“First details of the plans for the peace conference. Starts day after tomorrow. I figured you’d at least be interested.”
Shaking her head in response, she said, “They don’t need me down there.”
“You damned coward.”
“Excuse me?”
“Look at you, sitting there in a pool of your own misery. What’s the problem, Major? Nobody turned up to give you a round of applause yet? You knew going in what might happen. That the odds were that you’d end up dying on some back street with nobody to know or care. So you ended up actually living to see the end of your war.” She looked at her with laser eyes, and added, “You never had a plan for this part, did you?”
“We always believed that we were the cadre for a popular revolutionary movement, one that would rise up with its own leaders, its own goals, that we could guide to victory. That we were paving the way for a better world.”
“And while you were running around assassinating petty bureaucrats and blowing up outposts, presumably to kill time according to that wonderful master plan of yours, you never once gave any real consideration to what would happen next? Just some vague crap about the people making a choice?”
“We’re fighting for democracy.”
“God damn it, there isn’t a democracy that has ever lived that didn’t end up voting in a tyranny sooner or later. How do you think the Commonwealth got started? Most of those nations were democracies of one flavor or another, but sooner or later everyone just stopped caring, or some crisis turned up that required a glorious leader to win. And that was with an electorate that was at least theoretically informed and educated. You’ve got billions of people who’ve never had to decide about anything more important than whether to have toast or cereal for breakfast, and you think they’re going to magic up utopia without help?”
“I’m not a political scientist. I’m a soldier. Besides, you don’t need me. Not any more. Commodore Curtis is in charge, and he’ll be handling the negotiations.”
Nodding, Saxon said, “Now we get to the core of it, don’t we, the horrible little truth that you don’t want to admit, maybe not even to yourself. This isn’t how you pictured the war would end, not deep down in your dark excuse for a soul. Either you were going to go down in a blaze of glory they’d be talking about for the next fifty years, or you’d personally lead the mob through the streets of Stockholm that tore the Chairman limb from limb.”
“I don’t have to listen to this!”
“Life isn’t like that, Major. We don’t get the big heroic ending. Wars don’t end with a single glorious battle, leaving some deus ex machina to clean up the mess, and neither do revolutions. I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention, but we’re damned close to a civil war on Mars. Two factions are fighting it out for control, and the battles are beginning to break out onto the streets. We still don’t know what the hell’s happening on Mercury, except that almost the entire gubernatorial staff appears to still be in place, with the notable exception of the governor himself. It’s a mess, Major. A catastrophic mess, and it’s only going to get worse before it gets better.”
“It’s that bad?” she asked, frowning.
“Hell, I didn’t even get out of Sol System yet. We’ve got little pocket empires springing up all over the place, and that people are fighting battles to determine who gets to go to a peace conference is one of those wonderful historical ironies that I’m sure I’ll appreciate when the shooting stops. Even the Chairman’s admitted that the Federation is effectively kaput, but right now, I haven’t got the first damned idea what’s going to replace it. I only know that we’re going to work that out down on Titan when the delegations start turning up tomorrow. You’re one of the ones who broke humanity, Major. You’re going to have to take responsibility for fixing it as well.”
“You’re right about one thing,” Cordova admitted. “I don’t think any of us really considered what would happen next. Maybe none of us expected to win.” She looked down at the datapad, and said, “Who’s picking the delegates?”
“Themselves, basically. It’s a free-for-all. I think the general idea is that every rebel world, station, and two-shuttle outpost will send someone to Titan, and they’ll work out the details when they arrive. I know the Federation – what’s left of it, anyway – is sending a five-man delegation, so I’m going to propose that the rebellion puts a similar-sized team on the table. Five against five. No doubt with the peanut gallery throwing wise advise and harsh language the whole damned time.”
“That won’t be easy.”
“No, it won’t, and it’s going to need someone who they all know and trust. You don’t have any political capital left in this fleet, but you’ve fought alongside most of these people, and I’m guessing you still have a few favors left to call in over the years. Now’s the time to do it. One way or another, we’ve got to get some sort of order out of this chaos, and quickly.” Gesturing at the datapad, she added, “Take a look at the rest of the report. Fifty-two people just died on Lucifer. None of them had to. A medical supply ship didn’t get there on time because the local bureaucracy collapsed and Apollo Station forgot. Forgot.”
“Damn.”
“My sentiments exactly. Everyone’s so busy worrying about building a better tomorrow that they’re forgetting to make sure they live long enough to see it. Never mind the politicians playing their games out here. The people of the colonies, and of Earth itself, for that matter, deserve a damn sight better than that. I don’t think anyone quite realizes just how damned fragile our civilization is, and we just smashed hell out of it.”
“If you believe that,” Cordova replied, “then in God’s name why did you sign up for the rebellion in the first place?”
“Because the Federation was going to collapse, sooner rather than later. It didn’t take a psychic to work that one out. We were spending all of our time keeping the wolf from the door for one more day, but eventually it was all going to come to an end, and I wanted to make sure that there was a least something to replace it. Had we not done so well, the rebellion could have become a shadow government, ready to move in after the crash and pick up the pieces. I confess I didn’t think we’d come so far, so fast, but that only proves my argument. The Federation was all set to fall. We just gave it the final push.”
Nodding, Cordova replied, “And what do you want to happen now?”
“I want everyone to live through it. Anything else is a nice bonus. I don’t give a damn about your moral crusade, Major. And hand on heart, I doubt most of these delegates do either. As long as we come out of this with something that will keep our people alive, we win. That’s the best we can hope for. Assuming that the Federation isn’t trying something.”
“You think they have something left to fight with?”
“Let’s just say that I didn’t expect them to give up quite this easily, and leave it at that. Which is just one more reason why we still need you.” As Cordova rose to her feet, she asked, “Where are you going?”
“I spent four years on Mars when I was a kid,” she replied. “I know the people involved. Maybe I can settle them down before the fighting gets too bad.”
“Shuttle Dock Three,” Saxon said, a wry smile on her face. “Trotsky’s heading out there in about twenty minutes. You ought to be there in a couple of hours. Good luck.”
“Thanks. I think I’m going to need it.”
“We’re all going to need it, Major.”
Chapter 6
“It feels so damned strange to be back here,” Curtis said, turning to his son. The two of them were walking down Sagan Street, curling through Titan’s main colony dome, signs of the recent fighting everywhere as the colonists struggled to put the pieces of their lives back together. Both were wearing nondescript clothes, neither anxious to be recognized, though a pair of nervous bodyguards were tracking their every move, nervous that someone might interc
ept their charges.
“I bet,” Mike replied. “I only came here once. I guess you don’t remember. It was around the time of my divorce, and I wanted to see you, to talk to you. Maybe see if I had any family left at all.” With a deep sigh, he continued, “You didn’t even recognize me.”
“I’m sorry, son.”
“It wasn’t your fault. I know exactly who to blame for it, and I’m not at all sure that sending her off to Mars is a good idea.”
“Mars?” he asked. “I thought Cordova was still on Polaris. I didn’t give any orders for her to go anywhere.”
Shaking his head, Mike replied, “She’s halfway there by now, dead-heading on Trotsky. Something about a personal connection with the feuding rebel leaders. You’d think everyone would be sitting back and enjoying all this for a while, before fighting each other.”
“Everyone has their own idea about what victory represents.” With a shrug, Curtis said, “There’s nothing we can do about her now. Maybe she can do something out there. I detect the hand of Major Saxon in all of this.”
“And that’s another thing,” Mike said. “She’s got an awful lot of influence for an ex-ColSec Administrator. Hell, the resistance seems to be littered with the people it was meant to be fighting.”
“True enough, but there’s nothing we can do about that. We’ve got to take our recruits while we can get them.” He paused, then said, “That’s where I lived. That little apartment building.” Sliding his hand into his pocket, he added, “Still got the pass key. I wonder if it works.”
“You want to go back there?”
“Not especially. I don’t even know why I came down here in the first place. There aren’t any memories I particularly treasure. The one friend I thought I had turned out to be the one who’d sold me out in the first place, keeping me nice and pacified.” Looking at the building again, he held the pass key in his hand, then tossed it to the ground, amid the rest of the debris. “There’s nothing here for me. I’m not sure there’s anything left anywhere.”
“Come on,” Mike replied. “That’s not the warrior I know.” Clapping his hand on his father’s shoulder, he added, “You’re tired, and given the circumstances, that’s understandable. One more big push and it’s all over. The Federation is ready to yield, and we’re just going through the motions now. I took another look at the intelligence reports and the sensor data. There’s nothing in this system to worry us unless we decide to launch an attack on Earth itself, and it looks like we’re not going to have to do that. And if we do end up being forced into something, we’ve had enough time to plot our attack properly. I’ve got a tactical team working on that right now.”
“Are you going to stay in the Fleet?” Curtis asked.
“Ask me that question again when I know whether or not we have a Fleet to stay in, but probably. It’s what I know. All I know. I’ve worn this uniform for my whole adult life, well, one version of it or another, and it’d be so damn strange to wear anything else. I guess I’ll stick for a while. Even if not in the military, I can probably set myself up with a freighter. We captured enough transports during our little war, after all.”
“You a tramp hauler?”
“Why not?” Looking up at the roof of the dome, he added, “It’s your fault. And in a good way. I grew up hearing about your adventures in space, about what you were doing. I think I decided to join the Fleet about when I started to walk, and I never got around to changing my mind about that. I guess I’ll die with my boots on. What about you?”
Before he could reply, Curtis heard someone shouting, and a crowd began to gather all around him. His bodyguards moved forward, interposing themselves between him and the increasing mass of people, Mike standing by his side with an amused look on his face. Nobody seemed dangerous, no weapons evident other than a few holstered pistols, and several of the leaders of the pack looked at each other before one finally took a tentative step forward.
“Are you Commodore Curtis?”
“We both are,” Mike replied, gesturing at his father, “Though I think this one is the one you’re looking for.”
“What’s going to happen next, sir?” the man meekly asked. “What happens now?”
“That’s down to all of you,” Curtis asked. “What do you want to happen next?”
Looking at the ground, the man replied, “I just want everything to get back to normal again. I’d like things to get better. To get the hospitals opened, the schools back in business. I’d like my son to be smarter than me, maybe have a chance to go further than I could.”
“Sounds like you have a plan,” Curtis said with a smile.
Shaking his head, the man replied, “I don’t know where to begin. Wouldn’t know where to start. Isn’t that your job?”
Taking a deep breath, Curtis said, “No. It’s yours. All of you. The Federation was able to grow into the tyranny it became because none of us cared enough to stop it, because none of us stepped forward to insist that we should have a voice in our own government. We’ve fought for freedom, all of us, up in space and here on the surface, and the decision we’re all going to have to make together over the next weeks, months and years is just what we’re going to do with it now that it’s here. None of us could have known just how precious, just how expensive a thing it proved to be. We can’t waste it.”
Before anyone could reply, he continued, “And that means that all of you have to take personal responsibility for the future of humanity, both here on Titan and in all the worlds touched by mankind. It means you can’t ask someone else to act for you, you have to act for yourself. You want a new hospital? Then build one! As a community! Find the doctors, the medical personnel, or train your own people for those roles. Assemble the equipment. You want your children to get a good education? Then you’ll have to hit the books yourself, and educate yourself so that you can educate them. Nobody can do those things for you.”
“The purpose of a government, back in the old days, was to follow the expressed will of the people. I don’t know what happened. Even I’m not old enough to remember the failure of the democracies. Maybe everyone just stopped caring. Maybe everyone decided that it was better, easier, to let someone else decide the shape of things to come. That bought us the Commonwealth, the Oligarchy, and allowed a cabal of the rich to take control and run things for their benefit, not ours.”
“What about the Revolution?” a heckler yelled from the back.
“Yes, what about the Revolution?” Curtis replied, warming to his topic. “What happened to those people who fought and bled and died? They made the same mistake, but worse, because those were the people who had lived their lives in oppression. First they had to protect the integrity of their doctrine, and then it became more important than the people they were supposed to protect and succor. And gradually, the people in charge decided they were more important than the people outside, and the same thing happened again.”
Taking a step forward, Curtis pointed a finger at the crowd, and continued, “And do you know why they did that? Why they got away with it for as long as they did? Because until now, we didn’t stop them. We could have fought back at any time over the last fifty years. Some of us did, in the last doomed Uprising, two decades ago, and we called them traitors and terrorists for their trouble, whereas in truth, they were fighting for us. All of us. And we hated and reviled them for it, perhaps because deep, deep down we felt guilty that we hadn’t moved first, that we hadn’t fought back as they had.”
Looking up at the roof of the dome, he continued, “By this time tomorrow, the Chairman – I hope, the last Chairman – of the Federation will be coming here, to Titan, along with representatives of all the rebel worlds and outposts, and we’ll be trying to work out what comes next. But that isn’t our job. It’s yours. You have to tell us what sort of a world you want to live in, or in fifty years from now, we’ll be back to where we are today, some new generati
on determined not to make the same mistakes as their ancestors. To make the same mistakes that we are at risk of making today. Too many of my friends have died to get us here. I won’t waste their sacrifice. Will you?”
The crowd cheered, most of them screaming, “No!” and started to disburse, satisfied with the answer given to them by Curtis. Already he could see some of them clustering into packs, and he somehow had the idea that a host of political parties might have been born on Titan at that moment. Mike looked at him, the same wry smile on his face, slowly shaking his head.
“I think we both know what your next career move is going to be, Dad, but I’m positive you aren’t going to like it much.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re a politician, whether you like it or not. That was one hell of a speech.”
“I meant every word of it.”
“Which is exactly what I mean. You sound sincere because you are sincere, and you’re a war hero, the face of the rebellion. If you ran for Chairman, President, whatever, you’d win. That’s something you’re going to have to seriously consider.”
“I don’t want that. I don’t know what I do want, but I certainly don’t want that. I’m a ship driver. That’s all. I’m a pretty good one, but that’s as far as I go. Any real political mover would run rings around me, and we both know it.”
“Saxon certainly is. She’s setting you up for this, and I think for the first time, I actually agree with her about something. They’re going to need someone to draw them together, or everything is going to fall apart. What replaces the Federation? What comes next? We’re going to have to choose whether we can put together some sort of a successor government, or whether we just slide back into anarchy. Or allow a resurgent Federation to creep back into power again. Don’t think it couldn’t happen. We both know that’s basically what the Chairman has in mind.”
“Maybe.” Turning to his son, his face weary, he said, “Haven’t I done enough, Mike?”
Starcruiser Polaris: He Never Died Page 4