by John Bowers
So what did that leave? Ollie had done business with the Vegan Guard, but they had plenty on their mind these days and would likely have little idea of his whereabouts. Still, it was possible that Ollie had returned to Guard headquarters after the invasion began. It might be worth a shot. What was that general's name on the fighter contract? Montenegro?
With a hand that trembled slightly, Lincoln reached out and turned on the recorder. When the RECORD light came on, he cleared his throat and began to speak …
Late November, 0195 (PCC) — London, Europe, Terra
True to his word, Henry Wells cast his first four senatorial votes for measures supported by his predecessor. He privately disapproved of three of those measures, but consoled himself with the thought that the votes he cast were not his own, but those of Howard Nieters. He owed the old man that much, and had long ago learned that the business of politics was, as much as anything else, an exercise in compromise.
But now it was done. The decks were clear, and he could get on with the business dearest to his heart. And Nieters, behind the scenes, would support him.
One week later he took his place at the podium in the chamber inhabited by the Federation Defense Committee. The committee consisted of twenty-one senators and was chaired by the Lady from Indiastan, Hinata Naveedh.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the committee," Henry said smoothly into the audio feed, "Madame Chairman — thank you for this opportunity to propose legislation for the defense of the Federation." He scanned the faces and smiled. "As you are all aware, I'm rather new at this, so I beg your indulgence, and I welcome your feedback."
He opened the folder on the podium. Each committee member had received copies and a few were already perusing them.
"Twenty years ago, my father was named ambassador to the planet of Vega 3. I was a youngster when we first moved to Vega, and I lived there for eleven years. I came to know and love the Vegan people, not only as Federation trading partners, but as a culture. In many ways I consider myself to be Vegan, though my citizenship and allegiance belong to the Federation.
"A little over six months ago, the gentle and peaceful world of Vega 3 was invaded by the Sirian Confederacy. Very little news has filtered back to us concerning what is happening there, but I think it safe to say that Sirian aggression has reared its ugly head once again, and I fear the consequences for the Vegan people will be nothing short of catastrophic."
Henry took time to clear his throat.
"It's no secret that the Sirian Confederacy is a fascist society based on white supremacy and male chauvinism. Sirius was initially settled by a number of white supremacist and Naziesque cults. Several other cultural and racial settlements were established later, but after the Confederacy was formed, these were overrun and swallowed up. In the four centuries of their existence, the Sirians have overpowered numerous cultures that they consider inferior.
"On their own planet, they overpowered and enslaved the nations of Siriochina, Afrasia, Christiana, and more than two dozen independent settlements that hadn't yet achieved sovereignty.
"Leaving their planet, in 0169 the Confederacy invaded and conquered Beta Centauri, forcing the Rukrainians to become a colony of what can only be categorized as a 'Sirian empire'. Earlier this year, Sirius invaded Vega 3."
Henry looked up again, making eye contact with several of his audience.
"This is clearly a pattern of aggression. There can be no doubt that Vega, as an independent monarchy, is doomed. Undoubtedly, the next generation of Vegans will be raised as Sirian patriots. A quarter century from now — perhaps sooner — the Sirians will surely strike again.
"But where will they strike? Altair? Alpha Centauri?"
He paused, letting the silence stretch for long seconds.
"When will it be our turn? Surely, if this aggressive pattern continues, the Confederacy will eventually run out of worlds to conquer. There will be no one left to attack but the Federation itself. Assuming that each conquered world becomes a Sirian colony — a puppet state that contributes manpower and military assets to the Sirian empire — in another few decades they'll be strong enough to conquer us.
"When that happens, we had better be ready. It is for this reason that I petition this committee to authorize appropriations to expand the United Federation Space Force. My recommendations begin on page 5 of the handout. In summary, over the next three years, I recommend appropriations totaling sixty billion terros for the development of fleet assets and military bases.
"And now for the details …"
Two hours later, the committee adjourned for lunch. Henry welcomed the break; the committee had grilled him closely on certain aspects of his proposal, and he felt drained.
"Senator Wells," Senator Naveedh said after calling the break, "may I have a word with you in my office?"
Hinata Naveedh was nearly sixty, a petite woman in traditional Hindu dress with a red caste mark prominent on her forehead. Her once-black hair had frosted to grey, but her dark eyes were piercing as she faced Henry across her desk. She spoke with a musical, almost singsong accent, but there was nothing musical in what she had to say.
"Senator Wells, I would like you to withdraw your proposal."
"Excuse me?" Henry was stunned.
"You are not a member of this committee. You are a guest only, and your proposal is outrageous beyond words."
Henry stared at her, speechless.
"Sixty billion terros? I think you are out of your mind," she told him. "Do you have any idea how many people on this planet could benefit from that money if spent wisely, instead of this hare-minded scheme you are proposing? There are still people in this world who suffer from hunger, lack of medicines …"
His mind reeling, Henry found his voice at last.
"And what will happen to those people if the Confederacy conquers the planet?" he asked.
"You cannot be serious! This is the most childish fantasy I have ever heard! I suggest you withdraw your proposal at once. I assure you it will never pass through this committee!"
Henry stared at her for long seconds. Clearly his honeymoon in the Senate was over.
"May I ask one thing?" he said. "If that's your position on defense spending, why are you chairing the Defense Committee? Is this whole thing a sham? What's the purpose of the committee?"
Her dark eyes flashed. "I will not tolerate your insolence!" she snapped. "You are not even an elected member of the Senate!"
"I am duly appointed in accordance with Federation law!" he replied. "My seat is as legitimate as yours!"
"Only until the next election!" she fired back. "An election I assure that you will not win."
"You have influence in North America?"
"I have influence you cannot imagine."
"Perhaps you do," he said, rising. "But I assure you that when the Sirians attack the Federation — and they will — your influence will be worthless."
"I am giving you this last chance," she warned him. "Withdraw your proposal or I will kill it myself."
"Then you kill it," he said. "Put yourself on the record."
He walked out without another word.
* * *
"She's an arrogant bitch," Howard Nieters told Henry that evening over drinks at the Congress Club in downtown London. "Always was. Don't worry about her."
"Don't worry! She's the fucking chair! She can …"
"Nothing. She can do nothing." Nieters smiled indulgently. "She's trying to intimidate you. Hell, she's a member of the Indian Socialist Party, for god's sake! She has no real allies in the Senate. Stick with your proposal. We both worked on it, we know it's valid and we know it's vital. Even if it doesn't pass first muster, it will get us the exposure we need. If it doesn't pass during this session, we'll reintroduce it in the next."
"Jesus Christ!"
"That's how things work in the real world, Mr. Wells." Nieters patted him on the shoulder. "I thought you knew that."
Henry took a swallow of his scotch.
"I guess I did know that," he sighed. "But this is the first time it's happened to me personally. Always before, it was happening to you."
Nieters laughed.
"Maybe we should bring someone in from the Space Force," Henry suggested, "let him testify as to what they need. Wouldn't that be worthwhile?"
Nieters shook his head. "The Senate already knows the Space Force is short on assets. That isn't the issue. The issue is whether there's a real threat out there. A rep from the Space Force will only muddy the water, and in any case they'll consider him biased. We're on the right track. You just need to be patient."
Denver, CO, North America, Terra
Rosemary Egler wasn't one to be dazzled by muscles or good looks. Her illusions about life had been stripped away suddenly when, at age sixteen, she'd lost her entire family in a hovercar crash. Even though the Lincolns had taken her in, her life after that had been reduced to the basics; she'd recovered from the tragedy, but wasn't easily impressed by window dressing.
Rosemary saw Jeremy Mason for what he was — a self-centered ladies' man with an inflated sense of his own importance. Certainly he was handsome and well built, but that alone was hardly the measure of a man. Even so, he was charming and funny, and Rosemary wasn't opposed to having a good time.
Jeremy took her to an expensive restaurant on the outskirts of Denver where they drank California wine and dined on venison. The atmosphere was dark and intimate, a little more of each than Rosemary considered appropriate for a first date. But Jeremy was the perfect gentleman.
"So tell me about yourself," he suggested as they finished their salad. "How did the most beautiful woman in Denver end up as the executive secretary for Lincoln Enterprises?"
"Assistant executive secretary," she smiled. "Nothing too mysterious about it. My dad was a production line foreman when I was growing up. I worked part time during college, and after getting my degree I went full time."
"Mr. Lincoln must like you."
"He and my dad were good friends."
"'Were'? What happened?"
Rosemary explained about the accident. Jeremy made the appropriate sounds of sympathy. She shrugged dismissively.
"I don't dwell on it," she said. "Life goes on."
"So what are your ambitions? Surely you don't plan to continue in the same job forever?"
She smiled thoughtfully and gazed over his shoulder. "I'm not sure. I'm not really career-oriented. I sort of like the old-fashioned ideal of marriage and motherhood."
"Just waiting for the right man to come along?"
"Maybe. Or maybe I've already met him, but he doesn't know it yet."
Jeremy Mason stared at her a moment, then grinned. "You're not talking about me, are you? Because I would know it."
She laughed. "Would you, now? Are you sure?"
"You damn betcha! So who is it?"
"I don't think you've ever met him. It isn't important."
After dinner Jeremy suggested they go dancing, but Rosemary declined, settling for a drink instead. They stopped at a quiet, upscale neighborhood tavern for a nightcap. It was several minutes before Rosemary realized that almost all the patrons were cops.
"Is this where you came when you were with the police department?" she asked.
"Yep. Me and my partner used to stop in here a couple nights a week. Unofficially it's called 'Jeremy's Joint'."
They were on their second drink when a uniformed officer entered. He was about thirty — blond, blue-eyed, and slightly beefy. He scanned the tables, spotted Jeremy, and made his way toward them. He grinned at Jeremy and winked at Rosemary. "You have the right to remain silent!" he said.
"Jules!" Jeremy got to his feet and the two men shook hands. "Sit down. Rosemary Egler, Jules Cedarquist. My old partner."
"Pleasure to meet you," Cedarquist said, pulling up a chair.
Rosemary smiled and nodded.
"So how's the new job working out?" he asked Jeremy.
"It's great. Better hours, better pay, and I don't have to look at your ugly mug every day." Jeremy laughed. "Plus, I get to take the boss's beautiful secretary to dinner." He winked at Rosemary.
"Well, I have to admit, she's a lot better looking than I am. But I'll bet she doesn't know about your dark side."
"Now, Jules, don't go making stuff up! You always were the jealous one."
Jules grinned and looked at Rosemary. "I assume you've heard what this guy did, haven't you? Lost a leg pursuing a perp because he refused to risk civilian life by taking the shot?"
"Yes, I did hear about that. He was very brave."
"There's a fine line between bravery and stupidity. In his case, I haven't decided yet which one it was."
They left the bar a half-hour later and Jeremy drove her back to LincEnt to pick up her car. The air was cold and biting as she unlocked the vehicle and turned to thank him for the date.
"I had fun, Jeremy," she said. "I haven't laughed that hard for a long time. Thank you."
"Hey, it was my pleasure. Maybe we can do it again sometime."
"Maybe." She offered her hand.
He took it, then leaned toward her for a kiss. She turned her head slightly, taking it on the cheek. His eyes glittered briefly, but he smiled.
"See you tomorrow then."
"Okay."
She felt warm and relaxed during the drive home; the wine and cocktails had done their work, bringing her right to the edge of legal intoxication. As she reviewed the evening, she wondered if Jeremy Mason would ask her out again. She had a feeling that he would, but on the next date, or maybe the one after that, he was probably going to want to take her to bed; he was the type. How was she going to avoid that?
Or did she even want to?
London, Europe, Terra
The day after his presentation to the Defense Committee, Henry Wells was at his desk going over congressional business when his desk comm buzzed.
"You have a visitor, Senator Wells. Senator Gutierrez is here to see you."
Henry's eyebrows lifted in surprise. Gutierrez represented the territory of Mexico. Henry had seen him numerous times in the Senate chamber, but they'd never met.
"Send him in."
Henry rose and rounded his desk as the door swished open. Perfecto Gutierrez was in his late forties, rugged and weather-beaten, his dark-brown face pocked by childhood acne. He wore old-fashioned glasses with thick rims, which made him instantly recognizable because almost no one else still wore them. He smiled broadly and offered Henry a calloused hand.
"Senator Wells, I am Perfecto Gutierrez. I am very pleased to meet you at last."
"The honor is mine, Senator. I've followed your career for years."
Gutierrez dipped his head modestly.
"Please," Henry insisted, gesturing toward the sofa, "have a seat."
Gutierrez settled into the sofa which faced a slender coffee table. Henry called for refreshments and settled into a chair opposite him.
"How are things in your electorate?" Henry asked.
"Mejico is doing well," his visitor replied. "We are enjoying our best economy in a century. Thank you for asking."
Henry's secretary delivered a tray of pastries and coffee, and then retreated. When she'd gone, Henry sat back and sipped his coffee, his eyes curious.
"What can I do for you?"
Gutierrez nibbled on a sweet-cake and gazed at Henry for a moment. Dabbing his mouth with a napkin, he cleared his throat.
"I have heard of your proposal to the Defense Committee," he said in a deep baritone. "I have seen the minutes of that session, and I was intrigued by your perception of the situation on Vega."
Henry nodded without speaking.
"You believe the Sirians will turn on the Federation next?" Gutierrez queried.
"Maybe not 'next'," Henry said, "but eventually. They may attack another civilization first, but I am reasonably certain we're on their list."
Gutierrez frowned, his eyes briefly losing their focus.
"The
Sirians are white supremacists," he said. "When this assault takes place, if we should be defeated, any race or ethnicity that does not conform to their racial standards will be severely oppressed?"
"Yes," Henry said. "Sirius considers a number of ethnic groups inferior to their Aryan ideal. Including Spanics."
"The peoples of Mejico and South America would be persecuted for their ethnic heritage?"
"I believe so, yes."
Gutierrez picked up another pastry, studied it, and spent several moments chewing. He took a sip of coffee.
"Your proposal to the Defense Committee — it calls for what? Sixty billion terros?"
Henry nodded. He took a moment to explain the proposal in some detail.
"Sixty billion is only the beginning," he concluded. "First we need hardware — fighters, combat ships, weapons. Then we need bases, outposts to defend the Federation. And finally we'll need personnel, which means a massive recruiting effort, and training. To be honest with you, we're talking about a lot more than sixty billion. But we have to start small."
Gutierrez peered at him with narrowed eyes. "You are going to face some serious opposition to this," he said.
"I know. It's already started."
Gutierrez stared at the floor for a moment, as if weighing his next words. Finally he looked up.
"Senator Wells, I am not a Solar Conservative like you. I have been a Federation Nationalist all my life. But I believe you. And I believe in what you are trying to do. As of this moment, I pledge you my full support in this endeavor. If I can be of assistance to get this appropriation approved, then I am at your service."
Henry stared at the other man with a sense of wonder. Was this the work of Howard Nieters, or had Gutierrez come of his own accord? He realized that it didn't matter. The two men shared the same sense of patriotic urgency, and that was the bottom line.
Henry leaned forward and offered his hand.
"Senator Gutierrez, thank you. I value your support."
Gutierrez shook his hand. "Whatever I can do to assist you, all you need to do is ask."
Chapter 30
Thursday, 3 December, 0195 (PCC) — Lake Francesca, Sophia Alps, Vega 3
The seasons on Vega 3 are almost seven months long. By the Post Colonial Calendar it was December, yet autumn was just beginning. Oliver Lincoln III sat on a lawn chair and gazed quietly at the first turning of the leaves, his chest still tender from the surgery that had saved his life. The "hospital" was really a luxury hotel — the only one in Lake Francesca — that had been commandeered by the Vegan Guard for military purposes. The grounds looked like a university campus, with heavy oak-like trees and expansive lawns, statues, and fountains. The air was thin and cool, like Denver in the fall, and the sun felt warm on his face.