Budreau picked up a sheaf of papers. “It’s all here, I was just looking it over when you came in.” He handed the report to Falkenberg. “There’s not much encouragement in it, Colonel. There’s no military solution to Hadley’s problems. I never thought there could be, but if you have only ten men plus a battalion of forced labor marines, the military answer isn’t worth considering.” Budreau gave Falkenberg a thin smile, moved his hands rapidly over the sea of papers on his desk. “If I were you, I’d get back on that Navy boat and forget Hadley.”
“Why don’t you?” Falkenberg asked.
“Because Hadley’s my home!” Budreau snapped. “And no rabble is going to drive me off the plantation my grandfather built with his own hands. They won’t make me run out.”
Falkenberg took the report, flipped the pages and handed it to Calvin. “We’ve come a long way, Mister President. You might as well tell me what the problem is before I leave.”
Budreau nodded sourly. The red moustache twitched, and he ran the back of his hand across it. “It’s simple enough. The ostensible reason you’re here, the reason we gave the Colonial Office for letting us recruit a planetary constabulary, is the bandit gangs out in the hills. Nobody knows how many of them there are, but they’re strong enough to raid farms, cut communications between Refuge and the countryside whenever they want to. They’re serious enough but they’re not the real problem, as I presume Vice-President Bradford told you.”
Falkenberg nodded. Budreau paused, but when John said nothing, continued. The president’s voice was strong, but there was a querulous note in it, as if he were accustomed to having his conclusions argued. “Actually, the bandits aren’t my worst problem. But they get support from the Freedom Party, which makes them hard to fight. My Progressive Party is larger than the Freedom Party, but the Progressives are scattered all over the planet and the FP is concentrated right here in Refuge, with God knows how many voters and about forty thousand people they can concentrate when they want to stage a riot.”
“Do you have riots very often?” John asked.
“Too often. There’s not much to control them with. I have three hundred men in the Presidential Guard, but they’re CD recruited and trained like young Banners. Loyal to the job, not to me. And the FP’s got men inside it. So scratch the President’s Guard when it comes to controlling the Freedom Party.”
Budreau smiled without amusement. “Then there’s my police force. My police were all commanded by CoDominium officers who are pulling out. My administrative staff was recruited and trained by the CD and all the competent people have been recalled to Earth. There’s nobody left who can govern, but I’ve got the job and everybody else wants it. I might be able to scrape up a thousand Progressive partisans, another fifteen thousand loyalists who would fight in a pinch but have no training, to face the FP’s forty thousand. And the Freedom Party’s demanded a constitutional convention after the CoDominium governor leaves. If we don’t give them a convention, they’ll rebel. If we do, they’ll drag things out until there’s nobody left but their people, throw the Progressives out of office, and ruin the planet. Under the circumstances, I don’t see what a military man can do for us, but Bradford insisted we hire you.”
“I take it the Progressive Party is mostly old settlers,” Falkenberg said casually. “Yes and no. It’s extremely complicated. The Progressive Party wants to industrialize Hadley, which some of our farm families oppose. But we want to do it slowly. We’ll close most of the mines, take out only as much thorium as we have to sell to get basic industrial equipment, keep the rest for our own fusion generators. We’ll need it later. We want to develop agriculture and transportation, cut the basic rations so that we can have fusion power for industry. Close out the convenience industries and keep them closed until we can afford them.” Budreau’s voice rose steadily, his eyes shone. “We want to build the tools of a self-sustaining world and get along without the CoDominium until we can rejoin the human race as equals!” The president caught himself, frowned. He seemed angry with John for witnessing his emotional speech. Falkenberg leaned back in the heavy leather chair, seemingly relaxed, but his eyes darted around the room, noting the ornate furnishings. The office decor must have cost a fortune to bring from Earth, but most of it was tasteless, chosen for the spectacular rather than for beauty. He waited until Budreau was seated again, then asked, “What does the opposition want?”
“Do you really need to know all this in order—I suppose you do.” Budreau’s moustache twitched nervously. ‘The Freedom Party’s slogan is ‘Service to the People.’ They want strip mining—that’s got them the miners’ support, you can bet. They’ll rape the planet to buy goods from other systems. Introduce internal combustion engines—God knows how, there’s no technology for them, no heavy industry to make them even if the ecology could absorb them, but they promise cars for everyone, instant modernization. More food, robotic factories, entertainment, all the benefits of immediate industrialization.”
“They mean it, or is that just slogans?”
“I think most of them mean it,” Budreau answered. “It’s hard to believe, but I think they do. Their people have no idea of the realities of our situation, and their leaders are ready to blame anything on the Progressive Party, CoDominium administrators, anything but admit that what they promise isn’t possible. Some of the party leaders may know better.” Budreau poured brandy into two glasses, waited for Falkenberg to lift one, and muttered a perfunctory “Cheers.” He drained the glass at one gulp. “Some of the oldest families on Hadley have joined the Freedom Party. They’re worried about the taxes I’ve proposed, joined the opposition hoping to make a deal … you don’t look surprised.”
“No, sir. It’s an old story … a military man reads history; if he’s smart he’ll look for the causes of wars. After all, war is the normal state of affairs, isn’t it? Peace is the name of an ideal we deduce from the fact that there have been interludes between wars.” Before Budreau could answer, Falkenberg caught himself. “No matter. I take it you expect armed resistance from the Freedom Party after the CD pulls out.”
“I hope to prevent it,” Budreau snapped. “I do have some gifts at the art of persuasion … but they don’t want to compromise. They see total victory. As to fighting, the FP partisans claim credit for driving the CoDominium out, Colonel.” Falkenberg laughed. The CD was leaving because the mines weren’t worth enough to make it pay to govern Hadley. If the mines were as good as they’d been in the past, no partisans would drive the marines away …
Budreau nodded as if reading his thoughts. “They’ve got people believing it anyway. There was a campaign of terrorism for years, nothing very serious to the CD or the marines would have put a stop to it, but they’ve demoralized the capital police. Out in the bush people administer their own justice. In Refuge, FP gangs control a lot of the city. I don’t even know how many police I’ll have left when the CD pulls out.” He pointed to a stack of papers. “These are resignations from the force.”
Budreau sat very still, gathering his thoughts with an effort, the faraway look in his eyes again. “I’m president by courtesy of the CoDominium,” he said bitterly.
“They installed me and now they’re leaving! Sometimes I wish Bradford hadn’t been so successful in talking to the Colonial Office. Bureau of Relocation w-anted to leave a Freedom Party president in charge, you know. I wonder if that wouldn’t have been better.”
“I thought you said their policies would ruin Hadley,” Falkenberg mused. He had little use for weaklings, and Budreau seemed to be one.
“They would. But—the policy issues came after the split, I think,” Budreau said slowly. He was talking to himself as much as to John. “Now they hate us so much, they oppose anything we want out of spite. And we do the same thing.”
“Sounds like CoDominium politics. Russki senators versus United States senators. Just like home,” Falkenberg said. There was no trace of humor in the polite laugh that followed. “You say Vice-Presiden
t Bradford arranged for the Colonial Office to install you as president against the advice of BuRelock?”
Budreau nodded. “Yes … the public relations campaign was expensive, more expensive than I’d have ever dreamed, but once we were in office we had the Ministry of Information funds … well, you see the situation, Colonel. If you stay, I’ll keep the agreement, you’ll be Commander of Constabulary. Your commission’s already signed. But really, I think it would be better if you didn’t take the post. Hadley’s problems can’t be solved by military consultants.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” Falkenberg said. He suppressed the impulse to grin at the euphemism for mercenaries and finished his drink.
“Now, Mr. Bradford wants to see you,” Budreau said. “Lieutenant Banners will show you to his office. And please let me know your decision.”
“I will, sir.” Falkenberg strode from the big room. As he did, President Budreau buried his face in his hands.
Vice-President Earnest Bradford was a small man with a perpetual half smile on a round face that might have been cherubic if it weren’t so haggard. Falkenberg was conducted into the small office, waited until Calvin and Lieutenant Banners left before speaking. As the others were leaving John glanced around the room. In contrast to Budreau’s richly furnished suite, the first vice-president’s office was starkly functional, desk and chairs made of local woods with an indifferent finish. A solitary rose in a crystal vase provided the only color.
“Thank God you’re here,” Bradford said. “But I’m told you only brought ten men! We can’t do anything with just ten men! You were supposed to bring a hundred men loyal to us!” He bounced up excitedly, stopped, then sat again. “Can you do something?”
“There were ten men in the Navy ship with me,” Falkenberg said. “My staff. When you show me where I’m to train the regiment, I’ll find the rest of the mercenaries.”
“Others—” Bradford gave him a broad wink, beamed. “Then you did get more to come! We’ll show them, all of them … What did you think of Budreau?”
“He seems sincere enough. Worried, though. Think I would be in his place.” Bradford shook his head. “He can’t make up his mind. About anything! Good man, but he has to be forced to every decision. Why did the Colonial Office pick him? I thought you were going to arrange for me to be president.”
“One thing at a time,” Falkenberg said. “The permanent under-secretary couldn’t justify you to the minister. It was hard enough for Whitlock to get them to approve Budreau with all his experience, let alone a newcomer like you. We sweated blood on this, Ernie.”
Bradford’s head bobbed up and down. “Good work, too,” he said, but he looked at Falkenberg closely. “You kept your part of the bargain, John. I just wish you could have… well, we’ll get to it.” His smile expanded confidentially, then he grimaced. “We have to let Mr. Hamner meet you now. Then we can go to the Warner estate. I’ve arranged for your troops to be quartered there; it’s got what you wanted for a training ground. Perfect place, nobody will bother you. You can say your other men are volunteers from the countryside.”
Falkenberg nodded slightly. “Let me handle that, will you? I’m getting rather good at cover stories.”
“Sure.” Bradford beamed again. “By God, we’ll win this yet.” He touched a button on his desk. “Send Mr. Hamner in, please.”
“Wait until you see this Hamner,” he told John while they were waiting. “He’s the second vice-president. Budreau trusts him, so he’s dangerous. Represents the technocracy people in the Progressive Party; we can’t do without him, but his policies are ridiculous. He wants to let go of everything. There wouldn’t be a planetary government if he was in charge. And his people take credit for everything, as if technology was all there was to government. He doesn’t know about the meetings, the intrigues, all the people I’ve had to see, speeches. … He thinks you build a party by working like an engineer.”
“Doesn’t understand the political realities,” Falkenberg finished for him. “Just so. You say he has to be eliminated?”
Bradford shuddered slightly, but kept the thin smile on his face. “Eventually. We do need his influence with the technicians at the moment. And of course he doesn’t know anything at all about … about …”
“Of course.” Falkenberg sat easily, looking about the office, studied maps on the walls until the intercom announced that Hamner was outside.
George Hamner was a large man, taller than Falkenberg and even heavier than Sergeant-Major Calvin. He had the relaxed movements of a big man, and much of the easy confidence that such massive size usually wins. People didn’t pick fights with George Hamner, drunk or sober. His grip was gentle, but he closed his hand relentlessly, testing Falkenberg caretully. As he felt answering pressure he looked surprised, and the two men stood in silence for long moments before Hamner relaxed and waved at Bradford.
“So you’re our new Colonel of Constabulary,” Hamner said. “Hope you know what you’re getting into. I should say I hope you don’t know. If you know about our problems and take the job anyway, we’ll have to wonder if you’re sane.”
“I keep hearing a lot about how severe Hadley’s problems are, but nobody’s briefed me,” Falkenberg replied. “I gather we’re outnumbered by the Freedom Party people and you expect trouble. What kind of weapons do they have to make trouble with?” Hamner laughed. “Direct son of a gun, aren’t you? Nothing spectacular in the weapons, just a lot of them … enough small problems is a big problem, right? But the CD hasn’t permitted big stuff. No tanks or armored cars … hell, there aren’t enough cars of any kind to make any difference. No fuel or power distribution network ever built, so no way cars would be useful. We’ve got a subway, couple of monorails for in-city stuff, and what’s left of the railroad … you didn’t ask for a lecture on our transport, did you? My pet worry at the moment. Let’s see, weapons …” The big man sprawled into a chair, hooked one leg over the arm and ran his fingers through thick hair just receding from his large brows. “No military aircraft, hardly any aircraft at all. No artillery, machine guns, heavy weapons in general. Mostly light caliber hunting rifles and shotguns. Some police weapons. Military rifles and bayonets, a few, and we have almost all of them. Out in the streets you can find anything, Colonel, and I mean literally anything. Bows and arrows, knives, swords, axes, hammers, you name it.”
“He doesn’t need to know about obsolete things like that,” Bradford said contemptuously.
“No weapon is ever obsolete,” Falkenberg said carefully, “not in the hands of a man who’ll use it. What about armor? Enemy and our own. How good a supply of Nemourlon do you have?”
Hamner looked thoughtful for a second. “There’s some body armor in the streets, and the police … the President’s Guard doesn’t use the stuff. I can supply you with Nemourlon, but you’ll have to make your own armor out of it. Can you do that?” Falkenberg nodded. “I brought men and equipment for that. Well, the situation’s about what I expected. I can’t see why everyone’s so worried. We have a battalion of CD marines, not the best marines but they’re trained soldiers. With the weapons of a light infantry battalion and the training I can give the recruits, I’ll undertake to face your forty thousand Freedom Party people. The guerrilla problem will be a lot more severe, but we control the food distribution system in the city. Ration cards, identity papers … it shouldn’t be hard to set up controls.”
Hamner laughed, a bitter laugh. “You want to tell him, Ernie?” When Bradford looked confused, Hamner laughed again. “Not doing your homework. It’s in the morning report for a couple of days ago. The Colonial Office has decided, on the advice of BuRelock, that Hadley doesn’t need any military weapons. The CD marines will be lucky to keep their rifles and bayonets, because all the rest of their gear is being taken back to Earth.”
“I see,” Falkenberg said slowly. His lips compressed into a tight line, and he cursed to himself. “Hadn’t counted on that. Means that if we do tighten up control through food ra
tioning, we face armed rebellion . . . How well organized are these FP types, anyway?”
“Well organized and well financed,” Hamner said. “And I can’t agree about ration cards being the answer to the guerrilla problem. The CoDominium was able to put up with a lot of sabotage, since all they were really interested in was the mines, but we can’t live with the level of terror we have in this city. Some way we’re going to have to restore order—and justice for that matter.”
“Justice isn’t a commodity soldiers generally deal with,” Falkenberg said grimly. “Order’s another matter. That I think we can supply.”
“With five hundred men?” Hamner’s voice was incredulous. “But I like your attitude. At least you don’t sit around and whine for somebody to help you, the way some of our officials do.” He looked significantly at Bradford. “Well, I wanted to meet you, Colonel. Now I have. I’ve got work to do.” He didn’t look at them again as he strode briskly from the room.
“You see,” Bradford said as soon as Hamner was out of sight. “The man’s no good. We’ll find someone to deal with the technicians as soon as you’ve got everything else under control.”
“He seemed to be right on some points,” John said slowly. “For example, he knows as well as I do that it won’t be easy to get proper police protection established.
I saw an example of what goes on in Refuge on the way here, and if it’s that bad everywhere …”
“You’ll find a way,” Bradford said reassuringly. “Lot of it’s just teenage street gangs. Not loyal to anything—FP, us, CD, or anything else. They call it defending their turf or something … and forget Hamner. His whole group is… well, they’re just not real Progressives, that’s all.” He was emphatic, then lowered his voice and leaned forward. “He used to be in the Freedom Party, you know. Claims to have broken with them over technology policies, but you can never trust a man like that.” Then he smiled again, stood. “Let’s get you started. And don’t forget your agreement to train some men for me, too…
War and Peace Page 27
