by B. V. Larson
“Hi, Bella,” Straker said.
The mayor tossed the comlink onto her desk. “Commodore.”
“Please. It’s Derek. I may be in command now, but eventually we’ll have to transition to civilian rule, so consider me first among equals only. Do you have a few minutes?”
“Sit.” Weinberg sat, and Straker did as well. “Lonnie, bring us some caff and hold all comlink traffic,” she called through her open doorway. She turned her eyes to him. “So what can I do for you, Derek?”
“I hope it’s what I can do for you. I know we need more power. One piece of good news is that we captured a Mutuality frigate, the Chun Wei, and most of her crew defected to us. We’ll dock her and plug her into the grid ASAP. But long-term, there are two solutions. One is to get generators from the Ruxins, but I’m already asking them for a lot and I haven’t given them much in return yet. Do we have anything here that’s excess? For trade?”
“Excess? Not much. We’re short of a lot of things too. Here’s a list of things we could use on your next pirate voyage.” Bella sent his handtab a file.
“Pirate voyage? I don’t like that characterization. We perform military operations to capture vital supplies. We’re not pirates.”
“Tell that to our newslog editor.”
“Maybe I should.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t. Suppressing free speech always backfires.”
Straker rubbed his eyes. “I’ll let you handle the newsies, then. I’m too used to giving orders, I guess. But we’re not pirates. We’re liberators.”
“I’ll have a gentle word with him. Carrot, not stick.”
“Okay.” Straker sat forward. “Back to trade and politics. Isn’t there anything we have too much of? I need some bargaining chips with the Ruxins.”
“I’m not sure that it qualifies as too much of, but we do have something they want. There’s a mollusk in our lake—a kind of snail—that we don’t eat, but the Ruxins really like. I don’t think they’ve thought of taking a breeding stock from us, so we have the only supply. We could sell them by the kilo, or you could trade breeders and all the data on its ecosystem for something big, like a gigawatt fusion reactor. Just one of those would serve all our civilian needs for a while.”
“Great. Anything else we have more of than we need?”
Weinberg rubbed her neck and smiled ruefully. “Good ideas.”
“We have too many good ideas?”
“Far too many. Now that people have more freedom, they’re trying out all sorts of things to make a profit or ‘help the community.’ Lots of them are missing work at their jobs, or ignoring my authority. I don’t have a solid system of taxation in place so I don’t have enough money for incentives or law enforcement or a dozen other things.”
“Can’t you just… create money? It’s all just numbers in the networks, right?”
“That might buy us some time, but at some point those numbers turn into real goods, Derek. If I create money out of nothing, I cause inflation. Too much money chases scarce goods. Then the money is worth less because everyone with goods wants more for the items, and we’re worse off than before.”
Straker sat back as Weinberg’s assistant set a tray on a side table and poured two cups of caff. The man handed them to the two leaders and left, shutting the door gently.
“Have you ever heard about the Second World War on Old Earth?” Straker said.
“I’m familiar with it. A lot of my ancestors were murdered in it. They were part of an insular ethnic group that many people found easy to blame whenever something bad happened.”
“The Jews, yes. That’s not the part I mean. I’m talking about wartime economies, which is what we have. The nation called America, where my ancestors were from, had the same problem in trying to mobilize for war. Money.”
“How did they solve it?” Weinberg asked.
“I’m not sure it was solved, but it was managed. First, they borrowed a lot of money from everywhere they could, including the people. They issued war bonds that they persuaded citizens to buy for patriotic reasons. These paid a percentage profit—interest—but the interest was only paid when the bond matured a long time in the future. That took money out of the civilian economy and put it in the hands of the government to produce war materiel.”
Weinberg sipped her tea. “Okay, go on.”
“The government issued huge contracts to industry, which provided profits and jobs, expanding the economy. People were fully employed and had money for necessities, but luxuries were scarce and expensive. They had to ration items such as smokesticks or liquor, and tax them heavily too. In fact, they taxed and rationed all nonessentials severely, which also put money back into government hands, allowing the cycle to continue.”
“That would create a black market. People don’t like rations and heavy taxes.”
Straker shrugged. “True, but that simply allowed for even more employment of investigators to suppress it. As long as these measures didn’t go on too long, and as long as the people were willing to sacrifice patriotically, they worked. Kind of like supercharging a fusion engine with extra tritium ions. It’s not sustainable forever, but it would buy us time.”
“Send me that history record. I’ll study it and use what I can.”
Straker took out his battered handtab and passed several files to her comp suite. “I’d like to have more than snails to trade with Premier Freenix. Browbeating her won’t work forever.”
“Once we get more power, we can optimize crop growth with extra sunlight. We have enough water and,” Weinberg stage-coughed, “fertilizer from the sewage processing. If you can figure out what kind of land-based plant products they want, you could sell the crops in advance to her, preferably high-value—herbs, medicinals, something like that.”
“That’s an interesting idea, selling something before we even have it.”
Weinberg smiled, showing her prominent teeth. “It’s called ‘commodities trading.’ I’ve been doing research too.”
“Good. I have one other thing to run past you. I want to relocate Freiheit.”
“We’re already short of power. We can’t spare any for impellers.”
Straker sipped his caff. It was of low quality and weak, but he drank it anyway. “Chun Wei can push gently from a solid docking position. It’ll be very slow and it will use the fusion engines, not generator power. Trade fuel for movement.”
“But why? Right now we’re close enough to Freenix base for easy transport and trade. Why move away?”
“For power. Generators are fine, but this hab was designed for close solar collection. It needs a star.”
“There are no stars in this nebula.”
“Not yet.” He looked at his handtab screen. “But there are some proto-stars that are giving off heat and radiation as they form. If we can put Freiheit into a nice stable orbit, we’ll have all the power we need. The next step will be to capture another asteroid and bring it alongside for materials and, eventually, to hollow it out and make a bigger hab. Freiheit Two, or something.”
Weinberg folded her hands. “Other than distance from Freenix, what’s the downside?”
“A bit of manageable risk—the movement there, the radiation from the proto-star. We’ll have to stay well back, just in case.”
“I’ll talk to the council about it. I need buy-in before doing anything that drastic. I’m guessing they’ll ask for another reactor before we go very far, though. Unless you want to leave your new frigate permanently docked.”
“Good point.” Straker stood and set his cup on the tray. “Do you have some of those snails handy, as samples? I’m going to see Freenix today.”
Weinberg reached for her comlink. “I can have some put in a bucket. The Ruxins like them raw and wriggling. Pick them up at the boathouse by the lake.”
“Thanks. I’ll let you know what happens.” He held out his hand. “Always a pleasure.”
The older woman shook his hand firmly. “Likewise. Thanks for including
me in your decisions.”
Straker wasn’t entirely sure how to take that. Was she being genuine, or were her words a reproach for not consulting her more? He nodded once, and then left the office.
After a quick stop at the lake, a meal at the mess hall used up the time until he met Loco at the brig. The fare was simple and the portions were small. The troops seemed happy to be off the ships after the long days of sidespace transit back from Prael, but the lack of abundance reminded him how quickly he needed to solve the power problem. Power grew food, and food kept people content. That, and something to do. Bread and circuses, the Romans had called it. Was reducing things to that level crass, or simply practical?
He slid his used tray onto the rack and walked to the brig. Sergeant Conrad Ritter saluted him as he approached, and then opened the gate and let him into the compound. It was centered on the same repurposed building where the Unmutuals had been tried and punished. Now, a tall fence surrounded it, and razor wire crisscrossed above to deter low-gravity jump attempts.
“Lieutenant Paloco is already here with the prisoner, sir,” Ritter said, leading him into the building.
“Any trouble with the Lazarus?”
Ritter’s face soured. “He’s always trying to talk to the guard force, make friends with them. I’d like to gag him. He’s too smooth. He’s a Schlangenzunge.”
“A shlong-what?”
“A snake-tongue, in the old speech.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.” Straker allowed Ritter to open the cell door for him, and he set the bucket outside in the hall. “Don’t touch that,” he said.
Inside, Loco sat in a chair tipped precariously backward against the wall. He held a stunner pistol casually in one relaxed hand.
Lazarus was seated on his cot, fingers interlaced around his knee, a study in composure despite his uncombed hair, stubbled face and rumpled clothing.
Lazarus smiled and began, “Well, if it isn’t—”
“Shut up,” barked Straker. “I’ll control this conversation.”
“Or what? You’ll torture me?”
Straker waved Loco up from his chair and sent him out of the room, and made as if to follow. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said to Lazarus. Then, turning in the open doorway to Conrad Ritter, he ordered, “He’s in solitary. Nobody talks to him, nobody responds, nobody listens. If he won’t shut up, gag him. Bread and water. Give him a bucket for his wastes. That’s—”
Lazarus raised his voice. “I take your meaning, Commodore Straker. I’ll play along.”
Straker turned slowly back, his expression cold. “No. No playing. You’ll obey me, or you’ll be punished until you comply, not tortured in some despicable attempt at controlling your way of thinking. It’s your body that’s in a cage, not your mind. You deserve death for what you and your clone buddies do to human beings, so any lesser punishment is fair. Suspending justice is pure mercy on my part. You live and speak and eat at my sufferance. Got it?”
“Understood.” Lazarus’ expression blanked, and he looked even more like a wary snake than usual. “Proceed.”
Straker stepped across the room and slapped Lazarus’ face hard with his open palm, knocking him to the floor. “You never, ever say anything to me that sounds like an order. Understood?”
“Yes, Commodore.” He set himself back on his bunk and waited, eyes staring without focus. A bruise began to purple on his cheekbone.
“That slap was just to wake you up from your delusions. Your real punishment will be solitary confinement. If I have to, I’ll order construction of a dark cell where you won’t see or hear anything or speak to anyone for as long as it takes to gain compliance. Eventually, if you cooperate fully, I’ll lighten up, give you privileges. That’s my requirement. Full cooperation. Are you ready and willing to cooperate fully?”
“I will not betray the Mutuality, Commodore.”
“I won’t ask you to. I respect your loyalty to your own cause. All I want to do is pick your brain, learn from you. I’m sure you can get behind that idea. It’s your grand opportunity to influence me, but you have to speak honestly and straightforwardly.”
“That seems fair.”
Straker gestured for Loco to return to the room and sit, but never took his eyes off Lazarus. “Within those limits, you may speak freely. Try any of your dominance games and you’ll go into a hole.”
Lazarus blinked, and then nodded. “I accept your terms. I’m ready to cooperate.”
Straker sat astride the other chair in the room, placing his forearms on its back. “When last we spoke you were talking about the Stoics, and what a well-rounded leader needs to know. Go on.”
Lazarus thought for a moment. “The Mutualist Party elites study history, philosophy, psychology and literature, with enough mathematics and science to provide context. These things help us lead, rule and control the populace through psycho-social techniques. We don’t waste effort on the details of things others can do.”
“But you didn’t delegate trying to break me to your will.”
“The mundane parts I did, but contests of will are part of leadership and control. Besides, Inquisitors occupy positions that partake both of rule and of hands-on expertise. We are troubleshooters and agents of effect, not bureaucrats or inspirers of the masses.”
“So in your view, how does a man like me become as effective as possible?”
Lazarus raised an eyebrow. “Pardon, but may I ask a question?”
“As long you’re not being a smartass or trying to manipulate me.”
“No, it’s a genuine request for information so that I may assist you better.”
“Go ahead.”
“Do you really, truly expect to overthrow the Hundred Worlds?”
Straker smiled. “So you’ve heard that rumor?”
“I have heard… things,” said Lazarus.
Of course, that was because Straker had made sure to leak information to the guards in the brig. Naturally they would discuss their leader’s ambitions during the long watches of the night, within Lazarus’ earshot.
In those rumors, no mention was made of Straker’s plan to overthrow the Mutuality first, the better to sell this Lazarus on attaining the goal he wanted: the destruction of his enemies. It would take careful doling out of just the right information to milk knowledge from the Inquisitor without swallowing the poison of hidden lies.
“I really, truly do think I can take down the Hundred Worlds,” answered Straker.
“But why would you? They’re your people.”
Straker spoke the critical half-truth smoothly. “Not anymore. I’ve been doing my research. Their system is as corrupt as yours, though their methods are far less cruel. But what it comes down to is, I think I can reform them, do a better job. I’m betting I can take over the Hundred Worlds and make peace with your government. That way everybody wins. Once the threat is removed, I’m also betting your political system will become more humane.”
“In my estimation, all of that is extremely unlikely.”
Straker grinned even more broadly. “You mean it’s flat-out crazy to try?”
Lazarus visibly chose his words. “I won’t presume to judge your state of mind, only what I see as the probability of success.”
“But what if I could do it?”
“How do I know you won’t use my instruction to damage the Mutuality?”
“You don’t. In fact, I can guarantee there will be collateral damage… which you taught me is necessary to achieve my goals. But what do you believe more likely, me overthrowing the Hundred Worlds, or the thousand worlds of the Mutuality?”
Lazarus stared, thoughtful. “If I genuinely thought you had a non-zero probability of success in overthrowing the Hundred Worlds, I’d help you wholeheartedly.”
“Even if I have to mess with the Mutuality to do it?”
“Even so. Any wise man will take a flesh wound to kill his mortal enemy.”
Straker nodded. “That’s right. So let’s assume for the
moment that I have that non-zero probability. Your help could increase my chances, right?”
“Yes, Commodore.” His face relaxed to genuine thoughtfulness. “It’s a Pascal’s Wager.”
“What’s that?”
“Pascal was an Old Earth mathematician and philosopher. He outlined a wager wherein a man bets his life on either following his god’s will and spending an eternity in paradise, or not doing so and spending eternity in some hellish afterlife. He points out that if such a god exists, compliance with his will gains everything, but if that god does not exist, compliance with his supposed will becomes a minor insurance payment. You made your own Pascal’s Wager as a mechsuiter.”
Straker drummed his fingers on the back of the chair. “I don’t see how that applies. If the Unknowable Creator exists, I did my duty. If not, I would have done the same anyway. I didn’t need some god to pat me on the back.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps an orphan saw he had nothing to lose and everything to gain by doing the will of a system that might as well be a god, that would reward him with the paradise of being a hero. Perhaps everything he was taught supported that idea.”
Straker stroked his jaw. “That’s a fair point.”
Straker could see Lazarus settling in to his role as a mentor. He intended to use the Inquisitor’s natural feeling of superiority against him. With nothing else to live for, Lazarus would strive to prove he was right about everything, trying to validate his own worldview and pass it to Straker.
In doing so, he would teach Straker what he needed to know.
Lazarus continued, “This is why you might benefit from instruction in higher-order thinking, Commodore Straker. It’s only when evaluating second-order and third-order effects that you can truly make optimum long-term decisions for yourself and your followers.”
“I know how to make good decisions. I’ve been successful up until now.”
“You have good instincts, I agree. But instincts will only take you so far.”
Straker sat back. “Fine. I’m open to learning. In fact, that’s the whole point of talking to you. How does this Pascal’s Wager thing apply?”
“Pascal’s Wager was a primitive version of another philosopher’s ideas, those of Nicholas Taleb. He pointed out that the key to success in every endeavor was to limit the amount any one ‘wager’ could lose, while courting the possibility of near-infinite wins.”