by Daniel Gibbs
While the woman's Russian was accented, and at points Pavel struggled to understand it, he could feel the weariness in her words. He gave his brother a careful glance but said nothing.
"Captain, we have a firing solution," said their gunner, Nadya Vasilyev. "Missiles are locked, and particle cannons are coming into range."
Piotr visibly wrestled with his anger. He couldn't ignore the evidence they had. The League was indeed plotting. But this woman had deceived them once already, and it could all be a trick. Trusting her, trusting the people who were protecting her, was asking too much.
Piotr silenced the line and looked to his brother. "Brother, I am torn. Are you?"
Pavel's tone remained reserved as he spoke. "I still feel fury at Vasily's fate, but he would want us to serve the needs of Cyrilgrad and the Church, brother. Consider the facts. Consider that the League have military ships prowling about the region, but have yet to make a move against Cyrilgrad. She is right. They plot, Piotr, and God help us if they succeed in whatever it is."
Piotr went silent for several more moments, leaving Pavel to consider his thoughts. He could see the shift in Piotr's expression that told him the conflict was over. Piotr's finger triggered the channel again. "Captain of Shadow Wolf, this is Piotr Sergeevich Tokarev," he said, speaking English once more. "We are standing down. I have one request, however."
Henry was the one who replied. "And what is that?"
The Tokarevs shared grins. "That you tell us what your plan is," Piotr answered. "If you are out to hurt League, we wish to help."
With the Tokarevs breaking off their attack, Miri was no longer needed to deal with them. She returned Oskar's commlink to him and said, "Thank you."
"You're welcome," he replied. She could see the sadness in his eyes. "You were being honest with them. I can tell. You would exchange your life for this Vasily?"
"I would. I'm tired of people dying because of me."
"Yes. The Socialization camp." Oskar lowered his eyes. "I was in the rotation of medical staff for one before I fled. I saw the things they did to people there. It opened my eyes and introduced me to guilt."
Miri put her hand on his shoulder in sympathy. "Then, from one guilty being to another, thank you for your help." She slid off the table before he could protest. Her leg was moving now, though it was still stiff. "I need to see someone. I won't go far."
Oskar nodded and glanced toward Caetano. The haggard woman, effectively an exile now, was sound asleep on another bed. "I’ll be here if you need me," he promised.
Miri nodded in acknowledgment before walking out the hatch. It wasn't a long trip to the galley.
Kepper was there, still under al-Lahim's watchful eye, eating out of a small container of what looked to be yogurt. He glanced up when she came in and flashed her a companionable smile, as if he hadn't attacked her, shot her, and did everything he could to drag her to the League to be tortured and spaced.
That wasn't why Miri frowned at him, though. Nor was that the reason she stomped up and leaned over the table. "Did you kill Vasily?"
Kepper stared at her, unperturbed. "Who?"
"The Harr'al who was watching out for me in Sektatsh," she elaborated. "He was a convert to the Russian Old Rite Church. Did you kill him?"
The response was more bemusement than anything else. Kepper gave her a small grin and leaned back in his chair. "He was a loose end. You've been in the game before. You know what happens to loose ends."
"He was harmless," Miri retorted. "He just wanted to live his life."
Kepper shrugged. "Yeah, well, life's not fair. We roll with it the same as anyone. It’s not like you can do anything about it anyway. Nor would you. You're after bigger game, and I'm the guy who's going to show you the way."
He’s right. Miri hated herself for knowing it. She straightened her back and turned to walk away.
"So what will you be doing once this is over?" Kepper asked.
She turned back to face him. "What do you mean?"
He glanced up. "I mean, you've got skills. Put them to use in the right way, and you can become a very, very rich woman."
"Maybe, but I became a spacer so I wouldn't have to use them ever again," she answered.
"Huh. Real shame, then." Without another word, Kepper returned to his food.
The return of the Shadow Wolf to Trinidad Station received substantially more fanfare than the ship's usual arrivals.
Henry suspected the Morozova's presence had something to do with that. With both ships berthing on Arm 3, Henry, Tia, and Miri didn't have to go far to meet up with the Tokarevs. In person, they weren't quite as intimidating, physically anyway. There was an intensity in the elder brother's eyes, which, coupled with his thick beard, gave Piotr the kind of aura a particularly formidable priest or monk might possess. Pavel, with a matching beard, had the countenance of a learned man and a clever one. They were as interested in his appearance and Tia's, it seemed.
Finally, Piotr extended a hand and spoke in halting English, "Is good to meet you, Captain Henry. Look into you after we talk. Good things, mostly."
"I've heard the same about you," Henry answered diplomatically. In his view, it was more of a mixed thing. The Tokarevs had a reputation for being the nicer kind of pirate, as in the type willing to accept protection money and who didn't kill you to enjoy it. But then again, sometimes they weren't the nicer kind of pirate, especially with those they suspected of working with the League. They tended to space people they connected with the League, as well as Leaguers themselves.
Beggars can't be choosers in this fight. Henry listened to Miri say something in Russian. It was not a language he was familiar with.
She noticed his interest and tilted her head toward him. "I'm offering to translate for them. Their English is, as you noticed, fairly spotty." Piotr said something, and she nodded to him. "They've agreed."
"Here comes Linh," Tia said.
Chief Khánh did indeed approach, a collection of armed men and women behind her, along with what Henry figured was the Dockworkers Guild representative he asked for. She gave them a perturbed look. "You're back already, your ship's been messed with, and you've got the Tokarev brothers with you," she said. "What've you done to be so unlucky?"
"That's not the half of it," Henry said. He held up a data disk. "Once you see and hear these logs from the Shadow Wolf, and the ones from the Morozova… well, that's why I asked to see the Council of Guilds and brought the Tokarevs along. This is bigger than any of us."
Khánh looked to the man beside her. When he spoke English, it was with a Keralan accent. "Everyone, I'm Jagdish Sathasivam, Chief Secretary of the Dockworkers Guild. Explain to me what's going on, and I will have our people bring you before the Council of Guilds."
9
The benefit of modern medicine, even in neutral space, was in the speed with which Ascaro's prosthetic hand became useful to her. After a few days of testing and therapy, she could use it to a reasonable level. Then, within the year, a cloned replacement would be ready to be attached.
It was a small piece of good news to balance out the bad. Lusitania was still under martial law. While the police were treating her supporters lightly, they were still subjected to the full weight of military rule, including the mandatory sundown-to-sunrise curfew planet-wide. There was no news being given about the surviving Cabinet ministers, if there were any.
With her hand functional and the other wounds healed, Ascaro was at least free to leave the hospital. She’d made arrangements for an automated taxi to pick her up and bring her to the rented apartment home she used while in the capital. Once home, she would have to get to work.
The sad truth was that she was the only leader of a democratic party still alive, as the Democratic-Labor Party and the Party for Democratic Reform had lost almost all of their legislators in the bombing, and the survivors were not their leading members. The same held for the Socialists, who were a mostly-Democratic party—Ascaro thought their economic policies too ea
sily lent themselves to undermining civil rights. Their lead legislators were dead or so severely wounded, they were still recovering.
Therefore, for the next several days, at least, Ascaro was the only person alive who could rally the democratic parties. She had to act accordingly.
This was why she felt hesitant when, instead of her standard taxi, an automated limo pulled up, complete with a backup driver whose sole job was to take over if necessary. The flag of Lusitania fluttered on the corners of the vehicle. A door swung open, and a figure stepped out. She recognized him as Mustafa ibn Omar el-Kabir, the chief of staff to President Vargas. "His Excellency was gratified to hear of your recovery, Madame Assemblywoman," el-Kabir stated in accented Portuguese. "He would like to speak to you now."
To say this situation was highly irregular was an understatement. The President of Lusitania did not usually summon Assembly members, even party leaders, to personal meetings, not without Cabinet approval.
In fact, by practice, there was little the President could do without Cabinet approval. Theoretically, he was in charge, especially with the government decimated. By law, he could even assert complete control until elections were held, if the Cabinet was indisposed. But that would fly in the face of centuries of Lusitanian parliamentary practice and be a violation of Vargas' approach to his office in the process.
So if he was inviting her, Vargas was either going much further than he usually did as President, or whatever Cabinet was left was behind this. It could be a way to make me disappear.
El-Kabir seemed to recognize her worries. "His Excellency understands your concerns, Madame Assemblywoman. These are troubling times. That is why he wishes to see you. I am here to ensure the RSS does not interfere."
Ascaro considered him for a moment. His voice, how he spoke, the tone of his words. She wanted to reassure herself she was judging him correctly, knowing the high stakes she was facing. Martzel and the kids are in Zalain by now. Hopefully, they stay there.
Ultimately, she knew she was in no position to turn down the President of the Republic, much less insult him. She flashed a small smile at el-Kabir and said, "I'm honored." After he gestured, she slipped into the limo. It was a state-owned vehicle, with deflector shielding to protect from small arms fire, electronic counter-measures to thwart man-portable missiles, and luxury to fit a monarch. She eased into the plush leather seat and spied the mini-bar, which had several delectable choices from the finest liquors and wines available.
When el-Kabir offered to pour her one, she refused. He put the glasses down and said, "If that is your choice, but don't feel you need to abstain for my sake, Madame Assemblywoman. I'm used to seeing Christians and others drinking alcohol."
"I'd rather not risk my sobriety," she assured him.
"Ah. Wise. These times certainly require sobriety."
The vehicle moved on, under automated control, with the backup driver ready to assume control in a crisis. From the windows, Ascaro could see Gamavilla and noted how empty it felt. Sundown was still an hour and a half away, yet it seemed nobody was out. The military and security services, the police, martial law seemed to chase everyone off.
As if he were reading her mind, he said, "Yes, it is an unfortunate product of the martial law decree. But it will at least keep the people safe."
Ascaro eyed el-Kabir carefully, to see if he had anything further to say, but he didn't.
The Presidential Palace wasn't far from the Parliament Building. It was modeled after the magnificent palaces of old Lisbon back on Earth, with a touch of Moroccan palatial elements to give it a different feel. The vehicle pulled up to the private entrance. Uniformed soldiers of the Army's Capital Defense Regiment greeted them.
Through a series of halls, which grew more and more furnished and well-carpeted as they went, Ascaro found herself brought into a room with a large, artisan-made paneled window currently covered by a curtain.
Emiliano Vargas was in a leather chair awaiting her arrival, it would seem. He glanced at her and smiled, making her think of her grandfather with his crown of silver hair around his bald head and the thick silver beard and mustache. "Assemblywoman Ascaro, thank you for coming," he said. "I'm gratified to see you are doing well."
"Thank you, Mister President," she said, switching to Vargas' preferred address for in-person communication. "I didn't anticipate such an invitation."
"It is overdue," Vargas said. "Prime Minister Raisuni, God rest his soul, thought it unwise for me to extend the invitation while you remained a harsh critic of the government. But I find your ideas and stances interesting."
Ascaro bit down the bitter, angry part of her. The part that was tired of being condescended to for daring to stand up for the civil rights of Lusitania's people. "What do you consider interesting about my politics, Mister President?"
"That they are expressed with such intensity and passion despite the political environment," said Vargas. "So many of our people consider the Estado Novo as necessary to protect us from the war. You wish to dismantle it."
"I believe we don't need to give up our rights to remain neutral. All this talk about foreign influences and the need to restrain them is to justify the wielding of state power, nothing more," Ascaro said, unable to keep the fervor from her voice. "It's an old story, Mister President. For centuries, the cry of 'national security' has been the appeal of the oppressor."
"You don't believe in securing the institutions of our nation?"
"There's a difference between practical security, to protect people physically, and persecution over opinions," she asserted.
Vargas seemed to consider her words with a thoughtful look crossing his old face. "I recall the days before the Estado Novo was established," he said. "There were years where we had three elections and four different Governments. The Socialists would call for general strikes whenever they lost a vote in the Assembly, and regional governments would refuse to cooperate with national rulings they didn't like."
Ascaro nodded. "Yes, and it could be chaotic. But our nation worked. Our people expressed their political opinions openly and freely. They didn't have to hide them for fear of losing their jobs or being arrested. They didn't have to worry about being beaten by the RSS for so-called 'anti-constitutional activity'."
"We never faced something like the League entry into Sagittarius then," Vargas pointed out. "Their war with the Coalition threatens to pull in every human-inhabited world, if not more. The agents of both operate among us, even with the Estado Novo's laws. In the old democracy, they'd be suborning entire parties."
This was a familiar argument to Ascaro, and a difficult one. Both belligerents had appealing cases to sway neutrals with. The Coalition waved the banner of freedom, choice, and religion. The League appealed to those who wanted to change the system and end economic inequality, promising a galaxy of equals sharing the wealth of their worlds. Each had means of appealing to the populace of the neutral worlds.
After considering his words, she spoke again. "Sometimes, you have to have faith." Her eyes focused on Vargas, as if she were pleading a personal case to him, not discussing political ideas. "You have to believe in people. Our people. You have to believe they'll do what's right for our world."
"That's not an easy thing. People disappoint. They act for short-term benefits. Such behavior is why Earth got to the point our ancestors left it."
"Maybe so. But what's better? An active democratic community, where many voices are heard and many ideas expressed, which might allow for persuasion to reach the people? Or an authoritarian state where the only voices are the ones the leaders want speaking. Only their ideas are expressed, and instead of persuasion, they employ force? How would we end up if such people were in charge, and their desire for short-term benefit ruined our world?"
A chuckle came from Vargas. "Well put, Madame Assemblywoman, well put." He looked up as the door opened. "Ah, the Prime Minister is here."
Ascaro turned, wondering who survived among the Cabinet. When she saw Car
valho, her heart sank. He was Caetano's chief of staff. Caetano would be undefeatable if she was wielding the ultimate power and had the bombings to justify her suppressions.
Thus she was relieved, if perplexed, to see Duarte Vitorino follow him in, dressed as elegantly as always. He spotted her, and the genial look on his face slipped slightly. "Assemblywoman Ascaro," he said. "I was unaware you were already here." He looked with some consternation toward Vargas.
Vargas smiled pleasantly. "I arranged for the Assemblywoman to get a ride here. I'm afraid I got your time of arrival wrong, Prime Minister. My apologies."
Ascaro stopped herself from staring at Vargas. Just what kind of game is he playing? He'd broken the usual protocol that governed the Presidency's relation to the Cabinet by seeing her privately without consulting the Prime Minister. Was he trying to undermine Vitorino? Or was he setting her up to be in conflict with the former Trade Minister?
Other thoughts came to her. Vitorino as Prime Minister? Even if he was the only surviving minister, that didn't sound like something he'd do. He struck her as the type who preferred others to deal with the daily grind of ruling the country as a whole. She could see him as a grey eminence within a cabinet, pulling strings behind the scene through business contacts and private meetings, but sitting in the PM's chair?
There was also Carvalho's presence. He was, to her experience, nothing but a coldly vicious fascist loyal to the PdDN. What was he doing working for Vitorino?