When the camera steadied, the doorway was no longer brightly lit and the deck was strewn with bits and pieces of twisted metal, granules of glass and another dark lump opposite the entry that had to be a body. He cut the replay, marveling Adzusa had the instincts to keep the camera trained on the corridor so long, after the shooting stopped. Another camerawoman would have probably lowered the lens after two or three seconds and missed the explosion. She had really good instincts, but this was too strong a scene to include in his piece, because the audience would never remember what he said after such a visceral jolt. He'd have his service run it as a separate story, to her solo credit.
First, would run his own shot of April at the elevator, as a short video until she bowed, beside his lead paragraph. She was braced, feet apart. Thumbs hooked at her hips in absolutely defiant hauteur. The eyes were especially good in that frame. They flashed. She was still a child that way, wearing her emotions on her face untempered. He really had a gem in his camera man for esthetics, even if he wasn't as brave as Adzusa.
He had been shocked and offended, at the time the elevator doors had opened, to see such treasures of Nippon, Kokuho, hung on what he thought a child. Yet he remembered how her stare had raised the hairs on his neck and curbed his tongue before he complained and instead he had found himself inexplicably bowing. The shamefully short acknowledgment he received had stung at the time, but he was happy in retrospect he'd curbed his tongue.
Sometimes there is more wisdom in following the visceral urge than the mind, he thought. Many others recently had found their meeting with this young lady fatal. Yes, he thought, looking at the bold jewelry and weapons on somber black garments, you make a wonderful pirate my little barbarian. The stiff beaded ballistic cloth vest, with the stand up collar, almost suggested a samurai's armor.
The wreck of the lobby went in the middle as a still shot, as did another shot of the trashed shuttle, nose bent over double. And the BBC shot of the sword point protruding from the Chinaman's back. Everyone had already seen it, but not tied into the other photos. At the end went the last picture which tied the commentary together. A still shot of April caught by the stringer, with a telephoto from down the corridor.
When he'd seen her at the elevator he had no idea what the box was on her belt. In the last picture she is standing in the station corridor, braced against the corner with the box held in both hands by a pistol grip. There is a fog of some sort about her, which renders the green beam of her weapon vivid. Its backscatter reflected brightly off the corner she's braced against.
The intersection is marked above her on the bulkhead, in Japanese characters and English. There is a ripple of ragged bullet furrows in the metal wall and a beam of an unseen companion's weapon crosses the picture from behind, a little lower than hers. Her display in her helmet is shining on her face, the visor foolishly clear, but wonderful for him. Her face is very much like the first photo, calm and alert, lips slightly open, not fierce, but intense and utterly without fear. The crowning touch is behind the second green bolt bisecting the scene, sheltered on the floor behind her is a boy nearly as young as she is, clutching his bloody fist in his other hand pressed against his chest. There is a bright smear of fresh blood wiped across his cheek and a long drop running down his wrist.
He has a shocked and angry look, rather than fear or despair. It created the impression she is standing between danger and her fallen companion. He must find out who the boy is. If he spent a month directing a photo shoot to produce this as a propaganda poster, he'd never match the power of what his stringer caught by serendipity. He might find another journalism prize in this piece, if he could describe it eloquently enough in both languages.
After saying everything in his heart, he started removing everything which was too detailed, or repetitious in the copy. He cut and cut, until he had distilled the thoughts, like the faint scent of delicate flowers, concentrated into a powerful perfume.
People remember the first thought, that aroused their interest only slightly, he had learned and the persuasive middle thoughts vaguely at best, but the end is what they really retain and where you must put your power, so he spent his best effort there.
He decided to address the American President directly. "Think well, Mr. President, how you act. If this is what the spirit of these people send forth to meet you in their girl-child; do you dare to meet their warriors?"
He signed it in traditional brush and ink. An affection he insisted upon, which drove the printers mad, as he wanted each article to carry a unique signature. When he was no longer important enough to the association to command the whim, he would know it was time to retire.
* * *
The crowd started forming early in the cafeteria. They set a table up, raised on a platform of food pallets, so it was a little higher and could be seen. Muños and Jon were there already and as they came in Jon invited the Lewis's to join him at the table. He inquired about April's mother Faye and was assured she was watching from home but wanted to work for Home quietly from behind the scenes, not as a public figure. Bob Lewis also begged off, sitting close, but mixed in the crowd facing the platform. The Singh's also were invited to the table and Dave who had prepared the Happy Lewis. Jeff persuaded Heather to join them also. Neil was also there as he had an important proposal to make.
When it was the full twenty four hours from his proposal, Muños stood and made sure the pad was broadcasting through the local net. He was the only one there dressed in a suit, but in an open collar white shirt and no tie.
"People, as agreed we are here to consider our proposals of yesterday. I assume everyone has had a chance to look at them, as they have been posted a full day. Does anyone have any objection or a proposal, which can't be stated after Jon Davis has a chance to address us?" There was only an expectant silence. Muños nodded and said. "Mr. Davis if you would address our proposals, please."
Jon seemed a little nervous but calmed down and made a surprisingly brief presentation of what he wanted to accomplish and the annual cost which would be about twelve hundred dollars USNA each, if as many voted and assumed the tax burden as voted yesterday. He also read his proposed press release.
At the end almost 1200 voted for the electorate retaining control of finances and accepting the burden of paying a fee for security and police services. They voted a separate OK by a much smaller margin, to his press release. Jon was going to just transmit the declaration he was mandated to issue, as a file to the news services, but was persuaded by proposal and vote, to call a news conference by com and read the declaration with the crowd watching.
Ajay Singh was seated to his left and it was obvious his new wife had prepared him for public presentation, because he didn't look like a refugee.
Dr. Nam-Kah Singh beside him was decked out in a loose batik silk gown, sown with seed pearls and augmented with enough glowing high karat gold, to establish her social rank, equal to her intellectual standing. She must have twelve bracelets on her left wrist alone.
April, on Jon's other side, had on another totally black outfit as she seemed to increasingly favor. Black tights and a long tunic vest, quilted heavily in geometric designs of black on black, over a black silk blouse with Msr. Broutin's cuff links in them. Her grandfather's beret was favored again. It was looking doubtful he'd ever get it back. She had a wide black belt with a blocky nonreflective black carbon fiber toggle buckle in front over the tunic and her usual kit of pad, scanner and laser joined by the captured Chinese machine pistol nakedly hanging out of a right handed cross draw holster in front. A thin clip held the very front, but the grip end was exposed all the way down past the trigger guard. To add insult she had fixed the captured emblem of rank from the Chinese officer, on the side of the black holster. The ammo case was already a dull black so she put it beside the holster. Further to the left and extending above the holster was the grip of not the lesser sword but for dress tonight the great blade, even though it was too big for her. The grip alone was huge against her s
light frame. Her jewelry was limited to simple pearl and gold ear studs.
The two women were dressed complexly and differently, but the men were all dressed simply. The badge of authority in all western culture, the tie, was completely absent.
Jon had expended all his nervousness for the local crowd and when Mr. Muños indicated several news organizations were waiting on his live feed, he picked up his sheet and read directly to the pad with no fancy Teleprompter, or camera work.
"People of Earth and all human habitation, I am Jon Davis, citizen of a new nation. I have been asked by our community, expressing their desire in an open vote, to announce the majority of people residing in the satellite known as Mitsubishi 3, have reached an important decision."
"We have found our relationship with the United States of North America is no longer the acceptable thing it once was. Instead, we are finding our privacy, our livelihoods and pursuit of an enjoyable and secure life, are hindered by our association." "Exercising the same principles of human rights and dignity, which prompted the creation of the American nation in times past, we wish to disassociate ourselves and inform the world we are now the nation of Home."
"Unfortunately, there has already been conflict and loss of life over our separation. We do not seek conflict or war with any state. We know from history the separation of states is less often peaceful, than born of strife. If it is thrust upon us, we will fight, but we would rather harm no one and seek peace with all. We ask the sovereign states of the world aid us in our preference for peace, by adding their voices acknowledging our independence."
"All we seek, is the normal relationship of equals and such open trade and travel as are the custom between nations, with respect for our territory and vessels. We will offer the same respect and security for your citizens."
"If you worry what we have become, be assured we are still forming our government daily, by public meetings and democratic nomination and vote. We shall have a government of respect for the individual, with privacy and property rights, which will make us a desirable place to live, to visit and to engage with in trade."
"I am head of the first agency formed in our government. I am by no means a head of state, nor do I desire to be such. At the moment I am an ambassador at large, to any who may want to contact us and the police chief for our local community."
That is all we want to say today. We exist. We seek recognition for the sake of peace and we welcome all who will be our friends."
Muños cut the web cast feed from his pad. "Well done," Mr. Muños told him and shook his hand. Jon stood, but found he wasn't going anywhere. There was a circle of both friends and strangers, wanting to shake his hand, thump his back and in a few cases hug him around the neck, since the rest was too big to encircle.
The only way he finally got them off him, was to keep asking if they were not going continue to consider other proposals and vote on them since everyone was here already. A few proposals were considered and voted on, before someone came up with his pad and bent over whispering in Muños' ear.
"There's some web cast being looped about us, John here just caught," he announced. "I want to see it myself. How about if I put it on the big screen?" There was a murmur of assent. They didn't make a formal vote on it.
April was horrified when the screen showed her, standing outside the elevator some weeks ago. The video showed her making the perfunctory rude bow she had agonized over later. What had she been thinking about that day, to look so stern? She tried to remember. She showed teeth, but rather than a smile, it looked like she might take a bite out of the camera man when she passed. She had thought it a hoot back then, to dress in such an outrageous costume and now she realized she dressed the same almost every day and thought it normal.
The pix were captioned in English and Japanese and had the audio feed in English for the room. She saw several people fiddle with their pads, probably to get the Japanese audio feed. The stupid thing just went on and on and she could feel her face burning with embarrassment.
At the end, when it showed her returning fire through the smoke from their ambush, she was horrified to realize two things. She had stood and fired around the corner, when she should have still been behind the shield, firing with her spex. Even worse the Japanese lady who had followed them to the Holiday Inn, must have been watching them even earlier than she had known. She had almost shot the woman in the corridor as she ran up behind them.
She was convinced the piece demonstrated she was a dangerous idiot in combat, but at the end, when Akira addressed President Hadley the crowd roared with approval. Her protests at the adulation feel on deaf ears. The people were ready for a hero and a respected outsider had handed one to them. When she protested to Jon, he leaned over and privately said quietly to her ear - "April the only way you could be a bigger hero to these folks, would have been to get shot for them on top of all the rest." She looked at him and was horrified to see behind the sweet smile he was dead serious.
* * *
The heads of the Chinese government sat watching the news conference in stoic silence. After the screen reverted to its decorative display, they turned their faces back to their leader.
"Do you desire the station destroyed?" the head of the armed forces asked eagerly.
"No. There is much change here," the Premier offered calmly. "The matter needs handled with finesse. The station is a bigger problem for their masters, than for us. Let them continue to provoke the Americans and see where it leads. If they are casually swatted like an errant child," he illustrated with a sweep of his hand, "it will serve both of us and if their early success is a lucky aberration that will happen quickly."
"If not, it's better to learn at the American's expense, instead of investing any more ourselves."
The soldier looked shocked at the implied rebuke. "We have lost a couple vessels. But they have not thrown themselves against the bulk of our nation. Did you see the arrogant way the barbarian child flaunted the battle trophy, with our emblems on it?
"Yes. Do you have another craft ready to launch so quickly, to press your vengeance?" the leader asked pointedly.
"No," he admitted, "we require at least a week before we can launch another ship capable of carrying significant force." He avoided looking up at the others.
"Well, do not press for a quick launch again," he was instructed. "There is much concern the Moment of Contemplation was rushed to launch faster than was wise. We have sufficient enemies, we can't afford to give them haste as an ally."
* * *
"We need to make a statement," the Secretary of Defense insisted.
"Anything we say will be a response and will be viewed by some as an acknowledgment, no matter how it is phrased or positioned, that they have succeeded in separating themselves." The President said. "Better to never grant the point they are separate and have to be returned in any sense. Our position is they are still under USNA governance. Just demonstrate the fact physically."
"We shall," the new head of the Space Command promised him, "but it is a new problem we never faced before. We didn't have any forces configured to deal effectively with occupying a civilian habitat against even limited resistance and it would be counterproductive to rush another force in, which would not demonstrate a convincing superiority. We need a delay to create some new tactics and perhaps new equipment, while we are preparing a suitable lift force. The sudden losses are taxing our fleet already, without diverting vessels which are were scheduled to service our other stations and sats months ago."
The President looked at him with thinly veiled anger. "We are not talking about bringing these rebels to heel in months," he informed him, "what can we do to demonstrate our control tomorrow?"
The Space Command officer was sweating, remembering how his previous boss had left this room. "The only systems we have which can mount any type of attack tomorrow, would be the use of a space plane to stand off and engage the station with laser or missiles, or use of an automated satellite attack system,
such as we would use for a major conflict with other space powers, to remove their satellite inventory."
"None of them are designed to use against a station. They are all made to engage and destroy other spacecraft, which are notoriously delicate. The damage they would do to a huge station would be limited and very hard to control. It would be like the old fashioned gravity bombing of a city from high altitude. We'd be as likely to hit a daycare center as we would a military resource."
"Such indiscriminate targeting usually causes as much political damage to the shooter, as physical damage to the target," he explained. The look on the President's face made him wonder if he'd said too much. Well, he thought, at least General Horton had indicated they were treating him well, when he had inquired after him. Maybe they could play cards or something, if he was imprisoned in the same facility.
"You see?" The Secretary of Defense said. "There's going to have to be a delay. We need to make a statement by cutting them off. We're still equipped to intercept vessels, as he says. Well, blockade them. See how long they last without fresh food and supplies. Make it clear there will be a price, if other nations put their vessels at risk to support them. Someone could recognize them just to embarrass us, or to turn a quick profit supplying them."
"All right," the President agreed reluctantly, "we'll announce no vessels of any nation can leave or dock at M3, without being subject to seizure or destruction at our discretion." It didn't seem like near enough to him though.
* * *
The massive dark wooden beams and rustic interior of the hunting lodge, was a contrast to the modern screen the six French gentlemen were watching. It would soon be put away though and restore the proper period appearance to the hall. Msr. Broutin was comfortable enough, as he had dealt with the other five as individuals before, but being asked into their collective company was a new thing. They were supposedly enjoying an informal outing. But he expected later in the evening he might be invited to join the group on a more permanent basis and with some official capacity. So it was really an interview of sorts.
April Page 54
