When All Seems Los lotd-7

by William C. Dietz

  PLANET ALGERON, THE CONFEDERACY OF SENTIENT BEINGS

  Gradually, over a period of months, what had been President Nankool’s dining room had been converted into a chamber where Vice President Leo Jakov could receive offi?cial guests. Or, as was the case on that particular morning, sit on his thronelike chair and brood. And there was plenty to brood about because, ever since the prison break, General Booly, his wife, and the rest of the Nankool loyalists had been hard at work trying to prevent his confi?rmation. And with some success, too—if the rumors could be believed. Which was why Jakov felt mixed emotions as Kay Wilmot entered the room. What kind of news will she have for me? the vice president wondered as he eyed the diplomat’s face.

  Wilmot looked tired, and therefore older, which was just one of the reasons Jakov had begun to have sex with potential replacements. And there were other issues, too, such as the fact that the plump offi?cial had become far too knowledgeable about both him and his supporters, some of whom placed a high value on their privacy. That was why Wilmot wasn’t going to survive much longer regardless of how the upcoming vote turned out. “You look beautiful this morning,” Jakov lied, and waited to see her face light up.

  “Thank you,” the diplomat replied. “I’m pleased to say that I have some good news for you! There are some fence sitters of course, senators who will wait until the very last second before committing themselves, but even without their support it looks like you will be confi?rmed.”

  One of Jakov’s eyebrows rose slightly. “By how many votes?”

  “Two,” Wilmot answered. “But,” the assistant undersecretary hastened to add, “that hardly matters does it? A win is a win.”

  That wasn’t entirely true, since a narrow victory would inevitably be seen as a sign of weakness, but Jakov forced a smile. “Yes, of course. A win is a win.”

  The conference room adjacent to General Bill Booly’s offi?ce was full to overfl?owing. Maylo was there, as were Colonel Kitty Kirby, Major Drik Seeba-Ka, Margaret Xanith, and Charles Vanderveen. The crowd stirred as Sergi ChienChu arrived and people made room for him. “Okay, Sergi,”

  Booly said hopefully. “What have you got for us?”

  “Nothing good,” the cyborg answered dejectedly.

  “Based on my polling, it looks like Jakov will be confi?rmed by a narrow margin.”

  Faces fell, and there was a chorus of groans as the group absorbed the news. “There is another option,” Seeba-Ka said ominously. “The Legion’s loyalty belongs to you—not Vice President Jakov.”

  “No,” Booly replied wearily. “I know that’s the way such matters are settled on Hudatha, but Triad Doma-Sa is working to change that. We have a constitution, plus the body of law that supports it, that we’re all sworn to obey. To violate that oath is to become the very thing we despise.”

  “In spite of the fact that Jakov broke the law,” Vanderveen agreed reluctantly.

  “Unfortunately, we have no proof of that,” the legionnaire put in. “Just suspicions. So, given the political realities, I suggest that everyone prepare for the worst. You should expect to lose your jobs at a minimum. . . . And some of us may face trumped-up charges intended to put us on the defensive while Jakov and his toadies settle in. I’m sorry. I wish things were different.”

  It was a sobering assessment, and one that left Booly’s allies with no choice but to shake hands glumly and go their separate ways. Booly, Maylo, and Chien-Chu remained where they were. “Don’t be alarmed if I disappear for a while, the industrialist said as he prepared to leave. “If Jakov attempts to prosecute one or both of you—I’ll be back with the best legal team money can buy. And I’ll do everything in my power to fi?nd out what happened to Nankool as well.”

  Booly said, “Thanks,” as his wife went over to plant a kiss on her uncle’s cheek. Then, once the two of them were alone, the legionnaire took Maylo into his arms. The kiss lasted for a while. Finally, when they broke contact, Booly looked down into his wife’s beautiful face. “I don’t suppose you would be willing to leave Algeron prior to the vote.”

  “Sure I would,” Maylo replied cheerfully. “So long as you come with me.”

  Booly laughed. “Have I mentioned how annoying you are?”

  “Frequently,” the woman in his arms replied. “Does that mean you’re going to divorce me?”

  “Yes,” Booly replied. “As soon as I fi?nd the time. The problem is that I’m so busy.”

  “Too busy for this?” Maylo inquired innocently, as she put her hand where it would do the most good.

  “Hey! We’re in a conference room,” the general objected.

  “So, close the door,” Maylo responded huskily. “And let’s hold a conference.”

  And they did.

  The space that had once served as Fort Camerone’s theater had since been converted into chambers for the Senate. The huge room contained fi?ve hundred seats. They slanted down to a fl?at area and a raised stage. The words, “Legio Patria Nostra,” “The Legion Is Our Country,” had once been inscribed above the platform in letters six feet tall. And, in spite of the fact that they had been painted over, a keen eye could still make them out.

  The fi?rst fi?ve rows of seats were reserved for senators who, with very few exceptions, were present. Partly because activists representing both sides of the upcoming vote had been working to ensure a good turnout, but also because the confi?rmation process made for excellent theater, and there was a woeful lack of entertainment on Algeron. Most of the people present already knew how the vote was going to turn out, or believed they did, but it was common knowledge that the outcome would be close. So close that even a couple of defections could deny Jakov the presidency. That served to keep the level of tension high, and rather than posture the way they often did, the vice president’s supporters were maintaining a low-key demeanor. There were formalities to attend to, including the usual roll call, which preceded a long, rather dry description of the events leading up to Nankool’s disappearance and the need to replace him. That was followed by an equally boring recitation of applicable law and a review of the voting process.

  Finally, with all of that out of the way, the moment everyone had been waiting for was at hand. That was when Jakov, Wilmot, and a handful of other senior advisors slipped into the chamber and stood at the back of the room. Half a dozen airborne news cams swarmed around the politician to get tight shots as breathless reporters provided voice-over narrations of the historical moment for viewers throughout the Confederacy. Because later, once the outcome was known, the resulting reports would be sent out via the new hypercom technology—a development that was bound to revolutionize both journalism and politics. Then, as the senator representing Earth stepped up to the podium, the cameras darted away from Jakov, each seemingly intent on reaching the front of the room fi?rst. Booly and Maylo had seats behind the senators, in a row reserved for senior offi?cials, and knew the networks would go to them for reaction shots.

  “The voice vote is about to begin,” the senator from Earth intoned. “Please provide your name, followed by the political entity you represent and your vote. A ‘yes’ vote is a vote to confi?rm—and a ‘no’ vote is a vote to deny confi?rmation. Now, unless there are questions, we will proceed.”

  And that was the moment when Triad Hiween DomaSa, who had been visibly absent from the proceedings until that point, entered the chamber via a side door. There was a thump as it closed behind him and a considerable stir as the big Hudathan made his way up onto the stage.

  “Good morning,” Doma-Sa said, as he turned to face the audience. “As most of you know I represent Hudatha, and I hereby invoke the provisions of paragraph 3, of page 372, of the Senate Rules and Procedures, which allow any senator who wishes to do so to make a fi?nal statement prior to a voice vote.”

  The Hudathan’s unexpected arrival, plus the nature of his demand, triggered an uproar as Jakov’s supporters voiced their objections, and the vice president’s opponents attempted to shout them down. Because like Booly
’s, Doma-Sa’s loyalties were well-known. And if the triad wanted an opportunity to speak, then it would clearly be in opposition to Jakov.

  So the senator from Earth called for order, the masterat-arms thumped his ceremonial staff, and the chief clerk was called upon to check paragraph 3 of page 372, to see if Doma-Sa’s assertion was correct. It soon turned out that the paragraph in question was a rather obscure section of verbiage originally intended to allow last-minute posturing by senators who were trolling for publicity. But it was rarely invoked because voice votes were rare. So after considerable grumbling from the vice president’s supporters, it was agreed that Doma-Sa could speak, although it immediately became apparent that a pro-Jakov politician would rise to counter whatever the triad put forward. The Hudathan’s voice rolled like thunder as he spoke. “As many of you know, I have been off-planet for the last month or so, having returned only hours ago. And it was while on Starfall, attending a diplomatic function, that I met the Egg Orno, mate to the late Senator Orno, and Ambassador Orno, who was known to many of you.”

  That statement was punctuated by a loud clatter, as Runwa Molo-Sa opened the same side door through which Doma-Sa had previously entered, thereby enabling the Egg Orno to enter the room. Because of the war, the female was the only Ramanthian present. That, plus the shimmering robe she wore, caused everyone to stare at the aristocrat as she shuffl?ed up a ramp and onto the stage.

  “What’s going on here?” one of Jakov’s supporters demanded angrily as he came to his feet. “Triad Doma-Sa has the right to speak—not stage a parade!”

  That stimulated a chorus of comments both pro and con, as Booly looked at Maylo, and both of them wondered what the Hudathan was up to.

  “The rules place no limitations on how I choose to speak,”

  Doma-Sa rumbled. “So, shut up and listen. The robe that the Egg Orno is wearing once belonged to Ambassador Orno, who wore it when he met with Assistant Undersecretary for Foreign Affairs Kay Wilmot, on the planet Starfall. However, unbeknownst to her the garment you’re looking at consists of a photosensitive fabric which recorded everything that passed between them. Let’s watch and listen.”

  There was a loud rustling noise as at least half the people in the room turned to look at Wilmot, and the fl?ying cameras jockeyed for position. The foreign service offi?cer felt a sinking sensation at that point and turned to look at Jakov. It appeared as though all of the blood had drained out of the politician’s face, and his jaw tightened as Molo-Sa connected the robe the Egg Orno was wearing to the room’s AV system. Seconds later a life-sized holo of Wilmot appeared behind Doma-Sa and began to speak.

  “The situation is this,” Wilmot explained. “While on his way to visit the Clone Hegemony, President Nankool was captured by Ramanthian military forces and sent to Jericho, where both he and his companions are going to be used as slave labor.”

  “That’s absurd!” Orno was heard to say. “First, because my government would take Nankool to a planet other than Jericho, and second because his capture would have been announced by now.”

  “Not if the Ramanthians on Jericho were unaware of the president’s true identity,” Wilmot countered. “And we know they aren’t aware of the fact that he’s there, because we have an intelligence agent on Jericho, and he sent us pictures of Nankool trudging through the jungle. Images that arrived on Algeron fi?ve days ago.”

  “You came to the wrong person,” Orno replied sternly.

  “A rescue would be impossible, even if I were willing to assist such a scheme, which I am not.”

  “No, you misunderstood,” Wilmot responded. “I’m not here to seek help with a rescue mission—I’m here to make sure that Nankool and his companions are buried on Jericho.”

  There was a pause followed by a question. “You report to Vice President Jakov?”

  “Yes,” Wilmot agreed soberly. “I do.”

  “Soon to be President Jakov?”

  “With your help. . . . Yes.”

  There was more, but the sudden uproar made it impossible to hear, as outraged senators from both camps vied with each other to condemn Wilmot and distance themselves from Jakov. Meanwhile, conscious of the fact that the spotlight would soon shift to him, Jakov turned to leave via the back door. But Booly was waiting for the politician—as were a full squad of armed legionnaires.

  “None of it’s true,” Jakov said stoutly. “The holo was faked. . . . As you well know!”

  “Save it for your trial,” the legionnaire replied unsympathetically. “And while you’re sitting in prison think about this. . . . The penalty for treason is death.”

  PLANET EARTH, THE CONFEDERACY OF SENTIENT BEINGS

  Captain Antonio Santana lay on his back and stared up at the sky. It was light blue, crisscrossed here and there by contrails, but entirely empty until a hawk arrived to turn graceful circles above him. More than a month had passed since the much-abused Imperator had dropped into orbit around Algeron, and Nankool had been restored to the presidency. But it seemed longer, since both the offi?cer and every other person aboard the old dreadnaught had been subjected to seemingly endless debriefi?ngs as prosecutors worked to amass evidence against Vice President Jakov and his codefendants, even as defense teams sought to counter it, and the news networks fought over scraps of confl?icting information. So viewed from the perspective of Earth, the confl?ict raging out beyond the local solar system seemed to be more about political skullduggery than a battle for survival. Meanwhile, based on what little information was available, the Confederacy was losing what the legionnaire considered to be the real war. The Ramanthians hadn’t overrun any major systems as yet, but a number of planets out along the edge of the Confederacy’s territory had fallen to the bugs, and the aliens were more aggressive of late. Some analysts attributed that development to a new and more energetic queen. Others pointed to the enormous number of Sheen ships that had been added to the Ramanthian fl?eet. But the result was the same. The bugs were coming, but the citizens of Napa Valley were oblivious to the fact as they continued to enjoy their privileged lives. But then the sky was gone as Christine Vanderveen stepped in to straddle the legionnaire and sit on his abdomen. Her hair hung like a blonde curtain around her face, and her skin looked healthy again, as did the rest of her. She was dressed in formal riding clothes. The long-sleeved white blouse served to hide the scars on her wrists. “It’s time for lunch,” the diplomat announced. “So mount up.”

  Santana groaned. “Can we walk instead?”

  Vanderveen laughed. It was a lovely sound—and one he couldn’t get enough of. “Walk?” she inquired. “Why would we want to do that? Especially when we have two perfectly good horses waiting not ten feet away.”

  “Because it would be less painful,” the legionnaire said, as he reached up to pull her down.

  “I thought you were a cavalry offi?cer,” Vanderveen replied. “A proud member of the 1st REC . . . A man of . . .”

  The rest of her words were lost as their lips made contact. Santana was consumed by a vast feeling of tenderness, and everything else fell away. Part of him knew that the war was waiting. . . . But there, on a sunlit hill, the soldier was at peace.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  On January 28, 1945, 121 men led by the pipesmoking Lieutenant Colonel Henry Mucci of the 6th Ranger Battalion penetrated enemy lines in the Philippines and marched cross-country to rescue 513 survivors of the Bataan Death March being held by the Japanese. Though not based on that rescue, this book was certainly inspired by it and by the unbelievable bravery of both the rescuers and the POWs. For anyone who would like to read a full account of that amazing mission, I highly recommend the book Ghost Soldiers by Hampton Sides.

  FB2 document info

  Document ID: d0645bb3-6c29-4d41-a567-f0bf19b7dbcd

  Document version: 1

  Document creation date: 8.4.2012

  Created using: calibre 0.8.10 software

  Document authors :

  William C. Dietz

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