by John Bowers
"Mister Chairman!" Henry shouted. "The Senator from South America is bullying the witness!"
Vice President Xing's gavel fell three times to quiet the buzz that filled the chamber.
"Silence in the Senate!" Xing said in a firm voice. "Quiet, please!"
The buzz subsided. Xing continued.
"Sit down, Senator Wells. Senator Weinstock, I see no indication that the witness has been impertinent in any way. You have no authority to threaten him with a charge of contempt. Please proceed with your questions."
Oliver relaxed a fraction, glad to see that some sanity remained in the room. He took another sip and faced his tormentor again.
Weinstock's eyes blazed with hatred.
"You told this body a little while ago that the Sirians forced male prisoners of war to rape Vegan females; that if they refused to do so, the females were put to death. Is that not so?"
"Yes, I said that."
"Is that statement true?"
"About the rape? Yes, it's true."
She actually smiled at him.
"So what did you do, Mr. Lincoln? Did you rape the women, or refuse them and cause their agonizing death?"
The trap was clear now; he should have seen it coming.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
"I went along with the program."
"You raped the women?"
"I did not rape anybody. I had sex with those I was required to have sex with."
"Oh? By your own testimony, it was rape. You told us a few minutes ago that it was rape."
"It was a form of rape. That's what I said. The men are victimized just as much as the women. It's aimed at the destruction of Vegan morals."
"Yet you took part in it."
"Yes, I did. The alternative was to condemn more women to the gallows."
Weinstock smirked. "Did you have fun, Mr. Lincoln? Did you get a kick out of raping all those Vegan beauties?"
Oliver laughed, shaking his head.
"You're amazing, Ma'am," he said. "You really are. I told you before, the first time I was confronted with that choice, I refused. The woman begged me to do it, and explained why. She didn't want it and neither did I, but neither of us had a choice."
"Of course, we only have your word for all of this."
"That's right. My entire testimony is just 'my word'. It's up to you whether you want to believe it or not."
Weinstock flushed. "Indeed, Mr. Lincoln. Indeed!"
Jacques Kennedy, of Northern Ireland, was next. He spoke in stentorian tones, his face as puffed as his silver hair.
"You are the heir to Lincoln Enterprises, are you not?"
"Yes, sir."
"Could you tell us a little about Lincoln Enterprises?"
Oliver shrugged. "It's no secret. LincEnt is the foremost defense contractor in North America. We are currently the only contractor on Terra that builds deep-space fighters. We also build space yachts and lifeboats."
"You seem to think the Sirian Confederacy is a threat to peace in the galaxy. Is that right?"
"Yes."
"You seem to believe the Confederacy will eventually come after the Federation, is that so?"
"I do believe that."
"You're concerned about Sirian military power."
"Yes."
Kennedy's pale, rheumy eyes gazed directly at him.
"If you really believe all that, then why in god's name has Lincoln Enterprises been selling military hardware to the Confederacy for over a decade?"
Oliver waited for the buzz to die down again, for the gavel to stop pounding. Kennedy was still staring at him.
"Well, Mr. Lincoln?"
"I only became aware of the Sirian threat a matter of weeks before I went to Vega. My intention was to give Vega at least a fighting chance to defend itself."
"Really!"
"Yes. Really."
"Your intentions were purely humanitarian?"
"Completely."
"You didn't expect to profit from selling fighters to Vega?"
"Profit was not my motive."
Kennedy smiled, making eye contact with several others in the room, as if Oliver had told a joke. He looked at Oliver again.
"You expect us to believe that you were willing to give the fighters away? Just so the Vegans could defend themselves?"
Oliver shifted in his chair and sat up a little straighter.
"Senator, I can tell you with a clear conscience that I would have been willing to do exactly that if it would have helped the Vegans."
Kennedy laughed out loud.
"Forgive me, Mr. Lincoln! I've never met a real altruist before! I applaud you! You, sir, are a paragon of virtue! You really are!"
Oliver smiled wearily. Go have a drink, you alcoholic fuck!
"Tell me, Mr. Lincoln, did your father, the president of the company, share your selfless idealism when it came to donating billions of terros worth of military equipment to the Vegan Guard?"
"No, sir, he did not. He thought it was a bullsh … a bad idea."
"I don't wonder." Kennedy continued to chuckle. "How does your father feel about it now? Does he share your passion to slander the Confederacy?"
Oliver sighed again. "He's not real happy that his daughter was murdered on Sirius, or that his son was held captive for over a year."
"Yet he still does business with the Confederacy."
"I believe we still have a contract. What happens when it expires remains to be seen."
"Is it fair to say that your family has a vested interest in the future of the Confederacy?"
"We have a much greater interest in the future of the Federation. This is where we live."
"Based on your testimony about the death of your sister and your own captivity, do you think your father would be willing to cancel, or at the very least, fail to renew that contract?"
"I can't speak for my dad, but it wouldn't surprise me."
"Tell me, Mr. Lincoln — what percentage of LincEnt revenue is based on the sale of military hardware?"
Oliver didn't hesitate. "Thirty-one percent."
"What's your profit margin?"
"I have no idea." Oliver's eyes narrowed slightly — what was the fat fuck getting at?
"Could LincEnt survive a loss of thirty-one percent of revenue?"
"I don't know. It would create some problems."
"Create some problems! I should think so! How many assembly lines would get shut down? How many workers laid off? How many stockholders infuriated? The price of stock would plummet, don't you think?"
Oliver truly had never thought about it. The very suggestion turned his stomach into a knot.
"I think you're probably right."
"Is your father a pretty shrewd businessman?"
Oliver nodded. "He's one of the best."
"That's what I've heard about him. Personally, sir, I don't think your father would be willing to cancel that contract with the Sirian Confederacy. Do you?"
"It would be a hard decision."
"It would be a very hard decision!" Kennedy leaned forward. "Unless …"
Oliver stared at him, hardly daring to breathe. The huge chamber was silent. Kennedy let the word hang for an eternity.
"Unless," he repeated, "that contract could be replaced!"
It took Oliver a second. The accusation hit him like a sledgehammer. He jerked forward in his chair.
"Senator, if you're suggesting for one minute that I'm …"
"I am suggesting that business is business! Altruism is a fantasy! You came here to procure a contract for Lincoln Enterprises because without it your father has no choice but to continue his relationship with Sirius!"
The chamber was in an uproar. Xing's gavel banged unheeded as two hundred senators and five hundred aides flooded the room with sound. Oliver sat like a statue, staring in numb disbelief at the temporarily sober senator from Ireland.
* * *
Lunch was impossible. Unable to eat, Oliver sucked a glass of
scotch while Henry fed him encouragement.
"Don't let them get you down," he said. "You have to remember, these are the most radical members in the Senate. Boxer is a left-wing extremist who 'loves humanity' but hates people. Every time he comes up for election, he suddenly becomes a moderate, then once the election is over he's back to normal. Weinstock's family has business holdings on Sirius, so she's sensitive to even a suspicion of criticism of the Confederacy.
"And Kennedy — well, a few years ago, on one of his annual 'fact-finding' tours of Sirius, someone with a high-powered camera holographed him on a party boat fucking slave girls. Some of the pictures made it to the Solar-net, but the press never released them. Rumor has it that a lot of money changed hands to kill the story. He also has an estate in Tennetucky that reportedly gets stocked with fresh girls every time he visits. The man's a real lecher."
"Jesus! And these people make our laws?"
Henry nodded. "It isn't that bad, really. Most senators are decent people, but not all. The point is, be aware of who you're dealing with. Let them have their fun. The public has a short memory, and after tomorrow's news, no one will remember what you said."
Oliver dreaded the afternoon session, but the worst was over. Questioning lasted only another hour, and this time the questions were on subject. When finally excused, Oliver retreated to the gallery to listen to Henry's closing statement.
"Well, there you have it," Henry said after acknowledging the chair. "Oliver Lincoln, freedom fighter. The only Federation citizen to return from occupied Vega who actually resisted the invasion, who actually witnessed — or is willing to describe — Sirian atrocities. Do you believe him? Or do you think he came here for his own ulterior motives?"
Henry turned his gaze upon Boxer.
"Some of you apparently think he's a brutal killer who just loves the sight of blood."
He looked at Weinstock.
"Others apparently believe he's a sexual deviant."
And Kennedy.
"And some seem to believe he's a financial opportunist.
"But what's the truth? Does anyone know? Can any of us know?" He nodded emphatically. "I can tell you the truth. I've known Oliver Lincoln III for over half my life. I know his family. I dated his sister. The Lincoln family is as diverse as any other, with hopes and dreams and strengths and weaknesses. Some are liberal, others conservative. What they all are, without exception, is sincere. Honest, sincere, dedicated people. Oliver Lincoln III personifies those qualities.
"Oliver went to Vega 3 over his father's objections, out of a sincere and heartfelt concern that the combat fighters built by his family might be used in a war of aggression. His intention was to prevent, if possible, such an attack; or, if that could not be done, to give Vega a fighting chance. That was his motive. His only motive. Unfortunately, he failed on both counts, but only because the attack came sooner than expected.
"Because of his testimony, we know what happened on Vega. We know of the incredible heroism of the Vegan Guard, fighting against all odds to defend their planet against oppression. We know of the wholesale enslavement of tens of thousands of Vegan women, the wholesale rape of thousands more. We know of murder and brutality by the Sirian military. And we know that Sirian philosophy is based on the desire to 'preserve' white supremacy."
Henry scanned the senators briefly.
"We now have a measure on the floor. We have to make a decision whether to appropriate funds for defense or just ignore the danger. Oliver Lincoln III has given us a first-person, eyewitness account of why we should pass this measure. Clearly, the Sirian Confederacy has an agenda — an agenda of conquest. You don't have to believe that, but it has been clearly demonstrated here today.
"You now have to decide whether you believe Oliver's story. I believe it. I know that Oliver went through hell on Vega, and I had to twist his arm to get him to come here today and repeat it to you. The truth of his testimony is not at issue. What is at issue is what we're going to do about it.
"Clearly, some of you here don't want to believe it — you didn't like his message, so you attacked the messenger. That may make you sleep well tonight, but it won't save the Federation when Sirian fighters appear in our skies ten, fifteen, twenty years from now. The only thing that will protect the Federation will be Federation fighters that are superior to Confederate fighters!"
Henry swept them with his clear gaze once again, then dropped his stylus onto the desk.
"I yield the floor."
Epilog
Friday, 1 September, 0197 (PCC) — Denver, CO, North America, Terra
The company auditorium was alive with people. Several hundred employees milled about, eating hors d'oevres, drinking cocktails, and dancing to Thunder Rock from a live band that played from a raised platform. Oliver Lincoln III stood with his dad, who sat in a hoverchair and greeted his friends. People Oliver knew, and many he'd never met, wanted to shake his hand and welcome him home. He felt a little foolish, but the music was good and the liquor strong.
Henry Wells stood next to Oliver with a scotch in his hand and a relaxed grin on his face.
"Hell of a party, Ollie!"
"Dad's idea. I would've talked him out of it, but after he got shot, I didn't have the heart."
"He went through a couple years of hell worrying about you. Let him celebrate."
Oliver nodded. "Kind of the way I figured it."
"Ollie, I'm sorry about Monday. I know that wasn't easy for you."
Oliver shrugged. "Prison camp was worse."
"You did a good thing. An important thing."
"Did it really do any good?"
"I think so. I was sweating out the last few weeks before the vote. Wasn't sure we'd get a majority."
"But you did." The bill had passed by a dozen votes.
"Hang onto those memories," Henry told him. "They'll come in handy when I come up for election in three years."
Oliver nodded. "So what happens next?"
"The Polygon will take a few months to decide how the money should be spent, then they'll start inviting bids. That puts the ball in your court; if you can win the contract, you can start building fighters for us instead of the Sirians."
"That'll be a pleasure." Oliver sipped his drink. "I saw a documentary last night with your picture in it. They called you 'The Fighter King'. Pretty impressive."
Henry shook his head. "That's what we ought to be calling you, Ollie. After all you went through to sell ships to Vega."
"Bullshit. I completely failed that mission. I should've stayed home and helped you instead. You accomplished a hell of a lot more than I did."
"Well, if the Sirians had waited six months to invade Vega, who knows what you might have done? You just ran out of time."
The music stopped. Across the room, Oliver spotted Rosemary coming in the door. She looked gorgeous; trim and curvy in a dark red dress and high heels, her hair the color of roasted coffee beans.
"Scuse me, Henry. I see someone I need to talk to."
"Later, pal."
Oliver crossed the room just as the music started again, this one a slow, mournful dance song. He stopped in front of Rosemary and reached for her hand.
"May I have this dance?" he asked with a smile.
She looked up at him, her dark eyes vulnerable. For just a moment he thought she would burst into tears. But she forced a smile and moved into his arms. He held her close as they began to dance, pressing his cheek against her hair.
"Are you okay?" he asked gently.
"I don't know. I'm not sure how I feel."
"I didn't think you were coming."
She pulled back to look into his eyes. "I almost didn't. But I couldn't miss your party."
He stopped dancing. "Let's take a walk outside."
She followed him without a word. He led her a dozen yards from the building, stopping under a tree. Dappled moonlight filtered down on them. Oliver leaned over and kissed her gently; she didn't resist.
"What happen
ed to you wasn't your fault," he said. "I know it and you know it. Every woman who experiences that has second thoughts, always wonders 'what if'. But that's bullshit, okay? Jeremy Mason was a pig, pure and simple. I saw thousands like him on Vega. He didn't deserve to live, and I'm glad I killed him."
She blinked rapidly, and he saw her throat bob as she swallowed. He rushed on before she could interrupt.
"Rosemary, you may think I'm crazy, but over the last week —"
Her eyes widened in alarm. She raised a hand to his lips.
"Oliver …"
"Rosemary, I love you."
She winced in pain and shook her head.
"Oliver …"
"I want to marry you. I know it seems kind of sudden, but …"
"Oliver — I'm pregnant!"
He was stunned. "What?"
"When Jeremy … raped me … I was ovulating."
"How could you know? It's only been a week!" But he knew the answer. Jacquje had been killed only two days after she got pregnant.
"I knew I was in my fertile period. I went to the doctor today …"
Oliver felt numb all over. He stepped back, trying to collect his thoughts.
"At this point it's only a fertilized egg," she said.
"A zygote."
"Yes, I think that's what they called it. But it's confirmed. I'm going to have Jeremy's baby."
Oliver felt a deep despair flood his lungs and grip his heart. How unfair was that!
"There are things you can do," he said.
"No."
"They have medications …"
"No!"
He stared at her, saw the pain in her eyes. And she saw the pain in his.
"Oliver, I lost my entire family when I was sixteen. I won't give up another member of my family, even if it is a rape child."
"Rosemary, I want to marry you!"
"I'm sorry, Oliver."
"I don't want to raise Jeremy Mason's kid!"
"You don't have to. I wouldn't even consider asking you to."
He put a hand on her shoulder, wanting her, unwilling to let her go now that he'd finally found her. She took his hand and kissed it, then let it go.
"You told me a minute ago that this isn't my fault. Well, it isn't yours, either. But I have to live with it. If you can't live with it too, then I can't marry you. And I don't hold that against you."