by Dani Kollin
But he didn’t have the luxury to mourn. The Alliance was in trouble and he had a job to do. He sat in the secure room wondering if it had been the same one in which he’d had his inauspicious discussion with Eleanor. He’d been in all the rooms so often lately they were starting to blend together. He used to be able to tell them apart by their subtle cues. Now he no longer bothered to look for them. He just walked into whichever room the meeting had been assigned to and got down to brass tacks. Present in the current one were Kirk Olmstead, Janet Delgado Black, Joshua Sinclair, Mosh Mackenzie, and finally Tyler Sadma, as head of the committee on the prosecution of the war. They were all standing, politicians on one side and military on the other. Justin noted that no one was talking to Kirk. He also saw that Janet had not bothered to fully heal and remove the scars on her face and hand. Somehow it hadn’t detracted from her appearance but, rather, had accentuated what was left of the cold beauty that remained. When he sat down the rest of the group followed.
Justin looked to Kirk. “I had a report from you saying that we had a year of clear sailing. Two weeks later we lose the second-largest settlement in the belt. Care to explain?”
“Mr. President,” proffered Kirk, “near as we can tell, it was a fluke. It looks like the squadron on picket duty just up and decided to violate orders.”
“Oh, so we have nothing to worry about then?”
“You can worry, Justin,” said Janet.
“Kinda scares the crap out of me too,” added Sinclair. “We got back full reports from Eros before the surrender. It was a brilliant attack. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve sworn J.D. or Christina had planned it.” Even given the grim circumstances, Justin saw that Tyler Sadma beamed at the mention of his niece’s name in such a positive light.
Janet continued where Sinclair had left off. “That commodore had minimal resources, no real marine force to speak of, and the worst ships in the war. And in less than a half hour he won. Bastard’s good.”
“OK,” said Justin, coming to grips with the situation, “the UHF finally got someone who knows how to fight. We were hoping for more time, but it had to happen eventually.”
Kirk spoke up again. “He’s barely a commodore, sir. More like a captain with delusions of grandeur. I have some basic biographical data here.” Kirk made copies of his report available to everyone’s console. They spent the next minute reading. Justin took note of Trang’s infamous report to the Terran Confederation assembly and resolved to review it later. But what he did manage to read did not make him feel secure. This guy, he realized, might be another Janet, and he’d very much liked having the only one.
Justin looked up from the console. “What will this loss do to us, Politically, militarily, and economically?”
“Mr. President,” answered Mosh, “Politically it’s not good. This is the first real loss of Alliance territory. We’ve been trying to prepare ourselves for the fact that we cannot defend all of the territory we have against the resources of the UHF, but the truth is, we’ve done exactly that for nearly two years. A lot of people are scared. If it can happen to Eros, it can happen to anyplace in the belt and beyond. Economically the impact will be limited. Eros was the major settlement on the far side of the belt, but others will be able to fill in the gap in terms of basic ser vices and support. The war effort will definitely take a hit. Eros was developing into a base for major rail gun construction, and let’s be honest, it was a hell of a good place to go for R & R or S & R, as the Erosians like to say. But I suppose the fleshpots of Ceres will have to pick up the slack.”
“We should put aside such frivolities until the crisis is passed,” said Sadma.
“I don’t know about you, Mr. Sadma,” warned J.D., “but my spacers have earned the right to such ‘frivolities’ and I wouldn’t want to be the one to tell them that they’ve been removed for the good of the revolution.”
“What are the military consequences?” asked Justin, getting the topic back on track.
“Well, we’re not totally screwed,” answered Sinclair. A holographic projection of the entire belt floated above the table. “The belt is almost organic in how commerce and personnel flow around the circle in both directions. Many voyagers used to jump the core before the war, but not everyone. Often trade and people bump and stop along the great circle, much like neurons firing in the brain. Since the war, though, all trade, knowledge, and military activity has to go around the circle.”
Sinclair highlighted the part of the belt that contained Eros. “If the Federation is dumb, they’ll start grabbing parts of the belt closest to the core. Annoying for us, but as long as the ring is intact we can deal with it. But if the bastards use Eros as they should and push out across the belt, they can cut off the flow of the ring. And that, my friends, will play holy hell with the economy of the Alliance, not to mention morale.”
“How so?” asked Justin.
“Well, put it this way,” said Sinclair, making the holodisplay zoom into two small asteroid settlements within a few thousand miles of each other. “If the ring gets cut off, then getting to your next-door supply depot will mean that instead of traveling in a 20-degree arc …” The image now widened out to show the entire belt. “… you’ll have to do a 340… kinda like scratching your left ear with your right hand.”
“Helluva long way to go for sushi,” groused Mosh.
“Sorry, no sushi’s that good,” added Janet.
“Exactly,” said Sinclair, “though I know a little place on—” He stopped himself when he saw the look of impatience on Justin’s face.
Justin acknowledged Sinclair and then added another question: “What’s the morale like now, Tyler?”
“About what you’d expect, Mr. President. Each Belter settlement of more than ten thousand is demanding J. D. Black come to their rock and bring the fleet to protect them and only them. The Erosians are screaming that we need to drop everything and liberate them from the despicable occupation. Though from what we can tell, the Federation is actually behaving quite well. Hate to say it, but it would be better for us if they didn’t. I’ve been trying not to remind the Erosian delegation that it was their request which replaced the combat officer with the cop.”
“Malcolm Strummer is a good assault miner,” said Janet. “It’s my fault for letting him be put in a situation he wasn’t trained for.”
“You don’t get that one, Janet,” said Justin. “You never trained to be an admiral, I never trained to be president, and Tyler never trained to be a congressman. We all do the best we can. Was Captain Strummer ordered to go?”
“He volunteered,” said Sinclair.
“Then it was his choice,” Justin said flatly. “The truth is we’re stretched everywhere and can’t defend all our space. If we try, we’ll end up defending none of it. Still, best not to rub the Erosians’ noses in the past. We need some workable options. Get together and give me some.” Justin stood to go and the rest of the room stood and waited for him to leave before dealing with the unenviable task of having too much space and too little of everything else.
Eros
Trang had been right. The ships had contained more orbital batteries, ten more to be exact. The only reason they hadn’t been assembled and placed in position as soon as they arrived was that the Erosian council did not want to assign the work crews without having the compensation clearly worked out in advance. Trang thought he would’ve shot them if they tried that crap with him, but not two hours later his order to assemble the batteries had been met with a request to discuss the compensation of the work crews. Instead of shooting the bastards like they deserved, he did the next best thing. He paid them and charged Fleet Command. He even paid double since they’d have to wait for payment. But he figured it was worth it both for the fit it would cause those penny-pinching bastards in appropriations and the fact that soon he’d have fourteen orbital batteries. Besides, for the first time in his career he could do what he wanted. It was true that he was only acting commodore pending furth
er review by the promotion board, but as far as the public was concerned he could do no wrong. For himself he found he really didn’t give a damn. It was nice for the cover it gave him from his own higher-ups, but he knew how fickle public acclaim could be in war. He’d treat it like a sunny day in winter. Enjoyable, but not expecting it to last.
He was happy about the effect it was having on his long-suffering wife. The poor woman had spent de cades dealing with family and friends who told her she’d married down. But she’d stuck with him anyway. For her he’d put up with the public adoration while it lasted. But he knew the Alliance was not going to take his occupation lying down.
Fleet Command had sent him twenty thousand marines to secure Eros and the surrounding suburbs, but so far they hadn’t sent him any more ships. According to them, the tactical situation hadn’t changed. The main Alliance fleet was at Ceres, a full 180 degrees from Eros. If they decided to send their ships to retake Eros, the UHF would have plenty of time to send reinforcements. Trang hated to admit it, but they were probably right. But what the fledgling commodore could not get through command’s head was that he didn’t want the ships for the defense of Eros. He wanted them for attack. With fifty ships he could take and hold a swath of the belt that would split it down the middle. The Alliance was vulnerable and he knew it, but no one was listening. All new ships, he was curtly informed, were being sent to Mars to deal with a rumored new attack on the capital by the Alliance.
The only bright spot in the spate of timorousness he’d had to deal with was the news that his wife might be allowed to visit. Fleet seemed to think it would make good press back home. Trang couldn’t help thinking a bold offensive that cut the Alliance in half would make good press too.
Ceres
Justin realized if he needed to butter up a politician or a VIP, they became more amenable to suggestions when on the famous terrace where he’d given so many of his speeches. A picture of himself and the visitor had become practically de rigueur. The whole veranda thing hadn’t been his idea. It had been Neela’s, and damned if it didn’t work like a charm. While he’d already removed her picture from his desk, he wasn’t prepared to remove her good ideas, even if they brought forth a flood of painful memories.
He now found himself sitting across from Janet. He was wearing a casual V-neck jumpsuit and flip-flops and was leaning back on a small couch. Janet sat stiffly across from him. She was poised, almost prim, thought Justin. But she hadn’t been invited onto the veranda for mollification. She not only didn’t need it, but she also would’ve viewed it as a ridiculous waste of time. No, the reason Justin had asked her into the hallowed space was because he was worried about her.
“How you feelin’?” he finally asked.
“Meaning no disrespect, sir, but please do us both a favor and cut to the chase.”
Justin’s smile was one of concern. “We can’t win the war without you, Janet. Plus, I made a promise to Manny that I’d look after you.”
Janet winced and shifted uncomfortably at the sound of her long-lost lover’s name.
“I ordered my people into battle, Justin. A battle they had little chance of winning.”
“You also could’ve won the war, Janet, right then and there. What if the enemy panicked or the batteries hadn’t been operational? You had to fight that battle.”
Janet sighed. “You don’t think I know that? Of course I had to. My spacers knew it too. And on some strange level they love me for it. But I did order their deaths, Justin, and as sure as Hektor’s a scumbag I know with absolute certainty that I’ll do it again and again and again if the situation warrants. But that’s a hard thing to do.”
“So what are you doing to cope? I mean, when I can, I swim.”
“Yeah,” answered Janet, nodding. “I heard about that.”
“Sadly, I don’t have as much time as I used to.”
She nodded sympathetically.
“So?”
Janet looked at him quizzically.
“What’s your out?”
“I believe, Justin.”
Now it was Justin’s turn at befuddlement.
“You believe?”
Janet nodded.
“In what?”
“In God.”
“Oh,” said Justin almost contritely.
“You didn’t know, did you?”
“Well, I’ve had my suspicions, but no, not entirely. Is this new or were you always so inclined?” Justin felt it imprudent to add the words “to wild flights of imagination.”
“Pretty recently, I’d have to say.”
Though the conversation had drifted far afield of where Justin had intended, he saw that the effect of it was a much more relaxed J. D. Black. She seemed, he noticed, almost at ease when discussing the topic. And since that’s ultimately what he wanted, he wasn’t inclined to stop her.
“I’d always been taught,” she continued, now leaning back into the couch, “that religion was dangerous. That it had been the destroyer of our world. But as I looked around and saw the extent and, to put it simply, absolute evil of the Federation and what it’s come to stand for, I came to the realization that man, left unchecked, may be far worse.”
“Meaning?”
“Look at us, Justin. Look what we’ve become. We’re our own gods. So much so that Hektor can convince himself that the enslavement of billions of souls, not to mention the suspension and psyche audit of millions more, is a good thing. A good thing. And then I realized that yeah, that made sense. If we have no arbiter for what ‘good’ is, then it’s up to us and us alone to define it. Well, Hektor sure has defined what ‘good’ is in his eyes, and it to put it mildly, it ain’t at all pretty.”
Justin exhaled heavily. Janet was stating the classic definition of moral relativism. He’d heard it over and over again, but it had always been out of context, or at least out of context for him. He’d lived in a mostly beautiful world and hadn’t had to worry himself about good and evil so much—just the markets. He’d been protected, and as long as he gave charitably then he supported “good.” But now things were different. Even though he himself professed no affinity toward religion, Janet had a point. Hektor was evil—pure and simple—and the irony was that it wasn’t only the man himself who couldn’t see it but also the billions who were following him.
“So I’ve been giving it a lot of thought,” Janet continued, “and at the end of it all I believe it’s this: There has to be a purpose to it all. All this permanent death has to have a reason. I don’t need to know what that purpose is or how it’ll ultimately play out—pretty arrogant to think I could—but I need to believe that what’s happening to us now is not just random.”
“And you find that religion helps?” asked Justin, genuinely intrigued.
“More than you could possibly imagine,” she answered. She stared wistfully out over the veranda and then asked a question almost as an afterthought. “Do you think I’ll see Manny again?”
“I don’t know,” answered Justin, watching her intently. “I hope you do. I know I’d like to believe that I’ll see my first wife again and …” His voice caught. “Neela again. But I just don’t know.”
Janet didn’t respond. She continued staring out over the veranda.
“Why do you still have the scars, Janet?”
She turned back to him. The wistful haze was gone.
“There’s a price to be paid in war. Every time I look in the mirror I see a little part of that price. It reminds me of what’s at stake and what I and others under my command must never forget or take for granted. What we do costs. If I have to keep some scars to remind me and all who see me of that cost, so be it.”
Justin nodded. “Will you keep them for good?”
Janet shrugged. “I don’t know, Justin. It’s not a decision I need to make right now.” She then leaned forward and uncharacteristically took Justin’s hand. “Listen, I always thought she was a bit of a pretentious lower-class snob, and to be quite honest I never really liked
her, but I am truly sorry about what happened. If we can get her back we will.”
She doesn’t know, thought Justin. As he kept a perfectly blank expression, all he was able to utter was, “Thank you.”
“I have to get back, Justin,” she said, releasing his hand, straightening her back, and giving a proper salute. “Mr. President.” And with that she turned on her heels and left.
Christina Sadma looked over the final reports. She would never have told anyone, but she was nervous. Well, she thought, I may have told Omad, but only if we were drinking and in bed. Their affair was not well known in the fleet, as their “meetings” had been very rare. They’d both agreed that they had so much in common it may have been inevitable. They’d both been born in space and felt more comfortable in its frigid environs, had as part of their psychological makeup a fierce desire to succeed, and had ventured out on their own, achieving majority within a year of each other. They were both from mining stock and both liked to drink. Omad wasn’t as much of a lush as his reputation had made him out to be—at least not anymore—nor was Christina as much of an Erisian prude as hers had made her out to be. One point of difference had been that while Omad had been perfectly at ease planetside, Christina, having never actually set foot on one, could not fathom the idea. She wasn’t even sure how she felt about Omad, but their synergy in bed had been determined by what she felt with him—unbridled passion.
Christina continued to rifle through the reports, eyeing the details with some trepidation. The pit in her stomach remained steadfast. On the bright side, she thought, sighing heavily, at least I’m getting used to it. After some more consideration she decided not to confide her doubts to Omad. She knew as certainly as a corporate executive would skim her dividends, Omad would never have admitted fear to her. In the end she’d decided to confide in Admiral Black.