Spheres of Influence

by Bob Mauldin

  “Second, since we’re forming a government, I will choose a deputy herald and other members of my cabinet, who will be known as ‘wardens.’ Below that rank will be the secretaries of various parts of our new nation—Treasury, Commerce, Foreign Affairs, Extra-Terrestrial Affairs (which will become shortened to ET Affairs anyway, so let’s just do it now), Trade, Production, Defense, State, etc. Below that will be elected representatives of our populace, modeled on the good ole U.S. of A, of course, and our charter or constitution will be a direct steal from theirs, too. Those called to serve, will serve, or they will be dropped back on Earth without wristbands.

  “Third, as soon as this present crisis is over, specifically, the threat from an unknown alien source, elections will be held to determine who the next herald will be. I’m taking a page from Simon’s book here, and the next herald will not be me.

  “Fourth, there will be a massive personnel buildup beginning as soon as I get back to Earth. Ship production will increase to maximum without over-stressing our people, work on Vesta will be started, and we’ll keep a closer watch over each base to prevent any further attacks on our less well-defended assets.” Lucy looked down at the paper before her. “We’ll have another ship ready to go in about a month and two a month thereafter. From that point on, we’ll be getting roughly eight ships a year unless we use Taurus to build something bigger. Your guess is as good as mine as to whether or not that will be good enough, but I do have some good news. I’ve spent most of the last day talking with Libra’s engineers. They’ve been going over all the data accumulated from all sources, and it seems that Stephen,” she said, choking on the name, “left us a legacy.”

  The assembled officers stirred at the mention of Stephen’s name, but said nothing. Lucy went on, “He was using his station to assess the effectiveness of each wave of Mamba attacks and was making notes as he went along on what we could do to make it easier to knock out one of these craft. As you know from our only other assault in the asteroid belt, we had a harder time taking out the enemy craft than our engineers had assumed. The situation was much the same this time. It appears that our energy release, while devastating, isn’t as effective as we’d hoped.” Lucy closed her eyes for a few seconds before she continued. “Stephen was working on equations that would let us build a type of shield nullifier. I don’t understand the physics at all, but I’m assured by our engineers that the project is feasible—something about opposites canceling each other out. What that means is that a missile carrying a wave generator would leave a ship on course for an enemy ship, followed microseconds later by standard antimatter missiles. The generator would produce, for lack of a better term, an anti-shield—energy that cancels out the shields of an aggressor. This would make a hole in his shields long enough and big enough, hopefully, to let the following antimatter missiles through to do their jobs All sheer speculation at this point, but we’ve gotten a push in a direction that we may not have even seen without Stephen’s contributions.”

  Stunned by the revelation, Lucy’s audience still said nothing, watching her as if she were a specter come alive. Lucy’s lips turned up mirthlessly at a stray thought. “I never figured this group would ever be speechless over anything. I guess I was wrong.” She looked down at the paper before her. “Then, you add the still-to-be-built-and-tested shield penetrator missiles to the possibility of tractor and pressor beams for grappling onto a ship in space, and I believe we have a chance to do more than just give a black eye to whoever it is we’re fighting. The engineers on all bases, as well as the Galileo, have been given copies of all pertinent information and will be working as closely as the distances will permit. It has been postulated that the destruction of the Clarke was due to the fact that her shields weren’t sufficient to handle the sudden onslaught of energy she faced as she flew through the destruction zone of the enemy ship. A new addition to all future ships will be the ability to crosslink any two of the three power cores to double the available power to the shields as necessary.”

  Switching tracks at a lightening pace, Lucy added, “Enough to keep you thinking for now, I would guess. Happier subject—I’ve just come from the sick bay where I talked with Gayle. She’s awake and waiting for you to visit. Dr. Jeffers does say that you should keep your visits short.”

  This welcome news brought the most response to anything Lucy had said up until that point, and everyone sat up straighter and looked around.

  “Last note,” Lucy said, picking up the paper. “It’s my intention to get the best possible use out of all our assets, and that includes personnel. Some of you will be receiving new assignments in the near future. Remember, refusal means expulsion! You made me the monster; live with it!” Her right hand balled up the paper, and she turned without another word as she stalked to the door, tossing the paper in a basket on the way out. Stopping at the door, she turned back, stemming the sudden gabble of voices. “Marsha, make a visit to Gayle. She’s expecting you. After that, the McCaffrey will return me to Earth. One hour.”

  The silence went on for thirty seconds before Marsha stood up. “Well, guys, I’m off to the sick bay. Who else?”

  The group followed Marsha out the door, and Simon stopped long enough to retrieve the paper Lucy had thrown away. Following the others down the hall, he smoothed the paper out and stared at it, incredulous.

  His low chuckle made Kitty slow down and walk beside him. “What’s up?”

  He passed the paper over. “Looks like she’s learning even faster than she realizes,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” Kitty asked, glancing down at the paper.

  “I mean,” Simon said quietly, “that Lucy was just using that as a prop. She kept referring to it during her little lecture back there, and it’s just some doodles. She walked in knowing what she wanted to say and used that to keep us just a bit off balance. Now she’s laid down the law, and we better fall into line, or else.”

  “Or else what?”

  “Or else we get ourselves a new herald. And it’s almost too late for that.”

  A pale and haggard caricature of the person they all knew lay propped up in a makeshift bed as the small crowd entered the sick bay. Gayle’s eyes slowly opened as the sound of feet shuffling across the floor penetrated her consciousness. “‘Bout time you guys got here,” she mumbled. “I was beginnin’ to think I’d been forgotten.”

  Kitty knelt beside the bed and hugged her friend gently. “The doctor was supposed to call us… me, before you woke up, hon. I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

  “Hey, it’s not like I’m goin’ anywhere,” the petite blonde declaimed. She looked closer at Kitty. “Wow. The Doc must have given me some really good stuff.”

  Puzzlement on her face, Kitty asked, “What do you mean?”

  Gayle’s face screwed up, and a tear trickled from one eye. “First, you got hurt, then you got sucked up by the ship, then Simon died, and Simon came back but you didn’t, then we got to go fight this ship, ya know? And I wrecked the ship and Stephen died, and now you’re back, and I think I remember somebody saying so, but right now, I’m not sure. And I’m not surprised by your hair, and Stephen being dead doesn’t hurt. Must be some really good stuff to make me see things like that. It’s your hair that’s the giveaway though.” Her voice trailed off and silence reigned for a time.

  Kitty looked helplessly over her shoulder at her four equally miserable companions. Seeing no help coming from that quarter, she turned back to her stricken friend. “Gayle, hon, we need to talk. But I don’t think this is a good time.”

  “Why not?” Gayle demanded. “Cause you think I’m loopy from the drugs the doc gave me? I’m with it enough to know that Simon came back to life, and that you’re really here, so you did, too. And I know that Stephen won’t be.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and she descended into bone-shaking sobs.

  Dr. Jeffers chose that moment to come over and inject a needle full of something into the IV drip going into Gayle’s arm. “
You need to leave now,” he said protectively. “She’s lost a lot, both physically and mentally. She needs her rest.”

  Kitty stood up and Marsha quickly slid into her place. “Gayle, listen up, girlfriend. I’m headed for Earth in about an hour, but I’ll keep in touch and stop in to see ya when I can. You just remember what friends are for—to help when they can and listen when they can’t help.”

  Gayle’s hand shot out and closed on Marsha’s arm. “It’s not fair!” she wailed. “He asked me to marry him!”

  Marsha gently disengaged Gayle’s hand from her arm. “Now I’ll agree that the drugs are kicking in,” she said lightly. “Stephen, propose on his own? He’d have to be drunk. That man couldn’t make a proposal in committee.”

  “No!” Gayle said, less adamant as the sedative kicked in. “Well, he was, a little. But it’s not a dream.” Her voice began to lose clarity and strength as the drug took effect. She struggled to get her left arm out from under the light blanket covering her. “See?” she crowed in triumph as her arm finally came free and fell to the bed, revealing a small gold band with a huge stone.

  The group filed out the door and milled around in the corridor, not having any specific destinations for the next few minutes. Before they could break up and go their separate ways, the doctor stepped out. “Captain Hawke, Kitty? May I speak to you for a moment?’

  “Of course, Doctor. What can I do for you?”

  He hesitated for a few seconds. “It’s not for me. It’s for my patient. She’s asking for you, even through the drugs. I think it would be a good idea if you could stay for a while. Quietly, mind you. Stay clear of stressful topics. She’s going to fall asleep soon, but she’s fighting the sedative. A friend nearby will help her relax.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The loss of the Clarke and her crew was a blow that left the Alliance stunned, but like determined people everywhere and in every time, they mourned and then made a commitment to see through ‘til the end a course of action that, in retrospect, seemed inevitable: the digging in of heels, the effort to first deny and then blame, moving on to acceptance, and ending finally with a dogged resolve to persevere.

  The year that passed after that disaster had transformed the Alliance in ways even Lucy hadn’t foreseen. Six ships were added to the active roster—two of them, the Canopus and the Aldebaran, being the carriers Simon had envisioned in the beginning. Now, the ships, bases, and Project Vesta carried a total personnel count of over forty-five hundred. Planet-side, another five hundred served in three embassies, while hundreds were training at any one time in preparation for a ship assignment or to replace a downsider finally moving up to space.

  The Alliance entwined itself into the fabric of downsider economics by investing as Jackpot Jackson, Lucy’s old boyfriend and now Secretary of the Treasury, advised. More funds began to enter the Alliance coffers to pay personnel, now being called “citizens” more often than not.

  Almost two thousand Alliance personnel were on “rest shift” or simply taking vacations, able to be tapped at need to fill positions on the various ships and installations. None were allowed to talk about their jobs or missions except in the broadest terms, allowing for more exposure, and finally the media started getting used to this new phenomenon and began leaving the Alliance alone.

  Research and Development began turning out “shield-killer” missiles, sending the plans to the bases to begin construction and deployment. Ships’ personnel received training in the use of these new weapons, and the tractor and pressor beams were being actively researched. A few hundred plasma bombs, like the one used when Simon was rescued were built and put through their paces. This was not a weapon that could be stockpiled, as their power was drawn directly from one of the power cores of an individual ship and needed to be used then or allowed to bleed off safely by firing it into the depths of space, thereby squandering a measurable portion of the core itself.

  Earth began to see Alliance technology on a more personal level as solar power systems began to make their presence known by reducing the emissions from fossil fuels, food processors were still being given away to anyone who could demonstrate a need for one or more, especially in third-world countries. Anti-gravity began to revolutionize the transportation industries, whether it be bulk goods or simply a cab to get from one part of town to another, and, unexpectedly, the Japanese began to impact the timber and mining industries world-wide by beginning to export a cheaper, far superior building material. Based on the Alliance’s “plastics” technology, it was stronger and less brittle than steel and lighter than an equivalent piece of wood.

  Lucy moved her permanent base to Zurich, chafing under the handicaps imposed upon her not long after she released the list of her appointees to the various cabinet positions created for the fledgling government. That meeting still caused her distress whenever she thought about it. Simon had led the “delegation,” she remembered, a look of satisfaction his face even before he spoke. “So, you’re going to go ahead with the full nationalization thing?” he asked casually.

  “Of course,” she had replied. “It’s what you were going to do before... We have the full support of all our people, and you agreed to it too, Simon. Why would you ask?”

  “Well,” Simon said, all innocence, “a few of us were having drinks the other day, and we came to the conclusion that the offices of the herald and deputy herald are just too important to go without a proper security contingent any longer. So far, you’ve been lucky, but what’s to stop someone from assassinating our top officials?” His tone took a more serious bent. “The only thing standing between you and an assassin’s bullet at the moment is pure luck. We took it upon ourselves to create a new cabinet position—one we’re sure you won’t approve of, but one that you won’t be able to overrule. We’ve got the votes to back this up.”

  “So, you’re all in on this?” Lucy asked, looking the group over from the depths of her chair. “Okay, what is this new position you’ve created?”

  “Yes, we’re all in on it, Lucy, as well as every captain you have, every warden, every secretary, and even the base commanders. The vote was unanimous. The position is Office of Herald Protective Services, and since it’s a cabinet level post, the person filling the position will be awarded the title of warden, as well. Its function is, overtly, to provide personal protection to the persons of the herald and deputy herald, but it will be charged with a secondary mission as well. They are going to be our intelligence group. In effect, it will be used as our FBI, CIA, NSA, and Secret Service all rolled into one. Prevents a lot of jurisdictional disputes, I’d think.”

  Lucy stared at Simon as if he’d suddenly grown a second head. “You don’t think I’m going to take this lying down, do, you?” she said, finally getting the words past her clenched teeth. “Why are you doing this to me?”

  Simon grabbed his chest, feigning a wound. “I’m only concerned with the safety of the herald. We’ve managed to locate and reassign several dozen ex-military or former police personnel to fill out a unit dedicated to the protection of the person of the herald. About forty in all. That will be the nucleus of the new office. As intelligence needs are recognized, people will be hired to keep track of, or in some cases, influence the event or events.”

  Lucy, feeling control of the meeting slipping away from her, asked, “And who do have in mind to head up this new position? I imagine the qualifications would be rather hard to meet.”

  “They were rather hard to define, much less meet,” Simon answered. “I really wouldn’t want to drop the ball on this one, now would I? Especially since this office is dedicated to the protection of yourself as well as my wife.”

  “So that’s your reason!” Lucy exclaimed. “You’re just pissed because I split you and Kitty up, keeping her here on Earth and you in space.”

  “That’s not it at all,” Simon denied vehemently. “My wife is in charge of her own destiny. She accepted the position of deputy herald willingly, and
there’s nothing I can or would do to influence her decision. I can only applaud and support her. But if there were a reason, you might say that it would be that you wouldn’t give me a ship. Promoting me to admiral and putting me in charge of all the ships just doesn’t cut it. I’m still not in the captain’s seat.”

  Simon stood up and paced around the space in front of Lucy’s desk. “I’m really getting tired of saying this, but I’ll do it one more time. I realize that if I hadn’t gotten ‘killed,’ I’d be sitting where you are right now, and I still wouldn’t have a ship of my own. But you picked up the ball and carried it at a crucial time. I know Kitty and Gayle and I found the Galileo and got all this started, and I know you’re just following the ideas I set out while Orion was being built. My original vision called for this outfit to be set up along military lines because I believed, and rightly so it seems, that space is a dangerous place, even with all of our new toys. It was intended that, sooner or later, a government would be set up, and I would not be a part of it.”

  Simon quit pacing and stared at the carpet. “It’s not like any of us had any idea where things would lead, ya know? Figuring that the U.S. Government, as well as others, would try to take it from us wasn’t a stretch of the imagination, and thinking that the Builders would come looking for their missing hardware wasn’t a much further stretch. That they’d be openly hostile about it was a surprise. Or that their enemy would find us. Whatever. We’ve taken casualties from all sides and managed to survive it. So far.”

  Simon visibly shook himself out of his reverie and faced Lucy. “I don’t know that I would have made the same choices you did or gone an entirely different route, but what you did worked. That’s what counts. My problem with you is that I think you stuck me with this job because I wouldn’t take your job back. Now, that’s what I call petty and vindictive. Just remember—I’m one of those people who think that what comes around, goes around.”