When their battle plan was in place, Grant moved on to the topic that had kept him awake the night before—the orphans who lived in the Council-run shelters around the world, including the ones here in Violent’s Prison. His interactions with the boys—and with Jonah in particular—had affected him deeply.
Grant knew the issue was not the most pressing matter that should be engaging his attention, especially with the Minith ship only two days away, but he couldn’t deny the pull. For the first time in his life, the portion of his being that was a soldier was overridden by a more powerful portion of his being—the father. Ever cognizant of the internal forces that drove him, Grant realized it, understood it, and accepted it as fact.
“Tane, where do we stand on production of weapons? Any change there?”
The scientist was seated at the far end of the long table.
“No. No change,” the scientist acknowledged. “We are still producing weapons in all our factories. As you know, we do not have enough soldiers to wield them, so we are storing them in secure facilities around the world. Each Culture now has a significant surplus—probably more than they will need for decades to come.”
“Okay.” Grant nodded, swallowed. “Since we have all the weapons we can handle, I’d like to turn our attention to something else.”
He waited for someone to object or question why. Not one of the dozen in the room did. They merely looked at him and waited for them to explain what was needed. It was a sign that they trusted him implicitly and would follow his lead. It was a sign that he held too much control, too much influence, too much power. He knew that if he proposed mass-producing silk flowers, and gave a half-reasonable explanation, they would do just that. It was a dangerous power, and he wondered, How do none of them see this as a problem?
He took a breath, rubbed his temples for a few seconds, and refocused on what was needed.
“I want to produce roller blades and paintball guns in those factories.”
A few eyebrows were raised, but no one objected, even though no one besides he and Tane knew what roller blades were. And Tane had no idea what a paintball gun was.
Grant explained his ideas about setting up leadership training for the orphaned youngsters and the need to provide them with outlets for their energy in a safe, controlled environment. They would begin the effort with the children located within the prison, then, as they perfected the equipment and processes, would implement the program at the rest of the orphanages around the world.
When his plan was fully laid out before the group, Randalyn Trevino, who had accepted a seat to the left of Tane, raised her hand. As the N’mercan Culture Leader, she could have commanded the far chair, but refused to displace Tane from his normal seat.
“Yes, Culture Leader Trevino?” Grant recalled Tane’s request to treat Randalyn with the respect due to someone in her position and, since he did respect her a great deal, it wasn’t difficult.
“It sounds like a very good plan, General Justice,” Randalyn stated. “What support do you require of the Leadership Council?”
Grant mentally kicked himself for not thinking to pass the idea by the Leadership Council before announcing it to his staff. He glanced at Mouse seated to his right and saw the barest hint of a smile. The pilot’s unerring sense of political savvy was obviously a step of ahead of Grant’s.
“Leader Trevino, I’m glad you asked,” Grant conceded as he fumbled for a way to save face. “It would be much appreciated if the Council could announce the plans for this effort on a global basis.”
“I am certain that can be arranged. Anything else?”
“Um… just your … uh… continued support, Leader.”
Randalyn dipped her head in agreement. Her smile surpassed the one on Mouse’s face and Grant realized she knew the affect his gaff was having on him. It caused him to smile and dip his head in kind. Grant understood why she had been elected by her Culture as their representative on the Council.
Grant’s stumble, and the way it had been tactfully recognized and handled, made him revise his previous assessment of the danger he posed to the current world. He was powerful, but obviously not capable of performing the political calisthenics that would be required to take over the world. The knowledge widened his smile and helped him gather his composure.
The rest of the command meeting progressed as normal and without further incident. As a group, they settled on the details of producing thousands of pairs of roller blades and Grant made an appointment to get with Tane on the specifications for a workable paint gun.
Despite his initial objections over having any role in arming children with weapons, even the nonlethal type, Mr. Blue agreed to help Avery coordinate the efforts within the prison. Having the approval of his Culture Leader obviously helped.
Blue would also have responsibility for implementing similar programs at the other orphanages across the globe. Grant was glad to have Blue engaged. It would lessen the chance that he would interfere.
* * *
Grant took Mouse aside as the meeting broke up.
“Hey there, buddy.” Grant pulled Mouse’s sleeve and they retreated to a far corner where they wouldn’t be overheard. “How are things?”
Mouse was all dimples and gold teeth.
“Avery told you, huh?”
“It’s true, then? You gonna be a daddy?” Grant felt excited for his friend. Being a father was a feeling unlike any other, and he was anxious for Mouse to feel the joy for himself.
“It appears so, my friend. It does appear so.”
The two men laughed at the news and Grant drew Mouse into a quick embrace, slapping him on the back.
“Well, congratulations! You’re gonna be a great dad. How is Sue doing?”
“She’s very happy. She’s not so happy about being grounded for the next year or so, but that’s no big surprise.” Mouse’s fighter force was made up of a large number of women. They’d had to establish a no-fly policy early on for pregnant women, and Sue would have to comply, for both her health and the baby’s.
“Well, I think Avery is going to call on her to help with the efforts in the Fourth Square, so she won’t be sitting still.”
“Ah. That’s good. She can be a pain in my rear when she’s bored,” Mouse teased. “Glad she’ll be a part of something meaningful. It’s a good thing, what you’re doing for those kids.”
“What we’re doing,” Grant corrected. “We all need to contribute to this if it’s going to be successful.”
Mouse, like all the other officers, would be expected to pitch in with the leadership training that would take place.
“Grant,” Tane called out from across the room. “The Culture Leader and I would like to speak with you for a moment.”
Grant socked Mouse playfully on the arm. “Well, there’s my cue.”
“Duty calls, eh? Would you like some advice?”
“Um, sure,” Grant said, not sure at all.
“Remember to include the Leadership Council on any big decisions. You know, like saving the world or co-opting its children to shoot guns. That kind of stuff.”
Mouse grinned. Grant winced.
“Yeah, yeah. I know. Keeping the Council’s feelings in mind is not one of my stronger qualities, but I’m working on it.”
“Well, work harder. You’re fortunate our Culture Leader is so understanding.” Grant stood still for the rebuke from his subordinate. He knew the man was right. “If you had made an announcement like the one you did today with someone like Leader Sabontey or Leader Alla in the room, you would have run into some serious resistance. Not because it was a bad idea, but because you didn’t follow protocol.”
“Believe me, Mouse, I understand. That’s why I have you to keep me in line on these things.”
“And I could have kept you in line this time, if I’d known.”
Grant could only sigh and nod. It was so much easier being a sergeant in charge of forty soldiers than being a general in charge of the world’s defen
se.
“Now, get over there and see what they want.” Mouse lowered his voice even further. “You don’t want to keep a Culture Leader waiting.”
“Fine. I’m going,” Grant agreed. “Oh. By the way, you and Sue should stop by our quarters this evening. You’re not going to believe what Avery did to our walls.”
“Oh yeah? Well, that sounds interesting. We’ll stop by after evening meal.”
Grant made his way across the room to where Tane and Randalyn were huddled. It seemed they were huddled a lot lately. His mind went back to the conversation he had interrupted a couple of days before. Hopefully, they were ready to share with him.
Chapter 8
Tane rubbed his hands together as Grant concluded his conversation with Colonel Mouse. They appeared to be having a pleasant conversation, which Tane took as a good sign.
The small scientist took a deep breath and said a silent mantra. After a lifetime of practice, the routine was as familiar as eating. Unfortunately, repeating his personal Peace verse rarely provided him the comfort it seemed to bestow upon others. He wondered, not for the first time, if his secret prevented him from finding a level of Peace that others so readily achieved.
His secret.
That’s what he had always called it.
That made it sound like it was a solid entity, something he could reach out and grasp. An object to turn over in his hands and inspect, analyze, fix.
But there was no fixing his secret. Tane was well into his twenties when he came to terms with that fact. No amount of science, no amount of internal reflection or social retraining could change who he was and what he wanted. It was both his affliction and the reason for his gift.
Tane could never have achieved the rank of Senior Scientist if not for his secret. The mantras that others relied upon never provided any measure of Peace. But hard work did, and Tane buried himself in his work at an early age. Those around him recognized the greatness and labeled him a uniquely driven man. What they did not know was he was driven by a need to forget his differences. It was through twenty-hour work days that he carved out his own brand of Peace, as elusive as it was.
All of these things ran through the scientist’s mind as he watched Grant cross the room. He glanced up at Culture Leader Trevino’s face and, although she was smiling, thought he saw similar thoughts etched upon her countenance. Grant had once relayed a saying from ancient times that Tane was certain was true. It takes one to know one.
He reached out to his Culture Leader and gave her hand an uncharacteristic squeeze. Her hand, like his, was damp with perspiration. Randalyn looked down and Tane watched as the false smile on her face was replaced by a genuine, though smaller, version.
“It will be fine,” Tane reassured his leader. He wanted to be brave. Instead, he struggled to breathe and his heart felt twice its normal size as it hammered at his insides.
“Or not,” she countered. Her smile withered. “Either way, it will be what it will be.” She was nothing if not brave, he thought.
* * * * *
Grant found Mouse outside the prison, getting ready to take his fighter on a training run. Good timing, Grant thought.
“Colonel Mouse, a quick word?” Grant interrupted his friend as he was climbing into the cockpit. Mouse settled himself into the seat, waved away the civilian worker helping him into the carrier, and turned toward his commanding officer. Grant waited for the civilian to climb down from the ladder before ascending himself.
“Wassup, man?” Mouse asked when Grant reached the top. Grant noted, not for the first time, that Mouse had taken on many of Grant’s verbal quirks and sayings as his own. When asked about it once by Avery, Grant overheard Mouse joking that he liked “speaking in ancient tongues.” Grant wasn’t amused, but Avery got a kick out of it. Soon after, Grant noticed Eli doing the same thing. It was cute coming from his son.
“Hey, remember that invitation to drop by this evening after meal time? Well, I’m gonna need to rescind that offer for now.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. There’s a Leadership Council meeting tomorrow. I’d like you to attend.”
Mouse raised his eyebrows. “Really?” His tone expressed his surprise at the request. “Because we just ended our command meeting twenty minutes ago and nothing was mentioned about a trip to Urop. What’s come up since then?”
Without mentioning names, Grant filled Mouse in on what he learned from his recent discussion with Tane and Culture Leader Trevino. He was unsure how Mouse might react to the situation, so he tried to be as delicate as possible.
“Wow,” Mouse replied. A low whistle escaped his mouth as he mulled over what he had just heard. “What about Randalyn? She’s going to be at the meeting anyway. Why can’t she bring this up before the Council?”
“Um. Well, let’s just say that that isn’t a wise move at this time.”
Mouse stared at Grant for a few seconds. Grant knew the gears were turning in his friend’s head, and that any moment he would put the pieces—
“Ah. I see.”
—together.
“Randalyn?” Mouse asked with a direct look.
“Yep.” Grant gave a quick nod to the affirmative. “Tane, too.”
“Well, that explains some things,” Mouse replied under his breath. He stared vacantly down the runway where the carrier sat, ready to go. Grant knew he was trying to get his head around the matter.
“If you have any concerns, let me know now. I can go if I need to.”
“Oh, heck no.” Mouse smiled and shook his head at the thought. “The last thing we need is you standing in front of the Leadership Council with something like this.”
“I was hoping you’d say that, Mouse, because—” Grant paused, took a breath, and continued. “Eventually, everyone in the world is going to have to get used to the idea. I’d just as soon as you started getting used to it now.”
“And what if the Council doesn’t agree? What then?”
“Oh, that won’t happen.” Grant laughed and slapped Mouse on the shoulder. “Not with you leading the charge.”
Mouse continued to gaze straight ahead through the cockpit glass. He was obviously unconvinced.
“What about Titan?” Mouse didn’t need to remind Grant that the alien ship was due to land in two days.
“Make it a quick trip and you won’t miss a second of the action,” Grant replied. He watched as Mouse took a deep breath, held it for a second, then released it slowly.
“Get off my ladder,” Mouse ordered. He picked up his flight helmet and pulled it roughly onto his head. He punched a button on the console and the bubble that encased the cockpit began to descend. Grant moved back quickly to avoid being hit.
“I’ll be back when I can,” Grant heard Mouse say right before the hard plastic shell closed fully.
Grant began to climb down from the ladder, but stopped and tapped the shell. When he got Mouse’s attention, he gave him a thumbs-up sign. Mouse gave a brief flash of gold teeth and jerked his head as a sign to get away from the carrier. Grant descended quickly, pulled the rolling ladder away from the carrier, and watched as his second-in-command’s craft screamed down the runway.
When the carrier was out of sight, Grant turned back to the entrance to the prison—his Pentagon. He needed to discuss this latest development with someone, and set off to find Avery.
As he walked, he considered what he had learned in his brief, fifteen-minute discussion with Tane and Randalyn.
“Un-fucking-believable,” he muttered after checking to be sure no one could hear. Over the past six years, he had become better at hiding the anger, belligerence, or aggression that others might hear in his voice or view in his mannerisms. It came in handy at times like these, when he found himself shocked anew at something this current version of Earth threw his way.
Who could have predicted that we’d still be having a debate on gays in the military six hundred years later?
Unfortunately, the debate in the current wo
rld didn’t end with the military. If what Tane and Randalyn told him was accurate, and he had no reason to doubt them, then being gay was against the law.
Everywhere.
Grant was firm believer in individual rights. Always had been. That belief bled over into his feelings on gay rights—not that they were called that now. When he mentioned the term “gay” to Randalyn and Tane, neither knew the term. It was apparently a lost word, one no longer used in today’s society, in any context.
In his time, it was a known fact that being gay wasn’t a choice, as many had once believed. Science had proven that men and women were born with predetermined preferences hard-wired into their brains and beings. He didn’t understand the science—hadn’t needed to. It was just something that… was.
Apparently that knowledge hadn’t mattered to the designers of today’s “Peaceful” society. Like most other expressions of individuality that were missing from present-day Earth, it had been deemed “erasable” from society. Something to be suppressed by the need to conform to a narrow set of accepted ideals and norms. According to Tane, anyone who expressed feelings or inclinations toward homosexuality was submitted for the same psychological re-training given to those who could not control their anger and aggressive tendencies.
What most of society did not know was that re-training for sexual orientation often failed. The same was not true for those who underwent re-training for aggression. That carried a very high success rate. But unlike those who couldn’t control their anger for very long, those who failed to be re-trained for sexual orientation usually learned to hide their inclinations.
As more and more failed re-training, underground groups slowly formed. Like Tane, they grew and matured in secret. Over time, these disparate individuals and groups networked, merged, and grew. Eventually, they became a large, organized entity—an entity with no formal name, but a very real agenda. It was an agenda of self-preservation.
Peace Army Page 6
