EMPIRE: Intervention (EMPIRE SERIES Book 13)

by Richard F. Weyand

  Turley giggled and drew him to her again.

  Dieter Stauss reviewed the shipments made and scheduled to Julian and Verano. The expense of the project was adding up, no doubt about it. Bernd asked him about it.

  “Are we sure the Empire is going to pay this kind of tab for colony support on Julian and Verano?” Bernd asked. “They’re just two planets.”

  “Yes, but failures there would put the Emperor’s entire colony plan at risk,” Dieter said. “It’s important we not send people out there and let them fail. Let them starve. The peace of the Empire depends on giving the troublemakers someplace to go. Sometimes they’re going to drop the ball. I think the Emperor knows that.”

  “Well, I hope you’re right. That would be a big hit to take if we had to eat it.”

  “In the grand scheme of things, Bernd, it’s just not that much money.”

  Gerry Conner was also reviewing reports, though in this case it was Paul Gulliver’s reports to Section Six. While he ostensibly napped on the Adirondack chair of his porch overlooking the lake, he was logged into the virtual office of Section Six.

  Section Six agents were encouraged to be completely forthcoming in their reports to headquarters. Their work for the Emperor was too important. Edited reports, holding back even minor details that could become important later, were a potential hazard both to the agent and to the agency and its mission.

  Neither Morena Prieto nor Paul Gulliver, assigned to Verano and Julian respectively, held anything out of their reports.

  Morena Prieto’s escapades, both with her putative boyfriend and major and minor officials across Elizondo’s government were sort of par for the course. It was the advantage an attractive female agent had in penetrating closed environments.

  Paul Gulliver was another matter. It appeared he had become an emotional and tension release for Turley, hard-pressed to carry out the duties of head of state.

  Conner wondered how President Vargas was doing in similar circumstances.

  Until he reviewed Prieto’s reports, that is.

  Things had progressed similarly on Verano. President Turley and President Vargas kept each other copied on their plans and reports. The sharing of knowledge had informed their actions, as sometimes one would face a problem before the other did, or an action one took would remind the other of the need to act.

  And of course, Prieto and Gulliver were being kept copied on each other’s reports as well. She was as effective as he, but in her own way, the flip side of his quiet, anonymous style.

  It was Wednesday evening of the second week, after another hectic day, and Jorge Vargas finally had some time to himself. He was trying to relax, but all the plans and decisions and contingencies kept orbiting about in his thoughts. Though it was late, he knew he couldn’t sleep.

  Vargas took another sip of his drink. One thing he had to commend the previous administration on. They stocked the best Imperial liquors and cigars. For the top echelons of the government, at least. He took another draw on the excellent cigar he had selected and tried to relax.

  Vargas was in the living room of the president’s mansion in downtown San Jacinto. Elizondo had not used the official president’s mansion much, thinking it too insecure, but his use of the island estate of Il Refugio had actually left him more vulnerable. Just one bridge and a VR transceiver away from being toppled.

  What was that? There shouldn’t be anybody else here. Vargas had sent the staff out of his private quarters tonight. He didn’t want to be fussed about all the time. “A refill on your drink, Señor Presidente?’ ‘Do you want a snack, Señor Presidente?’ ‘Can I get you another cigar, Señor Presidente?’ No, he just wanted to be left alone.

  There it was again. A sound, almost like a giggle, from the next room, the bedroom.

  Vargas went into the bedroom and someone was in the bed, completely under the covers. As he approached, she giggled again, for it was definitely a woman’s voice.

  Vargas pulled the covers back, and it was Morena Prieto, and she was nude. She held her arms out to him.

  “Come to me, Jorge. Set aside your worries, and make wild, passionate love to me.”

  Later, with Vargas sleeping soundly, Prieto pulled the covers up over him, then kissed him softly on the cheek.

  “Que duermas bien, mi amigo,” she whispered.

  Prieto dressed quietly and snuck back out of the presidential mansion.

  Under Way

  Early Monday morning, Turley was in the chair of the beauty salon that was part of the residence portion of the Executive Building. When Blackwood brought back the residence staff, that included the salon staff. Lieutenant Parsons had arranged that everyone was ready for her when she arrived just before seven o’clock.

  After having her hair done, her makeup done, and both a manicure and a pedicure in a crash two-hour effort, Turley headed back to her private apartments and dressed for the day. With her full wardrobe available, she dressed in the sort of suit she wore every day in her previous position as vice-president of logistics and planning for Kendall, the interstellar agricultural supplies giant.

  Clothing products were not, generally speaking, shipped interstellar. The costs were just too high. Computerized patterns for the latest styles were transmitted over QE radio and manufactured locally. Some high-end products were shipped interstellar, however, and senior executives in big firms paid what it cost to have them.

  All Turley’s business suits were such high-end products, in the business style of the major Imperial business centers, and were ludicrously expensive. No one on a colony planet like Julian had ever seen anything like them, except perhaps in VR.

  Everybody in the staff pool did a double-take when Turley walked through the outer office into the president’s office just after nine-thirty Monday morning.

  “Good morning, everyone,” Turley said as she walked through.

  Lieutenant Parsons, too, was stunned by Turley’s new look as she walked to her desk.

  “Good morning, Lieutenant.”

  “Uh, good, good morning, Ma’am.”

  Tom North came in from the outer office.

  “Good morning, Madam President. I see your wardrobe was delivered successfully. That’s a very good look for your address to the citizens later this week.”

  “Thank you, Tom. Yes, it feels good to be back in proper office clothing if I’m going to be doing executive work.”

  North nodded.

  “For this morning, Mr. Gordon thought you might want to review the situation at the dam site, Ma’am. And Mr. Gulliver had the same thought with regard to the refinery location.”

  “Am I going to go out there, Tom?”

  “That’s not necessary, Ma’am. Mr. Gordon’s wardrobe and equipment also showed up this weekend. His construction helmet has full sight-and-sound VR for you to tap into. My understanding is Mr. Gulliver has a similar system.”

  “Excellent. And since you’re saying Mr. Gordon rather than Sergeant Major Gordon, I take it he’s not in uniform.”

  “That’s correct, Ma’am. He’s in his construction supervisor wardrobe today. We are also transitioning many of the troops you brought along to construction crews.”

  Turley nodded.

  “That makes sense. Construction duty, as opposed to police work.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. I guess I was surprised there were so many construction people among the Marines, Ma’am.”

  “Think about it, Tom. If you drive a tank around for several years in the Marines, how big of a step is it to heavy equipment operator? Particularly a tracked bulldozer.”

  “Ah. I see, Ma’am. In any case, it appears he and General Jensen are splitting the men up into police units and construction units, based on their private-sector experience. The construction units are hiring a lot of former Secret Police as well, but none of them are going into the police units.”

  “No, I specified that former Secret Police are not to be hired for police work. I think we need to make a clean break ther
e, for citizen acceptance if nothing else.”

  North nodded.

  “So Mr. Gordon and Mr. Gulliver are both available any time you wish to review their projects, Ma’am.”

  “All right.”

  “This afternoon, I’ve scheduled a meeting with Minister Noyce. He requested a meeting to discuss their review of the laws. And you’re meeting with the leaders of the Council Thursday.”

  “That’s after my address to the citizens, then?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. Your speech is Wednesday night.”

  “OK. Great. Thanks, Tom.”

  There were only so many people who could work at one time mounting ventilation, heat, windows, and man doors on the bunkhouse containers. While they were getting organized, the rest of the personnel were free to unpack the equipment, which included bulldozers, earthmovers, bucket loaders with grapple attachments, and heavy dump trucks. The equipment had to be moved out before the work on the containers could begin.

  One humorous incident occurred mid-morning. Kyle Gordon had sent a box truck with a couple fellows to pick up man doors and windows, as well as metal-cutting circular saws, at the local hardware stores. At one store they ran into a crew from the refinery project there on the same mission. They divided up the hardware stores in town among them and got everything they needed.

  President Turley called Gordon in VR about ten in the morning to see how things were going. Her avatar had been switched to one she had used at Kendall, dressed in an executive suit with perfectly coifed hair. Gordon had switched his, too, to an avatar in a business suit suitable for a construction overseer.

  “Good morning, Madam President,” Gordon said.

  “Good morning, Mr. Gordon. You wanted to show me around?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. If you’ll switch to, um, channel 513, I’ve patched my helmet through.”

  Turley switched to VR channel 513 and was looking out over the encampment half a mile from the base of the proposed dam.

  “So what we have going on here, Ma’am, is we’re unpacking these containers so we can turn ‘em into bunkhouses. That’s the bunkhouse crew over there looking at plans and such, getting ready. But the big action is here with the containers.”

  Turley watched the big equipment moving out of the containers, huge machines that barely fit into containers that had swallowed M15s with room to spare.

  “This area, Ma’am, will house the workers, and we’re moving the mess tent over here for them.”

  “Are those machines moving up to the site, then, Mr. Gordon?”

  “Not yet, Ma’am. We have some, er, ballistic demolition to do first.”

  Gordon swung around to look up the valley and Turley saw M15s taking up position on one of the headlands between which the dam would stretch.

  “We’re going to hit the other headlands with a buncha rounds of H-E, and clean off the vegetation, soil, and loose rock. Then we’re going to move some guys up to the other side and do the same thing in the other direction.”

  “I see. That’s creative.”

  “Yes, Ma’am, but it gets better. The rock under here is a shelf. Completely flat. If we build a dam on that without anchoring it somehow, when it fills the water will just push it out of the way. It’ll slide. So we need to do something about that.”

  “And you have a solution, Mr. Gordon?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. We’re going to clean off all the dirt and all, to get to the rock layer, and then– Well, I was thinking, ya know. We have a bunch of those GDP rounds left over.”

  “You’re going to break up the rock with gravity bombs, Mr. Gordon?”

  “Sure. We worked it out. A dozen or so o’ those, and we can excavate for setting pilings and then just epoxycrete into the holes. Beats workin’.”

  “What about the charges in those GDPs?”

  “We’ll set ‘em to go off once they’re as deep as they go. That’ll help fracture the deep rock for pumping in the epoxycrete.”

  “Make sure you stand well back from that, Mr. Gordon.”

  “Well, I ain’t gonna stand next to the hole, Ma’am.”

  Turley chuckled.

  “All right, Mr. Gordon. Thanks for the update. I’d like to see where you are Wednesday, if I could. I have a speech that night.”

  “You want some fireworks for that, Ma’am? We should be ready for some by then.”

  “Don’t rush it just for me, Mr. Gordon. But if you have some fireworks by then, yes, that would be fun to watch.”

  “I’ll let you know, Ma’am.”

  Paul Gulliver was watching the work at the refinery site. The workmen here had been able to start working on the containers right away, given that they were already empty. He sent a couple guys out in a box truck to get power tools, man doors, and windows.

  With him at the refinery site was Lucas Joubert, the government’s infrastructure engineer, and Igor Voronin, the Galactic Equipment Supply engineer set out with his team to oversee the installation of the refinery and the training of its crew.

  “The refinery uses its own product to supply energy for the process,” Voronin said. “To get it up and running, we will need some product off the existing refinery until we have enough product from this one to supply itself.”

  Gulliver nodded. He knew that, but he let Voronin talk. He watched as surveyors laid out the epoxycrete pad to be poured to mount the components on. There was one bulldozer standing by to flatten out the space once the surveyors had marked it. It would probably be moved to the dam site once it was done here.

  An incoming VR call caused him to raise his hand to Voronin, who stopped talking.

  “Good morning, Madam President.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Gulliver. You have progress to report?”

  “Some, Ma’am. Switch to channel 516.”

  Turley switched channels, and was connected to the camera rig on Gulliver’s camera. Gulliver spoke out loud for Voronin’s benefit.

  “This is Igor Voronin, Madam President. He’s from Galactic Equipment Supply. He and his group are here to assemble the refinery and train its crews.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Voronin,” Turley’s voice came faintly from the speaker on Gulliver’s helmet rig. “Why don’t you point out the salient features of what is going on.”

  Voronin spoke to the camera.

  “Yes, Ma’am. Over here you see the containers that were moved here from the dam site over the weekend. The workmen there will rig those up with ventilation and heat and such as bunkhouses.

  “Over there you see the existing refinery, and, a few hundred yards away, the place where surveyors are marking the pad for the new one. There is a bulldozer standing by there to clear the space.

  “And there you see the epoxycrete machine they will use to pour the pad. It has a boom, and will be able to get epoxycrete to the far corners of the pad when we pour it.”

  “When do you pour, Mr. Voronin?”

  “Perhaps tomorrow.”

  “That soon?”

  “This is construction, Madam President. Not engineering. There is not much prep to do if the ground is good.”

  “I see. Thank you, Mr. Voronin. That’s good progress.”

  Turley switched back to the VR call channel.

  “Mr. Gulliver.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Good work. With Voronin there, I think you’re free to go on about your other projects now.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Thank you for the update, Mr. Gulliver.”

  Tom North came into her office with Noyce.

  “Minister Noyce, Ma’am.

  “Good afternoon, Minister Noyce.”

  “Good afternoon, Madam President.”

  Turley waved to the seating group and they were seated.

  “So how is the review of the laws going?”

  “Expeditiously, Madam President, expeditiously. With the prisoner question resolved, it has released Mr. Singh and Mr. Colbert to assist Mr. Mercer and Mr. Reid with the laws issue.
In addition, we have found the laws, so-called, divide into a few major categories.”

  “So-called, Minister Noyce.”

  “Yes, Madam President. One group of laws were passed and signed into law prior to Mr. Mieland’s election. These may yet be found unconstitutional in part or in whole, but generally speaking there is little controversy about the method of their passage. A second group was passed by the legislature and signed into law by Mr. Mieland after his election. As his party dominated the Council, many of these are suspect as to their constitutionality.”

  “I expected that, Minister Noyce.”

  “Yes, Madam President. But there are two more groups of laws. One is the grant of emergency powers to Mr. Mieland. This is surely unconstitutional. The courts have long held that certain powers cannot be delegated. The Council cannot pass a law that simply grants the president powers that belong properly with the Council, or, worse yet, that the constitution denies to the government in the first place.”

  “All right. Well, that makes sense to me, Minister Noyce.”

  “Indeed. There are then the laws Mr. Mieland ‘passed,’ if one can use the word, on his own authority, without action of Council. Those are null and void from first principles.”

  “So, if I’m following you correctly, Minister Noyce, I can simply ignore that last group – strike them from the books on my own authority.”

  “Yes and no, Madam President. My judgment in this matter relies on the finding that the grant of emergency powers was incorrect in the first instance. That, however, should be decided by the courts or rescinded by the Council. The issue there is that we have no court of ultimate jurisdiction. The High Court was dissolved by Mr. Mieland under his emergency powers, and he assumed that role to himself.”

  “Can I name a new High Court, Minister Noyce?”

  “Yes, Madam President, but those appointments need to be confirmed by the Council. And that is impossible. The Council elected with Mr. Mieland was dominated by members of his political party. As you might guess, the mortality, or not, of members of the Council was strongly dependent on their political party. The Council you could call now would have a super-majority of members of Mieland’s party. Enough, in fact, to remove you from office. They will not, in any case, approve the High Court appointments you or I would want to see on that august body.”