“And they keep refusing our peace envoys,” Chang Li added. “There’s no way to end the war, short of total victory.”
“And that might destroy us,” Charlie said. “Or them.”
Chang Li nodded. “Our own industry is working desperately to catch up with the Federation, but we’re still suffering critical shortages,” she warned. “Whatever happens, we are going to have to slow the tempo of operations soon.”
“Then we throw everything at Boston,” Charlie said. “If Intelligence is correct, taking Boston will knock the Federation so far back on its heels that it will need years, at best, to fix the damage and rebuild its forces. Emperor Marius will have to concentrate forces to block our advance to Earth, which will allow us to raid deep into their territory. We would win...”
“Assuming there’s anything left of us,” Chang Li said. “Can you assign the Marsha a major role in the operation?”
“Of course,” Charlie said. He gave her a grim smile. “I already have several ideas for expending as many of them as possible.”
Chang Li looked torn between rebuking him for the casual racism and giving him an understanding look. In the end, she shrugged.
“They really need to grow up,” she said. “And, along those lines, have you given any thought to targeting the Snakes?”
“I would strongly advise against trying to liberate the Snakes,” Charlie said, flatly. “It would be a public relations disaster.”
“The Assembly is torn,” Chang Li admitted. “Do we move to forgive or...”
“It doesn’t matter,” Charlie said, cutting her off. “The Snakes are the one alien race everyone hates, without exception. They’re not too primitive to know how badly they’ve been screwed, or too ethereal to give much of a damn about us, but they are humanity’s first real non-human enemy. Blowing away the battlestations in orbit around their world will convince a great many fence-sitters that the Federation, for all of its crimes, is a better defender of human rights.”
He sighed. “Make the really big changes after you win the war,” he advised. “There’s no time for a colossal spat right now.”
“That’s what I told them,” Chang Li said. She smiled. “Can you come up with a solid military reason for rejecting the concept?”
Charlie frowned. “Their world is too deep within the Core Worlds to be raided safely,” he said. “Besides, we’d need to devote a major battle squadron to the task, given how heavily defended the world is, and that would mean weakening our forces elsewhere.”
He rolled his eyes. It said something about the level of paranoia the Snakes caused in humans, at least in the Grand Senate, that they had still been adding refinements to the fortifications surrounding the one known remaining Snake-populated world, even though the Snakes themselves had been reduced to a Bronze Age-level of technology. There wasn’t a hope in hell of the Snakes managing to break the blockade without outside help. And even if they did get outside help, he would have bet half of his salary that the Federation had placed an antimatter bomb on their world, just to make damn sure the Snakes never escaped.
And they’re not even that dangerous, he thought, wryly. The Federation just intends to keep them alive as a potential threat, without letting them become a real threat.
“I think that’s the best justification,” he added. “Freeing the Snakes now might cost us the war in more ways than one.”
Chang Li nodded. “Very well,” she said. “And now...can you take Boston?”
“I think we have no choice,” Charlie said. “What happens if the Federation manages to get back on its feet?”
He knew the answer to that one, alright. His most optimistic estimate gave the Federation a colossal advantage over the Outsiders – at least five to one – assuming they managed to match the Outsider technological advances. The Outsider Navy would be forced back into the Beyond, then the Federation would start searching for their homeworlds and destroying every single one it located. And that would be the end.
“We lose,” Chang Li said, flatly.
She rose to her feet. “I have to get down to the planet in an hour,” she said. “I have yet another meeting with the leaders, then I have to be on my way back to Athena. It will not be fun.”
Charlie nodded in sympathy. Galen’s population seemed sympathetic, but they were only two short hops from Boston and they knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the Federation would take a brutal revenge if they defected openly. For the moment, they were stalling and playing for time, hoping one side would actually win the war before they had to make a final decision. Part of him wanted to condemn them as cowards, part of him understood their fears all too well. They were right at the front line of the war, with the added disadvantage that anyone caught defecting from the Federation would be punished harshly.
“Good luck,” he said. “I’ll escort you down to the shuttlebay.”
“Thank you, General,” Chang Li said. “Overall, how are the crews coping?”
“Reasonably well, but the thrill of having overrun Athena has paled,” Charlie said. “We’ve shown we can best the Federation, but we haven’t managed to actually win or even force it to the negotiation table. Right now, we’re well-prepared for a drive on Boston, but our morale will take a catastrophic hit if we lose.”
“Then you’d better not lose,” Chang Li said.
* * *
“They say we’re definitely moving, this time,” Captain Roebuck said.
Uzi shrugged. One of the disadvantages of being a mercenary, even with two years of loyal service, was that no one told him what they thought he didn’t need to know. In his experience, they also tended to not tell him information he really did need to know, even when he was genuinely being a loyal – and well paid – servant. There had been so many false starts to the long-planned attack on Boston that he wasn’t taking any rumors seriously, until they were confirmed.
“That’s good, I suppose,” he said. Roebuck had been promoted, unsurprisingly. The promotion rates were quite high, for those who survived. Some of the mercenaries had muttered about that, but they knew the score. The Outsiders weren’t fool enough to promote mercenaries who weren’t anything, apart from hired hands. “And do we have definite instructions?”
“Not yet,” Roebuck said. “Merely an order to be ready for departure at forty-eight hours notice.”
Uzi smiled, mentally cataloguing the steps they would need to take to ensure the entire unit was ready to go. Roebuck might not have been manipulated into questioning everything he was told by his superiors, which would have been the first step towards turning him into a source, if not an active agent, but he had grown to trust Uzi. Uzi planned to take ruthless advantage of that in the future.
“I think we can make it,” he said. Roebuck’s transfer to the Outsider Naval Infantry – Uzi had pointed out that ONI was already taken, but the Outsiders had been unimpressed – had given him all manner of access, including some levels the Outsiders hadn’t realized anyone could access without proper security clearances. “Is it just us?”
“Just the Naval Infantry,” Roebuck said. “The other groundpounders are going to remain here.”
“And keep the planet under control,” Uzi said. It was hard to be sure, but he suspected the planet’s provisional government was playing a double game. The threat of bombardment could be used as an excuse, if the Federation won the war. It wouldn’t save them from execution, though. “The locals do seem to like us.”
“Mostly,” Roebuck said. He looked worried. Keeping track of men running in and out of the brothels was a minor nightmare, particularly when there were elements on the planet who were very unfriendly. “But I will be glad to leave.”
“I understand,” Uzi said. “I’ll call back the men, then keep them confined to barracks and running endless drills. The experience will do them good.”
“And keep the equipment functional,” Roebuck agreed.
Uzi kept his face impassive. Compared to some of the stupid gre
enie lieutenants he’d had to take by the hand and turn into officers, Roebuck wasn’t too bad. Even with Uzi’s strictly limited help, he was turning into a capable young officer. But he was on the wrong damn side. There would come a time, Uzi knew, when he would stick a knife in Roebuck’s back, even though he would regret it.
There’s no choice, he told himself, as he reached for his terminal. It has to be done.
He contemplated the possibilities as he sent the signal, recalling the regiment to the barracks. The Outsiders didn’t like to admit it, but they’d effectively duplicated the Federation Marines, although on a smaller scale. They’d never really needed to hold down vast tracts of land, after all. The Naval Infantry were designed to take and hold fortifications in space, or even board starships, not land on planetary surfaces. And that meant...
They plan to punch through one of the Asimov Points, he thought. Unless they plan to force the defenders to surrender...
“Make sure everyone is ready for deployment,” Roebuck said. “I have a good feeling about this one. It might be the real offensive we’ve all been waiting for.”
Uzi kept his face impassive. In his view, the longer the offensive was delayed, the better.
“And once we take Boston, we can move on to Earth,” Roebuck continued. “And that would be the end of the war.”
“There are more defended systems between Boston and Earth,” Uzi pointed out. “The offensive would have to punch through them, one by one.”
“But Boston is the big one,” Roebuck said. “We could win this war! Next year, we could be walking down the streets of Earth!”
“I’ve seen Earth,” Uzi said. “It wasn’t much to look at, really.”
And besides, he added silently, Earth’s fall will not end the war.
“Sourpuss,” Roebuck said, lightly. “Earth’s fall will bring down the emperor. And then all we will have to do is mop up the remains.”
“I hope you’re right,” Uzi lied.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The downside of the Federation’s control (directly or indirectly) over the media was that no one believed a word the official media said. Unsurprisingly, when rumors started to spread rapidly, they were believed.
-The Federation Navy in Retrospect, 4199
Earth, 4100
Jonathon Small disliked his job.
It wasn’t the food he hated, although a few years serving synthetic burgers to students had left his hands stained and greasy. Having a steady job was worth any amount of suffering – and besides, he and his fellows were allowed to finish the remaining meals after the diner had closed for the night. It might have left him fat, smelly and generally bad-tempered, but it was a steady job when there were almost none to go around. His wages ensured his family didn’t have to crawl to the civil servants for everything they needed, no matter how simple.
It was the students he hated. Many of them were bright young things, handsome or beautiful, without a single original thought in their brains. If, of course, they had brains. He had his doubts, because not a one of them seemed capable of stringing two thoughts together without a textbook from some overpaid teacher in front of them. And, he knew, most of them would graduate and then discover they couldn’t find a job. Who the hell wanted someone with a degree in liberal arts when Earth’s infrastructure was falling apart? The pretty young girls and handsome young boys would spend the rest of their lives in poky apartments, collecting dole from the civil servants and breeding the next generation of moronic idiots who thought they knew everything.
Maybe the girls will go on the game, he thought, as he eyed one particular table, crammed with young girls in their late teens. The girls were even stupider than the boys, in his opinion; they tended to cling to their opinions, even when confronted with proof they were completely wrong. He still recalled one of them asking him, in all sincerity, if he didn’t feel exploited by his employers. Of course he did, Jonathon had thought, although he’d merely muttered something under his breath and then asked if she wanted fries with her burger. But at the end of the day, he was actually earning something and the students in front of him were living on the government’s teat.
But this time things looked different. More and more students were cramming their way into the diner, ordering plates of food and drink and then debating, in their earnest manner, something that had happened on the moon. It was just as absurd, in Jonathon’s view, as when he’d overheard students discussing the merits of Admiral Justinian’s war against the Federation and the Grand Senate. No matter what the students thought, the war would be won or lost...and nothing would change for the average citizen. There would merely be a different boss right at the top. And he’d been right. Emperor Marius had taken over, in the end, and what had changed for Jonathon? Nothing.
He rolled his eyes in disgust, then walked behind the counter and frowned. Patty was sitting behind the rows of machines, crying. Jonathon winced – Patty was young, barely older than the students – and too sensitive for the job. If her father hadn’t been owed a favour by someone in the civil service, she probably wouldn’t have gotten the job. She was really too young and pretty to survive as a waitress. Between being leered at when she was behind the counter and being groped when she was serving food, it was unlikely she would survive very long. But she didn’t have many other options, unless she wanted to become a whore. The brothels were always looking for fresh meat.
“Go find the next few bags of fries,” he told her. She was young enough for him to feel almost fatherly towards her, although she was five years older than his oldest son. “I’ll take the food out to the little bastards.”
He watched her scurry off – her trousers were really too tight, but the workers weren’t allowed to change anything without written permission from headquarters – and then picked up the tray of food. The students probably didn’t realize it, he suspected, but they were actually eating the diner out of cheap reprocessed food. He’d already asked his boss to put in an emergency order for more foodstuffs, yet they’d be unlikely to arrive in time. They might have to close the diner early for the first time in years.
Balancing the tray with the ease of long practice, he strode out into the eating zone and sighed as he realized that someone had spilled a large milkshake on the floor. The little bastards hadn’t even bothered to tell the overworked staff that there had been a spill, even though the staff could lose some of their wages if inspectors saw the hazard before it was mopped up. He gritted his teeth and walked up to the table, then announced the contents of the tray in a loud voice. The students were debating so earnestly that he had to repeat himself twice before they heard him and started to claim their food.
One of the students – a loud girl wearing a shirt so tight her breasts were threatening to break out – caught his arm, fortunately just after he’d emptied the tray. “What do you think of it?”
Jonathon had to fight to keep the irritation off his face. Being sneered at by his superiors was always easier to handle, if only because his superiors had worked to earn their ranks. The students, on the other hand, always looked down on him, as if working for a living was somehow a bad thing. The lucky ones would be joining him in a year, he was sure, no matter how much they sneered now. And the unlucky ones would be buried in the crapper.
“Of what?” He said, somehow managing to keep his voice civil. These were trying times and a single complaint could cost him his job. “I haven’t heard of anything.”
“There was a strike on the moon,” a male student said. The disdain in his voice was so strong that Jonathon had to resist the temptation to punch him in the face. “The pigs broke it up and arrested the leaders.”
Jonathon shrugged. He’d never heard of any strike – or of the cops being involved. Pigs indeed – didn’t the students realize that their lives would be much worse without the campus police? There were places barely a mile from the university where he wouldn’t dare go without an armed escort, where looting, rape and murder were daily o
ccurrences. The pretty girls in front of him would be torn apart if the madness ever slipped into the campus, no matter how socially just they considered themselves to be. And their boyfriends wouldn’t stand a chance.
“I wouldn’t know anything about it,” he said, instead. He picked up several empty boxes – the students were too occupied with their debate to shove them into the waste bins – and a half-eaten burger that someone had abandoned. It was hard to blame whoever had been trying to eat it. Jonathon knew, all too well, just what went into the burgers. “My job is merely to serve food.”
“He’s one of the exploited,” another student whispered, too drunk or too stupid to keep his words low enough so they couldn’t be overheard. “He dare not say a word.”
“We’re going out on strike ourselves,” the first student said. She took a breath, which did interesting things to her chest. “Why don’t you join us?”
Jonathon studied her for a long moment. Judging from her appearance, her family was almost certainly middle-class. It was unlikely in the extreme she would be anywhere near the campus if her family was upper-class. Her perfect face, soft appearance and complete lack of concern over her clothing – what little there was of it – all added up to a disgraceful naivety about the universe. But he knew there was no point in trying to lecture her. She didn’t want to hear anything that disagreed with her worldview.
“Because someone has to serve the food,” he said, reminding himself why his sons weren’t going to go to university. They were going to become tradesmen instead. “And because I have work to do.”
“That’s true,” another student said. “You can serve us food while we’re on strike.”
The Shadow of Cincinnatus Page 25
