“That won’t be on the news.”
“It’s a news broadcast for the Civil Guard.”
“It was… interesting.”
Travis smiled. “But not what you saw yourself doing this evening.”
“It keeps the troops enthusiastic.”
“Bread and circuses. Only bread has been in short supply. Hence our current problems. We are struggling to save the structure the old order allowed to weaken.”
“We? Are you a Realist?”
“With a small ‘r’? Oh yes, very much so.”
“And with a capital ‘R’?”
“I’m also practical with a small ‘p’. Some of us are having our own little broadcast in a few minutes. A little less entertainment and a little more business.” Travis stopped outside a set of double doors and fixed his gaze on Stephanie. “There are those who enjoy a good circus, and there are those who run it.”
Stephanie nodded, a bit cowed by his severe expression and unsure how to respond.
“You know your friend Alistair has come back?”
Stephanie’s brows shot up in surprise. “Has he? I’ve been meaning to talk to you about him.”
“Save it for later,” Travis advised, and with that, he opened the doors and allowed Stephanie to enter. She was met by the stern and grim faces of older, higher ranking officers and politicians, men with thick white mustaches, wrinkled brows and ponderous frowns who sat about a long, mahogany table with rounded corners. She was one of only a few females in the room. Nodding her head to them and getting nothing in return, she self-consciously stood near the doorway, hoping she was not blushing.
After closing the doors, Travis tapped her on the shoulder by way of guiding her to a cushioned chair next to his own. She sat down and took a deep breath, relieved the attention of the august persons in the room turned elsewhere. She felt a hand squeeze her right shoulder and turned to see Travis give her a fleeting smile before turning his attention to the table.
“I think we might begin by—” began a man on the verge of rising from his seat, but he was cut off by the deep and powerful voice of the Mayor of Arcarius.
“I believe we can get on with it.”
Stephanie nearly gasped for she had not noticed Aloysius when she entered. The man whom he interrupted blushed furiously but nodded and sat down. Stephanie briefly wondered to what power struggle that little episode belonged, but then the lights were dimmed and a 3D image was projected onto the table. It was the head and shoulders of a military officer, a man of advancing years but still robust of health and severe of countenance. He wore a traditional military officer’s hat, dark blue with a red tassel.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” began the officer in the flat and nasal Rendralian accent. “The recent weeks have proven to be momentous ones. We are at war with the Kaldisians even while we suppress an insurrection here at home. As always, I will be as brief as thoroughness allows and as direct as prudence dictates.
“We quite frankly are not prepared for a war, but this is a perfect opportunity for us. It is a war of many against one, and a Kaldisian response specifically against Aldra is nearly unthinkable. We can remain at war for as long as we find it useful.”
Stephanie shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She glanced at some of the other faces in the room, but they did not respond to the words, though their attention never left the speaker.
“Your roles in Arcarius are going to be crucial to making sure the armed forces are supplied and ready for what is going to be a protracted war. The rebels in your city must be stamped out immediately, before this nonsense can spread to the workers returning to the mines. Take whatever steps you deem necessary.
“I cannot stress this last point enough. The rebellion has begun to spread to the rest of the planet. There is a large minority who are not in favor of the war. We are still struggling to organize the food supply, which is hard enough by itself, but mixed in with the colossal changeover to private control of such a big portion of the economy… you can imagine the difficulties we are having. Expect more food shortages. Many citizens are too hungry to care about fighting for their planet.
“We believe the rebels are making overtures to some disenchanted business interests who got left empty handed when the industrial contracts were handed out. There are many more businesses who feel threatened by their lack of political contacts, and any one of them might be persuaded to provide assistance. This rebellion must be stamped out now!”
For the first time, the flat, clinical tone was replaced with a bark of fury. The general’s eyes glowed intensely for a moment, but then his countenance settled back into composure as he continued to recite from his prepared speech. Stephanie, enraptured by what she was now privy to, could not decide if the outburst was all theatrics or not.
“In the meantime, no political debate is to be tolerated. Monitor your citizens; keep them aware that we provide their safety. Divide and conquer when you can, appease when you must, obliterate when necessary. Use the carrot and use the stick. Arcarius will play a crucial role in all of this, and Rendral will give you what backing you need. I regret to inform you the divisions you asked for are not yet ready to deploy. Don’t let this stop you from doing everything in your power to end the insurrection.”
Nodding at them, the general paused before he ended with, “Good luck. The next briefing will no doubt bring better news.”
His image disappeared. There was a moment of silence before Aloysius spoke.
“We are going to end this rebellion before the divisions arrive. Arcarius can take care of its own problems. We are going to search house to house and make arrests. They can prove their innocence later.”
“We need to be careful not to generate too much sympathy for them,” advised one white haired woman in a military outfit.
“The coming food shortages will do that anyway,” Aloysius replied. “We can at least strike before it happens. And we’ll continue to connect the rebel acts to the Kaldisians.”
Another military man, a younger one, was shaking his head. “With all due respect, sir, the rebels have too much publicity. I’m just being realistic. They have fliers everywhere, and I’m convinced everyone in the city knows someone who is involved. The people know they have nothing to do with the Kaldisians. Frankly, every stash of food they steal from us and give to the populace makes them less likely to pay us any heed.”
Another spoke up. “Sometimes force can crush a rebellion. Sometimes it’s the fuel that keeps the fire burning.”
“The long and the short of it,” Aloysius continued, “is that we are out of options. We will use the Civil Guard to squash them. It doesn’t matter how much publicity the rebels have, we’ll counter it with our own. We will control all information and form all opinions. The rebellion will be put down before the winter mining begins.” The last bit was delivered with a finality that did not admit further discussion.
Afterwards, while the officers and political officials mingled, Stephanie sat in her chair, staring straight ahead but not seeing anything. Captain Travis finished a conversation with a local official and sat down next to her. She smiled weakly for a moment, but when the smile faltered she looked at the floor.
“That,” he informed her, “is how it is done.”
Stephanie, careful in her response, nodded. “I thought it was… brutally honest.”
Travis coldly smiled. “This is how laws have always been made. This is how policy has always been forged. No, Stephanie, it’s not the ideal we present to the people. Bread and circuses; divide and conquer; fear and suspicion; slogans and national pride… the formula is always the same. The only difference is how much power the government has.”
She again nodded carefully. “Is the war really just a tool to…” Officer Caldwell could not find the words to finish the thought. “I guess…” she paused and swallowed, wondering how to phrase it. “I can understand that difficult decisions must be made for the greater good. But…”
“But w
hat?”
She lowered her voice so the general drone of conversation made her words imperceptible to all but Travis. “How do you know how far to go? How do you decide the right thing to do? How do you…”
“How do we justify our acts?” Travis finished for her when she trailed off. Stephanie nodded and he smiled, this time less coldly than before. “I’ll let you think about that yourself. How does one justify these acts?”
That said, he stood back up and left her. The room was slowly emptying, and she took the opportunity to leave. After closing the double doors behind her, she pondered Travis’ words.
This is how laws have always been made. This is how policy has always been forged. No, Stephanie, it’s not the ideal we present to the populace. Bread and circuses; divide and conquer; fear and suspicion; slogans and national pride… the formula is always the same. The only difference is how much power the government has.
She walked home alone in the dark and cold. All she could think about was Alistair, and how he said the same thing to her so many times. So wrapped up was she in her thoughts that when she arrived she did not remember a single step of her trip back.
Chapter 25
Leland Maddox sat across from Alistair in the dim light of his office. He would have preferred to look down sternly at the applicant, but since the young man was so tall he settled for tucking his chin into his neck and squinting his eyes in an attempt to make his droopy features harsher. Drumming his fingers on the desk, he looked through Alistair’s papers, glancing up occasionally as if finding something he did not like, then clearing his throat, frowning a bit, and returning his attention to the file.
Light and fluffy flakes of snow meandered steadily past the window and Alistair studied the glinting sunlight sparkling off their forms while Leland pretended to be otherwise engrossed. A cloud passed in front of the sun and the sparkling ceased. Leland cleared his throat and turned a page.
“You just got out of jail,” he noted with disapproval.
“Yesterday,” Alistair replied as he tore his attention from the precipitation. “I was in for two weeks.”
Leland fixed his sternest gaze on the young applicant. “Mr. Ashley, we do not make a practice of hiring criminals in our Bureau. What were you in for?”
“Failure to make my weekly availability reports.”
Leland was startled out of his act for a moment. “They locked you up for that?”
“It was while I was off on Kaldis—”
“You were on Kaldis?”
“— and I didn’t turn in my weekly log from the four cycles I was there.”
Leland stared at the file in confusion. He looked back at Alistair, then back at the file and finally back at Alistair. “Well that’s a hell of a thing…”
“That was my thought as well.”
“Well, you just can’t start getting nit picky like that with a kid whose been fighting for us on Kaldis. What division were you in?”
“I was conscripted as a marine, but I eventually joined the Elite Corps.”
“Conscripted?”
Alistair almost winced. “Well, I mean enlisted,” he amended, inserting the approved terminology. “Anyway, I was accepted into the Elite Corps while I was there.”
“Did you get to wear a war suit?”
“Many times.”
Leland was impressed. He nodded his head as he pursed his lips, but then his demeanor changed and he was the demanding taskmaster once more. “I’m sure your brother has probably told you I run a pretty tight ship here. We’re the Transportation Bureau, but we might as well be called Miscellaneous because we get sent things the other bureaus can’t handle. It’s irritating, but at the end of the day it’s a compliment to me and my staff. We maintain high standards. Period. Do you think you can consistently perform at the kind of level we’re looking for?”
“I was chosen for the special forces on Kaldis,” was Alistair’s flat reply.
“Oh… well…” Leland had the decency to blush and he cleared his throat to cover the awkward pause. “Alistair, I think you’re exactly the kind of young man we’re looking for. When can you start?”
***
The interview was followed by a tour of the building which Leland, despite grumbling about his hectic schedule, was kind enough to give, and at a leisurely pace. He showed him the entrance hall where he was to be searched each morning. There were a dozen armed soldiers, their visages hidden behind face plates, and half were either busy searching incoming citizens or waiting to do so.
The procedure was invasive. It began with the man or woman passing under a monitoring device that rendered a 3D image of the subject, naked, on a projection pad. Any detected contraband would show up on the naked image of the person. After the lewd projections, the subject was treated to a thorough pat down before permission to enter was granted.
After this, Leland took Alistair to the reception counter where tickets were dealt and train schedules posted. Three bored ticketers sat slumped behind the barred windows of their counter, their attention more on a projector broadcasting a soap opera of some sort. Leland did his best to make it seem exciting, telling Alistair of the marvelous way it was run in the warmer months when there was a greater volume of passengers. Farther up and back in the building, he was treated to a viewing of the offices of the higher ranking bureaucrats like Leland, a quick glimpse of privilege to induce an appropriate work ethic. The officials there shook his hand and repeated variations on the same pep talk: they were glad to have him and were expecting a lot.
After the luxury offices, Leland showed him the maze of cubicles where the rank and file labored. Each cubicle came with a cot for the midday siesta, a convention adopted to save on transit times. Alistair noted with distress that his body was not going to be comfortable on such a small bed. The time for the siesta was an hour past, yet many workers still lingered on their cots.
“They are going to crack down on that sort of thing,” the Bureau head mentioned as they left the cubicle area. “The abuse of the midday siesta, I mean. The Realist regime is more intent on efficiency.”
Taking Alistair downstairs, Leland proudly displayed the cafeteria, assuring him that whatever shortages came, there would always be food of some sort for the Bureau workers when they were on the clock. At the moment, a few lingered over steaming hot cups of some dark liquid, talking quietly and joylessly like the rest of the population. Finally, Leland took Alistair to a back set of labs and offices on the same subterranean level as the cafeteria. The room they came to was dark, lit only by the blue glow of a projection computer. There sat a gaunt woman with mousy brown hair and ill-fitting spectacles. Alistair guessed she was 30 cycles, give or take, and she wore a white lab coat to distinguish her from the other workers in the Bureau.
“Alistair, this is Louise. She’s going to take you through her department and explain your duties.”
Louise looked up and then immediately down at the floor, shyly smiling. She hesitated between standing up and closing the program she was working with before finally opting for the latter.
“I’ll leave you in her capable hands.”
With that, Leland nodded his goodbye and left. Louise rose from her chair, fumbling to adjust the glasses on her face, and acknowledged Alistair with a nod of her head, though she looked more at the ground than at him. As the sound of Leland’s footsteps grew softer, she shuffled her feet, cleared her throat, brushed back her straight, shoulder-length hair, and finally started to speak, staring straight into her computer projection.
“I, uh…”
Alistair held his hand out, “Alistair Ashley.”
Louise smiled nervously and held out a limp hand. “Louise Downing… 5wr.” She quickly withdrew her hand, and then stared at Alistair curiously.
“3nn,” Alistair hastened to add.
“Oh.” She paused for a moment. “I thought soldiers were always required to give their code.”
“I’m not a soldier any longer.”
&
nbsp; “That’s true. After four cycles I figured—”
“So what exactly am I going to be doing here?”
“Oh. Well, this is the Department of Statistics within the Bureau of Transportation. We compile data and analyze it. We hope to refine the performance equations the various Bureaus use and formulate new ones.”
“Performance equations?”
“Yes.” Louise pushed her glasses back up to the bridge of her nose. “We create equations to predict behavior. Among other things it helps us plan the train schedule. Have you ever used a projection computer?”
Alistair shook his head. “Not this kind.”
“Oh.” Louise seemed a bit distressed. “How much have you learned about statistics?”
“Next to nothing. I never went to university.”
“Oh.” Louise frowned. “It’s just that… we’ll have to start you off small. You see…”
“I’m totally unqualified for any post in this department.”
Louise smiled and nervously laughed. “Well… I suppose you wouldn’t be the first candidate we’d pick.”
“I think my brother put in a good word for me.”
“Gerald’s word carries a lot of weight here. Especially with Leland.” She chuckled again, nervously, then said, “Well, I’ll show you the ins and outs of a projection computer.”
As she sat down to begin Alistair’s instruction, she lost much of her shyness and confidently navigated the computer. Her speech lost its hesitation, its faltering pauses, and her movements were smooth and sure. Only when Alistair leaned close to get a better view and she felt his nearness did she lose her concentration. At those moments she seemed startled, like one who has been speaking to her image in the mirror and is interrupted in mid soliloquy. As the instruction proceeded, Alistair learned to stay back and let her go, saving his questions for later rather than constantly trip her up. Genuinely interested in what she was showing him, Alistair thought the two hours of instruction, passing from initial introduction to flitting down capricious paths of more in-depth knowledge, sneaked by as if they were a handful of minutes.
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