The Huralon Incident

by E A Wicklund

  “The government of the Egalitarian Stars of Elysium finds you guilty and hereby sentences you to death for religious non-conformance,” continued the commander. He paused to pose for the cameras. “Do you have any last words?”

  Mallouk stared directly into the camera, as if he knew where it would be. “My only wish is that the Elysian government finds it in their hearts to care for the children. Please, take the medical supplies from my crippled ship and help the poor and the dying Elysian children. Perhaps somewhere there is kindness in your hearts. Look hard and find your humanity in the name of Madkhal.”

  “Enough!” shouted the commander. “Request denied. The medical supplies we located now belong to the Egalitarian Stars of Elysium. They will be distributed to the wealthy as is our law.”

  “Please,” muttered Ando. “There were no medical supplies. And who wrote this horrible script?”

  “Ready.” The firing squad raised their weapons. “Fire!”

  The auditorium felt silent as a tomb. Many of the officers turned their heads away from the gory aftermath of the killing. Mercifully, Aja cleared the holo.

  “But Mallouk is not dead,” said Piper. “They know that. They doctored the holo.”

  “They don’t care,” said Aja. “They’re just trying to get a reaction. And no matter how aware people are that deepfake holos exist, that doesn’t make the impression of one like this any less potent. Even if we call it out right away, the damage is already done. It’s all about propaganda and martyrs.” She stepped down from the stage. “Did you see how noble and humanitarian Stephen Mallouk seemed?”

  Bijou coughed suddenly, and an angry mushroom cloud of vapor billowed up.

  “Exactly,” continued Aja. “I hate him too. Stephen Mallouk, the coward we know, would never have said anything like that. He would’ve begged for his life. The Madkhali plan all along was to use a suicidal religious zealot to stand-in, say the proper lines, and die. A little Holoshape editing and they’ve got Stephen Mallouk, the perfect martyr.”

  “Those bloody-minded bastards,” grunted Piper. “Madkhalis killing Madkhalis, just for propaganda value.”

  Aja turned to the holostage. “Agreed, Mr. Piper. All of that leads to this. This last clip was a broadcast on all available frequencies from the battlecruiser DPS Qalawun. As far as we know, everyone in McGowan saw it.”

  A clip began playing, showing a distinguished-looking man in a simple cloth robe. Though McCray had never seen the politician dressed like a humble priest, he knew him at a glance.

  “Brothers! Your liberation is at hand. I am Senator Marcus Mallouk, defender of the common people of Madkhal. I have heard your cries for help. I have agonized for your sorrows beneath the chains of Elysian oppression.

  “And now my own son, on a mission of mercy—” He paused as tears trickled down his cheek.”

  “Not bad,” said Ando, watching the holo with an expert eye. “That almost looks real.”

  Mallouk continued, “Now my son has died at the hands of Elysian Military thugs. He died for you, my brothers! This is the final offense, the one that forces my hand.” He gathered himself and wiped away tears. “At last, I have marshaled the forces needed to rescue you from bondage.

  “Today, I call for a vote, as is your right by your own constitution. Declare secession from Elysium! For too long, the greedy Elysians claimed all the best for themselves. They have murdered you for following the true faith. You know this. You have seen it in Braunfels. Join the welcoming arms of Madkhal. Jobs and riches have been secured for all.

  “Voting stations are opening in all six planets of McGowan. The vote will be held six days from now. Fear not the Elysian jack-booted thugs. The Soldiers of Madkhal are arriving on every planet to protect you. Vote for a return to honesty and family values. Vote to secede!”

  When the vid finished, the officers were on their feet, shouting at the holo.

  “They can’t secede. That’s ridiculous!”

  “Landing troops? That’s it. They’ve declared war.”

  “Is he joking? We can have ten battlecruisers there in two weeks.”

  McCray stood up from his seat, unhappy with the interruption. He understood the feelings of his crew, he shared them, but he would not let that disrespect another crew member. He opened his mouth to shout, but Aja beat him to the punch.

  “Springboks!” she barked. “Your attention, please.”

  The officers halted in mid-gesture, as if frozen by Aja’s surprising and effective command voice. McCray suppressed a smile. That was really quite good.

  “If you please, people,” she continued in a softer, but still commanding tone. “Take your seats. We have a lot to cover.”

  McCray offered her a wink, invisible to the others. The IS-3 agent was cementing herself as an accepted leader, and part of the crew.

  “We can all agree we’ve just witnessed a brass-plated load of crap,” she said. “Unfortunately, the Senator’s words are having the desired effect. And, I’m sorry to say, the McGowan group wrote a stipulation into their constitution that the ESE agreed to. No Elysian military forces may operate in the system during a secession vote. This vote can pass with a simple majority. As it stands now, according to a Schubert News poll, 58% are expected to vote for secession.”

  ***

  “You’re late,” growled Quartermain. He stared at the dark clouds on the horizon of New Chicago as Chamberlain took a seat on the bench. The McCain bridge in the capital remained one of Quartermain’s favorites. Climbing plants with white flowers wound around the railings for the full length. It seemed perpetually graced with beauty.

  “Had business to attend to,” Chamberlain replied, apparently oblivious to the flowers while he consulted his datapad.

  “Review farms are a difficult business, I understand.”

  “Excuse me?” Chamberlain practically shouted.

  “Mind your tone, boy,” Quartermain hissed, though inwardly he grinned. The reaction was hardly unexpected.

  In Elysium, much of a business’s success depended on product ratings from customers and critics. More and better ratings could significantly affect sales. More sales earned more Luxury Points and these were distributed to everyone within the company. The more LPs an individual could accrue, the better lifestyle they could afford.

  Indeed, companies might ultimately succeed or fail depending on ratings. For this reason, falsely posting them via hacking was a felony. Creating “review farms” came close to printing money, a capital offense warranting loss of citizenship.

  “I’ll not bother with your affairs so long as you faithfully complete your business with me,” said Quartermain.

  “I did nothing illegal.”

  “Shut up, Keeper Chamberlain. Now, explain to me why the Honshu Battlegroup is not in Huralon this very moment.”

  “That was Parliament’s call.” Chamberlain held his hands up helplessly. “They felt two battleships and eight cruisers plus screen elements were too provocative. They believe it might lead to war.”

  “It would prevent war, you oaf.” Quartermain struggled to control his fury. “If that idiot Morgana...” Quartermain insisted on maintaining code words for persons of interest. “...Arrives in a battlecruiser and sees no opposition, he’ll likely land troops. I’ll remind you, Madkhal thinks we have no stomach for war after fighting the Thallighari for so long. Their provocations are getting steadily worse. Now, you’re handing them an engraved invitation to attack us with impunity. They don’t know the truth about what Parliament is really thinking. Imagine Madkhali troops, on Elysium soil. If that doesn’t trigger war, I don’t know what will.”

  “Not to worry,” soothed Chamberlain. “I have everything in hand.”

  “From here, I see a demonstrable lack of it. Fix the problem.”

  “I’ll remind you it’s illegal for a Keeper to influence Parliament. You ask a lot.”

  Quartermain snarled, “Since you’ve already been doing it for some time now, this is hardly
the time to develop a moral backbone.”

  “Easy now.” Chamberlain flashed too-white teeth. “I’ve got it all worked out. Honshu will sail shortly and no Madkhali troops will touch Elysian soil. There will be no war. I can guarantee it.”

  Quartermain watched him for a moment, “You had better be right...for your sake.”

  ***

  “Bonkers, fecking bonkers,” said Piper.

  “I think so, too,” said Aja. “Up until recently, there have been numerous calls for secession, all arranged by Malik Tobruk’s MLF. They’ve all failed. But ever since the discovery of large Galamonium deposits in McGowan, Madkhal has allowed hundreds of thousands of Madkhalis to immigrate to McGowan every year.”

  “They’re importing voters,” said Bijou. “So why did we even accept them?”

  “Life is hard in new settlements.” Aja paced in front of the officers. “Most Elysians, to be honest, aren’t used to hardship. Few are interested in helping to settle McGowan’s new colonies. So since the settlements will take any able hands they can get, Elysium accepted the Madkhali migrants. Add them to the Madkhalis who’ve lived in McGowan for decades and they are 62% of the population.”

  “But it’s not that simple is it?” said Bijou. “Madkhalis who have lived in Elysium a long time can compare the two societies, and Elysium will easily come out on top of that matchup. They should know better.”

  Aja shrugged. “Never underestimate the power of cultural identity. The probably feel unempowered in this strange, new nation. How comfortable would that be for any of you? Add to it, prejudice against them does exist and that only reinforces their isolation. Maybe this makes them see Madkhal in a false rosy light. People think one way as individuals, another in groups. When it’s Mob Rules, people do things they wouldn’t ordinarily do. Add in the touchy subjects of ethnicity and nationalism, and people can make unexpected decisions.”

  Chief Engineer Parsamayan raised his hand, “Isn’t this usually the part where the press steps in and starts questioning everything? Wouldn’t they be asking the same questions we are?”

  “Oh, they are,” said Aja. “They’re questioning the validity of the massacres and the unlikely sincerity of Senator Mallouk. It’s all getting drowned out in the Majinn media blitz. We’re seeing Madkhalis being handed, what appears, is a means to easily and quickly elevate themselves socially. That’s hard to pass up. Elysians, already suspicious of their own military and quick to assist the underdog, are now rushing to the Madkhali side.”

  “I just can’t see the secession ploy working,” said Zahn. “It relies on a lot of people falling in line. People aren’t as predictable as all that.”

  “Individuals aren’t so predictable,” said Aja, “but large groups of people are. If you like, I can point you to a number of research pieces detailing the effect.”

  Bijou still wasn’t convinced. “Has anyone ever tried this before? How could anyone rely on the outcome?”

  McCray cleared his throat for attention. It seemed time for the ship’s historical expert to chime in. “It has happened throughout human history.” Everyone turned to look at him after he’d been silent for so long. “Poland, 1939. Adolf Hitler sends in special German teams, posing as Poles, to commit acts of terror against other ethnic Germans living in Poland. The German Poles take to the streets in protest, demanding the Polish government protect them. German forces array on the border and shortly afterward, attack. Hitler claims he had no choice but to launch the invasion to protect ethnic Germans.

  “Crimea, 2009. Russian President, Vladimir Putin, sets his sights on Crimea and the Ukraine. Crimea has a large ethnic Russian population that can be put to good use. William Varettoni writes, ‘...Russia wants to annex Crimea and is merely waiting for the right opportunity, most likely under the pretense of protecting Russian brethren abroad’. On 27 February 2014, the ‘Little green men’, soldiers in unmarked green uniforms and speaking Russian, captured key sites across the peninsula. A puppet pro-Russian government is installed. The annexation referendum that followed was pure fiction, a simulation of democracy. On 18 March, 2014, Russia formally annexes Crimea.“

  McCray looked around at the stunned officers. The story seemed to far-fetched to be believed, he knew, but this was what happened when history was lost or ignored. No one could ever believe such a story until it returned once again. “It’s an old trick, but it works. It’s still working. We’re watching it again, happening right under our noses.”

  In the silence, Aja said, “This is why IS-3 wants us to return to Huralon. Colonel Bertram has been gagged by the local government, unable to broadcast the truth, and the Mind knows why. We, this ship, are the only ones who can tell the story of what happened at Braunfels and Arcoplex. That’s all recorded and saved, right Lieutenant?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Warwick.

  “So what does this all mean?” said Piper. “Are we going back or not?”

  McCray stood up. He’d thought about it the entire time Aja spoke. Returning to Huralon was very nearly a suicide run. By far the smartest move was returning to New Chicago. The crew, who had accomplished wonderful things in a short time, would be safe. He and Aja could pursue their dreams, and he would be following orders for once, keeping him off the beach for sure. That sounded like heaven. “We are but one small ship,” he said. “We are no battle fleet, not even a battleship, and our orders have left little room for interpretation. We will maintain course for New Chicago.”

  Chapter 23

  Huralon System Governor Blanchard hated his desk. The green and orange marbling looked to him like someone had puked on it. Unfortunately, Huralon’s Parliamentary Keepers insisted it could not be changed for something more stylish. The Huralon stone would remain a symbol of the office. No matter. He had other concerns at the moment.

  The scowling visage of Givenchy Powell, Parliament Chairman, dominated one side of the holodesk. As always, the hard-edged asteroid miner proved a pain in Blanchard’s backside. Most recently, he’d forced another no-confidence vote to push Blanchard out of office, one that failed just barely. The Governor sighed. Just six more days and this fecker will be a memory.

  On the other side of the split holo view, Colonel Bertram looked ready to spit nails. For the moment, he had nothing to say.

  “Fine,” growled Powell. “If the constitution says so, we’ll do that. So if the system corvettes have to leave, so does the Qalawun. No warships in the system. None!”

  “And how would you have me enforce that, Chairman? Even the Elysian corvettes haven’t the firepower to force Qalawun out. Unlike you, their captains gave me no backtalk.”

  “Well, at least tell the Madkhalis to leave. Act like you got a man-sack, for Mind’s sake.”

  Blanchard placed his fingertips together in his favorite lecturing pose. “I can hardly expect you to understand the subtleties of diplomatic maneuvering, Mr. Powell, but try to understand my position. The DPS Qalawun possesses the weaponry to raze every city on this planet. With that in mind, I am preventing a rather dangerous guest from becoming angry at us.”

  “They are landing troops,” grated Bertram. “We cannot let that stand. I can shoot them out of the sky right now.”

  “You will do no such thing, Colonel. That would be an act of war.”

  Bertram looked as though his eyes would pop out. “Don’t you think Qalawun’s already done that? Landing troops is an act of war.”

  “Not if they arrive as part of a humanitarian mission,” said Blanchard, gesticulating to emphasize his point. It was all bullshit, but in his view politics was all about polishing shit and making it look nice and shiny. “And looking at the protests in our streets, I see a humanitarian crisis.”

  Powell stared at him, open-mouthed. “At least release the Schubert news crews and their footage, Blanchard. Why are you holding it?”

  “Unfortunately, I can’t share that. My directives in this matter come from on high, way above your paygrade in the government and mine too, for
that matter.” Blanchard didn’t bother mentioning that Keeper Chamberlain wasn’t legally allowed to give anyone orders, but why offer that up? If Chamberlain learned that Blanchard revealed him, the Keeper’s friends would likely come calling, and they were very, very bad people.

  Blanchard suppressed a smile. It felt good being on the winning side, the side that would live out their lives in luxury. So you had to break a few rules to get there; who’s counting? At least Chamberlain knew that. He even had that so-called spymaster, Quartermain, wrapped around his finger and the man didn’t even know it. Even the intel on Bertram proved correct so far. It promised he would stick to the rule of law and follow civilian authority, even if he knew his orders were wrong.

  Be that as it may, it would be unwise to look like the cat that ate the canary. If he appeared anything less than governor-like—a tricky dance considering Marcus Mallouk expected the door to be wide open—he could face stronger consequences from Parliament. Anyway, the good Senator would understand if he took cautious, but ultimately ineffective steps, to guard these damned, dirty Huralonese.

  “I will do this, gentlemen,” Blanchard said, putting on his sincerest, fake smile. “I’ll hold a press conference and I’ll warn Senator Mallouk that if his troops threaten or harm any civilians, the secession vote is off. Those are strong words, my friends, and they will ensure we have a safe and honest secession vote.”

  It sounded governorly, but it was ultimately meaningless. The Colonel knew it at once. His expression was murderous.

  “Meanwhile,” Blanchard said, into the stunned silence. “I want your promise that no Elysian combat units or troops will be deployed to oppose the landings or operations of Madkhali troops on planet. We don’t want any fighting that would place civilians in danger.”