“I don’t understand,” Peter said. “What’s wrong…ah.”
“The farmer children are brought up to help with the farm,” TechnoMage confirmed. “The law would have prohibited the farmers from allowing their children to work on the farm, even in the most minor jobs. It sounded good, but it was so poorly worded that the farmers ended up refusing to tolerate it. The Government backed down on that issue, but continued to spout out an endless series of laws and regulations that annoyed and then outraged the farmers. Worse, they’re driving up farm prices at the same time they need to drive them down…and yet, they cannot force the farmers to lower their prices, now. In a month…”
I followed his logic. “They’ll be able to pass whatever laws they want,” I said, sourly. “I see your point.”
“I don’t get it,” Ed snapped. “Why can’t they move those bastard street children up to the farms and teach them something about working for a living?”
“They’ve tried on a small scale,” TechnoMage commented. “It was largely a failure. The youths who were sent up to the farms were hardly volunteers and didn’t want to be there. Some deserted almost at once and managed to get back to the cities. Two stole from their hosts and were arrested and charged with theft. One raped a farmer’s daughter and was shot by an outraged farmer. That farmer, by the way, was charged with manslaughter and is currently an outlaw, somewhere up in the mountains.”
He shrugged. “The program, worst of all, cost the government votes,” he concluded. “There’s always some damn fool telling the people that they can have something for nothing and…well, it’s an easy thing to believe.”
“Understood,” I said. I looked down at the map for a long moment. “And your final conclusion?”
“Svergie is heading for a disaster,” TechnoMage said. There was no dissent. “If the Progressives win the election, the farmers and miners will almost certainly revolt, as will the Communists. If the President attempts to stop them…well, they’d have the votes in Council to remove them. If the Progressives lose the election, they’ll still have plenty of influence and probably also a violent option of their own.”
“And they see us as mercenaries,” Peter commented, in a vaguely insulted tone. “Do you think they see us doing their dirty work?”
“As far as they know, we are mercenaries,” I pointed out, dryly. “TechnoMage, could we rig the election?”
TechnoMage looked uncomfortable. “Probably not,” he said. “The voting districts have been carefully studied by all of the major parties. I doubt we could deliver a convincing result that didn’t give the Progressives a victory. Even if we prevented them forming a government, they would still be able to ally with the Communists and form an impregnable voting bloc. We couldn’t give the Conservatives or the Liberty Party a victory without rigging the election in such a way as to ensure that it would be noticed.”
“And we’re not here to rig their elections,” Russell added, firmly. “The best thing we can do for Svergie is build them the army they need.”
“The one that will be used against the rebels after the election,” TechnoMage commented, dryly.
“We’re not here to judge,” Russell snapped. “We’re here to do a job.”
“Enough,” I said, before they could start a fight. “Unless there is any other business, I am declaring this meeting closed.”
Peter, Muna and TechnoMage remained behind after the others had filed out the door. “We probably couldn’t rig the election anyway,” TechnoMage said, once the door had closed. “This planet…well, it’s primitive in many ways. Their computers are junk even compared to the UN’s crappy scrap heaps, so they use humans to record and count the votes. We’d have to stuff the ballot boxes and it is pretty likely that we’d be caught at it.”
“Oh, my god,” Peter intoned. “The dead have risen and they’re voting Conservative.”
“Quite,” TechnoMage agreed. “Sir, unless you want to launch an open assault on the government now, we’re going to have to just…watch and see what happens.”
“I see,” I said, coldly. Fleet would almost certainly step in if we intervened that openly. Besides, taking New Copenhagen would be easy, but keeping it would be hard. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”
I looked over at Muna. “Work out a plan for investing in their industrial base and see if we can improve it,” I ordered. “TechnoMage, keep working on penetrating their datanet and see if you can locate anything we can use for leverage. Peter, you’re with me. I feel an urge to spar.”
“Yes, sir,” Peter said.
“Remind me of something,” I added. “Next week, the President is coming here, right?”
“Yes, sir,” Peter said. “It’s the graduation day for the current lead class.”
“Good,” I said. “I think I want to have a few words with him after the ceremony.”
Chapter Seven
Graduation Day: The Ceremony in which a recruit class is formally decorated as soldiers and honoured as such, before being assigned to their units and operating base. It is a time of celebration and yet, even in the heat of the ceremony, discipline is absolute.
-Army Manual, Heinlein
“This is an impressive display,” the President said, as we watched the newly-minted soldiers lining up in front of their trainers. For once, the drill sergeants weren’t shouting or hazing the recruits, but being as pleased with them as they ever were – acting as if they might just barely survive their first years as soldiers. “What’s the point of the ceremony?”
I shrugged. “To remind them that they all sweated blood and struggled to get as far as they have and to convince them that it was all worthwhile,” I said. “To show them the comradeship of their fellow soldiers and how they’re all part of the same system, even though they’re going to be going to different units. To reward them for their suffering and promise them further suffering in the future, even though they’ve made it through the hardest part of the training. To…
“Pick one or all of them, Mr President,” I added. “With such baubles armies are led.”
“I see,” the President said. I would have been surprised if he had understood, at least completely. Civilians rarely understood the need for such ceremonies, either Graduation Day or the more-feared Last Night, where the recruits would be hazed one final time by the graduated soldiers before welcoming them into the ranks. The training never really stopped, of course; they’d be spending the next few months exercising as soldiers. “And you got them decent uniforms.”
“Yep,” I said, pleased with myself. Muna had rounded up a few hundred local seamstresses and hired them to sew the uniforms themselves. I had considered using the UN uniforms that had been abandoned at the spaceport, but it would probably have been impolitic. As it was, the simple green uniform was impressive enough for the local civilians; the soldiers who had gone on leave after graduating had been boasting about their conquests. On Svergie, all the nice girls seemed to love a soldier. It was a shame that that wasn’t true of Earth. “They’ll get urban or rural battledress for actual service, of course, but they deserve at least one nice uniform.”
We watched as the Drill Sergeants pinned on rank insignia and a handful of training medals. Some of the recruits from each class had already been marked out for advancement, but they’d all get at least six months experience in the ranks before they were promoted, unless they had to be promoted into a dead man’s shoes. It was something we’d borrowed from Heinlein, where every senior officer needed to have experience as a common soldier, not the UN. The UN had had a habit of promoting the wrong people.
“And finally, the oath,” I said. “At this point, Mr President, your young men become soldiers.”
He watched, a faint tear in his eye, as the soldiers swore loyalty to the planet’s constitution. I’d expected more political faction fights over what oath they’d be taking, but surprisingly enough a compromise had been reached fairly quickly. They wouldn’t be swearing loyalty to any
one person, or political party, or even the government, but to the constitution that governed the planet. Svergie’s constitution had its flaws – it had been designed for the planet before the UN got involved – but it was surprisingly simple. I’d seen worlds where the constitution occupied several massive volumes and no one believed in it.
“And there they go,” I concluded, as the soldiers headed for the gates. It wasn't a very orderly procession, but the Drill Sergeants tolerated it on Graduation Day. “They’ll be out at one of the bases after a week’s leave and they’ll be formed into units. If all goes according to plan, we should even be able to hold a major exercise within the year.”
“If everything remains peaceful,” the President said. He looked over at Suki, who was watching the display as well. She wore a simple unmarked uniform herself; she’d wanted to keep wearing her normal outfit, but I’d forbidden her from wearing it on a military base. It would have been bad for discipline, even if she did look stunning. Besides, she also looked good in a uniform. “Is there a place we can talk alone?”
I nodded and led him away from the parade ground, back towards my office. Ed and Russell would take care of any last-minute problems, unless civil war broke out almost at once. I’d quietly kept the defence of the spaceport in the hands of A Company, while B and C Company mentored the new Svergie units, just in case. It wasn't that I didn’t trust the new units we’d raised and trained, but I did want to keep them away from temptation. Some of them were almost certainly picked men - by one or more of the parties.
My office hadn’t improved much since I’d occupied it, although I had hung up a large map of the planet and some organisation charts, mainly to distract visitors. Most of what I needed to know was locked away in my head or in the secure computers – at least, we hoped they were the secure computers. The planet’s computer industry might have been trapped in the dark ages – they could barely produce something holding a terabyte of data – but we knew that they had purchased some items from off-planet. If we’d been able to identify what, and who, I would have been a lot happier.
“I’m sorry it isn’t more comfortable,” I said, sincerely. A military office has no business being comfortable – the UN, naturally, treated its senior officers like kings – but the President really needed a comfortable chair. He looked older than the last time I’d seen him, as if the stresses of the job were wearing him down, bit by bit. I wanted to advise bed rest, or even a long holiday, but that simply wasn't an option.
“It’s fine as it is,” the President assured me, but I knew he was lying. “It’s just been a long day and I’m tired.”
“But not of the day,” I said, pouring him a mug of strong coffee. It wasn't what I would have normally fed to a President, but UN-issue coffee is good at keeping people awake. It was probably the one thing the UN got right. “Are you worried about the election?”
The President nodded. “The Council is fairly evenly balanced right now,” he said, sipping his coffee and grimacing at the taste. I half-expected him to refuse to drink more than a few sips, but he carried on gamely. It was something of an acquired taste, after all. “After the election, it won’t be balanced at all. Something is going to break.”
I nodded, without speaking. I’d studied the Svergie Constitution carefully after TechnoMage had called it to my attention and he was right. The President – popularly elected by the people – had considerable power, but an absolute majority in the Council could overrule him. His personal powers were limited; he might control the army – such as it was – but not the police or the courts. The whole system seemed to have been created for a far smaller population, perhaps even a single city, rather than an entire planet. I suspected that that was the work of the UN.
“And when it does, our order is going to fall apart,” he continued. “What will happen then?”
“Civil war,” I said, sipping my own coffee. It was hard to pretend to be unconcerned and I suspect he saw though the deception. “The rural areas try to declare independence and the cities try to suppress them. It won’t be pleasant.”
“It was so much easier when we were fighting the UN,” the President said, rubbing his eyes. “Everyone was united then.”
“And now the factions are breaking apart,” I said. “You had unity as long as you had a powerful enemy to revolt against. Now you have to deal with the fruits of victory.”
The President looked up at me. “Rotten fruits, rather like the ones the UN tried to get the farmers to sell,” he said. He saw my blank look and explained. “Every single fruit had to go through a long supply chain, so by the time they reached the customer they were already going bad. I think it was meant for health and safety reason.”
I snorted. “Never mind,” he added. “Why did you leave the UN anyway?”
“Long story,” I said, willing him to drop it. I hadn’t left the UN; the UN had left me. “There are more important things to…”
“Why did you leave the UN?” He repeated. “I read your record, but as far as I can tell, it’s one of a honourable soldier. Or am I missing something?”
I felt a bittersweet pang at his words. “As I said, it’s a long story,” I said. “I joined to escape the hellhole Earth had become. The UNPF seemed the only way out. They don’t conscript soldiers, Mr President; they don’t have to conscript soldiers. The living conditions do that for them. They have more volunteers than they have spaces for them, even when they had millions of men in uniform and hundreds of planets to occupy. I went through their kind and sensitive training program and learned more about feeding the needy than I did about fighting. I think I fired about ten rounds in basic training and…
“They sent us into a hellhole called El Puta Dorada, or something like that,” I continued, feeling the bitterness welling up into my voice. “It should have been easy, or so they told us. Instead, they dumped ten thousand men right into a swarming horde of the enemy and trapped us under their fire. Thousands died, yet somehow we survived and escaped – somehow. When we reached UN lines, I found that the man who’d come up with the scheme had been promoted for innovative thinking, so I killed him. No one ever worked out that it was me.”
I don’t know why I told him that. I’d never told anyone else that. “His replacement was looking for heroes and decided I needed promoting, so I got promoted,” I said. “I don’t know if he knew all along and it was a reward for his promotion, but they gave me a platoon and told me to do things for them. I got half my platoon killed on my first mission, but they saw it as a success. I found myself trying to learn how to lead and maintain an infantry unit in the midst of a war. By the time that particular campaign ended, I was a Captain and had a whole Company under me
“And I was keen to show what I could do and correct…errors in our training, so we ran through endless drills and burned up more ammunition than all of the other units in the area combined, just drilling. The paperwork…well, I kept losing the paperwork, so the bureaucrats kept being unhappy with me, but I didn’t care. Eventually, I found someone to handle it for me while I focused on training and ended up with the best Company in the Infantry.
“And they hated that, so they sent us in on what should have been a suicidal mission,” I concluded. “We won, somehow, and embarrassed hundreds of Generals who’d declared that the mission was impossible. They sent us to Heinlein where we held an entire sector against the most bloody-minded group of insurgents in the Human Sphere, which made us even more of an embarrassment. And then…”
I broke off. I couldn’t discuss that in front of anyone, even John. “They decided we needed punishment and dispatched us to Botany,” I concluded. Hopefully, he wouldn’t see the hole in the story. “When the UN collapsed, we ended up homeless exiles, so we became a mercenary unit and picked up others in the same boat. A while later, your messengers found and hired us, saving us from financial catastrophe and disaster. You know the rest.”
Picking Up The Pieces (Martial Law) Page 7
