“Hopefully, that means that the admiral will ensure that there is no repetition,” she said with feigned levity. “I assume that you are also here to learn something about me.”
Yanagita looked embarrassed, and Bruwer smiled demurely. Taking aim at a silhouette target, she fired the last three rounds from her clip. Her shots ripped open a neat hole in the tom area over the target’s heart. “My husband mentioned that Admiral Horii was also distressed by one of the songs that his soldiers like to sing. Was it ‘The Little Tin Soldier’?”
“No, a different song—I believe that it is called ‘The Whistling Pig.’ The admiral is somewhat concerned that it may not convey the proper attitude to the local populace.”
Horii had been particularly annoyed by one of the more outrageous verses from the NovySibir campaign:
The bombings and the shootings kept the pig from getting sleep,
But mines are very nice for keeping wolves away from sheep.
The admiral got impatient when the natives tried to play, But Matti cleaned a pistol, and the problem went away!
Bruwer explained, “As far as I know, Anton’s soldiers have been singing that song for longer than the admiral has been alive. Please assure Admiral Horii that the local population is inured to it. By now, there are at least seven or eight verses in Afrikaans.”
“It seems so—dismal.”
“The song is quite dismal, but then so is war. My husband’s battalion has been pushed off like pigs to the slaughterhouse many times, and they rather resent it.”
“I see,” Yanagita said, although he clearly did not.
“I am sure that the admiral will understand. I also understand that he is also somewhat concerned about the Agriculture Law.”
“It seems a very curious measure for your government to require families to maintain a year’s supply of food.”
“Dried peas, beans, lentils, potatoes, fruit, fish, meat, and maize. Fuel alcohol, flour, sugar, salt, and powdered eggs and milk,” Bruwer quoted from the enactment. “With the assistance of the churches, the neighborhood associations monitor stocks on a quarterly basis.”
“The admiral wonders whether this measure was necessary,” Yanagita said dutifully. What the admiral had actually said was that hungry people have no time for politics, and surplus food made Suid-Afrika’s population dry tinder for rebellion.
“It appeared so at the time. You would have to ask my husband about the military reasons for enacting the law, but economically, it made a tremendous degree of sense. USS oriented Suid-Afrika to produce a large agricultural surplus for off-planet export, and the company’s decision to curtail off-planet shipments nine years ago created a great deal of unnecessary economic turmoil, which helped to fuel the rebellion. Requiring people to maintain food stocks provided us with a market for surplus food, and storing the excess in people’s homes is much cheaper than building silos. I am told that repealing the law would be very inflationary.”
“I see,” Yanagita said politely.
“I am not sure that you do,” Bruwer said quietly. “During the rebellion, thousands of people were killed or lost their homes, and others were transported after it ended, although some of my fellow citizens would perhaps have liked to have seen them shot after the botch they made of things. If Imperial Security had handled things, many more would have been shot or transported. All of this resulted, Captain Yanagita, from economic mismanagement by USS. We do not wish this to recur.”
“I see,” Yanagita stammered.
“Is there some other matter that I can help you with?” “The admiral was concerned that our files on you and your husband appear somewhat incomplete,” Yanagita admitted. “Both of you are very young, and it is unusual for younger persons such as your husband to be promoted over the head of seniors. It would be helpful to know more.”
“I assume that you have nothing on me and virtually nothing on Raul, although the commander of the unit he served with on Earth undoubtedly made a few choice comments in his file.”
Yanagita looked away. “The commander of the Eleventh Shock Battalion said that your husband did not take the role of the Imperial Government or the profession of arms seriously.” Bruwer nodded as she ejected her empty clip and inserted another. “Yes, he told my husband as much. My husband dislikes tea, and I believe he told the assembled mess that the superiority of green tea is due to the relative absence of mouse droppings. His request for colonial posting was approved shortly thereafter.” She assumed a firing stance. “Let me think—my husband has 'written seven monographs on seashell taxonomy and amphtile behavior, and he teaches at the university. He is also an anarchist of a sort.”
“An anarchist?” Yanagita repeated in astonishment.
“Of a sort. He does not like governments. He accepts the fact that people would behave much worse if they did not have governments to restrain them, but he does not like governments. I am sure that you are aware that both of his parents died in Argentinian prisons.”
Yanagita nodded.
“Then you understand that he did not arrive at this conviction lightly.” She fired three quick rounds at the target and paused. “Raul recognizes that all governments—no matter how well intentioned—are ultimately based upon coercion, which is to say, the use of force and violence. Some governments do not issue their policemen guns, but their foundation is still coercive power in the last analysis. In Raul’s view, what is important is whether the coercion a government applies is commensurate with the resulting benefit which in theory accrues to the population as a whole, and whether it discourages-—rather than encourages—the more overt forms of hardship, mayhem, and
intolerance.” She fired three more rounds. “This gives Raul an unusual perspective as one of my government’s advisers.” ‘This is very unusual,” Yanagita allowed.
“And I am a pacifist of a sort.”
Yanagita blinked hard.
Bruwer fired the final three rounds in her second clip. “Although I know enough history to be entitled to voice an opinion, I am opposed to the use of violence.”
Yanagita fumbled for a response. “Did you not just say that governments are grounded in the use of coercive force?”
“1 did, and they are. My husband and I have many virtues, but consistency is not one of them.”
“Do you not find it awkward to be married to a soldier?” Yanagita asked, clearly disconcerted.
Bruwer smiled enigmatically. “It gives Raul a slight moral advantage. I am willing to die for the moral principles that I believe in, but Raul is willing to die and also to kill. He is a soldier who dislikes war, and I am a politician who dislikes politics.”
Yanagita folded his hands in supplication and bowed from the waist. “May I retrieve your target? I would be honored if I could have it as a keepsake.”
Bruwer nodded and watched as he went down range to retrieve it. She said to herself in a soft monotone, “How charming. How utterly charming.” Her hand shook as she bent to pick up the magazine she had dropped.
When Yanagita returned with the target folded up and tucked away in his pocket, he said, “There is one matter that I should mention. When I spoke to Admiral Horii, he seemed quite concerned over the unrest that the land tax had engendered.” “No.”
“No?” Yanagita responded, clearly puzzled.
Prior to the rebellion, USS had owned most of Suid-Afrika’s land and left title to the rest in a state of chaos. The landrosts the company had appointed had further confused matters by impartially accepting bribes from either or both sides in every lawsuit.
After preparing a land map that confirmed the titles of persons actually in possession in most cases, Beyers had taxed developed land at a moderate rate and underdeveloped land at a prohibitively high rate. The greediest would-be land barons— and USS—promptly found themselves eaten alive by the taxes. They received little sympathy.
The tax encouraged returning land in its natural state to the government and favored small, fairly intensive uses.
With help from the university, virtually all of the rancher magnates had opted to fence their land, plant it in nitrogen-fixing crops, and rotate cattle between plots. The tax left USS, as the planet’s largest and least-efficient landowner, in a decidedly unfavorable position.
Bruwer looked at Yanagita with icy green eyes. “Heer Matsudaira was over to see President Beyers yesterday. Let us not mince words. Heer Matsudaira demanded concessions openly, and you are hinting that we should grant them to him. The answer is no.”
“But while I would not presume to speak for Admiral Horii, if people would make accommodations in small matters, I am sure that things would work out best for everyone.”
Bruwer smiled, tight-lipped. “I just finished explaining to you that I am completely unreasonable. The land tax is not a small matter, but even if it was, have you heard of the nail of Goha?”
“Goha? No, I have not.”
“It is an Islamic tradition. My husband has picked up things from all over and heard the story on the island of Kalimantan. A man named Goha once sold his house, but asked if he could use a nail on the wall. It seemed like such a small thing that the new owner agreed. And each day, Goha hung something new on the nail—a basket, a coat, a stick—until it seemed as if Goha lived there still.”
She looked at Yanagita steadily. “Heer Matsudaira is committed to reviving United Steel-Standard’s hegemony over this planet. He was silly enough to make this known, but we would have expected this of him in any case. He intends to use any concessions we grant him as a wedge for further concessions, as I am sure that Admiral Horii understands. For this reason we will grant him none.”
“This could lead to unpleasant consequences,” Yanagita said uneasily.
“We are well aware that Admiral Horii could choose to dissolve our government. It will not change things.” She closed her eyes. “Captain, when you recount our conversation to Admiral Horii, please explain to him that I am thoroughly unreasonable, and that in many ways, this planet is thoroughly unreasonable. Unless he understands this, he is likely to make grave errors. And you might also consider telling him that I am a very good shot—for a woman.”
Yanagita said, somewhat awkwardly, “It is not that Japanese consider your sex inferior, but women seldom hold higher social status.”
Bruwer allowed his non sequitur to pass unchallenged. She placed her empty pistol on safety and holstered it. “I am, by the way, a much better pistol shot than my husband is. He will tell you that it is because I have better vision and better eye-hand coordination, but the truth is that when he finds it necessary to shoot something, he likes to use something more destructive. There is one thing more—Raul has reason to believe that the ARM will try to assassinate Admiral Horii. He tells me that it is what he would do if he were in their position. Thus far, he has not been able to convince Colonel Surni to take precautions. I would ask you to convey his fears to the admiral.”
Bowing, Yanagita departed and dutifully returned to report the conversation to Admiral Horii, who closed his eyes to listen.
“The land tax—is she adamant?” Horii asked, opening his eyes.
Yanagita bowed his head. “I believe that this is so, sir.” “Matsudaira-san will be frenzied when he realizes this. How childish of him,” Horii said, shutting his eyes again. “Life seems more and more to me like an illusion. There is a sense of impermanence about it. Love and hate, riches and fame, all seem evanescent as morning mist.”
“Do you agree with Acting Major Sanmartin that the Afrikaner Resistance Movement will attempt to assassinate you?” “It is of no great importance. I will never go home, I know this,” Horii said with some sadness. “We are too far away. The time dilation will change things too much. I expect to remain here at my post until I die. Here, there is no love or hate, only duty. It does not greatly matter when my death occurs, although it is important not to allow the Afrikaner Resistance Movement any successes.”
“Does Colonel Sumi also think this?” Yanagita ventured uncertainly.
“Surely not,” Horii said, misunderstanding the question. “Sumi is an ardent follower of Go-Nichiren teachings, as many others are. He believes that after a certain number of years following the Buddha’s death, Japan will be divinely called upon to take the peoples of the world under one rule in which all of the five races would live in harmony, following a final, cataclysmic war. While some Go-Nichiren adherents believe that this final war was the crack-up, others, like Sumi, believe that this war is destined to occur in our lifetimes, and that they are fated to make it come to pass. Sumi believes that the current order of things must be purified in order to achieve its full potential. You should ask yourself why he chose to come on this expedition.” “Is Matsudaira-sama also a Go-Nichiren believer?” “Matsudaira?” Horii curled his lip in disdain. “Matsudaira is nothing. Matsudaira believes in himself and money, in that order. Do you know who he is? He is a rich businessman who had himself adopted into an impoverished branch of a distinguished family, nothing more.” He stood. “It is time. Begin tapping the telephones of Beyers and Bruwer.”
“Sir, I believe that Colonel Sumi has already done so.”
“I am aware of this. I wish to know what Colonel Sumi hears. Also, initiate discussions with Lieutenant-Colonel Vereshchagin’s political officer, Captain Yoshida. It will be important to ascertain his attitude.”
“What is it that you propose to do, sir?” Yanagita asked, once again clearly perplexed.
“First, I propose to neutralize the Afrikaner Resistance Movement. Beyond this, it is not necessary that you know. In attacking an enemy, it is necessary to maintain a flexible grip and concentrate solely on cutting him, not in a preconceived way, but by whatever means are most in harmony with the situation. For the moment, at least, it will be necessary for Matsudaira-san to compose himself with patience. I will take pleasure in telling him this.” He cocked an eye. “Just how unreasonable is this woman—as unreasonable as she says?” “She is very unreasonable,” Yanagita said firmly.
“It will be very interesting.” Horii again closed his eyes. “Sir, there is one more matter that I would beg to report.” “And this is?”
“I noticed that the Afrikaners have a war memorial in Pretoria a few blocks away from the staatsamp listing the names of all who died in the rebellion.”
“Weak of Vereshchagin to allow them to put up such a monument, but this is hardly unusual enough to report, I would think.”
“It lists all of the names, sir,” Yanagita reiterated, “including the names of the Imperial soldiers who died.”
“How very interesting.” Horii closed his eyes again. “How very unusual.”
AFTER DUTY HOURS, COLONEL SUMI HELD A PARTY FOR MEMBERS
of Admiral Horii’s staff in a Pretoria-Wes tavern. Although English was the international language of empire, with none but Japanese present, Sumi placed a bowl in the center of the table and fined everyone who accidentally used an English word fifty sen.
In the streets outside, two plainclothes police made their presence apparent. Rather than linger, Jopie Van Nuys left.
That night, Horii committed a poem to the pages of his war diary.
Today, as commander
Of the guardians of the void
In this land of dawn,
I gaze up in awe
At the rising sun.
Friday(310)
THE KITTEN RACED UP THE STEPS, NUDGED THE DOOR OPEN WITH
her head, and bounded into the room full-tilt, in preparation for a high-speed turn and a final leap onto the bed.
Unfortunately for the kitten, the flooring was slick; when her body made the turn, the friction coefficient kept it going forward until she hit the wall. There was an audible thump, followed by a plaintive meow.
“What does that .make?” Sanmartin asked, peeping out over the comforter.
“The third time this week that I know of,” his wife answered sleepily. “Why do we have a cat? Nobody else has a cat.” “She’s sweet!”
“She’s a cat,” Bruwer explained crossly from under the covers.
There was another plaintive meow from the comer.
“Did Vroew Beyers mention that she has figured out how to get into your underwear drawer? She worms her body inside. Then she gets her head caught. Every time. And she hides when people come over. Sensible cats don’t like people, for the same reasons that sensible people don’t like cats.”
“She likes me.”
“That’s because she hasn’t figured out that you are a person yet. Ouch, don’t pull on my hair! Are the assassinations over?” “For now.”
“I spoke to the parents of those two men—boys really. For all that their sons had done, they were shocked and grieved.” “As you keep reminding me, those who live by the sword, die by the sword.”
“I wish there had been some other way, some better way.” Bruwer shut her eyes. “You should have told me.”
Sanmartin shook his head impatiently. ‘The first thing that Shimazu taught both of us about intelligence is not to let the left hand know what the right hand is doing.”
“I do not want to argue. Have you decided what to do about your position at the university?”
“ft’s time to give it up. Things are coming to a head.” He smiled. “Remember when we started? The mountains of mine tailings that USS let the wind and water carry away? It looked like one big desert up there—we could have fought a battle, and it would have looked better.”
She laughed. “I am sure you are right. Remember when you sent your company to repair the bullet holes in the houses along the Burgerstraat in the middle of the rebellion? Everyone in Johannesburg thought you were crazy.”
“I seem to recall that you embarrassed half the town into helping.”
“People are proudest of what they do themselves, with help, not what other people do for them,” Bruwer said quietly. She sat up and leaned forward on her elbows. “Heer Matsudaira is putting pressure on us to dispense with the land tax which is paying to clean up the disaster his company bequeathed to us.” “The land tax does other things, don’t forget. Five years ago, barely a quarter of the farmers held legal title to their land—the rest were squatters and tenants—and none of them were paying taxes to anyone. Now, all of them hold titles and mortgages, and they’re actually paying their taxes cheerfully, which generally only happens in bad fiction.”
Robert Frezza - [Colonial War 02] Page 7
