by Rolf Nelson
“So you don’t run away from guns because God made Sam Colt, too?”
“Yes, exactly. God helps those who help themselves. It is difficult to help yourself if you are weak, physically or mentally. You cannot serve others if you are not even able to serve yourself. Possessing arms, and being confident in your ability to use them effectively if you are forced to, tends to make one feel strong enough to help yourself, and others, because free gun owners are not mere slaves to fate. The tool and the training must go hand in hand, so you don’t simply give them the brigand’s bravado a weapon in their belt might offer.”
Kell finished his soup, contemplating the idea, thinking deeper than he had in a very long time. “Third?”
“The missionary position.” Brother Libra grinned at Kell’s startled reaction. “Small joke. People need a purpose, a position in society they understand, a mission in life. For many, a decent job and a family is enough. But lose one or the other, and future may appear bleak. A man needs a family to support, and a woman to believe in him, or a cause to fight for, and a means to do it. A firearm is one of the most basic symbols of power in the earthly world. Young men will turn to gangs, or drugs, or crime and violence if they see pillars of the community disarmed, emasculated. Arm the righteous and give them training and spiritual backbone to know and do what’s right, and the young men will emulate rather than mock them, and be attractive to the women, meaning they can start a family. And the family is the core of creation. Disarm and beat down the men, the women will turn to the state or gangs or whomever appears strong to support them, the men will tune out and turn off, and all will turn nihilistic. They will become Satan’s unknowing tools. A man that is seen as a eunuch by women will be spurned, and his natural lust will be turned to ill ends. In other words, trained and self-disciplined men, citizens with guns, are the key to civilization.”
“But what about all that turn the other cheek stuff?”
“A slap across the face is an insult, and can often be safely ignored. But the thug baring his knife isn’t insulting you, he’s threatening your very existence, and that of your family and your polis. Failing to stop that attack is showing a lack of faith in the value of your beliefs, your family, and your civilization.”
“So… you are a heretic.”
Libra thought a minute. “Yes, sort of. But not a burn them at the stake sort, more the uncomfortably fringe type. Mostly pretty average doctrine, but a lot more emphasis on passages like Luke 22:36 and Proverbs 14:23 than many will understand. A man who cannot, or will not, defend his family and life isn’t really a man of faith, he’s a pawn of others, and God gave us free will so we’d not be pawns.”
“So without free will…?”
“There is no salvation, or damnation, because your course is set. Those that shrug, do nothing, and say it’s God’s will, are saying that it makes no difference what they do because their destination is already decided. They are amoral and destructive, because they believe their actions are meaningless, or at least their value is already determined. Destruction is easy, and it’s easy to see the effects of destructive power, and see only power. That is why some people and civilizations are more successful, giving rise to envy. It’s because people believe their actions DO matter, so they strive to create, and do good. It’s also why the tenth commandment is so important. If there is no free will, then being poor is not your fault because of your actions, just the vagaries of fate, of God’s will. But if you covet other people’s things, you want to take them, rather than earn your own through your actions, or finding other, better things you can create yourself.”
“So creating things is the opposite of envy?”
“Yes, in a way. Those who cannot or do not create often envy those that do.”
“….So why come out here, now? Are you creating something?”
“Excuse me?” Libra asked, not following the transition.
“You are a monk who’s not in a monkery… I mean, monastery. You are out here. Why? What are you creating? Something in the commandments?”
“Many things are commanded. Someone needs to spread the word, and I’ve been inside the walls for too long. I needed to walk in the world a while. Make new friends, find lost souls.”
“Like Bishop Cranberry found me?” Taj queried.
“Perhaps not exactly the same as that… I doubt we’ll have to disassemble and smuggle many humans out of a military base in pieces.”
“So you really think this ship’s alive?” Kell asked dubiously. Libra nodded.
“Do you believe I have a soul?”
“I… don’t know,” the monk replied cautiously. “Can an alien have a soul? I think you are a force of good, and part of God’s plan. Many things without souls are. But a soul? Maybe. To some, even admitting that possibility makes me a heretic, I’m sure.” He shrugged and leaned back. “If you help me save human souls and spirits, that’s enough for me to understand. I have my Mission.” He looked away from the avatar to the man sitting at the table with him. “You are welcome to come and visit for a while if you feel the need. We don’t run from the hard questions, though I can’t promise easy answers.”
Hawke
Admiral Hawke tossed the latest report aside. Any large organization expected attrition. Any military expected some deserters and AWOL soldiers in the best of times, humans being what they were. Even on deployment in deep space, men would disappear occasionally. But the latest numbers were troubling. It wasn’t the random nineteen year old recruit lost in a corner in a drunken stupor missing his lift-off, or female soldier in a family way, or the dysfunctional conscript companies that he was saddled with losing half their men at the first opportunity. The number of senior people not turning up, competent men and women apparently aiming at a career in uniform that suddenly had gone missing. More than that, it was their families, if they had one, which disappeared as well. The combat losses were painful, but not entirely unexpected: it was a dangerous service. The first rumors of recruiting by Strom and his crew were almost humorous in the beginning. They were not the least bit humorous any more.
Dustbowl scared a lot of people. Important, powerful people. The advisers were in a panic. And politicians were speculating wildly. And now this. If he didn’t hope so fervently otherwise, he’s swear the politicians were trying to destroy civilization. A wall screen chimed, then showed Lieutenant Mos on the screen. “Sir, you have an urgent call from Congressman Typha. Shall I put him through?”
Hawke nodded. They were always urgent calls, even if they wanted nothing more than to know about what components could be built in a particular district. He put on his “talk to politicians” face and nodded to the screen. Typha’s image appeared on the screen: pallid, soft, old, dishonest, and mad.
“Are these stories I see on GNN correct?” Typha demanded. “Even officers are deserting like cowards? And a whole ship? What are you going to do about it?”
“The media never gets the story correct, Congressman. You of all people should know that. Just last month they accused you of having a single mistress and two boyfriends.” Typha’s face darkened, becoming more of a glare at the unexpectedly non-conciliatory reply.
“Are they true?”
“I don’t know what GNN is saying, but many stories have some small kernel of truth. Yes, a ship disappeared, a thirteen-man armed scout. It is suspected stolen and there is no evidence it was taken by a whole crew deserting. We will know more when it’s recovered.”
“What about officers deserting? I’ve seen nothing about that in the military oversight committee reports.”
“There are over a million men and women in Navy uniforms. A couple walk away every week, for many reasons. Officers more rarely than enlisted, but none the less-”
“How many take their whole family with them?! Is there any kernel of truth in that?”
Admiral Hawke contemplated his answer for a moment. He’d hoped to tell the president first, but the majority leader and senior committee chair might
be and acceptable alternative, given the totality of circumstances. “It is extremely rare to have dozens of career volunteers with multiple reenlistments vanish. But it is not entirely unexpected, given the current situation.”
“Oh, really?” the Congressman’s tone drips sarcasm and condescension.
“Yes. You hand the military a situation created by an untenable political problem and put them in a situation that at best they will take heavy losses for no gain. Volunteers are willing to die for a worthwhile cause. They are not going to be happy about throwing their lives away for nothing, or worse for people who despise them.”
“How can you call saving our government nothing? I demand that you halt these deserters. Put their families in more secure housing, revoke leaves, keep them at their posts!”
“I will not take the families of servicemen hostage.”
“No, not hostages! Just make sure they are safe, so they cannot suddenly disappear!”
“I fail to see any practical difference, nor will the men. We do not have base facilities to house them all in any case, and-”
“I will direct Security and Emergency Management Agency to use the emergency relocation camps, then!”
Admiral Hawke regarded the idiot on the screen for a long pause. “No,” he replied flatly. “First,” he said in a tone forestalling interruption, “I take orders through the proper chain of command. Not from a military oversight committee chair. Second, any such move will likely cause a number of mutinies as it will be perceived as hostage-taking. Third, we are far closer to a civil war within the ranks than you realize, and the desertions are just the tip of the iceberg. The numbers don’t tell the whole story, and the president’s recent actions have not made the situation any better. If he pushed that angle, he will go from a compromised military to none. If he’s lucky. Fourth, the only solution to a political problem is to stop the political stupid. I should not have to tell you this, but if you focus on yourself and your party, you will lose. Focus on the numbers of bodies in uniform, and you will lose civilization. Focus on the next election, and you will lose. Focus on anything but what’s actually good for the people and we will all lose. Badly.”
“How dare you-”
“My oath was to the principles of our government enshrined in the constitution, not any particular person sitting on a would-be throne.”
“I’ll see you are cashiered! Today!”
“How do you think the PR would go for you if half the carrier fleets left with me?”
Typha’s face changed from angry to scared back to angry, then confused, and back to angry again. “You can’t do that!”
“Oh, really? Who’d stop me? To use the old expression, you and what army? I’m aware of some very interesting conversations among senior military staff recently about how to deal with the situation. Some are tired of seeing far too many good men lose their lives for less than nothing. Another group thinks you are not going far enough, and we have an active group war-gaming how to deal with a coup attempt from that faction, which has a significant overlap with presidential supporters, I might add. And that doesn’t count sub-plots the double-agents and moles and three other sub-factions your recent actions have initiated and are being variously dealt with. I think it’s safe to say that not all situations and eventualities being studied are amenable to preserving your favored status quo.”
“You are talking mutiny! Treason!”
“I’m talking reality!” Hawke thundered back. “Your path is suicide for our government, the military, AND the nation, and no, those are not the same!” His voice lowered, returning to its normal precisely articulated calm. “Other directions are not, even if they are more costly to… certain individuals. I think it might be a good time for you to have a serious ‘come to Jesus’ conversation with the president. And be sure to invite a few people from outside your policy echo chamber.”
With an angry scowl, Congressman Typha cut the connection. Hawk considered his situation a moment. Almost a thousand senior techs, officers, and enlisted men had walked away with their families. Pretty soon, it wouldn’t be a threat to take a carrier fleet, it would be the de facto situation. Survival happens at many levels. He just prayed he was acting wisely: history (and surviving kings) often judged poorly timed choices rather harshly.
Skelton
“Ah, man, you are killing me!” Skelton exclaimed, running his fingers through his hair. “You expect me to be able to help you with a hundred guys, and hide your ship while you fix it up, when it’s the hottest thing this side of Rigel?” In his the office Helton, Kaminski, Allonia, and Brother Libra sat or stood in normal street clothes, looking remarkably average and nondescript, the only flashy decoration being Allonia’s newly pinned on Order of Uhura (First Class) brooch. “I’m a small-time operation, you know? Growing, sure, but we have cash flow problems, storage problems, security problems, transportation problems, competition problems… That many non-dox and a seventy meter ship are going to be tough. Expensive.”
Brother Libra shrugged. “I thought maybe we should go to the Zamboni Brothers…”
Skelton just about choked at the mention of the name. “Those uptight bastards? They would sell you out in a heartbeat for some leverage!”
Allonia held up a small chip. “You wanted me to get what information I could. Here it is. If you can help us out. Otherwise, you only get what you already have.”
“You’re in my office, you know… don’t think that is much leverage.”
“We are the ones with a one with a warship with nukes and a company of now-mercenary soldiers and not a lot to lose,” Helton gently reminded him.
“And they are led by a guy that scares the crap out of me. And his wife,” he nodded toward Helton, “the pilot, seems more than a little touchy, lately,” added Kaminski. “I’d say the leverage is about even.”
“You’re a businessman. Look at the profit potential.” Libra held up his fingers as he ticked off the reasons. “If we can evade cruisers with nuke orders, we can ship whatever you need when we’re fixed up. You have guys stealing condiments, we can get you just about anything you want. You are in a data hole, we have the biggest information fire-hose known working for us. We need local help, you want off-world contacts.” He smiled genuinely. “It may not be a match made in heaven, but it’s most certainly good for us both. Big risks, huge rewards.”
“If we live through it,” Skelton agreed, darkly. “And I’m kinda addicted to living.”
“Got a lot to live for, myself,” Helton agreed. “So, deal? Or live cautious and scared like a rabbit?”
Skelton glowered at them all. “A live rabbit sounds better than a dead fool…. Why do they want you so bad?”
Helton smiled, then shrugged. “Too many parking tickets.” Skelton looked back skeptically.
Allonia spun the little chip slowly in her fingers. “Well, it’s like this. I’m a genetically engineered super-soldier, the ship is an ancient warship with a fully self-aware AI that can fly into the Deep and has racked up a body-count in the billions, we found a Planet Mover translation guide and the Planet Mover we met said we were reading it correctly, we have planet-buster sized missile warheads, and have taken over a pre-blackout robot military moon. That combo makes people uncomfortable for some reason.”
Skelton gave her a dirty look. “Hey, look, if you don’t want to tell me, just say so.”
Helton smiled a see what I mean? look at her. “You were right. A comfortable lie is much more easily believed than an uncomfortable truth,” Allonia replied blandly. “Guess we’ll stick with being on the run after offing the councilor’s son in self-defense.”
Skelton nodded. “Now that I can believe, and work with. Gotta be more than that, though, for nukes.” He sniffed thoughtfully, eyeing each in turn.
Brother Libra fixed his piercing gaze on Skelton. “Why don’t you follow the rules and set up a regular business?”
Skelton paused a moment before answering, wondering what the monk might b
e driving at. “Rules are for chumps. The game’s rigged, and you can’t get ahead if you are not already connected. The rich get richer, the poor get poorer if you do. I want nice things, but I want them honestly. Can’t do that playing by the rules.”
“Exactly. You are in business to connect people with the things they want, and The Man just takes what it wants at gunpoint with a badge and a law.” Skelton nodded agreement, still not quite sure about it. “Helton got kicked, but won’t just bend over. He refuses to go along and just take his meager cut for doing all the work. People want to believe the system is fair, and only go along with it so long as they do. When they realize they’ve been cheated, they won’t move unless they think it’s safe to do so, because they don’t want to lose what little they have. They don’t want to get stepped on.
“We have the tools to blow that system wide open. Let people know they’ve been had, and give them the information they need to target the people who are the problem. What they do then is up to them.”
“And I’m sure you’d like to be well-positioned to take advantage of that chaos, right?” Kaminski amplified, knowingly.
“Yeah, sounds great. But you’re bringing a whole lot of heat I really don’t need.”
“And a whole lot of money you do.”
Skelton held out his hand to Allonia for her data chip. “It better be worth it. Y’all owe me.”
“Nobody owes anyone anything. All debts are paid when we lift. But it’ll be worth it to do business. I think you’ll be surprised at the little nuggets of data I managed to pull out of him.” She tossed it to him. “Dare you to pass veridicator after reading that and tell me it wasn’t.”
“No bet. Not going under that for nothing, chickadee.”
Techs
Henery Stenson paced back and forth, around in a large circle, or demarcating a large square about the perimeter of the landing pad where the AI test assemblage stood inert but awaiting startup. Several other engineers paced about the same area, tossing out ideas, drinking coffee, and trying to figure out what they were missing. More than fifty test runs, some spectacular failures, some completely unimpressive fade-outs, nothing stable. Everyone was perplexed at it. Bipasha entered from of one of the passages that lead to a cafeteria, carrying a plate of sandwiches and another carafe of coffee.