Surrender Your Dreams

by Blaine Lee Pardoe

  Cheryl felt compelled to defend him. "His words seemed sincere."

  "My dear Cheryl," Stewart replied, for the first time using her first name, and in a surprisingly casual tone. "You lack the subtleties of a political mind, which is one of the reasons I like you. It isn't what he said, it is what he implies. He is ripping apart the outside of this 'FortressRepublic' to preserve himself and his position of power."

  "Do you really believe that?"

  "Yes. He has left us to the proverbial wolves. And now we must do our duty to our citizens."

  "I will order the media to release Exarch Levin's statement," Cheryl said, knowing full well that would not happen—not right away, at least.

  "No, no, no," the governor protested. "First what is needed is for us to reassure our constituents that they will be taken care of. If The Republic won't do it—well, then we will have to fill that gap."

  * * *

  The image of the governor was broadcast on every holovid screen on Callison, interrupting numerous sporting events, the news, several boring documentaries, and the latest episode of Immortal Warrior Rebirth. Cheryl watched the address from her office, leaning back in her chair, studying how Allison Stewart worked.

  It was a masterful performance, full of emotion and surprises. The opening was particularly touching. The governor said she had received a message broadcast from "the remains of Stone's Republic." The wording was carefully chosen to indicate that Callison was no longer part of that Republic. She had laid the groundwork, then went on to confide how she had always believed in Stone's vision. Now, unfortunately, it seemed the new order had other ideals, other visions in mind. She has linked herself to Stone—a safe image for the minds of the public.

  "Exarch Levin has chosen to abandon the majority of The Republic, including our world, your homes—our home" was her next power statement. That would play off the fears people had been feeling since the collapse of the HPG network. Cheryl made a mental note to find out who crafted this speech for the governor. Whoever it was, they were good.

  Then, in a motherly tone, she gave the listeners some reassurance. "We may be alone, but we are alone together. My responsibilities have not changed. I am charged with protecting and defending the people of Callison and will do just that." Cheryl's brow wrinkled at those words. She strongly suspected what would follow and didn't want to be proven correct.

  "In order to ensure our safety and longevity, I am assuming full control of those parts of the government that traditionally have been managed by the former Republic." The key word was "former." Stewart was telling her people that The Republic was no more.

  This announcement was guaranteed to create problems. From what Cheryl knew of the legate, a surly officer named Nehemiah Leif, he would aggressively resist this move. The governor's statement was open to interpretation, but there was no doubt in the mind of the ghost knight what was intended. She was not talking about minor administrative functions in the government: She was going to seize control of the planetary militia.

  The governor ended her statement by urging her constituents to maintain peace and order. "The formal statement from Exarch Levin will begin broadcasting as soon as we feel confident that we have adequately answered the questions of the media. Rest assured that I am a loyal citizen of Callison and will do what is right to protect and serve you, its people."

  Cheryl shut off the monitor as the question-and- answer portion of the news conference began. FortressRepublic was no longer a concept or a plan; it was reality. She and all others like her were cut off from Terra, possibly for the rest of their lives. It was a reality that she had come to accept over the last few months.

  She dragged her thoughts to the governor. Stewart was very good at manipulating the media and the public: Cheryl knew there were things she could learn from such an expert. Her own training in politics and marketing had been thorough, and she had successfully used her talent and experience multiple times in the past; but watching a master at work gave her a chance to fine- tune her skills. Thinking about Governor Stewart's performance led her mind back to her mission ... it always turned back to her mission.

  I have to watch that. . . letting my mind wander. That's what leads to mistakes. My orders are all that I can truly rely on. Orders from a ghost paladin who was no longer available to her. Were those orders still valid? She had studied them back on New Earth, and had reviewed them once or twice since. Cheryl could almost recite them word for word. In the past, if changes to her orders seemed indicated, she could have communicated with Terra to confirm whether a course of action was appropriate. She had rarely taken advantage of that option, but she found comfort in knowing the safety net was there. Now all I have is my own interpretation of those orders—and perhaps Paladin Redburn, if I could find him.

  She began gathering the paperwork she would take home to review. Around her, the Directorate would be monitoring all channels and information sources for signs of civil unrest; there was some minor concern about the potential for protests, rioting and looting. Cheryl Gunson had responsibilities to tend to.

  As she came to her feet, she saw a message from the governor arrive on her priority channel. Damn. It was clear she would have little time to rest from this point forward.

  * * *

  With just one additional person in it, the governor's office seemed cramped. Legate Leif of the Callison militia, officially known as the Callison Light Horse, was red in the face when Cheryl entered the room. He was in his early fifties, but as ready for service as ever. He was going bald but not fighting it; he kept what little white hair he still had cropped short. He had a reputation for aggressively defending his troops and his decisions, and Cheryl knew by the fury in his face that she had walked into the middle of a fight.

  "Thank you for joining us, Cheryl." The governor gestured to a chair next to the legate. He gave Cheryl a nod which she returned. "The legate and I were just discussing the content of my speech yesterday. He was expressing his, eh, concerns."

  Diplomatic to the end. "Indeed."

  "As I was telling Governor Stewart, I have not received orders from my chain of command telling me to report to her. That being the case, I have a number of issues with having the Light Horse simply fall under her direct jurisdiction." His voice showed the strain of holding back his frustration.

  "I am not sure what I can offer to this discussion," Cheryl replied. "My concern is for the internal affairs of Callison." She watched the governor for some sort of clue about which direction she should go. Stewart's face was unreadable.

  "I do value your counsel in such matters," Stewart said smoothly. "Legate Leif, I have shown you the text of Exarch Levin's message. That message does more than imply that he has granted governors a much wider latitude in managing the control and defense of their worlds—a logical position, given the collapse of The Republic. I am simply attempting to comply with the exarch's wishes."

  Legate Leif bared his teeth in a menacing smile. " 'Collapse of The Republic,' my ass. I read those orders, and there was nothing in that message about my turning over command of the militia to you. I heard your speech—everyone on the planet did. You painted the exarch as turning his back on Callison. Now you sit there and claim to be implementing his wishes. You made it sound like The Republic betrayed Callison and now you sit here and tell me that you are simply being a good citizen of that same Republic. Governor, you can't have your cake and eat it too."

  "I believe you are exaggerating minor points in my speech, Legate," she said without raising her voice. "My loyalty to The Republic has never been in question."

  He narrowed his eyes. "Politicians. You play games with words and in the end it's men like me who have to pick up the pieces. The Republic is going through some changes, I admit it. That doesn't mean that I will simply hand you the militia on a silver platter. I serve a higher cause."

  "A cause that has abandoned you."

  Legate Leif turned and looked directly at Cheryl. "Ms. Gunson, don't tell me tha
t you are buying into this bull?"

  I don't want to be dragged into this fight, on either side. "I agree that the message from the exarch offers a broad interpretation. I would think, however, that you and the governor could reach a compromise. Given the current situation and the fact that The Republic is not in a position to offer us clarification, it would seem to be the most effective approach."

  Leif waved his hand in the air. "Compromise? On the defense of this world? 1 don't think so." He rose to his feet.

  "Legate Leif, I ask that you take some time to think this over. Consider all of your options. It is the most prudent course of action."

  He squinted at her in anger. "Bold words. Governor. You don't have the authority or the force to take the militia from my command. I don't have anything to contemplate." Leif stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

  Governor Stewart didn't seem at all fazed. If anything, she looked as if he had done exactly what she wanted him to do. Cheryl shifted in her leather seat and watched her superior.

  "He is a very hard-nosed man."

  " 'Determined' is the word I would use," Cheryl replied. "He makes a strong case. The message we received from the exarch does not provide specific details for sorting out this kind of situation." She understood how the legate felt. She too felt the pain of being cut off from Terra. Cheryl also understood that this meeting had been carefully staged by Governor Stewart. The governor was laying the foundation for what was to come.

  "I am considering going on the airwaves again tonight," Stewart said. "I want to thank the people for their support during this time of transition. I think I owe them a statement about the somewhat rebellious activity of our legate as well. I need to reassure them that I am going to do what is necessary to protect them. What do you think?"

  Cheryl said nothing for a moment, thinking hard about the implications. Stewart was shrewd and quite cunning. The people were already frustrated by The Republic. She was giving them a focal point on which to vent their frustrations—the legate and the Light Horse. "If you encourage public scrutiny of the legate and the Light Horse, it may become difficult to maintain order. People have been chafing at The Republic for years, ever since the HPG network went down. Unless your words are chosen carefully, Governor, you might be pushing the public to actions we cannot fully control."

  Stewart chuckled and her double chins wobbled slightly. "I always choose my words carefully, Cheryl. I believe the people need to know the truth about the legate and his position against Callison."

  The truth as you want them to see it. "I understand."

  "Do you, Cheryl? You see, I think that if the public does protest the legate's position, we will find it necessary to take some action. As you said, things can get out of hand. And in the end, my dear, something will need to be done about the legate and the Light Horse."

  Cheryl had no doubt about what the governor was implying. Mobs were violent, uncontrollable beasts when unleashed. Accidents happened. Violence occurred. In the midst of such fighting, people can be hurt—or worse. What Stewart was asking her to do now crossed a line that she had been able to avoid up until this point. She was capable of doing what the governor was asking, but it was the part of being a ghost knight that she hated. There were times when certain actions had to be taken in the best interests of The Republic. That doesn 't mean I have to like this . . . not at all.

  "Indeed, Governor, something will need to be done."

  Price of Service 9

  Fort Defiance, Callison

  Fortress Republic (+912 days)

  The plain office was furnished with old furniture that had been retrieved from storage. The former military base was in the early phases of being recommissioned. Knights and other personnel worked tirelessly, repairing the buildings, reclaiming the grounds, repairing 'Mechs in the massive bays, training new troops. Some parts of this building were still in ruins, but this office recently had been patched and repainted. The abandoned fort was slowly returning to duty.

  Hunter Mannheim and Jeremy Chin had followed a carefully planned, long and circuitous route from the Duchy of Andurien to Callison, one of few refuges available to knights and paladins left outside FortressRepublic.

  "Reporting as ordered, sir." Mannheim stood at rigid attention.

  "Drop the formality," Damien Redburn said, looking up at the knight from his seat behind the battered metal desk. He tossed the handwritten letter across the desktop, but Mannheim didn't look down. He knew what it was; he had written it. "Your resignation is not accepted, Hunter."

  Anger flickered across the knight's face. "You cannot deny me—"

  "I can and do," Redburn cut him off. "Right now we need men like you, and I'm not going to accept your resignation because you are feeling guilty for what happened on Kwamashu."

  "Sir. With all due respect, it's not guilt. I committed a war crime, an atrocity. You can't allow me to continue to serve as a Knight of the Sphere—my action taints the rest of the order. Tens of thousands, perhaps millions will die because of me."

  Redburn tilted his chair back carefully, not sure where the stopping point on the old chair was or if it was working at all. "Sit down. Hunter. I want to tell you some things you don't know." The knight took the guest chair and sat at attention. Redburn tapped his fingers against his chin as he searched for the words to express what he had to say. He knew Hunter was an honorable man, and he knew the pressure honorable men put on themselves. The time had come to take away some of that pressure and bear the burden himself.

  Damien Redburn did not find this easy. None of this had been easy.

  "Sir Chin never revealed his orders to you?"

  Hunter shook his head. "All he told me about was that box and its contents. The boy is not coping with this very well, by the way. He talks to himself—and seems to answer himself, too."

  "I know," Redburn replied. He took a deep breath. "Hunter, this isn't easy for me to say. You are not responsible for what happened on Kwamashu. I am."

  "You, sir?"

  "I am, as is the ghost paladin."

  "I don't understand."

  "Before we sent you on this mission, we knew we would have to hit Kwamashu in order to get the remains of Thomas Marik. That act alone would spark tensions on the border. At the same time, we developed a list of probable target cities for staging what you were told would be a mock disaster. Breezewood was one of three potential target cities. It made that list because it was a dump for toxic and biological waste. That was why the other cities were on the list as well."

  "Sir?"

  Redburn sighed. "We knew a mock disaster might not be enough to start a war, and the theft of Marik's remains might also not be enough. So we targeted three cities that would create a real disaster."

  Hunter's face reddened with anger. "Why wasn't I told?"

  "Because it would have forced you to make a moral decision. The final choice of targets was left to your ghost knight."

  "What?"

  "Chin selected Breezewood. He made sure that when you detonated your charges, it set off a much broader cataclysm. He was under orders not to share that information with you. While I'm pleased that he adhered to those orders, I'm afraid that's what is making him ill. He has taken on the burden of this, all of the guilt."

  Redburn could actually see Hunter processing his words. "My God—sir. Don't you realize what you've done? Not just to me, not just to the Duchy, but to that boy."

  "1 do," Redburn assured him. He closed his eyes for a moment, wishing he could pray. The former exarch wanted to pray, but was worried that God might answer those prayers. There are many things in life I will have to atone for. This is only one. "I need you to maintain your mantle as a knight. I've brought some of the Fidelis with me to help rebuild your force and that of Lady Synd. I know you feel what 1 did was wrong. I can only say that it was necessary for the long-term survival and welfare of The Republic. But that doesn't make it an easier burden to bear."

  Hunter was st
ill angry. "I gave up my wife and my children so that I could be known as the Despoiler of Kwamashu."

  "No one knows other than the ghost paladin and Sir Chin. None of us will ever speak of this again."

  "That will have to be enough," Hunter replied coolly.

  Redburn seemed relieved that Mannheim had mentioned his family. Reaching into his uniform shirt pocket, he pulled out a data cube and laid it gently in front of the knight. "I had a feeling you'd take it this way, and you have every right to feel as you do. But the exarch wanted you to know that your guilt is mislaid. He authorized me to speak to your wife and children before FortressRepublic went active. I told them that you would be facing the greatest challenge given to a knight. I told them you would be asked to do things that were against your nature. I explained to them that they would not see you again for several years. I gave them two days. They understood, Sir Mannheim—in ways that will impress you. They recorded these messages for you. Hours' worth. What you think taints you in their eyes only makes you a better man. They would not want you to quit your service to The Republic: But don't take my word for it, listen to them."

  Hunter picked up the cube as if it were a delicate flower. He looked at Redburn.

  "I know," Redburn said.

  * * *

  Chin prowled about his small quarters like a trapped animal. Like most of FortDefiance, the room had been reconditioned. The air stank of the chemicals used to purge the last of the must and mold from the old ductwork. Despite its disinfected smell, his room was a mess. His cot was disheveled as badly as his appearance. The furniture was not aligned to the walls but placed almost randomly. Neatly aligned to the foot of his bed, however, was the wooden box he had kept constantly in sight even after his arrival on Callison.

  Long months in the DropShip had taken a toll on the young ghost knight. His hair was short now, but that only highlighted the gray starting to show at his temples. He was surprised every time he saw it in the mirror.

  The ghost knight monitored the news of Kwamashu and cringed at how the media had distorted the catastrophe. He had been there. No, more than that, he had caused it. Jeremy knew exactly how big the disaster was. There was just a hint of pride associated with that— pride in a job done right. A pride tainted by the enormity of the crime.