Badger

by Kindal Debenham

  Fortunately, the High Seat had not allowed the deadline for the referendum to be set too far in the future. Only two weeks after the initial message, the citizens of the Union gathered to cast their votes for the future of the Oduran refugees who had come to hope for a place in their worlds.

  As Jacob approached the polling station set up in the Tube, he heard the tense, excited murmurs build around him. Only four polling stations had been erected in the confined spaces of the station, one for each of the great marketplaces of Reefhome. Governor Chilt had hoped the larger open space and preexisting traffic controls would curb any disruption of the voting process and encourage calmness.

  When Jacob left the corridor and entered the Tube he saw precisely how mistaken the leaders of Reefhome were. Union law had restricted the right to protest for political purposes near polling centers; at the very least there were no signs or chanting mobs in attendance. No law could have prevented the milling, roiling mass of people who crowded around the center of the Tube. Arguments and debates were loud and heated, but the presence of Union law enforcement and the occasional battle armored Marine kept it from becoming a riot. A continuous stream of people flowed in and out of the central tube, with others crowding the railed walkways ringing the height of the circular chamber.

  Jacob took a deep breath, trying to steady himself in the midst of the crowd, and stepped forward. He had left behind his dress uniform today, though he normally wore it to formal occasions like voting, because he did not intend to become a spectacle. After all, in Reefhome he could distract people who should rightly have been focused on their decisions at the polls.

  For all his good intentions, Jacob immediately noticed at least one officer—one of his officers—had not followed the same good sense. It was far too easy for him to pick Commander Kenning’s dress uniform, complete with medals and awards, out of the civilian crowd. Kenning was surrounded by an unusual open space in the crowd, and was speaking quietly with a group of attentive listeners.

  Jacob’s face turned to stone. It was suddenly glaringly obvious how Commander Kenning had managed to get himself exiled to the docks of Reefhome. If Kenning had chosen to disregard the Navy’s warning to remain neutral in the debate over the asylum, he would have upset more than a few superiors back on Celostia. He was lucky to have avoided a court martial, and it was likely only the unusual political climate had prevented that result in the first place. Someone must have decided to overlook the young commander’s “enthusiasm” and tried to sweep him out of the way until the stir was over.

  Kenning had obviously not learned his lesson. Jacob altered his course through the crowd to intercept his wayward subordinate. The polls would not close for a few hours yet, and his responsibilities would not wait out of convenience for his schedule, uniform or no uniform. Jacob made it most of the way through the crowd before someone recognized him. Whispers and shouts announced his presence to Kenning before he could hear what the man was saying, and the young commander’s listeners quickly found something else in the crowd to absorb their attention.

  Kenning, for his part, smiled false welcome to Jacob and saluted. “Captain Hull! I am glad you could make it today. I understand you have been kept busy, so most of your time has been spent at the docks.”

  “That’s kind of how military life is, Commander Kenning. You might want to do all sorts of things, but when you come down to it, you follow orders.” He saw Kenning twitch as the barb hit home, and then he returned the commander’s salute. It felt odd to do that while in civilian garb, but an officer was an officer, no matter how foolish.

  Kenning’s smile had faltered a moment, and then returned, beaming at full force. “True, but I’d hope there is some leniency for personal interaction here and there. How else would we get to know the people we are defending?”

  Reluctantly, Jacob nodded. “You do have a point, Commander Kenning. It is important to remember why we are here.” He glanced around the Tube and was pleasantly surprised. The stores that had once been dark and abandoned during the Telosian occupation were now all full of light and sound. Reefhome had managed, somehow, to erase some of the marks Dianton had left on the place, and it warmed Jacob’s heart to see it. Then he shook his head. “Of course, as long as you respect the limits the regs have set for you, I see no problem in it. I will see you when we return to base, Commander Kenning.”

  The dismissal, and the implied order to return to base along with it, seemed to sit poorly with Kenning, but he didn’t protest. “Yes, sir. I will see you there, sir.” He nodded sharply and spun on his heel. A hole opened in the crowd for Kenning to pass through, and Jacob watched him leave the Tube. He couldn’t be sure the man would leave the Station and return to his post, but after that sort of embarrassment Kenning would likely rather retreat and lick his wounds instead of continuing to cause trouble. The rebuke had likely not won Jacob a friend with his subordinate, but Jacob was more than fine with the sacrifice if it meant Admiral Nivrosky’s orders were followed.

  “Wow, Jacob, I never expected you to be so stern.” Catherine’s words had an amused quality to them.

  Jacob turned to find her smiling at him. He held out his arms for a hug and grinned back at her. They embraced for a moment, and then Jacob drew back. “I learned from my older sister. A real taskmaster you know.”

  She slugged him in the arm, and he grunted. There was a quiet cough to the side, and Jacob turned. Michael waited awkwardly at the edge of the crowd. He looked caught between retreating from Jacob’s presence and wanting to continue the afternoon with Catherine. Jacob decided to relieve him of his uncertainty by extending a hand. “Michael.”

  “Captain Hull.” Michael shook his hand warily. “The Capistans should be up and running by tomorrow. We did a test run with a drone, and the design worked perfectly.”

  Jacob nodded. “Good to hear that. We’ll need them to be ready as quickly as possible if we’re going to make it out to Tiredel in time.” A sudden burst of whispers and mutters spread out through the crowd around them, and Jacob felt a twinge of chagrin. His orders had not been secret, but the last thing he wanted was to create more rumors about his deployment instructions from the Navy. It might convince somebody he was angling for political power like Kenning, or that he couldn’t be trusted to keep his mouth shut. Al-shira would have something to say about the last part, but he pushed the thought aside before it could bother him.

  Beside him, Catherine heaved a put-upon sigh. She walked over to Michael and tugged on his arm. “Oh no, no shop talk, you two. We’re here to enjoy the show and fulfill our patriotic duty as citizens, not gab about your little pet projects.” Then she turned to Jacob, eyes sparkling. “Hey, did you know this place is starting up its own university? I think they’re getting some professors in from Corleigh soon, and I heard they’ve already got a few trade mechanic schools up and running. Michael’s going to show me a few spots after all this is done. Want to come?”

  Jacob took a moment to respond. The last time he’d seen that expression had been when his dad had come home to the Sprite with some new piece of equipment or an addition to the family library. It was the combination of a successful homecoming and an urge to explore he’d seen a hundred times, and it had always let him know his father had truly come home.

  Now he was seeing it here, on Reefhome Station, with his sister. She was beaming like a kid in a candy store, all ready to tear through the station on an adventure of her own. He glanced at Michael and saw the man wearing the patient look his mother had worn when Ephriam Hull got carried away with his toys and adventures. Michael met Jacob’s eyes, and the engineer tilted his head, as if asking Jacob’s permission. Wordlessly, Jacob nodded and turned back to Catherine, who was waiting for his response.

  He answered, forcing the words past a lump in his throat. “No, Catherine, I’ve got a few other things to do back on the docks. I’m sure Michael will have plenty to show you here on Reefhome.”

  Michael nodded with a small smile. Cathe
rine turned to look at him, and Jacob caught a suspicious, ring-box-looking bulge in Michael’s coat pocket. Damn the man moves fast when he sees an opening.

  Jacob cleared his throat. “It was good to see you two. I’ll see you later on today.” By then they would probably want to tell him all about their engagement. Jacob needed to prepare himself to look pleased.

  The happy couple made their farewells, though Catherine seemed suspicious about Jacob’s attitude. He watched them disappear into the crowd, and then turned back to the voting station. Muttering and whispers followed him as he walked towards the station, but he tried to ignore it and focus on what he would decide. His duty to secure the Celostian Union pulled him in one direction, while his sympathy for the refugees was pulling him in the other.

  As he entered the short, squat booth constructed for the polling, Jacob felt a sudden silence descend over him. The walls of the structure had been sound proofed, and as the doors closed the murmur of the crowd outside vanished. He drew in a deep breath, relishing in the quiet. Peace filtered through the agitation in his mind, and he felt himself steadying out. Then an attendant motioned him to a nearby booth.

  Jacob followed the attendant’s directions, and he took care to slide the booth’s privacy screen shut behind him. Inside the booth was a short squat device, about waist height to him. The device contained a projection unit on its upper surface, the smooth globe shining in the dim light. On the edge of the unit nearest him was a hand scan device to help verify his identity, and a slot for him to insert his identification card. He did so, pressing his left palm to the scanner while the computers inside pondered the cards and the handprint for a few moments.

  Then the device beeped and a button on the device lit up, and Jacob pressed it flat. A hologram spiraled up from the projection unit, displaying the seal of the Celostian Union. It melted back towards the unit, and the miniature figure of a man in formal dress appeared in its place. For a moment the figure regarded Jacob solemnly, and then it spoke.

  “Welcome Jacob Hull, citizen of the Celostian Union. A referendum has been called on the behalf of the petition to grant asylum to the refugee members of the Oduran League. The petition was presented by Aaron Maxwell and the remaining sons of Charles Maxwell, with the added request that the refugees be settled on the planet of Tiredel and exempted from military service against the Oduran League.”

  Jacob sucked in a sharp breath. He had not heard of the additional considerations, and it now gave him pause. The settlement of Tiredel wouldn’t be that bad of a loss, especially once they would gain the resource of several millions of new citizens as a trade for a small, cold border world.

  An exemption from service in the Navy was something else entirely. Jacob believed, as his father and grandfather had, that service in the military was a patriotic investment in the principles which sustained their nation. By exempting themselves from such a commitment, the refugees would essentially be setting their loyalty to the Union second to some other principle.

  Before Jacob could sort out his feelings about that condition, the image continued. “In compensation for the exemption of military service, the refugees have committed to paying twice the level of taxes required of Union citizens. Also, the provision will only be applied to members of the refugee population who volunteer to follow them; otherwise they may and will be considered normal citizens under Celostian law.”

  Jacob barely suppressed the urge to whistle. Whatever the principles that led them to make such a request obviously meant enough to them to pay an almost crushing level of taxes to the Union. While the added population might not hurt, the added resources to the government from the newcomers might very well make up for it. After all, the main obstacle to the better-armored ships was the lack of funds; if that was removed the Navy might not have as many casualties to replace. Whether it was a lingering loyalty to the League, reluctance to possibly open fire on old friends, or their newfound commitment to pacifism, the refugees’ reluctance to fight might not end up as such a handicap to the Union after all.

  The message continued. “The Oduran League has already sent word of their intentions to recapture the refugees. Even now, a massive fleet of Oduran warships is en route to Tiredel. If these former members of the League are refused asylum, then that fleet might be content with their destruction. If they are accepted into the fold of the Union, the Odurans may again attempt to achieve our destruction.”

  The figure met Jacob’s eyes. He’d never figured out how they had designed the program to manage that, but it happened every referendum. “Jacob Hull, yours is the responsibility to help determine the fate of these people. As a citizen of the Celostian Union, yours is the opportunity to decide, and yours will be the legacy the children of our nation will remember. Choose wisely, for the result will be your burden to carry in years to come. Farewell, citizen of the Celostian Union, and good fortune to you in these uncertain times.”

  With those words, the figure bowed its head and faded. The projection unit whirred quietly, and the choices appeared. To the right, the words “Grant Asylum” hovered in the air. To the left, “Reject Asylum” were fixed in their place. Between them a section of text restated the terms of the asylum, and explained which button represented each choice.

  Jacob debated the choices silently. Logic said only the option that guaranteed the safety and security of the Union was the correct one. The Odurans could fend for themselves, and if they had come unarmed and unprepared for their exodus, then it was on their heads. His heart ached at such thoughts, for he knew what it meant to be stranded, weaponless and desperate for help. It was any spacers’ nightmare on the frontier to be trapped and defenseless with enemies already thirsting for blood.

  The deadlock held him fast for a moment, then another, as his heart and mind fought an invisible war. For a heartbeat, he wished Al-shira was there, or at the very least that they had been able to speak about the issue openly. He wondered what kind of question or comment she would make to him about his dilemma. Jacob could almost hear her voice. ‘What would your parents think, captain? Why are you asking me?’

  He shook his head at his own distraction, and then stopped. The question was a good one, and he pictured his father’s reaction to the issue, then his mother’s. The choice was obvious, and without hesitation Jacob punched the right button and held it until the device registered his selection. The projection shifted to feature the seal of the Union once again, before fading out of existence. Darkness fell, and Jacob pondered his choice for a few heartbeats more.

  Jacob turned and left the booth, nodding in satisfaction to the attendant as he passed. He felt almost cheerful as he reentered the crowds outside, and even the press did not interfere with his good humor. He’d done his duty, and his parents would have been proud of him, and that was all that mattered for now.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The voting continued the rest of the day. When the polls closed, the attendants collected the data and packed it into a trio of redundant message drones, all three of which were sent to the Voting Office on Celostia. All three were sent on widely differing courses to prevent tampering, interception or accident from corrupting the results of the referendum. Then it was a waiting game until the data was collected and the results shared throughout the Union.

  During the delay, the tension was almost palpable. The bitter divisions that had resulted during the referendum subsided as both sides began to quietly declare victory. There were occasional arguments and shouting matches, but they seemed to be a nervous reaction after the tumult that had gone before, aftershocks compared to a mighty earthquake.

  Fortunately, Jacob had more than enough to occupy himself in the meantime. The repairs that had been barreling ahead at such a breakneck pace were now rapidly coming to a close. Hulls once torn and rent by enemy fire were intact and strong. Armor sheathed warships that had been stripped of protection, and weapons bristled from decks that had been ravaged. DE sail rigs glowed in place of shattered ruins, a
nd the redesigned Capistans spun quietly through their trial runs while fusion reactors burned at each ship’s heart.

  When the message drones arrived a week later, Jacob’s squadron was nearly ready. The ships lacked smooth surfaces or other refining touches, but they would work. Besides, something in Wolfhound’s rough shape had always appealed to Jacob. Now, the unfinished bluntness magnified it.

  The drones broadcast their message across the system, and there was a sudden rush to the monitors. Jacob had the privilege of receiving it on his personal projection unit in his quarters. He tensed as the message began.

  High Seat Smithson’s figure took shape above his projector, and he bore little resemblance to the jovial man Jacob had met so many months ago. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he had eschewed the official uniform of the position he occupied. The seal of state lay upon his chest, and the light caught it briefly as he shifted in place and spoke.

  “Citizens of the Celostian Union. It is my duty as High Seat to report to you the results of the recent referendum.” Here he paused, and his expression grew more serious. “I remind the citizens this decision is binding on all the territory of the Union, and all Naval forces, local authorities, judiciary councils, and legislatures are similarly bound to enforce and observe its outcome.”

  Jacob listened with a sinking heart, knowing if the referendum had turned against the refugees he was powerless to lessen the blow to them. Smithson paused, as if purposely drawing out the moment, and then continued in the same solemn tone.

  “By the majority vote of the people of the Celostian Union, the decision has been made to grant asylum to the refugees of the Oduran League.”

  Jacob pumped a fist into the air, and a mixture of catcalls, laughs, and shouts of victory and horror swept through the docks, audible even through the bulkheads. The sounds faded as Smithson continued to speak.