Rebellion's Fury

by Jay Allan

  “Yes, sir. I am ready.”

  “This is the second time I have cleaned up one of your messes, Robert.” The senator’s voice was cold, and Robert could hear the constrained anger behind it. “And this time was far more costly than the first. Obtaining this command for you was very expensive, both in currency and in political capital. You are my son, and you are a Semmes, but there are limits to my reach . . . and my patience.” There was no emotion, no fatherly love in the older man’s words, just a relentless coldness. He might as easily have been discussing an overdue debt with a business associate. “Do not fail again.”

  Robert stared back across the desk, struggling to stay calm, to hold his father’s gaze. He was angry, consumed with rage, but he dared not let it show. He’d taken much of the blame for the debacle on Alpha-2, but in his mind he had been the wronged party. He’d been sent to the colony world in command of troops, but under the authority of the federal observer. And Asha Stanton had stymied him at every turn. She and that damnable Wells. He and Stanton had been sent to undo the damage the governor’s weakness had caused, but she had allowed Wells to influence her decisions again and again, holding him back from taking the actions he’d deemed necessary.

  If I had been the last word there, the rebellion would have been stillborn . . . drowned in blood . . .

  “Do you hear me, Robert?”

  “Yes, sir. I understand completely.” His voice shifted, becoming colder. “I will not fail, Father. I will destroy the rebel army, and I will restore a respect for law and order in the colonists.” There were images in his head as he spoke, scenes of devastation, of mass executions. The Havenites, as they had the audacity to call themselves, had compelled him to crawl before the father he despised. He would make them pay for that. He owed himself that much.

  “I’m sorry, Everett, but there is nothing I can do. Old Alistair Semmes put all his weight behind the appointment of his son to command the expeditionary force. I’m afraid this has gone well beyond my level of influence. I have done all I can to help you, for old friendship, but I dare go no further. Not in the current environment.” Johannes Gravis sat on one end of a plush leather couch, his eyes fixed on the crackling fire in the hearth, as much to avoid Wells’s gaze as anything else.

  The office was luxurious, as befitted a senator, though it didn’t match the obscene opulence possessed by a power broker like Semmes. Any senator enjoyed a lifestyle that was comfortable beyond the wildest dreams of the normal citizens of Federal America, but even among such a lofty group, there was stratification. Gravis was a junior member of the august body, and his opportunities for personal enrichment and abuse of power hadn’t come close to those of men many years his senior.

  Wells had helped a young Gravis get his start in politics, giving him his first appointment years before. The protégé had long since eclipsed his mentor, though—having shaken the touch of idealism that held Wells back in the process—while still retaining some level of appreciation for what the man had done for him.

  “Johannes, Robert Semmes is a . . .” Wells let his words trail off. He was horrified at the thought of what an unrestrained General Semmes would do on Alpha-2, but Gravis had been a good friend to him since he’d returned from his failure as the colony’s governor—just about the only one he’d had left. Because even though Everett Wells had helped a number of his peers early in their careers, Gravis was the only one who’d shown something resembling gratitude.

  The others couldn’t run quickly enough.

  He knew he was political poison. Even Gravis hadn’t dared do more than appoint him chief of staff of internal operations, declaring Wells’s thoughts of another independent political appointment “quite impossible.”

  Wells didn’t know if he’d be able to rehabilitate his career . . . and he didn’t know if he cared. He hadn’t enriched himself as aggressively as most would have in his previous positions, but he had a bit socked away. That plus his pay as a member of Gravis’s staff ensured him a comfortable living, far beyond what anyone in Federal America—outside government—could hope for. He knew he should be grateful, that he should just keep his head down and stay out of trouble. And he would, if it wasn’t for Haven.

  Are you that concerned about the people there? Or is it Violetta?

  Wells’s only daughter had sympathized with the rebels, and when he’d returned to Earth, she’d refused to go with him, instead openly joining the revolutionary forces. It was a public embarrassment to him, of course, just one more weight stacked upon the perception that his softness had allowed things to go as far as they had. None of that mattered to him, not really. But the thought of his only daughter, who’d grown up sheltered and privileged, alone on that world amid the disorder and chaos of rebellion, ate at him. There were no communications between Alpha-2 and Earth, and he had heard nothing from her since the two had embraced a final time in the light morning rain at the spaceport the day he’d left. What would happen to her when Semmes’s soldiers landed? When they crushed the rebellion and punished the people, as Wells was certain Semmes would do with brutal finality?

  “Everett, I know you are troubled by all that happened on Alpha-2 . . .” Gravis hesitated. “And I can’t imagine how upsetting it is to think of Violetta there,” he continued as if reading Wells’s thoughts. “But she is an adult, and she made her choice. I realize a father can never escape from such emotions, but you have to look to your own situation now. If you persist in attempting to interfere in the Alpha-2 pacification operations, you will make it impossible for me to protect you.” He paused again, clearly uncomfortable at being so blunt with an old friend. “No one is going to listen to you now, Everett, and especially not about Alpha-2. Do you want to end up with nothing? Or worse? Take my advice, old friend. Lay low. Don’t get involved in any of this. You’re not going to change anything. You’ll just get yourself hurt.”

  Wells nodded, a somber look on his face. “I know, Johannes, but you know what is going to happen. Semmes is a psychopath. Thousands are going to die.”

  “I sympathize as well, Everett. But the colonists did nothing to aid those on Earth advocating for restraint. Their unwillingness to work with you led directly to the assignment of the federal observer. Then, as soon as they gained temporary hegemony over the planet, they declared independence. There was a faction in the senate still pushing for negotiations, but the declaration gutted it. Everyone ran for cover. No one in the senate—no one—will speak out against military action now, and most are advocating for quick retribution, which Robert Semmes will ensure. The Alphans made their beds, Everett. You can’t change that, but you can refrain from utterly destroying yourself.”

  Wells sat for a moment, silent. Then he turned and looked over at his friend. “You’re right, Johannes. I know you’re right. And I am grateful for all you have done for me.”

  He nodded, and even forced something of a smile. But beneath the facade, he was as restless as ever.

  Everett Wells walked into the room and closed the door behind him. It was dark, just a hint of light coming through the heavily tinted windows. The hotel offered lodging, but even more important, it sold discretion, which was a rare and expensive commodity in Federal America. It catered primarily to those fairly highly placed who needed somewhere to bring their more junior associates . . . or any others who caught their fancy.

  It was an odd place for a meeting, at least one with no amorous intent, and especially a tête-à-tête with someone he’d generally considered his adversary. But when he’d gotten Asha Stanton’s message, it had piqued his curiosity enough to come and see what she wanted to say. Stanton wasn’t someone he admired or agreed with on very much, but she wasn’t an irredeemable monster like Semmes, either.

  Besides, he had few enough prospects, and the fact that anyone actually wanted to see him was refreshing. He even suspected Gravis, as steadfast as he’d been, would be just as happy if he disappeared.

  “Thank you for coming, Mr. Wells.” Stanton was
seated in a chair in the far corner, mostly obscured by shadows. She’d used the correct form of address, though Wells winced at it anyway. A governor’s title was given for life, and the individual holding it was so addressed, even after his or her term had ended. But Wells had the distinction of having been formally removed for cause, and the designation as a governor was one of the things that had cost him. It didn’t mean anything, not really, and yet it meant everything.

  Because I’m an old fool.

  “Observer Stanton,” he replied, trying to hide the resentment he felt that she had, at least, kept her title after arriving back on Earth. Stanton had also returned in failure, and she’d had the unenviable task of explaining to the assembled senate just how the rebels on Alpha-2 had managed to seize the orbital platform and compel her to accept a shameful truce, one the senators wasted no time in repudiating. Still, she had managed to come out of the whole thing in marginally better shape than Wells. I wonder how much of her family’s money that took?

  “Please, Mr. Wells, I know we haven’t agreed on everything, but I believe we have common interests now.” She paused. “If you will recall, I urged you to work with me on Alpha-2, yet you resisted. I did not come there to cause your disgrace, and I made that clear from the start.”

  “You did make such overtures, Observer. All you required was that I go back on all I believe in. Those colonists are people. Human beings, first and foremost. They deserved better treatment than you gave them.”

  “People? What does that mean? Have you seen how the average citizen in Federal America lives? Not up close, I’d wager, because you’ve never lived that way. Have you gone hungry, Mr. Wells? Have you worked a twelve-hour shift only to come home to your hovel and eat a few moldy pieces of bread before you collapsed from exhaustion and hoped you’d be able to wake up tomorrow just to do it all over again? The world is what it is, and unless you have some master plan to change it, I suggest you come down off your high horse. If you had worked with me, you might have done a few things you didn’t want to do, sure, but perhaps we could have stopped the rebellion in its tracks. Now what will happen? Semmes will return, with real troops, and he will crush those people like none of them have ever imagined, not in their worst fears. So consider that before you salve your own conscience by labeling me a soulless martinet.”

  Wells just stood where he was, silent. He wanted to lash back, to accuse her of unfeeling ruthlessness, but he realized much of what she said was right. For all his efforts to find a peaceful solution to the unrest on Alpha-2, things were worse now than he’d thought possible. And he had no doubt what she said about Semmes would prove to be true.

  “Enough of this nonsense,” Stanton finally said. “Sit.” She gestured toward a chair near the one she occupied. “Please, Mr. Wells. Sit.”

  Wells walked across the room and glided into the plush armchair. “There may be a bit of truth to some of what you say.” It wasn’t a sweeping overture, but it was as far as he could force himself to go.

  “That is a start.” She leaned forward slightly. “I didn’t ask you to come here so we could exchange recriminations. Nor do I have any brilliant strategy to prevent the nightmare about to overwhelm Alpha-2.” She took a deep breath, clearly hesitating. Then she said, “But I believe we may be able to intervene in certain ways, to aid the colonists.”

  Wells hadn’t known what to expect when he’d gotten Stanton’s invitation, but the words that had just come out of her mouth had never crossed his mind.

  “Help the rebels?” he asked, his voice reflexively dropping in volume as he looked around the room. He felt a wave of panic, a sudden fear that Stanton was setting him up somehow.

  “You needn’t worry, Mr. Wells. I swept the room thoroughly when I first arrived. No one is listening to us.”

  “That is fine . . . assuming I’m willing to believe you.” He glared at Stanton.

  “I have no reason to attempt to entrap you, Mr. Wells. My family was able to spend enough to salvage at least a portion of my career, though I’m not sure there is enough bribe money to get me to the senate now. For whatever it is worth to you in terms of shared disgrace, I am the great disappointment of my family. We are wealthy, sure, but what is wealth in Federal America without political power? I was the one who was supposed to push us forward into those hallowed halls. Now, at best, I can hope for a middling career, one unimportant job after another . . . and the Stantons are already looking to the next generation for our great step forward.”

  “My sympathies, Observer.” The thought had begun almost sarcastic in tone, but then he quickly realized he did empathize with her, at least a bit. Stanton was corrupt and power-hungry, but she was restrained, at least as Federal America’s enforcers were concerned. And she was right. For all his efforts to find a peaceful solution, the colonists had refused to meet him halfway. It would have been better had he never been sent there at all.

  She was waving her hand as if dismissing his last remark. “I did not ask you to come here so we could trade insincere—or quasi-sincere—reassurances. I am what I am, and you are what you are. Yet I think we have more in common than you allow for. I have thought that from the beginning, but you were too focused on reveling in your own sense of moral superiority. Well, enough of that. We find ourselves in considerable danger, Mr. Wells, and that is something we share. Robert Semmes is no friend to either of us. In fact, he has loudly and aggressively blamed both of us for preventing him from quelling the rebellion on Alpha-2.”

  “You won’t get any argument from me about Semmes. He is one of the vilest human beings I have ever met.”

  “Have you considered that he feels the same way about you? And have you thought about what will happen if he is successful on Alpha-2? If he returns in victory, with military glory to add to his family’s already substantial power base? He is a vengeful man, one who does not forget grudges.”

  “Are you worried about your career again, Observer?”

  “I will not defend my desire to salvage something of my position, Mr. Wells. You may embrace squalid martyrdom, but I do not. Yet this all goes far beyond that, I am afraid. If Semmes returns triumphant, he might manage to generate enough support in the senate to charge you with treason for your part in allowing the rebellion to escalate. The cost of the expedition to pacify Alpha-2 is already astronomical—meaning less money lining their own pockets. They will be amenable to finding scapegoats.”

  “And your proposal is that I actually commit treason to prevent being accused of it?”

  “Treason is defined by those who win, Mr. Wells. I suspect you know enough of the actual history of the last Civil War to realize the truth of that. I don’t care about Alpha-2, and while there are some moral limits to what measures I myself would employ to pacify the planet, I would be perfectly content to walk away and allow things to take their course . . . if such a result did not create an enemy too powerful to defeat: a psychopath like Robert Semmes returning as a hero.” She glared at Wells. “And you, for all your lectures and your moralizing, if you have the chance to intervene, to prevent the holocaust you know Semmes will inflict, will you take it? Or are your words as empty as your prospects?”

  Wells just stared back at her silently. He wanted to argue, to disagree, but she’d hit the mark with her words. Thousands would die on Alpha-2, and they wouldn’t all be rebels. Semmes’s violence would know no restraint, and innocent blood would flood the streets. And more important . . .

  Violetta is there.

  “Very well,” Wells said, fatigue and resignation in his tone. “How can we affect events on Alpha-2?”

  Chapter 3

  Free Trader Vagabond

  Beyond the Orbit of Pluto

  Sol System

  “I’m afraid Vagabond is a bit inadequate as an ambassador’s transport, Your Excellency. Unfortunately, there is nowhere more comfortable where you can strap in for the jump.” Sasha Nerov sat in the captain’s chair on Vagabond’s cramped bridge, her upper body twist
ed, looking behind her at her unexpected guest. She’d been back and forth from Haven to Earth three times, taking advantage of the withdrawal of Federal America’s fleet from the Epsilon Eridani system to run weapons back to the rebel forces. She’d been shocked this last time, when the agents of the Eurasian Union had approached her with the idea of carrying their representative to meet with the rebel leadership.

  “Not at all, Captain Nerov. You have been a most gracious hostess, and I must say, an impressive captain. I feel as though I am in very good hands on this journey.” Andrei Kutusov was strapped into one of Vagabond’s bridge stations, staring intently in her direction.

  Nerov suppressed a laugh. The Eurasian diplomat clearly considered himself quite charming, and he wasn’t trying very hard to hide his interest in her. He’d been flirting, or something close to it, almost from the moment he’d boarded the ship. She didn’t return the sentiment—not really, at least. The last thing she needed was a foreign diplomat twenty years her senior in her bed. But she also realized the potential utility of getting at least moderately closer to him. He’d already commented twice on the tight leather pants she wore on board, and she couldn’t see any compelling reason to explain to him that she wore them because they fit neatly under her survival suit. Let him think I’m trying to entice him.

  Besides, I do look great in them.

  “I am grateful for your forbearance, Your Excellency. I was quite taken by surprise when your government approached me about providing transport to Haven.”

  “Your associates have performed well to date, Captain Nerov, and we decided it was time to extend some diplomatic feelers. To be clear, I do not want to overstate the meaning of my visit. We will, of course, continue to provide you with supplies and armaments as long as you are able to transport them, but direct intervention is not something I am authorized to offer at this time.”