win in any event, but the cost of mounting an assault into the Alliance heartland will be huge. According to our information, the Combine were of the opinion that their strategic advantage would enable them to negotiate from a position of strength, and that by offering the Alliance reasonable terms they could bring about a speedy and permanent end to hostilities – one that would be beneficial to both sides. Needless to say, they were surprised when their proposal was met with a flat refusal.”

  “But if the Combine were serious about an armistice, why refuse the Alliance’s counter proposal? At least they could get around the table and try to thrash something out. If both sides decommissioned part of their fleet… set up some kind of demilitarized zone?”

  “And after that? It would just give the Alliance the opportunity to regroup and rearm, after which the whole vicious cycle would begin afresh. It’s happened before, time and time again. I tell you plainly, as long as there is a fresh supply of young men and women to throw into the fray, the Alliance war mongers will not entertain the notion of a cease fire.”

  Powers sat back in the seat and pursed his lips. “That’s a lot to take in, though I admit it makes sense... a lot of sense. But if it’s all true, what is the point of these rallies? All these people we
saw tonight, people like that doctor…”

  “The people who attended tonight – and people like those in the Bootleg Club – they are vital to the peace movement. They’re our foot soldiers if you will. They draw attention to the cause and – if skillfully used – can deflect attention away from the people who are involved in more… delicate activities.”

  “What kind of people? And what kind of activities?”

  “People who are not prepared to sit idly by while the Alliance is destroyed. People of conscience, people of action.”

  “And now you’re beginning to sound like the politicians.”

  “Except that in our case, it’s true. I will do everything, everything in my power – as will my colleagues – to safeguard the future of the Alliance.”

  Powers shook his head. “Sorry, but you still sound like the politicians.”

  “Perhaps, but the crucial difference is what you think the Alliance is. What the Alliance stands for. And more importantly, who stands for the Alliance.”

  “I don’t follow you.”

  “A simple question, Mr. Powers. Who stands for the Alliance? Is it the First Minister? The generals? The most fundamental responsibility of any government is the protection the people. All the people, Mr. Powers, not a select few. They like to tell us that it is our war, that we are all in it together, for the long haul. It is a lie – this is not our war – it’s theirs and it always has been. Our elected officials have failed us. They have been manipulated by the profiteers and the war mongers who squander our lives for their own benefit. By any sensible definition of the word, these people are war criminals.”