by J. S. Hawn
Jonathan's friends looked at him stunned. Admittedly, the Republic was heavily biased against the Commonwealth since it had been a looming threat for the last couple decades, but to even consider that the Republic and the Commonwealth were anything alike was ludicrous.
“How can they, I mean the very idea,” Will said flabbergasted.
Jonathan shrugged, “You can imagine my mother's reaction to that statement. I believe the trade rep who said it very nearly lost his toupee.”
“I would think so, serves him right to,” Nathan said.
“Your mother was a woman of strong thoughts on the subject?” Bethany asked curiously.
“She was. Her family hailed from Xi before...” Jonathan said plainly.
The Commonwealth's invasion of Xi and its neighbours was still a event fresh in everyone's minds, though it was thirty years past. What had followed was a fast and brutal campaign. Xi had been no paragon of a nation, ruled by a hierarchy of self styled noble houses, but they had been a people who valued art, beauty, and culture. Now the nation was a charnel house. Its lush worlds stripped mined, its beautiful cities replaced by the drab functional Commonwealth architecture, and its people treated as slaves in all but name. Jonathan shuddered internally and thanked god that the Commonwealth had turned in on itself, and not undertaken any more aggressive expansion. Theirs was an ideology which was pure poison, because it removed any humanity from the equation. At least the Colonials, despite their recent slide toward fervent nationalism, retained a semblance of their humanity. It was Jonathan's hope this war would be a gentleman's affair as much as any war could be. One that followed the laws and conventions of war. Jonathan’s father, Alexander Pavel had fought in a total war when his home system had tried to break away from the rule of the now defunct Terran Federal Union. The Secession Wars, as they were now called, had been a drawn out, bloody conflict in which both sides stopped seeing the other as human. Years later, Jonathan's father would wake in the middle of the night screaming at horrors long past. Jonathan's father was dead now. He’d died of a heart attack not long after Jonathan's sister had hopped the first merchant spacer to the far side of known space. Jonathan didn’t fear becoming like his father haunted by ghosts long dead, nor did he fear dying, not really. Despite advances in medical science, all men would die eventually. Remembering something that was in the back of his mind, Jonathan rose to his feet.
“Your pardon my friends, but a thought has come to me.”
“A naval officer with a thought now there's a dangerous notion,” William said grinning.
“Truly terrifying,” Jonathan replied. “But, your pardon. As you all know I didn't have much in the way of formal schooling, growing up as I did on a tramp freighter. My mother, whatever gods there be love her, did her best. She made us memorize a very old poem most of which I’ve quite forgotten but one stanza, and I believe it is appropriate.”
“Well let’s hear it,” Zeta said.
Jonathan smiled and began,
“Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance,
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance,
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears,
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.”
Jonathan raised his glass, “To life, liberty, love, and the gods be damned, Navy.”
“The Navy!” they chorused back.
The party wound down around the late afternoon. The couples, unable to contain themselves any longer, made a graceful exit. Jonathan paid the check quickly. He was eager to be off solid ground at last and back to the stars where he belonged. Getting on the elevator, another poem his mother taught him floated through Jonathan's mind.
“So Spoke Bold Horatio's the Captain at the Gate
To all men upon this earth death cometh soon or late
But what better way for a man to die than facing fearful odds
Before the ashes of his fathers and the temple of his gods.”
To not fear death and die well. What more could a man ask for? Jonathan and Bethany got on the elevator together. By mutual agreement, they had decided their encounter was a purely physical event. Two consenting adults and all that. Still looking at the blonde haired woman, Jonathan had to admit that he was perhaps too hasty in judging her. There seemed to be hidden depths and angles to her he hadn’t seen. The elevator stopped on the 54th floor, and the only other passenger on board departed leaving just Jonathan and Bethany. Jonathan turned to say something to her but he caught a mischievous glint in her eye.
“Beth..” he began. Too late, she pounced like a wild animal seizing him by the lapels and pulled him into a passionate kiss.
‘Damn it,’ Jonathan thought, as Bethany hit the emergency stop button with the heel of her shoe and began undoing his belt. Sometimes in love, like war, there was no option but unconditional surrender.
Twenty minutes later, Jonathan and Bethany their clothes somewhat wrinkled, disembarked in the lobby and shared a cab to the space tether’s ground station that doubled as Levelflats’s air and space port.
“Bethany always a pleasure,” Jonathan said disembarking.
“Likewise John, let me know when you are back this way. Or you know? I may come to you,” She said with a wink before closing the door, and before Jonathan could figure out what she meant by that.
Jonathan shook his head and hoped very much Trendale wouldn’t be armed when he found out that Jonathan had slept with his sister. The potential of being bashed by an irate relative now weighing on his mind, Jonathan quickly made his way to his gate now in much more of a hurry to get off world, and far away from irritating but delightful woman.
Torch System, Freeport in Orbit of Primus IV, Free Worlds League
Council Building, Goverment Quarter
September 27th, 844 AE
Freeport was in itself an engineering marvel. An O'neill Colony thirty miles long, six times larger than the first generation Lagrange habitats, and dwarfed only by Stellar City in orbit of Jupiter. The Station was home to 1.8 million registered inhabitants and another 300,000 transitory population. Freeport’s forward section hosted an external ring, which rotated at one third standard Earth gravity, making it an ideal dock yard. Freeport, which also lived up to its name by serving as a Free Trade Zone, was the busiest shipping hub in the three sectors. Only Atlantis on Tao, and First Landing on Solaria handled more traffic. Freeport had always been a place dedicated to commerce, and the free flow of goods and people. Founded two hundred years before by a joint stock company, it had served as a neutral port in the midst of what was a politically unstable sector, as nine different nations warred over resources and for dominance. Freeport fortified by weapons bought with the proceeds of its trade, and secured by the political capital it accrued as a neutral place was never threatened. Following the Xi annexation, the Solarian Republic helped the Sector inhabitants stitch together the Free Worlds League. Freeport had been the unanimous choice to serve as the League Capital. For two decades it had done just that with the favorable free trade agreements the League had signed with Solaria, which gave merchants a single market from the ETO border to the Outbound frontier worlds. Still, two decades of peace and prosperity had begun to erode the unity and common fear of the Commonwealth. Traq Din, Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary of the Solarian Republic to the Free Worlds League, had been watching the unity of the League, once taken for granted, being chipped away year by year. Prosperity had, as it inevitably did, left some
industries behind as markets closed or shifted. While in a few more decades the population would probably adjust, currently this meant that segments of League member populations were facing disappearing jobs and stagnant wages. That, combined with common market and criminal regulations, caused people to chafe for the supposed ‘good old days’, which as far as Traq could tell had never existed except in the fevered campaign promises of unscrupulous politicians. Henry Francisco was one such politician that Traq would very, very, very much like to push ever so gently feet first into a wood chipper. The League could be divvied up based on its founding member’s nation, which were themselves very ethnocentric. Francisco hailed from what was now the Galt System, and had previously been the Galt Freehold. Galters were North American in descent, referring to themselves as Mericans, though officially that ethnic group was classified as Norams. Galt boasted two habitable worlds in orbit of a binary star. The first world Tagert was Class A similar to Solaria or Terra though lacking Solaria’s large and aggressive predators. The second world Rearden was a much less habitable place, with a climate akin to the Himalayas on Earth. For years, Tagert with its larger population and industrial base had dominated system politics letting everyone dismiss the inhabitants of Rearden as a bunch of would be frontiersmen and irate trappers. That was until fifteen years ago, when Tagert’s economy began to decline, in no small part due to the outrageous subsidies the government spent trying to keep outmoded industries alive, even as imports became cheaper and of better quality. The end result had been a massive bailout of the Galt system’s finances by the League and forced austerity. The resulting public backlash had propelled the Rearden political ideologies of self reliance and personal liberty to the forefront. Now, it was Rearden that was the senior partner in the Galt system and leading that was Henry Francisco, whose stated political aim was to take Galt out of the League. He wouldn't be such a problem except that Galt had two daughter colonies Fontaine and Rapture. This gave Francisco influence over 11 other MPs since each system was entitled to four delegates to the League Parliament. What really irritated Traq was how others had imitated Francisco’s political model. In addition to the Mericans, the League had eight other ethnic groups, Slaviks, Arameics, Turkics, Andeans, Ocieaners, Souams, Soern Euros, and Hindis. These groups were distinct in their history and where they hailed from on Terra. Most also could give a list as to why the universe would be better off without their neighbours. However, ethnic nationalism combined with economic fear mongering and a little anti-imperialism transcended all languages and cultures. Though Francisco and his lot remained the worst, the Slaviks and Turkics were now also led by those who thought the League was a bad idea. Normally, the League President was able to pull together a simple majority to keep business running. Now, however, the League was debating whether or not it would keep its word, and enter an armed conflict on behalf of its ally the Solarian Republic. Such an action required a two thirds majority parliamentary vote. This stipulation was making Traq have very homicidal feelings toward the Solarian Foreign Office lawyer who had drafted the League constitution.
“You may very well stand for it, but I will not!” Francisco bellowed across the parliament chamber as the debate progressed.
Traq did his best not to grind his teeth as Francisco launched into another tirade about sending young League men and women to serve as cannon fodder for “Our Solarian Overlords!!”
That comment alone caused an uproar in the chamber as the Speaker banged haplessly away with his gavel. As the ambassador from Solaria to the League, Traq was afforded the courtesy of being seated in the parliament chamber on the left hand of the Speaker. He could not vote, but he could introduce motions and treaties for the parliament's consideration. It was a much lighter approach than the Republic normally took with its clients. If Traq were a Governor General of one of the Client Worlds, he'd have the power to command the Client militia and police, dismiss the head of government, veto legislation, and dissolve parliament. But the League was not a Client, it was a ‘Friend and Ally’ to the Republic, and this distinction made all the difference. When the League Treaty had originally been drawn up, the Republic’s government had concluded a more ‘hands off’ approach would be the best way to maintain their influence in the League. In many ways, they had been right. Solaria had close ties with all of the League’s Government Ministries, its military, and its major corporate players. Unfortunately, this level of close relationship made it easier for rabble rousers like Francisco to draw a picture that painted Solaria in an unflattering light.
The ruckus in the parliament chamber continued for a good ten minutes, until finally Francisco sat down, a smug smile on his raw bone face.
Next to speak was a dithering little man from Ayaan. Like most Arameics he was decidedly pro-Solarian. The Arameic Worlds like Ayann had been ruthlessly exploited by their stronger neighbors for decades before the League's formation. He mumbled for twenty minutes about all the good the Republic had done for the League, and how as the Republic had kept their word in the past using League units only for rear area security there was no reason the League shouldn’t come to the aide of their friend and ally. It might have been a good speech, if it had been delivered by anyone else. When he was done, one of the Turkic delegates, Akan Jazari rose to reply.
“The past is the past, but the future belongs to all of us. We have no quarrel with the Colonials although their actions at New Helsinki were deplorable, but even the Republic's own investigation concludes it was the action of a few bad apples. Why must more die in a pointless conflict over territory?”
“BECAUSE, YA BLOODY GREAT TWIT THOSE BAD APPLES ARE NOW AT THE HEAD OF THE CONFEDERATE GOVERNMENT!!!” Traq bellowed finally losing his temper.
He shouldn’t have done it. He knew it as soon as he opened his mouth, but he was committed now, might as well get it all out.
“These men have not been condemned by their people for their actions. Instead, they have been rewarded. They now hold the reigns of power and they seek to grow their power with conquest.”
“Just as the Republic has done time and again!” Francisco said rising. “Against Teja, Thaos, Branyard, to name a few. In fifty years the Republic’s borders have expanded at a steady rate.”
“We expanded because we had no choice,” Traq tried to say.
“There is always a choice,” cried a female delegate also from Galt “Oh sure you cloak yourself as liberators, but are you any better than the Rome, Britain or America of old that your people so admire? Whenever you offer the hand of friendship, your other hand holds the sword of conquest.”
There was more shouting. Now the speaker banged his gavel desperately trying to quit the row. Above the clamour, Francisco cried out, “I move the League formally dissolve its treaty with the so called Solarian Republic, and then that this League, which has proven to be nothing but a bureaucratic behemoth crushing the dreams of liberty in fourteen systems dissolve itself.”
Traq turned and stalked out of the chamber. Taking the member’s corridor to avoid the hoard of reporters at the chamber’s main entrance. He fumed as he stalked the hallways. Coming to a private gallery where a line of bay windows looked out onto the curved landscape of Freeport, he paused leaning his head against the window.
“Well that was a bit undiplomatic Ambassador,” said a voice.
Traq turned to see the lithe, wispy figure of Claudia Min. Major Claudia Min, OMI Station Chief for Freeport.
“Not now Claudia, I am not in the mood.”
“Whether you are in the mood or not is beside the point Ambassador,” said another voice in a flat, cold tone that sent a chill down Traq’s spine. Turning Traq saw a exceptionally ordinary fellow with cold grey eyes. He wore a civilian suit, but his posture screamed military.
“Ambassador this is Colonel Garrett of Special Branch. He’s recently arrived.”
“Colonel,” Traq said extending his hand.
“Please, just Garrett,” the man said taking his hand and giving it
a perfunctory shake.
Traq felt a tiny reptilian part of his brain screaming at him that something was very off about this man. Traq was a career diplomat and as such had a great deal of experience reading people. Everything about Colonel Garrett unnerved him. He just seemed off.
Traq shut that part of his mind down. Whether or not the Colonel was weird had no bearing on the current situation. Traq needed all the help he could get.
“So what brings you here Garrett? Could it be that someone back home has finally read one of my reports and decided to send me the extra intelligence assets I requested months ago?”
Garrett blinked and tilted his head. “I have no information on that. I am here on unrelated business, though it appears there may be a link between what I am chasing and what is going on here.”
“Oh, and what are you chasing?” Traq asked
“That’s classified,” Garrett replied.
Traq bristled a bit at that. “I have code-word clearance Colonel.”
“Garrett, and you are not cleared for this.”
“Now see here...” Traq began, but Garrett held up his hand.
“Ambassador you can make a fuss, you can protest, you can write as many official letters as you like, but I will not tell you because if I did I would need to kill you afterward, and that would be a poor allocation of the Republic’s resources.”
The way Garrett said it without the slightest inflection of humor or good nature, caused Traq to take a step back.
Garrett seemed not to notice. “You are needed here, to get the League involved in the war. A conflict without Leauge support will seriously impact the military's ability to defeat the Colonials.”
