"He was the finest soldier I have ever known. Period," said Robinov. "His loss is a great tragedy. But I assure you his sacrifice today will be remembered." He paused then continued. "What I am about to tell you now, Captain Rackham, is highly classified. In seventy-two hours, the entire world will know, but until that time I ask that you exercise discretion and not reveal this information to anyone. Are we clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"In three days time, the New Zealand Special Air Service to which you belong will no longer exist. Nor will the Russian military, or the American military, or any national military for that matter. The leaders of the world are forming an International Fleet, a single global military force that will defend the human race against any future Formic attack. We have been divided throughout the course of this war, Captain, and that division was nearly our undoing. If we remain divided, the Formics will wipe us out of existence. It's time to unite our strengths and resources. I'm sure I need not give the full speech to you."
"No, sir."
"Every active serviceman like yourself will have the option of finishing his years of committed military service with the International Fleet or enlisting with the IF for a new term of service. Our hope is that this announcement will inspire millions of new soldiers to join our cause. The key word here is inspire.
"The Mobile Operations Police will be used as the model for the International Fleet. We'll call MOPs a microcosm of what we hope to achieve on a global scale. If the victory today is reported as a MOPs victory, therefore, we will give Earth clear evidence that an international military is not only possible, but also has already achieved great victories. With less than a dozen MOPs, we brought the Formic army to its knees. Imagine the global security we can provide with a whole army of likeminded soldiers."
Mazer nodded. "So you'll make heroes of Captain O'Toole and the other casualties, and bill this as a MOPs operation in order to build support for and acceptance of the fleet."
"It's propaganda. We recognize that. But it's necessary. This mission must be a MOPs mission. Lem Jukes served his purpose and will be given credit for such, but the soldiers were MOPs."
"Except for me and Shenzu."
"You two break the myth. Shenzu is an asset since he already helped facilitate an alliance between India and China. He embodies the International Fleet, in that sense. Plus the Chinese adore him. When he enlists, millions will do the same."
"Then there's me," said Mazer. "The unknown outsider, the soldier to whom Captain O'Toole gave command. If people know I was involved or led any aspect of this op, suddenly this isn't a MOPs mission since I'm not technically a MOP."
"You see our dilemma."
"It's easily solved, sir. I'll never reveal my involvement in the operation. Mazer Rackham was never here. I don't play the game you'd want me to play anyway. I don't smile for cameras and speak to audiences. There are others far better suited to that."
"I see you are exactly the soldier Captain O'Toole said you are."
"I am the soldier I am largely because of him, sir."
Robinov seemed to relax. "Can I assume then that you will enlist in the International Fleet, Captain?"
"If the paperwork is ready, sir, I'll fill it out right now."
*
Victor was sitting up in bed in a clinic on Luna with his arm and shoulder in an inflatable cast. Several news feeds on the wall-screen showed the live celebrations all over the world. China, the Americas, Europe, Africa. Parades, fireworks, raining confetti, people waving tiny flags to the camera.
"Looks like we're missing the party."
Victor turned. Lem stood at the doorway. "The war's over," said Victor. "That's cause to celebrate."
Lem came and stood by the bed. "Doctor says your surgery went well. Both breaks were clean and easily repaired. You'll make a full recovery." He gestured at the room. "This is a company clinic, so you obviously won't be charged for your care. Anything you want, just say the word, and the nurses will get it. Swiss chocolate. French pastries. Bavarian goat cheese. Go crazy."
"How long do I have to stay here?"
"That's up to you. The doctor is willing to discharge you this evening. Do you have a place to stay?"
"Not exactly."
"We'll put you in one of the company suites. You can stay there for a couple of weeks until you get your own place."
"Thanks, but I don't intend to stay on Luna."
"You haven't even heard my job offer yet. You'd be working directly with Benyawe and her team dismantling and analyzing Formic tech. She told me if I left the clinic without signing you, I was in big trouble."
"I appreciate the offer, but my priority now is to help my family."
"Doing what? Salvage work? You'll help them far more by working for me, Victor. I'd pay you very well. You could transfer what you earn directly to them."
"My family is getting out of the salvage trade. They want to retrofit their ship with mining equipment. Money can't do that. I can."
"Money can do anything, Vico, if there's enough of it."
"What about Imala?"
"What about her?"
"Are you offering her a job as well?"
"My father offered her a job before the invasion. She threw the offer back in his face. He'd never allow me to bring her on after a move like that. And anyway, she's not an engineer, which is what I need."
"I'm not an engineer either."
"You don't have a degree maybe, but you know the principles better than most. I'd rather hire you than ten stuckups with Ph.D.s."
It was a tempting offer. Victor liked Benyawe. And it was the kind of work he had always wanted to do. Meaningful, inventive work. Most of the repairs he had made on El Cavador were fairly mindless--putting sprocket A back with sprocket B. But occasionally the work had required him to throw out a part entirely and build something new from scratch. A better part. A more efficient design. A machine that did everything the previous part did but which required less energy or produced less heat. That was the work he had enjoyed: the meticulous disassembly of something to understand how it operated, followed by the careful application of those principles to build something new. It was exactly what Lem was offering.
The only problem: It was Lem who was offering it.
"I appreciate the offer, Lem, but right now I can't."
Lem nodded. "Six months to a year from now, after you've helped your family, maybe you'll change your mind. Contact me then."
"I will."
Lem sat in the recliner by the bed and leaned back with his hands behind his head. "I'm also here to inform you that the charges against you from the Lunar Trade Department have been dropped, including the charge of fleeing from custody, which is a serious felony. Charges against Imala were dropped as well. It wasn't hard to do. We simply showed the LTD how their rejection of your evidence of the invasion was the primary reason why Earth was so unprepared. They locked you up and buried your evidence in red tape when they should have announced you immediately to the world. When we threatened to file suit, claiming that their willful negligence resulted in the destruction of a good portion of our corporate fleet and personnel, they did whatever we asked." He shrugged. "Of course, we'll probably end up suing them anyway."
"Thanks for clearing my name."
"Lawyers are the deadliest of weapons, Victor. Make sure the best ones are always on your side."
There was a knock. Imala stepped into the room. "The nurses told me you were awake."
"Awake and talking nonsense," said Lem. "I offer him a decent job, and he turns me down. Talk some sense into him, Imala."
"He doesn't have any that I'm aware of," said Imala.
Lem turned back to Victor. "We're reinitiating cargo shipments to the Belt. Tell me when you want to leave, and I'll get you passage."
"Thank you."
Lem offered his hand, and they shook. "Keep the sun at your back, space born."
"You too."
Lem walked out.
Ima
la came and stood by the bed, her expression flat. "So you're heading to the Belt. You've made your decision."
"My family needs me, Imala."
"Your mother doesn't want you to come, Vico. She said as much. She wants you to stay here. To go to a university."
"I can't get into a university, Imala. We've been over this. I have no diploma, no birth certificate, no citizenship--"
"You can take tests to get a diploma, Vico. And Lem could help you acquire the other necessary papers."
Victor scoffed. "Yeah. Illegally."
"Maybe not. Maybe he has connections in immigration. And anyway, so what if he does it illegally? You deserve to go to school, Vico. You deserve it more than anyone. If you go back to your family, you'll end up becoming a..."
"A what, Imala? A free miner? Is that what you were going to say?"
"No."
"Then what?"
"I was going to say you'll end becoming a suitor in some arranged marriage. That's what your family does, isn't it? They mix up the gene pool by swapping eligible bachelors and brides among the families."
"We have to, Imala. Families are isolated. We can't intermarry. That would be incest. All of our kids would have twelve toes and a second pair of eyes."
"I'm not advocating incest," said Imala. "I'm saying arranged marriages strip you of your right to choose. I've seen the documentaries, Vico. Newlywed brides bawling their eyes out because they've been forced to marry a stranger."
"It's not always like that," said Victor.
"It is sometimes."
"Why are we even arguing about this?"
"Because you're not thinking about your own future, Vico. Your mother is leading the effort to reconfigure the ship. She says she can handle it."
"And she's wrong, Imala. Installing all of that equipment, making all the necessary configurations, it's far more complicated than she realizes."
"Or maybe she knows precisely what she's getting into, and she wants to try it anyway. Sometimes you have to trust people enough to let them succeed and love them enough to let them fail. You can't fix everything, Vico. If you do, the only lesson people will learn is dependency. Your mother has done fine without you all this time. If you rush to her now, what is that saying? Hi, Mom. I knew you were incapable of doing this task, so I've come to rescue you."
"I love my family, Imala. My mother has been through a nightmare. She lost my father, her home, half her family. Is it a crime to want to comfort her?"
"Of course not."
"I have nothing here, Imala."
"A job, a possible future, friends who care about you. That's nothing?"
"My job offer is from someone who lied to us and abandoned us. Have you forgotten what Lem Jukes is? The only reason he actually followed through was because of the tech. This was an economic decision for him all the way. Why should I put much stock in any offer from him?"
"You're right, Vico. What I was thinking? Silly stupid me." She walked out before he could say another word.
*
Lem was alone in his apartment when his wrist pad lit up with messages. He flipped through them and saw that they were all from journalists seeking an interview. He had already received dozens of such requests, and he had erased or ignored them all. He was done with the press, done with the phony theater of it all.
By now the media had interviewed many of the miners who had participated in the final battle. Each of them had given harrowing accounts of the fighting. When pressed about Lem Jukes's involvement, they had all explained how Lem had called them to arms and promised to financially reward the ship that accumulated the most kills. The media had had a field day with the Argentine family who had won. Lem had paid them as promised, and the press was all too happy to stick a camera in the people's faces. Some of the women had cried. Now they could get needed medicine and food. Now they could repair their ship.
One reporter had called it "Humanity among the horrors of war." KINDNESS IN THE CHAOS, read another headline.
Lem wanted to laugh. Didn't the press realize he had done it to save his own skin? The more aggressive the miners were, the better chance they all had of getting out alive. Wasn't that obvious? This was self-preservation, you fools, not philanthropy.
But what did the media care? If the charity angle resonated with people and generated a high click count and ad revenue, they would milk that cow for all it was worth.
Still, Lem was curious why a rush of reporters would contact him now and request an interview days after the battle. Some new bit of information had been released perhaps. Some little nugget of intel that everyone in the world was hungry for.
Curious, Lem went online to see what scrap of information the press was running.
To his surprise, a vid was playing on all of the feeds. It showed Lem at the helm of the Valas, Lem at his warehouse, Lem in his fighter taking on the Formics, Lem interacting with the MOPs. There was audio as well.
How was this possible? Who had taken all of these vids?
It was Father, of course. Who else? He had been watching Lem with hidden cameras every step of the way.
Lem was so furious, he flew immediately to headquarters. Father's receptionist tried to stop him, but Lem blew by her desk and burst into Father's office. "You used me!"
Ukko was sitting at his desk, head back, a paper bib around his neck protecting his suit. A makeup artist was leaning over him dabbing a paintbrush at Ukko's eyebrows. A man with a holopad was standing off to the side. He wore a finely tailored suit, and not a single hair of his head was out of place. He stepped between Lem and his father, frowned, and put a hand up. "I'm sorry, Lem. Your father is in the middle of something. Now isn't a good time. Can I call you later to set something up? We could discuss a time you two could meet?" He checked his holopad. "How's six this evening?" He offered his hand. "I'm Maxwell, by the way."
Lem almost hit him. "I suggest you get out of my way."
Maxwell's smile faded, and he retreated back a step.
Ukko brushed the makeup artist away. "Maxwell, Natasha, leave us for a moment. My son is in a mood. And he and I have urgent business to discuss."
Maxwell stepped to the desk. "Are you sure, sir? We need to be downstairs in ten minutes. They want to check your audio and the lighting on your face."
"I'm going to look like an old man regardless of the lighting or makeup, Maxwell. Give us a minute, will you?"
Maxwell frowned, regarded Lem with sharp disapproval, then followed the makeup artist out and closed the door behind them.
Lem cocked a thumb at the door. "Who is that idiot?"
"Were you not paying attention? That's Maxwell, my new chief of staff."
"Simona is your chief of staff."
"She was. Unfortunately I had to let her go."
"You fired Simona? Why?"
"I demand absolute loyalty from my staff, Lem. Their devotion to me must be unquestionable."
"Simona was devoted to you," said Lem. "Insanely devoted."
"She used to be, yes. Until you returned from the Kuiper Belt."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"She was clearly in love with you, Lem. I'm disappointed you didn't see it. It was blatantly obvious to me."
It took Lem a moment to find words. "Are you delusional? Simona was a friend. And barely that. Most of the time she couldn't stand me."
"She couldn't stand that you ignored her. You bickered like a married couple. I thought for sure you must have slept with her."
Lem blinked. "With Simona? No. Is that why you fired her? Because you thought she was sleeping with me? Because she wasn't."
"I fired her because she betrayed me."
"How? I can't believe that."
Ukko stood, pulled the bib from his neck, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it on his desk. "You're going to dislike what I have to say next, Lem." He exhaled and sat on the edge of his desk. "I suspected Simona's love for you was increasing. That poses obvious problems for me. I can't have my chief of
staff giving more loyalty to my son than she gives to me. So I gave her a test. I knew you were sleeping with Despoina. And I knew you were trying to pull information from her about my affairs. So I wrote an e-mail to myself as if it were written by Despoina and I let that e-mail fall into Simona's possession. If Simona was loyal to me, she would erase it and never disclose it to you. But if Simona was in love with you, if she was loyal to you over me, she would show it you. Which she did. She went straight to you behind my back. My only option was to fire her."
Lem stared. A sick heavy feeling had gripped his chest. "You wrote that e-mail?"
"Despoina was not my informant, son. I did not ask her to spy on you or extract information from you. Nor was she the whore you took her for. She was a sweet girl. For whatever reason, she seemed to be blind to your faults. Or perhaps she loved your strengths so deeply that she saw past what makes you human. Either way, you let a real catch slip through your fingers, son. Her father has quite the empire. It could have been a lovely match."
Lem said nothing. Words wouldn't come. His whole body felt numb.
"You acted too rashly, son. I found your response revolting. Arresting her in the night, banishing her from Luna, writing a malicious, scathing note. What were you thinking? That was cruel and demeaning, son. Totally inexcusable. And what's especially tragic is that it's evidence that you were clearly in love with her. Only a man betrayed by love would debase and humiliate someone like that. If she had meant nothing to you, you would have come to me. I would've been the one who had offended you. But instead, you spit all of your venom at her. You've made plenty of mistakes in your life, Lem, but this is first time I have ever been ashamed to call you my son."
Lem stared at him. His hands were trembling. His words were quiet. "I am not your son. I can't be. No father would ever do such a thing to his own child."
Ukko sighed. "This defense of yours gets old, Lem. You can't blame me for all of your mistakes."
"You created a lie. You invented a situation and provided proof. You built the justification for my actions in my mind. How is this not your fault? She was kind to me, Father."
"Learn from this, Lem. You can't act rashly. You can't hire thugs to--"
"This is not one of your damn life lessons, Father! Or if it is, it's so twisted and demented that I don't want to hear it. You used me. You used her."
"You used her first, Lem. Don't forget that. We both know why you came to my office and approached her."
Earth Awakens Page 39