by H. Alesso
“And you find redeeming value in the politics?” asked Hawkins.
Hale leaned forward closer to Hawkins’ face and said, “Yes, when it’s conducted with honesty and selflessness, it can serve the people.”
“Hold on to those good thoughts—for I know you to be sincere—but allow me my doubts.”
CHAPTER 11
Captive
Hawkins slouched in a comfortable chair. After his prison cell, the captain’s cabin felt spacious, even luxurious. The furnishings showcased the previous owner’s preference for traditional military decor. He examined a desk in the corner. Several personal items were arranged orderly on the top, including an oil painting, a portrait of a young, attractive woman. He opened the draws and searched through the desk. Then he opened a trunk of personal possessions and rummaged through it for several minutes. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular; rather he was seeking contact with the normalcy of existence—outside of prison.
A knock on the cabin door interrupted his woolgathering.
“Enter.”
A disheveled Hellion officer was shoved in and forced into a chair across from him. The prisoner rubbed his hand over the lump on his head and looked around vacantly until his eyes focused on the swashbuckling figure in front of him, once more clad in a pilot jacket and boots.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Captain Hawkins, at your service, Lieutenant Connors. Forgive me, for having looked through the ship’s documents, and for helping myself to some of your ship’s civilian clothes. No doubt you’re confused, but let me remind you: I am the one who hit you on the head and took possession of this fine ship.”
Connors was not past thirty, but his balding head, sunken face, and beaked nose made him appear older. But his thickset body was broad and powerful. His long black mustache drooped into a frown. He sat upright, despite the discomfort written over his face.
“Allow me,” said Hawkins, handing him a flask. “It’s an alcoholic concoction I found aboard. I trust it will ease your discomfort and dull the pain.”
Connors took a cautious sip. Recognizing it, he gulped down a long swallow. The vague embarrassment deepened into a scowl as his memory cleared. He stared at Hawkins from his green eyes, still somewhat bewildered.
Gesturing at the man’s head, Hawkins asked, “Still aching?”
“Yes.” Conner’s disheveled clothes rustled against his chair, as he leaned his head back and drank heartily from the flask once more.
“Our medic examined you, and he assures me that other than a headache, you will completely recover by tomorrow.”
“Who the devil are you to steal my ship?” His eyebrows furrowed and his lips curled.
“Don’t torture yourself over your loss. It’s merely the fortunes of war. This is now my ship and I’ve been helping myself to whatever I could find, and oh yes, your tasty thirst-quencher. What do you call it?”
“It’s called quinto, a home grown concoction of vodka and tequila.”
“I tried some. It packs quite a wallop.”
The captain took another pull on the flask. He said, “What do you plan to do with me and my crew? Kill us?”
“I’m not unsympathetic to your plight, Lieutenant Connors, having recently suffered a similar ordeal and I can assure you that you will be treated as prisoners of war with all the formalities and rights that status affords,” said Hawkins emphatically.
Elated surprise registered briefly on Connors’ face, quickly followed by skepticism. “You don’t really expect me to believe that.”
“I don’t expect you to believe anything I say. Nevertheless, I am telling the truth.” Connors fell perfectly silent and sat straight and stiff under Hawkins’ scrutiny.
“I do have a few questions, however, that you could help me with if you’ve a mind to. It will also facilitate a more comfortable passage for you and your men, until we can arrange a prisoner exchange with your government.”
“Questions? What questions?”
At ease and smiling, Hawkins said, “Nothing of military importance that would compromise your honor, I assure you. You see, my men and I are not in good standing with the Jaxon government. We were prisoners on the penal colony you so rudely intruded upon. Now we’re rebels in their eyes. So our objectives may not be as dissimilar as you might first imagine.”
“Ah,” said Connors, relaxing his face into an expression of insolent amusement.
Hawkins said, “This war is being waged as something deeper than a mere dispute over territory—it is rooted in greed and hate. Year by year, soldiers and civilians alike, have paid the price for the evil choices of our leaders. Play fair with me, and provide some basic information about this ship, and the asteroid bases, to aid my survival, and you’ll be treated well and offered for exchange to return to your home. Otherwise . . .”
“I don’t think I like the way you put that. Indeed, I’m sure I don’t. How can I trust a traitor to his nation to keep his word?”
No humor glinted in Hawkins’s cold eyes now; his face was set and hard. “I’m sorry for that, but it is what it is. If you think the Jaxon soldiers on Zeno will treat you any better, I can arrange your release to them.”
“Why don’t you just threaten to kill me? Oh, that’s right, you have questions that need answering,” said Connors spitefully. “If I answer your questions, you’ll let me go?”
“I’m afraid, I can’t promise that much immediately, but I will work for a prisoner exchange that will include you. I assume you would prefer to choose your own fate, rather than leave it to the tender mercies of the Zeno soldiers you just bombarded.”
Connors’ pale eyes widened in sudden fear, he said, “I hope, I am not mistaken to trust you—I accept your terms—ask your questions.”
“Let’s start by your telling me what you know of how this war started.”
“You’re joking. Everyone knows the story.”
“I’d like to hear your version.”
“My version is the true story.”
“As you say,” said Hawkins.
Connors hesitated a moment, then he said, “Several of the large Jaxon Eureka Mining Colonies (EMC) were oppressing people of Hellion descent that were living among them. These colonies were wealthy, easily supplied, and numbered more than twenty thousand residents of which a few hundred were said to complain. The colonies were situated at the midpoint of the belt at the vortex of the most frequented trade routes. When the tormented people beseeched the Hellion government for relief, Chairman Herman Rusk demanded a referendum that would allow the intimidated parts of some colonies to become independent.”
Hawkins nodded thoughtfully. Rusk was an arrogant, self-centered, isolationist bully, who enacted many restrictive laws, secret organizations, and harassed, intimidated, and imprisoned political activists and critics, in order to remain in power.
Connors said, “A referendum was held on four EMC colonies and a majority of 93 percent voted to secede from Jaxon and join Hellion. The referendum was unfairly declared as illegitimate by Jaxon because they claimed that Hellion soldiers infiltrated and occupied the colonies. My government denied that and said the only troops active in the colonies were local self-defense forces. However, Rusk declared that our troops would stand behind the colony’s self-defense forces.”
Chairman Rusk met with President Victor where he expressed a willingness to discuss the situation. Victor protested diplomatically at first, stating that Rusk had ordered his troops to seize four rich Jaxon mining colonies, and Victor demanded that Hellion stop supplying arms to the separatist fighters. He said Jaxon wanted a political compromise and promised the interests of Hellion-speaking people in those colonies would be respected.
Connors said, “Rusk signed a bill that led to the annexation of those colonies by Hellion.”
Hawkins nodded and said, “President Victor was outraged and threatened to take back the colonies by force.”
Rusk stated that the annexation of the colonies w
as a historic event that would not be reversed and he declared war on Jaxon. Many credited Rusk for reviving Hellion fortunes once the war started, by pulling Hellion out of the chaos of a financial collapse.
“Chairman Rusk is a great man,” said Connors.
“As you say,” said Hawkins, but he thought . . .
Rusk’s crude brazen bloodthirsty aggression was a risky venture.
The war had been locked in stalemate for years, draining resources and lives while the leadership of each side remained safe at home, keeping the majority of their military power close at hand for protection.
“Do you have more questions?”
“Yes.”
Before he was finished, Hawkins asked many questions about the Destiny and activities in the asteroids. Afterward Conner’s was returned to a holding cell and Hawkins brooded over what he had learned.
He considered his life as a series of incidents, channeled along an improbable path. At every moment he faced a door—step through one way to the future, the other to the past, but always, he was standing at a threshold.
Where does this latest door lead?
CHAPTER 12
President Victor
President Charles Victor pounded a fist on his mahogany desk and said, “Ordinary people lack the capacity for critical thinking. They always obey the loudest voice shouting in their ear.” His straight- nose, prominent chin, and bushy eyebrows gave him an appearance of astuteness that his character didn’t actually possess. His heavy paunch and large frame made him an imposing figure, but his sallow pitted skin, and the twitch around his mouth, destroyed any semblance of a distinguished pose. His expensive but ill-fitting suit strained across his swollen body, and the perpetual perspiration dripping down his forehead gave the appearance of discomfort.
Victor waited with Senator Wattles in his private office inside the President's residence to present the merits of his war strategy to the congressional leadership which was to convene in a few minutes. His raised heart rate and shortened breathe belied the apathy, inertia, and weariness that his face pretended. Not known to be a creative or deep thinker, he was, however, difficult to rattle. He usually advanced his argument through articulate use of persuasive rhetoric. The style and delivery of his message often overshadowed its content, or at least obfuscated those parts of it that were unfavorable to his position.
“To be truly convincing when you speak in public,” said Victor, “it’s absolutely essential that you believe every word you say.”
“Even when you’re lying?” Senator Wattles asked with a sneer.
“Especially when you’re lying,” said Victor, with his deep booming voice.
“That’s absurd. In fact, it’s an oxymoron.”
Victor chuckled, “And yet it works. The greater the lie, and the more sincerely you tell it, the more people will believe it.”
“But really, Mr. President, it’s impossible for you to believe your own lie. You know it’s a lie.”
Nodding, Victor said in complete earnest, “It takes practice.”
He listened to the unpleasant arrhythmic drumming of Wattle’s fingers on the desk and wondered why he bothered to discuss important issues with this man. Wattles responded dutifully to orders and occasionally offered useful advice, but had very little fire in him. What little there was could only be stimulated by bribes, or sometimes threats. Victor said in a seductive tone, “We live in a world where emotion is more persuasive than logic.”
“It’s not important whether you employ emotion, or logic, only that you convince the governing body to support your plan,” said Wattles. “They’re still suspicious that the wealth you’ve shared is less than the fortune you’ve stolen.”
“Let them speculate. And stop that finger tapping! Besides, I don’t exactly keep detailed books.”
“But how much wealth is enough?”
“Always a little more than anyone ever gets,” chortled Victor.
“Seriously, we’ve taken so much; do we need more money?”
“It’s not about the money. It was never the money,” said Victor, shaking his head at the man’s blinding stupidity. “Money is merely a way of keeping score. It’s about winning—and I want to win.”
Wattles smiled wanly.
In a burst of passion, Victor exclaimed again, “I want to win!”
The senator was taken aback at the outburst.
They stood quietly for a moment, each collecting himself, before Victor resumed, “Besides, I’ve never lost an argument in my life.If I think I’m losing,” he laughed once more, “I simply switch sides.”
“There can be no changing sides on this occasion.”
“Don’t worry, I was being facetious. However, if someone does make a persuasive counterargument, I’ll have him quietly ‘disappear.’”
Senator Wattles blanched—knowing that the last remark was not facetious. While he often resented the abuse Victor heaped upon him, he was not unaware that “disappear,” could easily be applied to him.
“Mr. President, I . . . uh . . .,”
Victor resumed speaking words of ruthless bloodthirsty greed—without any semblance of honor—even toward his fellow thief, “When speaking to friends and colleagues, it’s always best to try the truth, first. So I’ll explain the payoff and my ability to deliver, and why it’s actually the best option available. If that doesn’t work, I’ll appeal to their patriotism and lie about our need to support the troops. If that fails, then I’ll resort to my old standby—I’ll have one, or maybe two, of them taken out for a word in private. When they don’t come back, it’s amazing how agreeable the rest become.”
***
The congressional leaders waited in the Blue Room. The ornate wooden wall panels, centuries-old chairs around the huge oval table, oil paintings by old masters, and ancient tapestries complemented the view from the tall windows. Everything about the oversized room with its vaulted ceiling made guests feel small, intimidated, and exposed—as Victor intended.
When President Victor strutted in, everyone rose and remained standing in uncomfortable silence while he took his place at the head of the table.
Victor waved them to their seats. Secret Service agents stood around the room, while additional plain-clothes agents flanked the President’s chair. A recent assassination attempt provided yet another opportunity for Victor to flaunt his status, even—or perhaps especially—in the President’s inner sanctum.
Victor let the silence linger a moment longer, then in a solemn voice and without preamble, he intoned, “Today, we face two grave threats.”
A paused added the dramatic effect, he sought. “Hellion has plagued us for several years, but thanks to the heroic efforts our brave soldiers, Hellion remains distant and managed—tense, but on a slow fuse.”
He inspected each face, fixing every member of the council with a cold stare.
“But now we must confront a new, more insidious, existential threat.”
SMACK!
His hand slapped the table. “A threat that strikes our very heart and soul—rebels—both on Jaxon and within the asteroid colonies. I’m going to tell you a story—a story of suspense and emotion of how I’m going to win the prize for us all, if you support my proposal. This may not be the easiest choice, but it’s the one with the greatest payoff.
“The regrettable Newport violence has had grave consequences which are far reaching. It’s given birth to serious resistance and caused some in the military to waiver. I regret to say, during the upheaval, some of our troops got out of hand and there were a few massacres, and one near massacre. We managed to suppress information and news about them, as much as reasonably possible. However, one story that has had a lot of play involves a former Marine, named Hawkins.”
“Was it he, who intervened and prevented the massacre at the Newport hospital?” asked a congresswoman.
That was only a guess. But a good one, thought Victor.
He said, “The rebels have circulated that unfortunat
e rumor to drum up support. Hawkins’ celebrity soared after he hijacked a Hellion warship and escaped from Zeno.”
“Ah! Quite a rogue,” the congresswoman exclaimed.
“Nothing of the kind,” snapped Victor, and pounded his fist on the table again.
BAM! BAM!
“He’s a disease, a cancer, a poison. And we must find the cure.”
Victor waited to let that sink in.
He glared around the table once more before continuing, “I’ve placed a bounty on his head.” Taking a deep breath, his voice dropped to a whisper, “The rebels are becoming more and more troublesome. You’ll see from the briefing book that to eliminate them, I require a significant increase in my emergency discretionary account.”
Their collective gasp caused him to pause. He would have liked to read their minds and discover which were privately plotting against him at that particular moment.
“What preparations have been made, in case of another full scale riot in Newport?” asked one congressman.
“I’ve brought an entire army division within the city limits.”
“In the meantime, we must move the bulk of our wealth to a safer location,” suggested another.
A murmur ran around the table.
Victor savored the few seconds of silence before one congressman said sharply, “You told us that a short, sharp war was just what we needed to distract the public while we enriched ourselves. But this war has lasted a decade, and looks like it will last another.”
Again Victor heard a murmur, and felt a knot tighten in his gut.
He lowered his brow and said sternly, “It’s not profitable to revisit those arguments.”
The balance of power in the room was as uncertain as the state of the fragile Jaxon democracy. Many of the people’s representatives took warning from Victor’s tone and changed the subject, fearing that he had already crossed the line to absolute authority.
The Jaxon government faced strategic problems, the magnitude and complexity of which, were unparalleled in its history. The situation at the war front had recently taken a disastrous turn. The Combat Fleet commander, Admiral Forester, one of the few competent men in the Jaxon space navy, had been arrested and temporarily detained for challenging the government’s violent behavior in the Newport carnage. He was later released when the Hellion military won a dazzling string of minor victories. While they were not decisive, they were disturbing.
