Union Forever

by William R. Forstchen

  "The plan, then, is simple," Cromwell began, pointing to the map spread out on the table before the group.

  "Tomorrow our fleet sets sail, my Ogunquit, eighteen gunboats, two mortar boats, Jamie's ships, and over a hundred and fifty Cartha ships. Aboard will be over twenty thousand men, the ships' cannons, thirty field guns, and three thousand muskets. We should reach Roum within seven days. Taking the city with modem weapons should be not too difficult.

  "But we will not, at least in the beginning."

  Hamilcar shook his head with disdain.

  "You do not agree with our plan," Jubadi said coldly.

  "We could take it with ease," Hamilcar replied.

  "That is not what we want for the first several days. We are after bigger game," Tobias retorted. "Remember our goal is to bring Keane and his precious army out of the city. If Roum is under threat, they will rush to help. If the city falls at once, especially after our people declare themselves, Keane will not drive straight in. I know Keane and how he thinks. He'll act with near-fanatical determination as long as the fall of the city is a threat and not an accomplished fact. Our goal is to bring him out into the steppe."

  Tobias pointed to the town of Hispania and the marker indicating the farthest extent of the railroad.

  "Bring him to here and a day's march beyond."

  With a dramatic flourish, he slammed his fists down on either side.

  "And then cut him off. We'll show him how fragile a rail line really is. We'll strike first by burning their largest bridge. Five hundred raiders—that will be under Jamie and Hinsen. They can tear up track for miles behind him, leaving him stranded. The forces in Suzdal who are with us already know their parts. We'll force Roum over to our side just before he arrives, and then we will move out of Roum by ship, swing across, and take Rus behind him.

  "Before he can return, Suzdal will be in our hands."

  Jubadi nodded approvingly.

  "There'll be some extra warriors going with you," Jubadi said quietly and looked over at Hulagar.

  Tobias, unable to show his surprise, gazed suspiciously at Hulagar.

  "I am sending Hulagar, my sons, some guards, and the Zan Qarth's shield-bearer along."

  "My lord Jubadi," Tobias said quickly, "the key to our attempt is to not let anyone know that we are supported by you. The sight of a single Merki could change all of that."

  "They will remain hidden throughout," Jubadi said sharply, his tone indicating that there would be no debate. "You have much to attend to before tomorrow morning, Tobias Cromwell. You and your men had best see to the final arrangements."

  Tobias stood and looked nervously at Jubadi. The last-minute addition was disquieting. He tried to look Jubadi in the eyes, but again, as always, there was that sense of a taunting gaze, a judgment. He looked away and without. comment stalked out of the room.

  "He is not pleased," Hulagar said, laughing softly.

  "Did he actually expect that we would let him build these ships and then go sailing off? The contingent will stay aboard the Ogunquit at all times."

  "It is worse than the lower regions of torment down there," Hulagar said, shaking his head and reaching over to fill his goblet with Cartha wine.

  Hulagar hesitated for a moment.

  "Something is bothering you," Jubadi asked softly.

  "It is not your other two sons, my Qarth, it is the Zan, Vuka."

  "I want you there to learn, to observe all that happens in this new way of war. Vuka will someday be Qar Qarth. I want him to be there, to see how these cattle weapons can be fought."

  "To send all three of your sons of the first consort," Hulagar said softly, "perhaps it is not the wisest to risk your lineage in such a manner."

  Jubadi smiled and shook his head.

  "I had three brothers. One died when thrown from his mount, the other two at Orki. It is the risk of all of us. I want all three of them there.

  "And of course my shield-bearer, and the bearer of Vuka will be there as well."

  "Vuka might not be easy with being trapped inside the furnace of that ship," Hulagar said, knowing he was pressing the argument.

  "Then he must learn," Jubadi snapped impatiently.

  Hulagar lowered his head in acknowledgment. He knew that in his position as shield-bearer he could perhaps force the argument, but the inner voice, the ka-tu known only to those who were shield-bearers of the Qarths, spoke differently. Perhaps it would be a testing for Vuka, to better learn endurance and, most important, patience.

  "Just remember that Tamuka is his shield-bearer, not you," Jubadi said. "So do not interfere, my friend."

  It was rare that Jubadi referred to him as a friend, and he could sense that the Qar Qarth was uneasy with his decision as well.

  "Watch Tobias closely," Jubadi said, shifting the subject. "He is a coward, as are most cattle, so I have no fear that he will turn. After all, he believes that if he wins he will rule Rus on his own."

  "Perhaps we should have told him in the beginning that we would occupy the town after he has taken it, and that the Tugars if they live to their promise will close on the eastern flank of Roum."

  Jubadi shook his head.

  "He can still rule, as we have always had cattle rule over our subjects. But I sense that these northern cattle would fight to the death if they knew we were coming as well. We must let them weaken each other first. Once they are under this Cromwell, and the buildings to make more weapons are secure, then we shall move in. He must not know. If he did, he might grow suspicious and perhaps even flee with the most dangerous weapon upon all the water of the sea. Let him finish this task first and take control. By then my sons will know the ways of war and can take the ships to attack the Bantag on their own.

  "Don't forget that when it comes to battle decisions, let him make them. He understands this new war better than I, and you, my friend, are a shield-bearer, not a warrior."

  Hulagar nodded in reply, taking no offense, for Jubadi was right, he was not a warrior, he was far more, the controlling spirit of a Qar Qarth.

  "Now send in the Zan Qarth. I must speak to my eldest son before he leaves."

  Hulagar stood up, bowed low, and left the room. Had he heard the inner whispers correctly? he wondered. There was the faintest murmuring in his soul that the plan which had looked so flawless in all its complexities had somehow been altered onto a path he could not yet foresee.

  "And I say that how you propose to spend this money is complete foolishness!"

  Inwardly Andrew cursed the whole concept of democracy from top to bottom. It was bad enough that he had to appear before this Senate to argue the military side of the budget, but to take a grilling from the man across from him was almost more than he could stomach.

  Mikhail, the senator from Psov, looked at him with open contempt.

  "Senator," Andrew said evenly, trying to hide his building anger, "until such time as we are certain that the Tugars are truly gone and that the hordes to the south have swept eastward as well, we need to continue to arm, to improve our weapons, and to be ready for any and all possibilities."

  "And bleed ourselves white in the process!"

  "You forget, Mikhail Ivorovich, that it was the army under this man that saved us," Ilya of Suzdal growled, stepping forward from his desk to stand by Andrew's side. "But then again, you were serving on the other side."

  "You bastard," Mikhail snarled.

  "Senators, senators!"

  Andrew slammed the gavel on his ornately carved table for attention. Ilya glared at Mikhail and returned to his desk.

  "The issues of the war are past," Andrew said, as if lecturing to a roomful of children. "Remember, this is a Senate debate on the military budget, so let us please stick to the topic."

  Sitting back down, Andrew looked about the room. This damn thing would have been a lot easier if Mikhail and the other boyars who had won election were simply dead, he thought grimly, regretting yet again his declaration of a complete amnesty for all those who too
k the oath of allegiance to the new Republic of Rus. He felt it to be a proper Lincolnesque gesture, which Kal, positioning himself to run for president, had fully agreed to. He knew that back home, once the war was over Lincoln would do the same, unlike so many heads of state who massacred the losing side and laid the groundwork of hatred for the next generation to fan into another conflagration. If the precedent was set now, it might very well help to hold the republic together long after they were all gone.

  No one had expected that Mikhail, Boyar Ivor's half brother, would still be alive. It was only after the amnesty had been offered that he had emerged from hiding. Worse yet, he then proceeded to carry the town of Psov as a senator in an election which had obviously been bought. Of the thirty-eight senators in their single-house legislature, eight were former boyars. The more radical revolutionary zeal had firmly taken hold in Suzdal and the now partially rebuilt Novrod. In the remote districts of Rus the peasants who had survived the pox and Tugar occupation had little understanding of their new government and thus simply voted in their old rulers. It would take the linking of these areas into the rail system, and a lot of education, Andrew realized, before they would understand just how badly they were now being served by representatives interested only in preserving some of their former power.

  Andrew leaned back in his chair and surveyed the assembly. As vice-president under Kal he found himself in the curious position of running the Senate even as he testified, but the running was more like being a teacher, constantly interpreting and explaining the fundamental basics of a parliamentary system to men who had no tradition or knowledge of such a system. It had all sounded so idealistic and easy in theory but was sheer hell in practice. He found himself wondering what Tom Jefferson would say to all of this.

  "I demand satisfaction for what Ilya said here. One such as he has no right. He is nothing but a peasant, as was his father and grandsire before him," Mikhail shouted, refusing to sit back down.

  "But you are a bastard," Petrov, Kal's cousin and senator from one of the north wards of Suzdal, taunted in reply. "Your brother Ivor Weak Eyes, now he was born on the right side of the bed, but not you!"

  "Senators!" Andrew brought the gavel down with such strength that the handle was sheared off, sending the hammer spinning out into the middle of the room.

  The action at least brought a gale of laughter from the public gallery and a moment of silence on the floor.

  "Senators," Andrew said softly as the laughter died away.

  "Now first of all. The discussion of lineage as a means of insult is beneath the dignity of senators," Andrew stated with an admonishing tone.

  Petrov looked at Andrew, his anger still showing, and sat back down.

  "On the other side, everyone has a right to speak and say what he wants, outside the realm of personal insult. Station of birth no longer applies in this republic. One becomes a senator no matter who his father was."

  Mikhail glared at Andrew and said nothing as a round of applause from the gallery, and from the common-born senators, thundered through the room.

  "Next," Andrew said sharply, looking up at the gallery. "This is a meeting of your Senate and will not be interfered with. It is always open to the public, but if we allow you to shout and make comments, then in the end this room will be ruled by a mob. I will not tolerate such outbursts. If you have comments you may speak to your senators outside this room."

  The citizens in the gallery looked at each other sheepishly and fell silent.

  "Good. Does everyone understand the rules?" Andrew asked in his best professorial voice.

  The men around him nodded their heads, some eagerly, like students excited with their subject, but the former boyars sitting around Mikhail simply looked about the room with open disdain.

  "Fine. Now as secretary of war I was being questioned by Senator Mikhail of Psov about the proposed military budget for next year. Senator, do you wish to continue your questioning?"

  "I think your idea for how much taxes are to be spent is nothing but lies."

  Andrew bristled inside, fighting to control his temper, and he could see that Mikhail was truly enjoying taunting him like this.

  "You say that it is lies. Would you care to explain," Andrew replied softly, looking over at Hans, who as general of the Suzdalian forces was white with anger.

  "That President Kal is calling for what you call dollars, four million dollars in taxes."

  "That is correct, President Kalencka has requested such a sum."

  "Of which almost all of it, three out of four dollars, goes for your army and its projects."

  "The army of the Republic of Rus," Andrew snapped coldly, "not my army, senator."

  "Nearly two million of that sum goes for these factories, as you call them, to turn out yet more things, these rails and trains, which you also place with the army."

  "That is correct. The rails will be so we can move men and weapons quickly if ever our borders are threatened. As you know, we now have a treaty with the Roum, which almost all of you agreed to. When the rail line is completed, entire armies can be moved hundreds of miles in a matter of days, outracing even the speed of the horse-mounted hordes."

  "And remember Manifest Destiny," Vasilia interjected. "It is a good dream, to spread what we are around the world, uniting all men under one system, free of boyar and of Tugar."

  "Vasilia, you are out of order," Andrew said, even as he was thankful to hear his support.

  "He is always out of order," Gavelo, former boyar of Nizhil, snapped, looking to Mikhail like a servant to his master.

  "It is a means for certain men to get rich while others suffer," Mikhail said coldly. "Your factories have driven almost all the old ironmakers, the swordmakers, out of business, and made them poor. Already we have heard how Roum merchants will travel here, selling their cheap trinkets and driving yet hundreds more into destitution. Hundreds of merchants now look upon empty shops. Yet the circle of Yankees who run these new businessess and those who are friends of Kalencka grow rich, not only from the tax money, but from the profits that come from these factories."

  The tack of Mikhail's argument caught Andrew off-guard. Why was this man sounding like a champion for interests not directly related to boyar concerns?

  "The factories and railroads are owned by everyone, all citizens of Rus. The men who design and work them, Rus and Yankee, are paid by the government. Remember as well that all who work there are part of the army as well, yet paid to do work we all need. As time passes and the threat of the hordes disappears, we will change this, and if anyone wishes to set up his own factories he may do so. Anyone may do so. In fact, if a group of Rus citizens wanted to make rails and sell them to the government for a rate cheaper than we can now make them, all of us would be happy."

  "Rubbish. You are already too powerful. I am therefore proposing two things here. One, that the budget for your army be cut in half immediately. The Tugars are gone, and we have no need for these new weapons your factories make. Next I demand that you end at once the requirement that all men must now drill one day of the week with weapons and for four weeks during the winter, for it is senseless to waste their effort. Finally, I demand that your government sell the factories to any who can bid the most for them."

  "If you wish to do so," Andrew said coldly, "you may propose these changes at any time. First you must write what is called a bill and read it formally to all here."

  "Another Yankee trick. Only they can read," Mikhail barked. "What need do boyars have of reading?"

  "It is how the government runs," Andrew retorted. "Someday everyone will read. For those senators who cannot, we have scribes and readers. That is the law."

  "The law you dictated when you set this government up."

  Christ, I should have killed him, Andrew groaned inwardly.

  "The Constitution and Bill of Rights cannot be changed," Andrew said evenly. "They shall always stand as they are."

  That at least was one point he had lied about wh
en he had sat down to frame the government charter. He realized from the beginning that he would have to create something absolute; otherwise, with the Rus's lack of experience, some strange monstrosity might evolve. Maybe on his deathbed he'd tell them about amendments, but not before. At least for now the bluff was working.

  Mikhail looked around for support and saw that beyond his small circle there was none forthcoming.

  "After you or your appointed scribe reads your proposal, copies will be given to all senators. For one month it will be debated, unless a majority wishes to make the debate longer. This will give time for all citizens to be informed so they can make comments to their senators."

  That at least was working, Andrew thought with some satisfaction. In this first year of the government the senators felt they must talk to their people before voting on anything. He could only hope this old intent of representative government would last.

  "After all of that, you senators will vote. Then President Kalencka will decide to sign the bill or not. If he refuses to sign, you must vote by a two-thirds majority to defeat him."

  "See, it is stacked against us. This whole thing you call democracy is a sham to trick the peasants about who the new boyars are," Mikhail snapped, and with a snort of disdain he rose up and stormed out of the room, the other former boyars following.

  Andrew waited for the assembly to settle down and then looked about the Senate floor. It was almost noon anyhow, and Mikhail was simply grandstanding again. It was obvious Mikhail had timed his walkout when there was only a brief time left for the session anyhow. He had made the mistake of storming out before an important vote on railroad appropriations and had learned from the mistake.

  "Gentlemen, the Senate is adjourned until tomorrow morning."

  Taking the handle of his gavel, he struck the edge of his table and then leaned back with a sigh.

  "Son of a bitch, I should have shot him when I had the chance," Hans growled, as he leaned over the table and shot a spray of tobacco juice into the small spittoon he had brought in for the hearing.