Redeemed

by Steve Matthew Benner

Redeemed

  Steve M. Benner

  Copyright Steve M. Benner 2008

  Paul McKenzie stared absentmindedly at the backs of his hands as they rested on the conference-room table. He noticed that they seemed to be much older than the 51 year-old frame to which they were attached. Maybe it was just a trick of the pale blue light that flooded through the room’s cathedral windows. He felt like he’d aged ten years during the last three months of negotiations, but he hadn’t thought it showed. At least now it appeared as though it had all been worthwhile. The Horologi representatives had left the room, most likely to communicate with their leaders back on their home world of Horolog. The delay of about 15 minutes for transmissions between Sirus V and Horolog would mean that the conversation would take a while. Paul was confident that the terms would be accepted. He had made sure that the delegates had agreed to all the points in the treaty before he had recommended that the Horologii take a break to talk among themselves. Luckily, First Consul Gibbon had given him full powers to negotiate with the Horologii, which saved him from having to constantly contact the Consortium’s leaders for their approval on specifics. Gibbon had clearly spelled out to Paul what he would accept in terms of concessions, and, after being an ambassador for 22 years, Paul was confident that he knew what was best for his people. It wasn’t like Gibbon to give anyone this much power, but Paul was considered the grand old man of diplomacy, and Gibbon may have felt that they would obtain a better treaty if his representative wasn’t tied down by too many restrictions. Not that Gibbon really had much choice. The enemy had asked for Paul specifically and wouldn’t even begin unless he led the talks. His reputation for fairness and honesty had taken two decades to establish, and now it was paying off with the settlement of a war that had lasted fifteen years and destroyed millions of lives. Paul felt his position in history would be guaranteed by the signing of this treaty.

  He was right, but not in the way he thought.

  After about an hour and a half, Paul began to worry that they might not get an answer today. Then he heard the door open and the Horologii re-entered the room. His heart dropped into his shoes as soon as he saw them. Their hairless faces, with only slits for eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, were always hard to read, but there was definitely something wrong. Paul had gotten used to reading their minimal expressions over the last few years. He remembered their disgust and anger at the start of their meeting three months ago. Their demeanor changed with time to the point that, in the last few days, they almost appeared happy. But he had never seen the expression now on their faces; it was clearly a burning rage. Paul was shocked; he had been sure the terms that had been agreed to would benefit the Horologii as much as the Consortium. He couldn’t believe that they had rejected them.

  As Paul rose from his seat, the leader of the Horologi delegation walked to the table opposite Paul and addressed him. The words flowed out of the translator.

  “I have never experienced such treachery as I have witnessed at this table. For the last few months, we have negotiated in good faith to end a war that I believed we both wanted to bring to a close. Obviously, I was wrong.”

  The blood drained from Paul’s face as the words struck him like slaps on the cheeks. He now knew there was something else going on behind this negotiation.

  The Horologi leader continued, “I have just been informed that the Consortium has launched a major operation against the Denebolan system.”

  Paul was stunned. This system was one of the main points of contention between the warring powers. Both sides claimed the system, and both had civilian and military bases scattered throughout its planets. The loss of the system would be a major strategic blow to either side. One of the major compromises of the treaty negotiations had been to declare the system a non-military buffer zone.

  The Horologi leader said, “If it were in my power, I would have you arrested and immediately executed for war crimes. But we are on neutral ground, and I will honor the safe passage agreement of the delegates. Should we every meet again, however, be warned that I will kill you myself.” He turned and stormed out of the room followed by the four members of his delegation.

  A stunned Paul fell back into his chair. The other delegates in the room were in a similar state. He couldn’t get his thoughts in order as his mind was flooded by images and suppositions. His aide, Theo Farthing, walked up behind him and bent down to whisper in his ear, “I don’t understand. What’s he mean we’ve launched a major operation?”

  Theo’s words sounded to Paul as if they were coming from a great distance, and the words sunk in very slowly. He didn’t understand why the Consortium had attacked Denebola, but there surely must have been a good reason. Regaining his equilibrium, he stood up and looked at Theo. Paul saw fear and shock in his deep blue eyes. Theo was only 25 years old and still new at this, but Paul had brought him along because he had one of the sharpest and quickest minds he had ever seen in someone so young.

  Paul had to get back to Earth and find out what had happened. He turned to Theo, “Tell everyone to pack their stuff. We’re leaving immediately.”

  ~

  Paul sat in the communications center waiting for a link back to Earth. He could feel the strange electricity in the air that was generated during a hyperspace jump. It always made him feel uncomfortable and irritable, but he knew it was critical to maintain control of all his emotions. He had to be able to talk to First Consul Gibbon in a detached manner. Some doubts about the timing of the attack had begun to creep into his mind, and he wanted to make sure that he knew exactly what had prompted the action.

  As he waited, Paul distracted himself by studying the com-room around him. The door was shut with a cipher lock on it, and the composite walls were painted gray and bore no decorations. That was the trouble with traveling on a military vessel; they were boring and didn’t have the luxuries to which he’d become accustomed. Though, considering the present circumstances, Paul thought that a warship was probably his safest means of travel.

  The only exception to the monotonous grey was the wall facing Paul. This wall was almost completely covered by a viewing screen. Seated just five meters away from it, the screen seemed way too big to Paul. The room was secured for top-secret transmission, and Paul could see the flickering lights along the bottom of the screen indicating that the com-link was still being established. Communication during a hyper-jump was not that easy, but Paul could not wait two days to find out what was happening. He had wanted to talk to Gibbon before he left Sirus V, but the need to get as far away from the Horologii as possible before they rescinded their guarantee of safe passage was the greater priority.

  The screen flickered once and the smiling face of First Council Crayton Gibbon appeared on the screen. Gibbon was one of the smartest and, at only 45 years old, one of the youngest to hold the office. At 2.1 meters tall, he was short by Earth standards, with a full head of brown hair and piercing black eyes highlighting a handsome, clean-shaven face. Gibbon was known for his charm, intelligence, and temper, and Paul had learned to respect all three. With his very commanding presence, Gibbon made sure everyone knew he was in charge.

  “Well it’s good to see you got outta there with your head intact,” Gibbon laughed. “I was worried about your well-being when they got the news. I’d been hoping you’d be back before the attack, but you took so long, and my advisors said the time was right. Well, the rest is history now.”

  “Are you saying you’d been planning this attack for some time?” Paul responded. A depressing possibility had been working its way out of Paul’s subconscious, which Gibbon had just blatantly confirmed. Now he knew why Gibbon had given him so much leeway in the negotiations.

  “Of course. The basic plan was lai
d out about a year ago. We needed the truce to build up our forces for a knockout blow. The logical target was the Denebolan system. The negotiations, your negotiations, on Sirus V were a great distraction.”

  “You could’ve let me in on the plan.”

  “I wanted to, but my advisors said that you would be more convincing if you thought the negotiations were for real.”

  Paul knew that if Gibbon had wanted to tell him, Gibbon’s advisers would not have talked him out of it. “Well it was nice of you to leave me hanging out there. They could have killed us, and I wouldn’t have blamed them.”

  “Hey, it was a chance I was willing to take. Come on, Paul, old friend, it all worked out so perfectly. The last report from the Denebolan sector said we caught them with their pants down and all of their military bases have either been destroyed or crippled. Now all we have to do is mop up what’s left, and fortify the system for the inevitable counterattack.”

  “What about civilian casualties?”

  “That’s the nice thing, we haven’t had any.”

  “I meant the Horologi civilians?”

  “Oh. Well the ones near the military bases were probably wiped out. The rest of them we’ll hit at our leisure because they no longer have any protection. It should only take a month or two to eliminate them. Why?”

  “Just curious.”

  “It’ll be good to have you back, Paul. We’re goin’ to have to do some fancy footwork with our allies. They may not be seeing the big picture on this. We neglected to tell them about our little plan--you know, security and all that--and I’m not sure how they’ll take the news. But the way I look at it, without us they’d be just a memory by now, so they can’t bitch too much,” Gibbon laughed. “See you in a few days.”

  The screen went dark, and the half smile on Paul’s face slowly dissolved into a scowl.

  “That son-of-a-bitch, he used me! He counted on my reputation to make the negotiations appear genuine. He didn’t tell me because he knew I’d tell him to drop dead. Once it was a fait accompli, I’d have to go along, or claim I’d been left out of the loop and admit I’d been used as a cover by the administration. What really pisses me off is that he’s right. If I say I didn’t know about and didn’t support the action, then there will be a few leaks to the press about meetings I sat in on where the attack had been discussed. My credibility would be shot, and, from that point on, I’d be on the outside looking in. Gibbon would have an excuse to dismiss me from the Council. I’m screwed.” Paul continued to sit in the chair, silently staring at the blank screen for a long time.

  ~

  When the ship landed at the military spaceport, Paul’s limo was waiting for him. He sat in the back of the limo trying to come up with a plan of action. He usually got a kick out of riding in government limos with all their high-tech communications and computer equipment—and especially the built-in bar. Today, however, he was deep in thought, staring out at the gray military buildings rushing by his window. Paul saw that the trees were beginning to change color, which seemed unusual for early September. Autumn was his favorite time of the year. He wanted to go home before heading to the Consortium headquarters to meet with First Council. Paul had asked his aid, Theo, to take one of the other cars so he could be alone to think. Now he thought maybe that wasn’t such a good idea, as it seemed the more he thought, the more depressed he became.

  Paul felt the limo decelerating and assumed they were approaching the front gate, where they would be checked and released. He looked through the windshield and was amazed to see a large crowd of people gathered just outside the gate.

  “Jack, what’s this all about?”

  The driver turned his head slightly toward Paul, “I’m sorry, Mr. McKenzie, but I thought you knew. First Council Gibbon had a press conference today and mentioned your considerable contribution to the victory. The crowd appears to be few hundred reporters and well-wishers. I think they want you to say a few words.”

  The irony was so pungent that Paul had to let out a short, sardonic laugh. He had hoped to come home from the conference acclaimed as the man who ended a devastating war on terms beneficial to Earth. Instead, he was coming home to acclaim as a party to a shameful military action of which he had no foreknowledge and which he would not have supported had he known. Gibbon was making sure Paul wouldn’t be able to back out of the situation into which he had been maneuvered.

  The guard checked their IDs and let them pass through the gate. On the other side, the driver pulled over to the side of the road to allow Paul to exit the car. Security personnel had already exited the lead car and were outside Paul’s door. The driver opened Paul’s door, and the four security agents surrounded Paul as he exited the car. The crowd cheered at his appearance, and Paul covered the intervening 20 meters as slowly as he could. He had to be very careful what he said, and yet he needed to sound sincere and spontaneous. Fortunately, Paul had made enough speeches in his lifetime that fake sincerity had become second nature to him. So, he mentioned how proud he was of their brave troops’ victory, and how well the war was going. He talked of how they had turned the corner, and that peace, on their terms, was now within their grasp. It was the standard patriotic pabulum that people in his position poured out to the general public.

  The crowd of several hundred interrupted his speech at several points to cheer him, and, when he finished with a standard “on to total victory” comment, they roared in approval. Paul couldn’t help but be impressed and elated by the adulation of so many people. After all, he was still human—and a politician. But he knew deep down that this popularity could be fleeting. He waved to the crowd as he headed back to the limo, smiling broadly. Once ensconced in the back seat again, however, he was no longer smiling. Paul couldn’t figure out a way to get out of this mess. He would have to bide his time and look for a way to correct this situation. Hopefully tomorrow’s meeting of the council would inspire some ideas.

  ~

  After a very restless night and a minimal breakfast, Paul was sitting in his regular seat at the conference table with the other members of the high council when Gibbon entered the room, trailing his entourage of secretaries. Each member of the high council represented a different branch of government. The councilor of legal affairs, Stephen Stimpson, sat directly across from Paul. He was a large man, both in girth and height, and had at least two chins resting on his chest. His hair and bushy eyebrows were pure white, giving him a deceptively jovial appearance. Behind his soft green eyes, there lurked an utterly ruthless mind—a mind that protected his turf like a grizzly protecting her cubs. Paul had learned to stay out his way, and luckily it hadn’t been too hard. Subtlety was not one of Stephen’s strong points.

  The councilor to Stephen’s right was General Robert Holts, head of all the Consortium’s military forces, and handpicked by Gibbon. He sat ramrod straight in his seat, his lean frame looking very martial in his uniform. Paul thought he had one of the sharpest minds on the council and one of the most inscrutable. Even though he was Gibbon’s man, he seemed to have a will of his own, and Paul wondered the extent to which he really was Gibbon’s man. To Stephen’s left was the financial councilor, Girk Vollunteire, the only non-Earthling that was part of Gibbon’s inner group. Like his fellow Centaurians, Vollunteire was just 1.6 meters tall, with a pale purplish tint to his skin and no hair. His large black eyes were looking at Paul as Paul’s eyes met his. Paul liked Girk and had spent many a night at local bars discussing politics with him. Paul had gotten used to his expressions and thought he detected a sadness in the dark interior of Girk’s eyes.

  The other eleven people around the table represented the other systems that made up the Consortium: the Centauri, Luyten, Ross, Epsilon Eridani, Lalande, Groombridge, Lacaille, Kruger, Cygni, Gliese, and Van Maanen Systems. Paul knew all of them because it was his job to deal with them, but he was not very close to any of them except Dran Philo of the Lalande System. Dran was
a good friend and one of his allies on the council. The Lalandians were so similar to Earthlings that they were sometimes mistaken for Earth citizens. Dran was the same height as Paul and had brown hair and brown eyes. He was considered handsome and was something of a ladies man on Earth as well as in the Lalande System. When it came to protecting the interests of Lalande, he was relentless, but he was also fair. The Lalande System was the second most powerful member of the Consortium and was afforded a certain respect by Gibbon, which was not the norm for him. This was due to the Earth being by far the most powerful member of the Consortium and having no qualms about making sure the other members knew it. Gibbon had been chosen by the Assembly as Earth’s chief executive and representative on the Consortium Council, which by default made him the First Council and leader of the Council. The Assembly was the chief ruling body of the Earth and was made up of representatives of all the Earth’s countries. The majority party in the Assembly chose the chief executive who served as civilian head of the Earth’s (and the Consortium’s) military. The Earth’s representative had held that position for the last twenty-two years. Like Athens with the Delian League in the fifth century B.C., Earth claimed that all members of the Consortium were equal, but Earth was more equal.

  The irony of the situation was that Earth depended on its allies for financial and military support—without which the Horologii would quickly overwhelm Earth’s forces. Gibbon’s arrogance toward the allies had made the other members resentful and distrustful of his leadership. They really believed he had only Earth’s best interest at heart and not theirs. Since the Consortium’s conception, the First Council has been an Earthling, which had only served to reinforce this mistrust. As a result of Earth’s predominance, the allies had little choice but to follow its lead into the current war. Though in Gibbon’s defense, the allies had initially supported this war with the Horologian League wholeheartedly, and only as costs and casualties mounted did their doubts about the war begin to grow.