by David Weber
But now Nordbrandt's put her view of the Cluster's economic inequity squarely on the table alongside everything else, and Lababibi suddenly finds all those precious liberal convictions of hers cold comfort. Or, even worse, she can refuse to admit that—can continue to embrace them and use them to justify switching her support openly to Tonkovic. After all, all she's really doing is defending the traditional rights and freedoms of everyone in her star system. If it just happens that warping the entire Constitution around to protect that also protects the status quo—and her family's wealth and power—well, these things happen. . . .
He'd started to open his mouth in instant, instinctive protest. But then he closed it and shot Alquezar a quick, warning glance, as well. He took a handful of seconds to organize his own thoughts, then let his gray eyes sweep coolly back and forth between Tonkovic and Lababibi.
"I think you're being overly optimistic, Samiha," he said in a calm, level voice. "It's possible, however, that my own convictions are overly pessimistic in that regard. I don't think so, but I'm willing to acknowledge the possibility. I hope, though, that you're willing to concede in turn that Joachim and I have a legitimate right to be concerned over the Manticoran reaction to this?"
"Of course you do," Lababibi said quickly, as if she was relieved that he, too, had obviously decided to help avoid any open breach. "My God, who wouldn't react strongly to something like this?! At the very least, public opinion in the Star Kingdom is going to wonder what sort of neobarbs we are to let it happen."
"Which is one more reason to resist Nordbrandt's efforts to stampede us into some sort of extreme reaction," Tonkovic put in.
Alquezar stirred in his chair, but Krietzmann stepped on his toe under the table. It was rather ironic, the Convention President thought, that he, the hotheaded proletarian, was suddenly playing the role of sweet reason and restraining the "cold-blooded" capitalist.
"We may not be in total agreement about just who's stampeding where, Aleksandra," he said, allowing a tinge of coolness to color his voice, as well as his eyes. "But at this point, all we really have are the initial reports. I hope you'll keep the entire Convention apprised of the status of your investigations back on Kornati?"
"Of course we will! In fact, I think it would be a good idea for the Convention to appoint a liaison group and dispatch it to Kornati to ensure that the delegates get unbiased, complete reports on the exact extent of our progress."
"Thank you. I think that's an excellent idea. And I'm sure quite a few of the other delegations would be pleased if you made that proposal yourself at this afternoon's emergency session."
"I will," she promised.
"Thank you," he repeated. "And I'm also sure that if any of us can do anything at all to assist you, you have only to ask."
"At this point, we have no reason to believe this is anything except a purely domestic problem. If we turn up any evidence which even hints at the possibility of some sort of interstellar connection, we'll bring it to the Convention's attention and seek any appropriate coordination," Tonkovic said. "And while I don't agree with Joachim that Manticore is likely to back out of the annexation commitment, I intend to keep Baroness Medusa fully informed on our progress."
"I think that would also be an excellent idea," Krietzmann approved, and she actually smiled at him, however thinly.
"On that note," he continued, "perhaps we should adjourn. I'm sure all of us are anxious to sit down with our own delegations. And I know all of us have to get this information, and the Convention's reactions to it, reported to our own governments."
Tonkovic and Lababibi nodded. Alquezar didn't, but neither did he protest, and Krietzmann slid back his chair and stood. They all shook hands, then Tonkovic and Lababibi went one way down the hall while Krietzmann and Alquezar went the other.
The Dresdener could feel the towering San Miguel delegate's frustration and bubbling anger, but at least Alquezar had kilotons of self-control. However furious he might be, he wasn't going to vent that fury in public.
In private, now, Krietzmann thought. That's a different matter. But there's no point burning any additional bridges sooner than we have to. And if we push Lababibi and the other oligarchs too hard, drive them into forting up under Tonkovic's banner . . .
He shook his head, his expression worried, and wished again that Van Dort were still on Flax.
* * *
"What kind of maniac does something like this?" Rear Admiral Augustus Khumalo was visibly shaken, his face drawn, as the visual imagery of the carnage in Kornati's capital flowed across the briefing room's display.
"The kind who thinks she doesn't have anything left to lose, Admiral," Dame Estelle Matsuko said harshly.
"And the kind, if you'll forgive me for pointing it out, Madam Governor," Gregor O'Shaughnessy said, "who wants to provoke an extreme reaction from her political opposition."
Khumalo gave Medusa's senior intelligence officer a cold look.
"I think this—" he jabbed an angry finger at the images of covered bodies, ambulances, fires, rubble, smoke, and ugly bloodstains that looked as if some lunatic had run amok with a bucket of red paint "—is about as 'extreme' as it gets, Mr. O'Shaughnessy! Those are dead civilians. Civilians who ought to already be citizens of the Star Kingdom!"
"No one's trying to minimize what happened, Admiral." O'Shaughnessy was ten centimeters shorter than the rear admiral, with thinning gray hair and a slight build. He'd come up through the civilian intelligence community, and there was a slight, almost imperceptible—almost imperceptible—edge of hostility between him and Medusa's military subordinates. To his credit, O'Shaughnessy was aware of it, and usually tried to contain it. Like now. His tone was reasonable, nonconfrontational, as he faced the far more physically imposing Khumalo.
"All I'm trying to say, Sir," he continued, "is that classic terrorist strategy—and let's not fool ourselves, this was clearly a terroristic act—is to create the maximum possible polarization. They want the authorities to appear oppressive, to appear to overreact. To clamp down hard enough to convince the undecided that the terrorists were right all along about the fundamental oppressiveness of the state."
"He's right, Admiral," Commander Ambrose Chandler put in. Chandler sat to Khumalo's left while Captain Shoupe sat on the rear admiral's other side. Khumalo's staff intelligence officer was a good five centimeters taller than the rear admiral, although he was considerably less broad shouldered. He was also twenty-five years younger, and—in O'Shaughnessy's opinion—he had a tendency to avoid irritating his boss, which sometimes undermined his own arguments. But he was generally conscientious about attempting to provide good analysis, and this time he shook his head, meeting Khumalo's glower squarely.
"At the moment, Sir," he continued, "the overwhelming reaction in Split has to be one of revulsion, outrage, and fury. Right now, the vast majority of Kornatians want nothing more than to see Nordbrandt and her accomplices arrested, tried, and convicted. And that reaction is going to persist, for a time at least. Would you agree, Gregor?"
"In the short term? Oh, certainly! In the longer term, -however . . ." O'Shaughnessy raised his right hand, palm uppermost, and tipped it back and forth.
"How could anyone feel anything but outrage?" Khumalo demanded with harsh incredulity.
"There's probably at least a tiny minority which actually agrees with them," O'Shaughnessy said, obviously picking his words with care. "The majority, as Ambrose says, almost certainly don't, but the Kornatian economy's in worse shape than almost any of the Cluster's other economies. There really is serious poverty and economic hardship, and the people who've been stepped on hardest by the existing social structure are likely to feel at least some sympathy for her announced motives, however much they deplore her methods. And the majority that don't support her, the ones who're horrified by what's happened, are going to want two things, Sir. First, they'll want the perpetrators apprehended. Second, they'll want their government to do the apprehending without becoming s
ome sort of police state."
He shrugged, his normally warm brown eyes cold and thoughtful.
"So the terrorists' objectives are going to be first, to remain un-apprehended, and, second, to provoke the Kornatian government into appearing extremist. At the very least, they want the government to appear ineffectual. At best, they want the government to appear both ineffectual and oppressive and corrupt."
"I simply can't believe that anything could overcome the repugnance and hatred for those responsible that something like this generates," Khumalo argued, shaking his head and waving his hand at the bloodsoaked imagery once again.
"Trust me, Admiral," Medusa said quietly. "Gregor's right about the Kornatian economy, and the political dynamic in a situation like this one is complicated and fluid enough for almost anything to happen. Especially if those in authority stumble and botch things. The Kornatians are going to want firm, decisive action, but they also have a tradition of the fierce defense of individual civil liberties. Whether Tonkovic's position here at the Convention is based on genuine principle or just a huge dose of self-interest, there are plenty of people in the Split System who do have firm political principles that would be outraged by any sort of police state mentality. So any action the government takes to crush Nordbrandt and her lunatics is going to be a potentially double-edged sword."
Khumalo shook his head again, his jaw clamped stubbornly. But he appeared unwilling to disagree openly with his civilian superior.
"One other thing of which we ought to be aware," O'Shaughnessy said. All eyes swiveled to him, and he smiled, with absolutely no humor. "According to my carefully cultivated sources, Henri Krietzmann is meeting at this very moment with Joachim Alquezar, Aleksandra Tonkovic, and Samiha."
"Do you have any prediction of what will come out of their meeting?" the provisional governor asked.
"No, Milady. There are far too many variables for me to even hazard guesses at this point. I hope to have at least some information about that for you by this evening, however."
"Good." Medusa grimaced. "Oh, how I wish Van Dort were still here on Flax! Drat the man's timing!"
"I wasn't aware he'd left, Milady," Khumalo said in some -surprise.
"Oh, yes. He's been gone for almost a T-week. He left the day after Hexapuma sailed."
"Then I have to agree that his sense of timing was . . . -unfortunate," the portly rear admiral said.
"Well, he obviously didn't know this was going to happen," Medusa sighed. "He was afraid his image as a 'moneygrubbing capitalist' hovering about the fringes of the debate like a vulture or a spider was exacerbating the situation. He told me he felt like the ghost at the banquet and said he wanted to get out of the spotlight because he thought his presence was hampering the Convention's deliberations."
"I suppose I can understand that," Khumalo agreed with a frown. "Like you, Milady, I wish he hadn't chosen this particular moment to disappear, though."
"He may return to Spindle when as he hears about this," Medusa said, then gave her head a little toss. "But whatever he may do, we have to decide what we're going to do."
"With all due respect, Milday," O'Shaughnessy said, "I think that's going to have to depend in large part on how the Talbotters react. At the moment, I'd say there's probably a seventy-thirty chance President Tonkovic is going to officially request assistance from us. I don't know if she'll want to, but if she hesitates, there'll be a lot of pressure on her from other delegates who want us involved."
"I'd be cautious there, Governor," Chandler said. She looked at him, and he shrugged. "At the moment, this is purely an internal affair of Kornati. We're involved, but only at one remove—as the supposed justification for the criminals' actions, not as an actual presence on the planet. And, as you just pointed out, they have that deeply ingrained civil libertarian tradition, crossed with a genuine sense of economic inequality from much of their lower class. So if we suddenly start landing Marines on the planet at the upper classes' request to kick down primarily lower-class doors, we run the risk of lending credibility to Nordbrandt's allegations. The fact that our assistance was requested by the legally elected local authorities won't be much protection once her adherents start twisting and spinning the story."
"Ambrose has a legitimate point, Dame Estelle," O'Shaughnessy said. He gave the commander a rare look of unqualified approval. "In fact, to be blunt, Nordbrandt does have some valid points about the political system. It's thoroughly skewed in the favor of a relatively tiny number of wealthy families . . . like Tonkovic's. Some of those families will want to keep us far, far away—or at least to minimalize our 'interference' on their world—lest we contaminate the situation with our off-world notions. But others are going to press for immediate, powerful intervention on our part. They're going to want us to come in and stamp out the flames for them right now, immediately, before they get burned any worse. So I'm afraid you may find you're going to have to walk a fine line between giving Tonkovic the assistance she asks for—assuming she does ask—and avoiding the appearance of sending in some sort of . . . imperial storm troopers."
"Oh, marvelous," Medusa muttered. Then she produced a wan but genuine smile. "Well, Her Majesty never promised me it was going to be easy!"
She drummed her fingers on the table, thinking hard for several seconds, then looked back up at Khumalo.
"Admiral, I want you and Captain Shoupe to begin contingency planning. We can't make any hard and fast decisions at this point, but I want to know exactly what our resources and capabilities are if, in fact, President Tonkovic does ask for help. I'd also like recommendations from you and Commander Chandler, Gregor, on what levels of support we want to offer if it's requested. I want the best appreciations the two of you can put together of the most effective kinds and levels of assistance we could offer. And I want your best estimates as to how the Kornatian public's liable to react to each of the different levels. And the same for the Kornatian political leadership. I know any 'estimate' you put together at the moment can't be more than a guesstimate. But get started now, and integrate any additional information as it comes in."
She paused, and her expression turned bleak and hard.
"Understand me, People," she said then, in a voice just as cold and focused as her expression. "I don't want to escalate anything that doesn't have to be escalated. And I certainly don't want us to look like—what did you call them, Gregor? Imperial storm troopers?" Her mouth twisted on the words, but she didn't flinch. "Our job isn't to support, or to give the appearance of supporting, repressive local regimes. But if the legitimate government of any star system in the Cluster requests our assistance, we will provide it. We may make our own judgments about the most effective way to do so, but we have a moral obligation to support the legally elected governments who've requested that we take them under the Queen's protection . . . and, especially, their citizens. And if it turns out we have to land Marines and kick down doors to do that, then we'll land Marines with great big nasty boots. Is that clear?"
She was the smallest person at the table by a considerable margin, but every head nodded very quickly indeed.
"Good," Dame Estelle Matsuko said quietly.
Chapter Sixteen
Nuncio was a poverty-stricken star system, even for the Verge. Which was particularly ironic, given the system's potential, Aivars Terekhov thought as Hexapuma decelerated smoothly towards her parking orbit and he listened to the soothing routine of his bridge.
The G0/K2 binary system boasted two remarkably Earth-like planets, thoroughly suitable for human occupation with only a little development. Basilica, the habitable world of the G0 primary component, orbited its star at a distance of twelve light-minutes, and boasted a planetary environment any resort world might have envied. With a planetary mass ninety-seven percent of Old Earth's, a hydrosphere of eighty percent, rugged mountains, gorgeous volcanic atolls, sandy beaches, endless rolling plains, and an axial inclination of less than three degrees, Basilica was as close to climatically
idyllic as any home for humans outside man's original star system could hope to be. Unfortunately, the planet's successful colonization had called for a degree of subtle genetic manipulation of the terrestrial plants and food species to be introduced there. Had Nuncio been colonized today, or even as recently as the last couple of T-centuries, it would have been a snap. Even at the time the system actually was settled, making the necessary alterations would have been relatively straightforward for a good Solarian genetic lab.
Unfortunately, the colonists' analysts had missed the data in the initial planetary survey which should have told them before they set out that the changes were needed. By the time they realized what they actually faced, all of the "good Solarian genetic labs" and their capabilities had been light-centuries behind them . . . which explained why it was Pontifex, the habitable planet of the secondary component which had actually been settled.
Not that the original colonists hadn't tried to make a go of Basilica first. That was the main reason for Nuncio's current tiny system population and extraordinarily backward infrastructure. Like the original inhabitants of Grayson, the Nuncians' ancestors had been religious emigres who'd deliberately sought a new home, far beyond the reach of their hopelessly secular fellow humans. That had made them the first colony expedition into what had since become the Talbott Cluster, just as the Graysons had settled their homeworld long before the starship Jason delivered the first colonists to a planet named Manticore.
Unfortunately for those first Nuncians, they had encountered a trap almost as deadly, although in quite a different way, as the one which had met Austin Grayson's followers, and they'd been operating on a considerably tighter budget when they organized their exodus. They hadn't shared the Church of Humanity Unchained's prejudice against technology, but they hadn't been able to afford as much of it as other, more successful colonizing expeditions, and what they'd managed to bring with them hadn't been up to managing the required genetic modifications. That simple fact had almost wiped them out when their crops failed and sixty-five percent of their food animals died within one generation. Somehow, they'd managed to retain enough space flight capability (barely) to transfer about half of their surviving population—and what remained of its food supplies—to Pontifex, a much colder, dryer world, six light-minutes from its cool primary and with far more extreme seasonal changes, but without Basilica's subtle genetic trap.
