Stark's Command

by John G. Hemry

  "Are mostly dead," Stark stated bluntly.

  Campbell looked down at his hands for a moment, plainly gathering both his thoughts and his composure. "But if you are no longer obeying your officers, who is in charge?"

  "Me." This time Sarafina looked ready to pass out. "It wasn't my idea," Stark added rapidly. "Well, maybe a lot of it's my fault. I don't know. But afterward, everybody wanted me in charge. So I'm the commander."

  Another pause, then Campbell fixed Stark with a demanding but anxious stare. "Then I must ask you what your intentions are regarding this Colony."

  "Our job is to keep the Colony safe. We're going to keep doing that."

  "But if you're no longer American soldiers—"

  "We're still American soldiers!" Both civilians jerked away involuntarily, hitting the backs of their chairs as they tried to distance themselves from Stark's outburst. "Sorry," he apologized gruffly. "There's a lot of things we haven't worked out. But that hasn't changed. We'll defend the Colony. We already have. We just won't die senselessly anymore just because some idiots with stars on their shoulders want to make names for themselves and won't listen to common sense."

  "I apologize. I didn't mean to imply . . ." Campbell took a deep breath. "This is totally unexpected news. We weren't prepared for it."

  "Neither was anyone else."

  "You will not surrender the Colony to any foreign powers?"

  "No."

  "You will continue to defend us as vigorously as ever?"

  "Yes."

  "You still consider yourselves Americans?"

  "Absolutely."

  "But you are not accepting orders from the authorities on Earth or their representatives on the Moon?"

  "No."

  "And your long-term objectives are . . . ?"

  "Undetermined."

  "Sergeant Stark, I understand if you are unwilling to share that information with me, but it is of critical importance." Campbell shook his head, lips a thin line. "Let me explain. We're under martial law, Sergeant. It's been that way as long as the Colony has been here. We've been allowed a very small degree of local independence as long as it didn't affect whatever got labeled a 'security issue,' but we don't rule ourselves. We also have no means of effectively resisting your forces no matter what actions you decide to take. To put it bluntly, it appears you are our new master, and I need to know what you intend to do."

  "I've told you all I can tell you right now."

  Campbell glanced despairingly at Sarafina, then back at Stark. "I have responsibility for every civilian on this Colony. I cannot protect them if you will not provide me with basic information."

  Stark kept his face impassive. Responsibility talk. From a civ. And a politician. Does he mean it? Everything I've learned in life says no, don't trust him.

  As he sat silent, Sarafina leaned forward, her own expression pleading. "Sergeant Stark, please. Our people are depending on us."

  Two civs, both of whom seem a whole lot more concerned about "their people" than they do about themselves. And Sarafina, near as I can tell, kept her promise to me not to tell any of our officers what I'd said to her. If I can't respect that, what can I respect? Stark rubbed his chin, pondering his response. "You want to know our long-term objectives? I don't know," he finally admitted. "That's the truth. Nobody's had time to think about that yet, or about what we'll do regarding you civs. Civilians. We don't want you stabbing us in the back. But I don't think any of us want to tell you what to do, otherwise."

  "Sergeant Stark, there are any number of things I cannot do without approval of the designated military authorities."

  "I can patch you through to the stockade if you want to talk to any of them, but it doesn't much matter right now whether they approve what you want or not."

  Campbell maintained a poker face now, sitting silently, then glanced over as Cheryl Sarafina began speaking again. "Sergeant Stark, are we to understand you have no interest in exercising control over the civilian portion of the Colony?"

  "I told you, I can't have you people doing stuff that would cause problems for my people. But I've got a full plate just trying to run the mil side of things. And the military isn't supposed to give orders to civilians. Things are supposed to be the other way around, right? So, I've got no interest in telling you what to do, and to be perfectly frank, I don't think any of the other mil want anything to do with you."

  Sarafina railed at the words, her expression angry. "We've done nothing to the military personnel up here. We've provided a tremendous amount of support to you. We appreciate your sacrifices. Just because we haven't been allowed—"

  "Sorry. Didn't mean it to sound like your fault." Stark forced another smile. "Not you specifically. My people, the military, don't know civilians. They grew up separate, they work separate, and they die separate. Mostly, they get treated real bad when they meet civilians. Back on Earth. So they don't like you. I think, maybe, you guys are different. But it'll take time to convince my people of that."

  Campbell nodded. "I believe I understand. You're a separate subculture. Perhaps we'd appreciate this better if we'd been allowed to view the military vid shows—"

  "No. We hate the mil vid. It's a vid show put together from our command and control systems during combat. We're dying, the civs are watching and having a good time, and the government rakes in revenue from the ads it sells. Understand?"

  Sarafina looked horrified now. "Gladiators. You've been treated like gladiators."

  "Hey, it made money for the government and kept the civs entertained. Who cared how we felt about it?"

  "I begin to understand," Campbell stated slowly. "You've been used."

  "That's one way of putting it."

  "But what are your goals, Sergeant Stark? What exactly are you trying to accomplish?"

  Stark found himself laughing, bitter and angry all at once, "Damned if I know." He sobered, looking downward for a moment. "All those new soldiers you asked me about, Ms. Sarafina?" The brief meeting seemed ages ago. "Most of them are dead, like I said. That idiot General Meecham threw them against strong defensive positions, and when that didn't work, went ahead and did it again a few more times. We stopped that. That's why we took over. But stopping the slaughter meant we had to handle a lot more, and we're still working all that out."

  Campbell's eyes narrowed. "Then you really haven't thought this out. It happened, spur-of-the-moment, and now you're trying to deal with the results."

  "I guess that's a good way to sum things up."

  "Sergeant Stark, you've done a very foolish thing." Campbell paused as Stark felt his face flush with anger. "I'm not referring to your decision to seize control of the military forces up here. Only you can judge the wisdom of that action. No, I'm talking about your discussing this with me. By combining your words with what I can see between the lines, I know far more about your situation than you should want to disclose to someone whose loyalty to you is an unknown."

  He's right. Me and my big mouth. I shouldn't have made this call without Vic here to tell me when to shut up. I don't know this guy and don't really know Sarafina. They're civs. And they're political types. Or corporation types. I'm not sure which, but I've never found reason to think either type cares a damn about the best interests of me or any other mil ape. "So why are you telling me this? Why not milk me for more information before telling me I oughta shut up?"

  "Because I believe the military and civilian communities up here need each other. I'll be as honest with you for a moment as you've been with me."

  "You're a politician," Stark pointed out coldly.

  Instead of triggering animosity, Stark's words brought a laugh from Campbell. "Yes, I am. But that doesn't mean what you think it does in this case. Why do you dislike and distrust politicians? No, don't bother, I'll answer for you. They manipulate the laws they write to benefit themselves and their friends. They take large contributions from corporations and then do pretty much what those corporations want. They steer government mone
y to pet projects. Is that a good summary?"

  "It's a start."

  Another laugh, tinged with bitterness. "Yes, I suppose it is. Sergeant Stark, I have no voting power, anywhere. Every penny of the Colony budget is set in stone by Congress. The corporations direct every aspect of the Colony that the military hasn't wanted to control. I can't make laws, and I can't spend money. All I can do is go hat-in-hand to the people who do control those things and ask for a decent shake for the people of the Colony, whose only vote is to choose the person occupying my position."

  "Then why do you do it? Why get elected?"

  "Because it's important. Because if I don't, some hack who cares nothing for the Colony except as a stepping-stone for ambition might be elected instead. Not that actually gaining any political points are likely, given the powerlessness of the position, but it's possible if you were willing to sell the Colony's inhabitants even further down the river."

  "Huh." Stark thought about that, then nodded. "Thankless job. I'm familiar with the concept. Okay, so let's assume you're being honest with me. What is it you want to say?"

  "That this event is totally unexpected. I have no idea how the rest of the Colony will react to the news. However, I believe your actions offer my people an opportunity to finally alter their own status vis-a-vis the authorities back on Earth." Campbell glanced at Sarafina, who nodded. "My aide here told me she explained to you our situation."

  "She said something about you being, uh, wage slaves?"

  "That's essentially correct. Nearly every civilian up here signed agreements to repay the costs of our transportation to the Moon and subsequent upkeep. Everyone thought this offered a great opportunity, that the money to be made working in the Colony would allow eventual repayment of those debts followed by a life filled with more promise than the employment opportunities back home."

  "I guess things haven't gotten any better for civs since I joined the mil," Stark observed.

  "They've gotten worse. Vertically and horizontally integrated corporations have locked up so many jobs they can exercise almost total control of working conditions and wages. Back home, the government long ago 'got off the backs' of the corporations, which has meant the corporations have been on our backs ever since. Up here, where we thought things would be better, it turned out to be a lot worse. There's nowhere else to go for work, and no place to shop except company stores charging prices exorbitant even by lunar standards. And, of course, the transportation and upkeep contracts turned out to contain hidden interest on outstanding debt."

  Stark remembered, long ago, overhearing his mother and father during anguished conversations. "So every day you wake up poorer, right?"

  "Exactly."

  "Sounds like the corporations have been killing you slow while our leaders killed us fast."

  "That is an excellent summation, Sergeant Stark."

  "So what does what we've done have to do with your problem?"

  Campbell stared. "You really don't know, do you? Sergeant Stark, we've had no choice but to endure these conditions. No lawyer we could hire could prevail against corporate legal teams, we are denied our own political representation in Washington, no politician from back home would act on our behalf because they are in pay of the corporations, and if we had ever tried to act unilaterally the military forces up here would have simply enforced the will of the authorities back on Earth. But, now, you are no longer following the orders of those authorities."

  "Not at the moment, though I don't know how much they've realized that so far."

  "Sergeant Stark, I know very little about the military, but I assume you require the same things most people do in the way of food and shelter, and somewhat the same things a corporation would, supplies to meet your specialized needs. You'll need this Colony to help provide all that for you."

  "I expect that's true."

  Sarafina leaned forward again. "We need each other. Whatever you decide your long-term goals are, Sergeant Stark, you'll need the Colony's cooperation. And we can provide that cooperation in exchange for your protection and support when we demand political and economic redress."

  Stark twisted his mouth, trying to think the offer through. I don't know enough. Bottom line, I just don't know enough to know if this is a good offer or a good idea. Besides, I'm already scared of what I started. Do I want to have a colony in revolt on my conscience, too? He sat silent, thoughts going nowhere.

  "Sergeant Stark?" Colony Manager Campbell finally asked. "I understand you may need awhile to consider what we've said, and you'll no doubt want to consult with your own advisers. Can we arrange another conversation tomorrow, or perhaps a face-to-face meeting?"

  My advisers? I haven't—Yeah, I do. People like Vic, and Manley, and other grunts with experience in things I don't know. "That sounds like a good idea. Let's talk again. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon. There's a lot going on." He moved to break the connection.

  "Wait." Campbell raised a hand to forestall Stark. "There's something else. You told us you've had many soldiers killed."

  Stark froze for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Yeah. A lot. What of it?"

  "I assume that means many others are injured?"

  "That's right."

  "We know the military medical facilities are limited. There is a state-of-the-art hospital for treating civilians up here." Campbell mustered a derisive smile. "The corporate VIPs and politicians who visited the Colony wanted to be sure we could handle any problems they might have. If you need more space, or specialized care, for your soldiers, we can take them."

  "You can? That's great, but I don't know how we'd pay for it."

  "Pay?" Campbell shook his head firmly. "It's us who are repaying you for your defense of the Colony all these years.

  If you need medical assistance for your soldiers, we'll provide anything we can free of charge."

  But still put us in your debt. I sure wish I knew if I could trust these civs. I know we could use their help, though. My wounded soldiers can use their help. And Campbell did volunteer it without me even hinting at it. Stark smiled with what he hoped looked like genuine gratitude. "Thanks. That's very nice of you. Tell me how to contact your medical people, and I'll have our docs call them right away."

  The screen dark again, Stark hesitated, then punched in Sergeant Reynolds's address, frowning as the image stayed blank. "You there, Vic?"

  "Yeah."

  "What's wrong with your vid?"

  "Nothing. I just got out of the shower, and I'm not offering a free vid show to anybody who calls."

  "How 'bout if I input a credit access code?" Stark teased.

  "Soldier, you'll never have enough money to buy a look at this show. What's up?"

  "We need another staff meeting."

  "Can't we just go on a suicide mission instead?"

  "Sorry. Let's combine it with lunch so at least we'll get one useful thing accomplished."

  A late lunch, as it turned out. Stark shoveled down a last soggy french fry, then looked around the table. "I got a big issue, but let's save that for last. Anybody else got anything really hot?"

  "Everything's hot." Sergeant Gordasa tapped his terminal with one rigid finger. "We've got a lot to worry about in Supply. Let's talk basics. Food. Water. Environmental systems."

  "We know we're not self-sufficient," Vic stated. "Why does this need to be handled now?"

  Gordasa shook his head. "We're probably closer to self-sufficiency than you think, and we got a lot of rations stockpiled on the surface. Stuff Third Division apes were supposed to consume and won't be needing." He ignored the anger his words triggered, knowing it was aimed elsewhere. "But it's still limited, and we've no idea how long this situation is going to last. And we've got lots of officers we've got to feed until we can off-load them. So what happens yesterday? You heroes snag a whole bunch of prisoners. Prisoners we've got to feed. What the hell are we going to do with them?"

  "You got a suggestion?" Stark asked.

  "You're damn right I've
got a suggestion. Give 'em back. They're not worth the supplies they'll consume."

  "Prisoners are extremely valuable," Vic objected.

  "Not to us," Gordasa disagreed. "Sure, our officers wanted them for intelligence so they could plan the next offensive, but we're not planning any offensives, right? So aside from asking for any of our own prisoners back, what else can these guys do for us?"

  Sergeant Manley looked up suddenly, frowning thoughtfully. "Hey. That's it. Swap."

  "Swap prisoners? That's already a given, but we've got a helluva lot more of theirs than they do of ours."

  "No, no. Trade 'em. The enemy wants their people back. We want food and environmental supplies and stuff. Fine. We do a swap."