by Rachel Ford
“Velk tried that,” Giya said. “We see where it landed him.”
“You’re not wrong, Captain,” Nikia said, ignoring her friend. “It is a risk. But it’s the people’s risk to take. If we can’t trust our own judgment, then what can we trust?”
He nodded slowly. “All I’m saying is, this government – Velk excluded – was elected too.”
“Not by the people.” This time, there was an adamance to her tone. “Have you looked at voter turnout statistics? Less than half the population votes – and that’s in good months.”
“And that’s not by accident,” Giya added. “When people can’t afford to leave their jobs to vote, voting becomes a privilege of wealth.”
“People are still going to need to work,” Elgin reminded him.
“Yes, but election day is going to be a paid national holiday.”
“It is?”
“Yes. The emergency session of parliament already voted on it. Employers are mandated to give employees the requisite time off, with pay. And there’ll be more polling places. No more eight hour waits.”
“We’ll have polling places in every neighborhood,” Nikia said. “As many centers as we need to meet the demands.”
Elgin nodded. “Good. How do you know employers will comply, though? They may not – forgive me for being blunt – recognize the authority of the emergency session.”
“They’ll recognize what will happen if they don’t comply,” Giya warned ominously.
Elgin frowned. “What’s that?”
“The world is changing, Captain. The contributors have bled the people dry. They’ve gotten fat off of our labor, and starved and broken us down as thanks. Look at the homes of the grand contributors – they live in gilded palaces while our people literally die in the cold.”
He shook his head. “That’s an obscenity. It will not stand. The wealth that was built by the people will return to the people.”
Elgin’s frown deepened. Pretty euphemisms aside, Giya’s words sounded a lot like robbery. “That sounds like theft, Mister Enden.”
“Theft is taking a man’s life and giving him scraps in return for it,” he shot back. “Taking back what we’ve built is justice.”
“It’s illegal.”
“Not if we’re writing the laws.”
Elgin shook his head. “That’s semantics.”
“It’s not, Captain. It’s illegal to kill another Tribari to take his property, isn’t it?”
“Of course.”
“And it’s illegal to put a gun to his head, and force him to work for you. Right?”
“Yes.”
“But it’s not illegal to send him on pains of unemployment and starvation – a death as real and tangible as a gun to the head – into a piece of machinery that will tear him limb from limb. It happens all the time. It’s not illegal to work a man morning, noon and night, until you put him in an early grave, and take everything he produces. It happens every day.
“And yet, no one bats an eyelash. Why? Because it’s legal. Morally, they’re both abhorrent. Yet we laud one and outlaw the other. Why? Because it’s the men who stand to benefit from the one and lose with the other who wrote the laws.
“Well, now that’s changing. Now, it’s time to take back what we’ve produced, what we’ve earned.”
“We’re not talking about turning the contributors into the streets, Captain, or anything of that nature,” Nikia added.
“Of course not. It’s a more equitable redistribution of assets. Nothing more or less. No one, in our new empire, will starve. No one will go without.”
Elgin was still frowning though. “It doesn’t sound right.”
“Why?”
“I…I don’t know. It just feels wrong to take their property.”
Giya sighed. “That’s the contributors talking, Captain. Not you. It’s only ‘their property’ because they’ve legalized wage slavery, and convinced us to be grateful for the chains.”
He shook his head. “But to just take something? To just seize another man’s property, and say it’s no longer his?”
“What if it was a tax?” Nikia asked.
“What?”
“What if, instead of a seizure or redistribution, a tax was levied? Say, ninety-five percent of assets over a quarter of a million retkas, for the next five years?”
“A tax?” Elgin considered. Somehow, this seemed better than seizure. He paid taxes, after all. Everyone did. The net effect might be the same, but, psychologically, it sat better with him. In a way, he supposed that proved Giya’s point: the difference between acceptable an unacceptable, between lawful and unlawful actions, was fine indeed. “That’s better.”
Giya and Nikia exchanged glances. “Alright,” the former said. “A tax it is, then.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Brek had spent hours limping along a mountainside before he’d caught a glimpse of the camp. It was still quite a few kilometers to the southwest.
How far did I go in those damned caves? And how many days was I down there?
He didn’t know, but he’d clearly covered a good chunk of ground in his subterranean explorations. He gritted his teeth and carried on.
The daystar was about midway through its arc across the sky. Brek tried not to concentrate on the distance between himself and the camp; he tried not to contemplate how unlikely it was that he’d make it before nightfall – or before his ankle gave out.
He tried to ignore the gnawing of his stomach, and the chill in his body. And he particularly tried to avoid speculation as to where the wolf had gone, and whether it was with a pack or alone, whether it might have a den nearby or if it was gone for good.
Naturally, the more he tried not to consider those things, the more preoccupied by them he grew.
In all his time underground, he’d had only one meal – and even that, in the height of his hunger, had been moderated by the vileness involved. Now he wondered if it would be enough to sustain him for the long walk back, much less another frozen night.
He wondered if his ankle would be able to take the uneven mountain terrain, the gravelly patches and jagged outcroppings of rock.
He hoped he would run into no more animals, unless they were small enough to overpower.
And bit by bit, hour by hour, agonizing step by agonizing step, the day wore on. Dusk settled, and he was still far from any of the mining camps. As light faded, the temperature started to drop rapidly. He searched for shelter, settling at last on a kind of overhang formed by a downed tree. Raiding a few low hanging branches from nearby trees, he was able to construct a reasonable wind stop and some makeshift bedding. It was prickly, but at least it kept him off the ground.
He had no tools for constructing a fire, and by time he wrapped up his work, it was too dark to gather logs anyway. So, huddled in his makeshift hut, buried in a pile of branches and leaves, he settled in to wait out the long night.
Tal was lost in thought when his friend joined him.
“Hey,” Tig said as he walked in. “I’ve got good news. Ari was saying, because of all the oil rig deaths, they’ve got some nice homes unoccupied. The death part sucks, obviously, but the good part is, they’re open to new settlers.”
“Who is Ari?”
Tig seemed confused by the question. “The governor.”
“Oh.” Tal had only heard her referred to as Governor Nees. “She’s got a first name?”
The other man frowned at him. “Everything okay, Tal?”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah.” Then, he frowned. “Actually, I’m not sure.”
“You’re not?”
“I just…what if it’s a trap? I mean, it sounds good. Hell, it sounds great. But what if she’s holding on to us as some kind of bargaining chip so that, if the empire does come storming down the gates, she can hand us over?”
Here, though, Tig shook his head emphatically. “You’re way off.”
Tal’s frown deepened. “Wow. One afternoon sightseeing, and you’
re sold?” Nees had offered to show them around the primary settlement. He’d turned her down, but Tig had taken up the offer. Rather quickly, in fact. “This must be a hell of a city.”
“It’s not that. It’s just…she’s not lying.”
This did nothing to allay Tal’s fears. “Based on…?”
“I trust her.” He flushed a little as he said it.
Tal groaned softly. “Good gods. Tig’s in love.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I trust you too, and I’m about to knock your lights out.”
Tal smirked. “That’s hurtful, Tig. Deeply hurtful.”
The other man grinned too. “The point is, dumbass, I trust exactly two people right now: you and her. And so far, my judgement has been one-hundred-percent.”
“Yeah, well, your judgement wasn’t clouded where I was concerned…” he observed. His friend punched him in the arm, just hard enough to make his point. “Ow. That really did hurt.”
“Good. Shut your idiot mouth and listen to me. What Ari’s done? A hundred escaped prisoners wouldn’t make up for it.” He shook his head. “No, Tal. She’s the real deal. You should see what she’s done with this place. You should see the cemetery, from before she took over. People were dying every day – multiple people. The old governor, he was working them to death. Literally.”
“To meet their oil production quotas?” Tal guessed.
“That’s right,” Tig nodded. “So she’s not trying to set us up, or hold us as a bargaining chip, or anything else. If the empire comes calling, there’s no bargaining her way out of it. If she can’t fight, she – we’re all – done for.”
He shook his head, grinning. “Well, no sense asking if you think I should take the job, then.”
“I do.” He shrugged. “But that’s your call, Tal. If things don’t change on Central, the empire will be back. And if we stay, we’re probably going to die.”
“You’re a hell of a salesman.”
“But if they do change, I think this place – I think Ari – can really make a go of things.”
He considered for a moment. “I don’t have a better plan. Reaching Tau, or any of the other worlds, and getting on planet unobserved…hiding out…it’s all a long shot. I think we could do it, but there’s a million things that could go wrong. Just like there are here.
“And here, at least, we’re all in it together.”
Tig nodded. “And it’s not like there’s no work opportunities here. Enough people have jumped ship that there’s openings in just about everything. Ari doesn’t think I’ll have much trouble landing something in accounting, despite – you know. The conviction.”
Tal, now, frowned. “Speaking of…what did you get put away for?”
Tig grinned. “I never told you that?”
“No. You didn’t.”
He shrugged. “Well, I was an accountant, at Gulan Construction – the Thetan branch. My boss was a real son-of-a-bitch. Wouldn’t hire the people we needed, made us work overtime without pay. We put up with it because it paid the bills, but it was bullshit.”
“So you decided to…what? Start skimming?”
“No. Not until the salary reductions started. They said they ‘had’ to cut our pay because profits were down. Of course, Gulan made out just fine. I couldn’t pay my utilities and rent on what I was making – not even for my shitty little flat.” He shrugged. “So I made up the difference.”
“How’d you get caught?”
“I was dumb. I didn’t cover my tracks enough, and they spotted one of the transfers during a routine audit. For a company strapped of cash, Gulan always found money to spend protecting his money.”
Tal nodded. It was hardly the kind of crime that deserved hard labor on a frozen world. But, then again, how many men like Tig had he arrested during his career? How many other victimless criminals had he sent to Zeta or one of the other prisoner colonies? “Well,” he said in a moment, forcing a cheerfulness to his tone, “just make sure you don’t do any of that here. I’d hate to have to arrest you after breaking you out of jail.”
Tig grinned. “So we’re staying?”
“Yeah. We’re staying.”
“Good. I’ll go tell Ari.”
Tal rolled his eyes. “You do that, Tig. You do that.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Elections?” Mercer repeated. “These people are insane. They just murdered the supreme leader, and now they want someone to stand for the job? What, so it’ll be them getting their brains blown out on broadcasts across the empire?” He shook his head. “Not me.”
“Well, if it’s any consolation,” Elgin offered, “I wouldn’t have voted for you anyway.” He shouldn’t have said it. He knew that before he’d started speaking. But the dark glint that entered the other man’s eyes at his needling was too much temptation. He grinned to himself.
“Not really the point, Elgin.”
He shrugged. It was point enough for him.
“I don’t think that’s going to be a concern,” Echil put in. “Something tells me there’ll be no shortage of people who think they’re fit for the job. I think we should be more worried about the caliber of candidates who do run.”
“Really? You think people will want it?” Mercer wondered.
“I do. There’s always people who think they can do something better than the last guy. There’s always people who want power.” She shrugged. “Usually, the first type is wrong and the second is wrong for the job.”
“There’s not much we can do about that,” Elgin observed.
“Someone could run,” Rel offered. “If we’re going to start a new government, it’s about time the military is represented at the table – not just as the supreme leader’s personal toy.”
Mercer scoffed. “Sure, but who is going to stick their neck out like that?”
The captains all glanced around, studying each other. They were gathered face to face, this time, in Elgin’s ready room, and there was no dampening effect behind the rendering of their expressions. Uncertainty and doubt radiated, in the highest definition, and no one made a move.
“Exactly my point,” Mercer nodded after a minute of silence.
“I don’t know that I’m qualified for the job,” Echil offered.
“I think the supreme leader should be a civilian anyway,” Elgin said.
“A civilian?” Mercer frowned. “You enjoy taking orders from someone who has no idea how the military’s run, then? Who has no idea what our men and women go through?”
“No. But a good leader will learn.”
“Learn.” He snorted. “Velk didn’t learn, did he?”
“No. But I said a good leader. He ended up being executed. Remember? And the fact is, he deserved it.”
A few knowing nods passed. Giya Enden had sent the video stream he’d promised. And it showed exactly what he’d said. As difficult as it was to admit, as jarring as it was to his system to see the supreme leader killed, the truth was that he’d gotten no less than what he’d given. He’d killed innocents, and was killed for his guilt. It was justice. Cold, brutal, and unflinching; but justice all the same.
“So what do you recommend?” Echil wondered.
“I say we offer our services to the interim government. Admiral Lenksha fled Central. He’s got a handful of ships with him. There’ll be others out there who want a chance to play hero, or just to take power for themselves. We can make sure none of them reach the planet.”
“And if this new government is no better than the old?”
Elgin considered. He considered the earnest face of the young woman, Nikia Idan. He considered the fiery eyes of Giya Idan. “They know the stakes. I don’t think they’ll make the same mistakes. But we’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.”
“Cross that bridge when we come to it?” Mercer repeated, shaking his head. “What does that even mean? You sure you don’t want to run, Elgin? You sure sound like a politician these days.”
Nikia entered parliament to resoun
ding cheers. Dr. Kel had finally cleared her, and now she was free to take the seat reserved for her by the body. She’d been elected in her absence, when she was in the clinic recovering.
There were twenty-five of them, and they gathered in the house of commons around the central dais. The seats that had once been reserved for MP’s were open to the public; and they were filled to maximum capacity, with bodies overflowing into the foyers beyond and balconies above. Camera drones from every media agency in the empire hovered and buzzed throughout the building.
“Thank you,” she called. “Thank you all.”
The roar was deafening, amplified by the acoustics of the place. It was designed so that a speaker’s voice would travel throughout the room, to make conversation easier.
It worked – rather too well in the present. Every voice carried every which way, and altogether they created an overwhelming din.
Still, Nikia was genuinely pleased to hear it. She was thrilled to see the people here, filling this space that had once been closed to them. She was grateful to see that their engagement had not waned in the period of her incapacitation.
Giya gave it a few minutes, and then struck the gavel to quiet the room. “Thank you, citizens,” he said. “We are all delighted to have Nikia back with us.” Another roar of approval sounded, and he allowed it before calling the meeting back on track. “Today, we are gathered to set a date for elections, and to discuss an interim wage and benefits reform deal.”
The day’s agenda drew almost as much approbation as Nikia’s return, and the fact was, she was glad to hear that, too. As gratifying as their pleasure in seeing her was, this was what it was all about. The reforms they were talking about now were what Grel had wanted. It’s what he’d died for. In a sense, it’s why her parents had died too.
Too many people had died to make this dream a reality. And, sitting there amid history being made, it was almost surreal to her. Surreal, but beautiful. So very beautiful.
