by Dani Kollin
After a moment the President’s lips parted into a sly grin. “Like I said, I don’t understand you, Sam, but I’m glad you’re here.”
“It’s not really my money, sir. I only have it because of the war. If I earned it as some say it’s only because of the blood and death of the spacers and marines under me. That’s money I don’t want, ever. It should go back to them. But something tells me you didn’t call me all the way over from the 180 to discuss charities and my sterling character.”
“Sam,” Hektor said, nodding in agreement and then finishing off his drink, “I’ll be straight with you. If we don’t have a clear-cut victory in Alliance territory in the next three months the war is pretty much over.”
Trang put his glass of bourbon down. “Mr. President, I can guarantee in a year the belt will be broken. It’s just numbers and we have them. The Alliance is cracking. It would’ve happened sooner, but they managed to shore up their lines with the reinforcements from their new trauma treatment, but it’s only delaying the inevitable outcome. The more we throw at them, the more they’ll have to split their defense. My attacks are orchestrated to make them thin out at all points while I quietly build up a massive force at Eros. Once both of our sides are exhausted I’ll send the second, overwhelming wave and the depleted Alliance fortifications will shatter all at once like a cheap crystal glass.” Trang produced a data card from his pocket and then connected it to the holo in the coffee table.
“This area here shows the thinning that’s already taken place. We’re not attacking here anymore because it’s already been thinned out enough and they don’t have enough reserves to rebuild. Here’s the projection showing how the Alliance has to respond given the manpower differences. When the belt cracks we’ll have half their population and many of their accessible resources. I can only hope they won’t scatter but will stick around to defend Ceres. If they do that, the war will end because we’ll be able to have it out with the bulk of their fleet in one location, but we have to assume the worst. We have to assume they’ll fall back, evacuate Ceres, and make a stand in the outer systems. But then it’ll be fleet-to-fleet combat and we can choose our place of attack better than they can. They may be willing to end the war when all hope of victory is gone, but if not, it’ll be only a year or two more.”
Hektor reviewed the material with a detached deference. “Sam,” he said, turning away from the graphs, “I’m sure everything you’re telling me here is true. In fact, I don’t doubt a single word. But we don’t have a year.” Hektor manipulated the holo-panel and replaced Trang’s presentation with one of his own. It showed a series of graphs, surveys, polls, and projections. It may not have been Trang’s area of expertise, but he was able to ascertain the message.
He exhaled deeply. “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”
“We’re not advertising it, I can assure you, but the truth is, the public is tired of the war. It’s been five years, and other than Eros and the space around it, we really don’t have much more than we started with. Yes, you’ve plowed your way through millions of miles of rocks, but in the public’s mind that’s all they are—rocks. We can’t jump the belt, Tully showed us the folly of that, and all we’ve been doing is getting ground up inside of it. Every time we go into Alliance space we get the crap beat out of us—no disrespect to you or your forces.”
“None taken, sir,” Trang answered somberly. “It’s the facts. Our troops are getting better over time, but like your charts showed, we may soon be out of that.”
Hektor nodded. “It doesn’t help anymore that every time they wander into our space we beat the crap out of them. The losses have gotten large enough in both traumatized and dead that almost everyone knows someone who’s suffered. And don’t even get me started on the economic havoc. The people don’t see this stalemate ever ending. Which is why we need a win. It can’t be little and it can’t be in our territory, no matter how significant. We need a big victory in their space. We need to take something or do something that even the most obtuse penny can understand and grab on to. Anything less and I may as well call for armistice talks now.”
“We’re so close, Mr. President. How can we just stop after five years of blood and sacrifice? They have to realize what will happen if the solar system stays split down the middle.”
“Some do, Sam, but not enough. This has been Cord’s plan all along. He doesn’t have to win the war. He just has to survive it. If we keep our will, we cannot lose this war. If we lose it, we cannot win. So back to the question: Can you get us that victory in three months, or do we quit now? I’m not going to waste any more lives if it’s not going to do any good.”
Trang furrowed his brow, leaned back into his chair, and exhaled deeply. All the information about the war was pounding in his brain. He did have a plan, any good officer had backup contingencies, but the one he was thinking of was incredibly risky—especially when faced with opponents as good as the ones in the belt. Maybe even harder—having to bury the plan he’d been nurturing since he took command of all the UHF forces. Trang took another deep breath and nodded solemnly.
“It’s possible, sir.”
“Let me be clear, Admiral,” Hektor said, staring hard into the man’s eyes. “You are ordered to win. You may use what ever means necessary and what ever resources you have. If you have to take an action that has moral or legal ramifications, I’m again ordering you to ignore them. Just win.”
“I’d better get started then, sir.”
“Yes, you had,” said Hektor, getting up out of his chair. With that Trang sprang up, saluted, and left the office practically running for his shuttle.
Soon after Trang had departed, Neela emerged from a side office.
“Do you think he can do it?” Hektor asked.
Neela considered her answer. “I know he thinks he can do it. You rigged the projections, though, didn’t you?”
Hektor smiled mischievously. “Well, maybe a little. It’s more like six months, but truthfully, I have no idea what the margin of error will be.”
Neela nodded. “You’re right about him. It’s remarkable that with all he could ask for and all that I’m quite sure he knows you could give him, the only thing he requests is that you safeguard his charity.”
“Honey, I can’t take credit. You were right about him. And by you being right I mean I was completely wrong.”
“I must admit,” Neela said with a giggle, “you know what a girl likes to hear. What are we going to do about his little charity problem?”
Hektor gave the matter some thought and then smiled. “I think this is a problem that Amanda can handle. It involves money, suggestion, and discretion. Plus it’ll require a trip to Earth, with layovers in its more important business centers, and we both know what that means, don’t we?”
“Darling, that’s an inspired suggestion. Of course while she’s gone you and I will not be able to be alone together.”
“Well, screw that then. I’ll just have the SOB shot!”
“Darling, she’ll only be gone for six weeks, two months tops. I do not want to hurt her. The rumors are bad enough, but as long as Amanda is here and is your obvious companion then that’s all they’ll ever be—rumors. If I’m seen entering or leaving a room with you alone while Amanda is on another planet, the rumors turn to gossip, and that’s another category.” She saw he was about to say something and interrupted, “And you will not break up with her when she comes back. Amanda is a sweetheart and my friend. To do that would embarrass her. Besides, she makes a marvelous companion at all the official dinners and balls. She has such an alluring air of maturity about her.”
“Neela, I’d like nothing more than to have you by my side at every one of those functions. You’d be marvelous as my companion, wife, mistress, or anything else.”
“You really think I’d be just as beautiful as Amanda?”
Hektor came up to her, took her in his arms, and said, “Without any doubt—more beautiful.”
Neela snuggled
up close to him and it looked like she was about to kiss him passionately, but she got a pixieish grin on her face when their lips were mere centimeters apart. “You are so whipped.” She twisted gracefully out of his grasp and headed out the door.
Hektor stood uncharacteristically still. He did absolutely nothing but stare at the now-empty space where his mistress had just exited.
“My dear Miss Harper,” he said through a rictus of cruel delight, “you don’t even know the meaning of the word.”
Later that afternoon Hektor got a message from Dr. Wong. By the time he called her back he was looking forward to a conversation not bogged down by the insufferable platitudes of bureaucrats or the interminable indulging of the pennies. He’d clearly forgotten the old adage about being careful what you wished for.
“Doctor,” he said, “what do you have for me? And please don’t tell me it’s a bud get problem.”
“Well,” she answered, a little too straight-faced for his liking, “it doesn’t have to do with my bud get. But we may have a real problem with our … um … postwar plans for the Alliance.”
Hektor knew immediately what she was referring to. He’d known that occupying and controlling an area the size of the Alliance even after a military victory had given them complete military control would be a difficult and expensive task. Especially when every credit would be needed recovering from the devastation of the most destructive war in three centuries. Hektor planned to make extensive use of his secret shadow-auditing program during the postwar reconstruction. If there was a problem with that strategy he needed to know about it as soon as possible.
“I changed my mind, Doc, Make it a bud get problem.”
Wong didn’t laugh. “I did a full profile on the woman you sent over. Sampson was her name.”
“The one with the superstitious belief?”
“That’s the one, but we can’t call it superstition. I can psyche-audit for superstition. Faith is what they call it and it’s a whole other ball of wax.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“We tried a shadow audit after a full mapping.”
“And?”
“It caused a cerebral collapse.”
“What the … she was trip-wired?” asked Hektor, referring to the seldom-used practice of adding sleeper nanites programmed to activate should a brain-altering attempt be made.
“I wish she had been,” answered Wong. “This was not, I repeat: not an artificial defense. Near as we can figure, what happened is when we altered some of her pathways to make her more amenable to a proper way of thinking it created a conflict with her faith and she went catatonic. We thought we had the areas of the brain that deal with faith fully mapped, but when we attempted to alter them we were left with a brain-dead lump.”
“Then let’s do more experimenting,” Hektor said with a hint of desperation.
“Mr. President, I know my job. I requisitioned five more subjects with this faith complex. Every subject I tried the shadow audit on brought about the same or similar result as the Sampson woman. Three were immediately reduced to childlike states and will need reeducating. One was functional, but with obvious impairment, and one went catatonic again. The whole purpose of shadow auditing is to make a change that goes unnoticed or at least appears to be organic in nature. This ain’t it.”
“Doctor,” said Hektor as he nervously ran his fingers through his hair, “given the suspicions the Alliance already has about Neela, if our prisoners were to come out like these test subjects we’d have more unrest than if we left them alone with a crate full of plasma grenades.”
“I’ll keep working on it, Mr. President, but without a major breakthrough it will be enormously difficult to alter a brain against its faith without it being obvious, which of course—”
“—makes shadow auditing useless for my reconstruction plans,” finished Hektor, suddenly looking very tired. “Take as many resources and subjects as you need. Keep me posted. I’ll work on it from another angle.”
When the call ended, Hektor leaned back and thought long and hard about the implications of the conversation. After a few minutes he shook his head and his face twisted into a petulant grin. “Justin Cord, you son of a bitch,” he said, “I didn’t think you had it in you.”
He then straightened up. “iago, call a cabinet meeting and tell them it’s about a new Alliance threat.” Hektor paused. “No … on second thought, tell them it’s about an old Alliance threat.
“You got it, boss.”
The shoreline by the Cerean Sea was ideal for picnicking. Justin hadn’t been back much since Neela had been lost. But Dr. Nesor had somehow managed to get him and Fawa to accept a few hours respite from their busy schedules. Justin was intuitively aware that it wouldn’t be wise to offend one of the leading religious figures in the Alliance. He knew that Fawa wouldn’t have taken offense if he’d refused, but the truth was, he liked and found comfort in the religious leader and could see why Janet had become so enamored of her. Fawa seemed to have a core of peace and certainty that radiated from and around her. He was doubly pleased when he found out that Brother Sampson would be present. Pinning medals on war heroes was one thing; actually getting to spend some quality time with them was another.
Justin soon found himself enjoying a swim with the brother. As they floated on their backs and looked at the “roof” far above, Justin couldn’t help but notice that Sampson had some rather large scars.
Sampson smiled sheepishly. “My sister would call it the sin of pride, and I fear she may be right. But I, like the blessed one, feel that I’ve earned these,” he said, looking onto his torso, “and to remove them now would be a disservice to the memories of ones who are, in this world, now only memory.”
“If your sister’s in the fleet,” said Justin, “we could always ask if she’s keeping hers. Might alleviate the whole ‘sin of pride’ thing.”
Brother Sampson’s normally beaming face suddenly dimmed. “She was recently captured. I haven’t heard from Patricia for over three months now. Notice was sent from the UHF that she was suspended and will be held thus until the end of hostilities.”
“I’m sorry,” said Justin.
“Don’t be. I should be happy that she’s now safe from the dangers of the war, but I …” Sampson didn’t finish his sentence.
“You what?” prodded Justin.
“I know it’s selfish, but I miss our talks. We’d argue for hours on end. But they were wonderful arguments and I … I just can’t escape the feeling that I will not see her again. At least not in this life.”
“I’ll check in on it, Brother. It’s possible that if we get exchanges happening again, we’ll be able to get her traded in the first batch.”
At the beginning of the war both sides had exchanged captured prisoners regularly. This saved both sides the bother of suspending and storing the other side’s soldiers. Unfortunately, one of Trang’s first actions as Grand Admiral of the UHF was to suspend all exchanges indefinitely. He’d figured, correctly, that the exchanges helped the Alliance far more than the UHF. Even when the Alliance offered to exchange three to four UHF soldiers for one Alliance prisoner, Trang had refused. It had caused some resentment in the UHF, but Trang didn’t care; he had the ability to replace his soldiers; the Alliance didn’t.
“I doubt,” said Brother Sampson, “that the misguided though skilled Admiral Trang would do anything so foolish as to reinstitute prisoner trades. And if he does, please do not give my sister any special consideration. She’d find her freedom a burden if she felt that it came at the continued imprisonment of another.”
The call of a woman’s voice over the water informed them that lunch was about to be served. They swam the short distance back to shore, toweled off, and made their way to a picnic table. The next hour and a half was spent eating cold sandwiches and discussing the newly found religious faith sweeping the Alliance. Justin was particularly interested in a conclave being called forth in Alhambra.
“But wh
y do you feel the need to call a religious conclave now?” asked Dr. Nesor.
“When the war started,” answered Fawa, “the communities of belief had adherents in the hundreds of thousands. Now over five years later we have hundreds of millions and the faithful grow in ever-increasing numbers. But they have so many questions and so many fears and so many needs.” Fawa then looked over to Brother Sampson.
“It was felt,” he continued, “that if the greatest imams, priests, rabbis, and monks were to get together we could show the importance and function of our common beliefs as well as our unity of purpose. Faith is one of the greatest and most sublime gifts humanity possesses. But like wealth or talent or love, it’s a gift that can be used badly. Three centuries ago religion was so misused as to almost extinguish humanity. We of the communities of belief are cognizant of the promise and the perils involved with a true and abiding faith. But the newly faithful are not. We must remind them of the dangers and by constant and consistent example show them the way the gift was meant to be used by our heavenly father.”
“It’s a way for his children to find one another,” continued Fawa, “help one another, and rejoice in each other. So we will go to Alhambra, the greatest of our centers of learning. We will have the usual debates, disagreements, and agreements. Once more the Alliance will see that all the faiths are as one in the important matters and will hear our words and know us by our actions.”
Brother Sampson’s face was alight. “Fawa, you have said in a simple paragraph what many of us would have taken two days to express.”
“I am a simple woman in the service of God, so it’s of no surprise and not worthy of notice that I speak simply.”
“You speak clearly and well, Sister,” affirmed Brother Sampson.
“Thank you, Brother. But of course you will join us at the conclave in Alhambra.”
Brother Sampson shook his head. “Please accept my apologies, but I have to report back to duty. The blessed one has seen fit to have me continue as her chaplain.”