March of War

by Bennett R. Coles

  Pedestrians moved with purpose on broad raised walkways, and the car slowed to a crawl, switching to automatic control. The buildings next to the wide street were low, none of them more than four stories high, though much taller ones rose further back. Their narrow, elegant lines and distance from the street did little to threaten the airiness of the entire locality. It was a stark contrast to the crowded cities of Earth.

  “Did we get set up in an expensive neighborhood?” he asked.

  “No, we’re actually in one of the lower-income areas.”

  “Wow.” He looked around again at the bright, clean buildings, the bustling sidewalks and the grassy street. Growing up working class in Terra, he would never have dreamed of living in a place like this.

  The car parked itself in an underground lot. Jack and Katja retrieved their backpacks, as well as the long “fishing rod case” which carried the heavy weaponry. They ascended via an elevator to the apartment that had been arranged for them. Their ID chips released the door locks, and within minutes of arrival they were setting down their bags and exploring their new home.

  The front entrance had a small closet on the right before spilling into the main living room. A breakfast bar formed the border with the kitchen. One door led to a bedroom just off the front entrance, and another door led to a bedroom next to the kitchen. The view through the main window was of the pleasant street below.

  Katja sent Jack the instructions she had received from the Terran assets who had arranged everything for them. He was now John Edwards, a v-ware specialist who worked for various large companies on short-term contracts. She was Kristin Magnussen, an independent tour guide for a company that specialized in “extreme” vacations.

  Glancing into the nearest bedroom, away from the kitchen, Katja said, “I’ll take this one,” and she tossed her backpack through the door. Jack obligingly carried his pack over to the far bedroom and set it down by the door. He wandered into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

  “We’re going to have to do some shopping.”

  “You can take care of that,” she said, sitting down on the couch. “Centauri intelligence has images of my face, so it’s best if I stay out of public places. I’ll plan to stay in here unless we’re doing an op.”

  “Okay.”

  Jack was happy to get out and explore the neighborhood. His mission was to infiltrate Centauri security systems and provide cover for Katja as she conducted her operations. The better he understood how Centauri society worked and thought, the easier his job would be. Plus, he thought as he looked out the window at the green, spacious road and walkways below, there were worse places to be.

  26

  “People on Earth don’t know what cold is.”

  Breeze gauged the appreciative chuckle which rippled through the crowd. All eyes were on her, and indeed there was nowhere to hide in the cozy, circular auditorium. The mood was positive, but subdued in that stern, practical way of Triton. She’d never truly appreciated how much her late husband had been a product of his environment, but these last few weeks of campaigning on Terra’s most isolated world had been revealing.

  The people of Triton were hardy folk, proud of their isolation and their continued survival in one of the most hostile environments known to humans. Why they bothered to live out here at all remained a mystery to her, but she accepted their rugged sense of community—and, she was pleased to see, the people of Triton seemed to be accepting her.

  “Cold does many things,” she continued, stiffening her features as she began to pace around the central stage. “It hardens. It secures, and sometimes, it crystalizes. In the same way, the cold-blooded act of the rebel terrorists has brought out the best in Triton. By stealing the life of one of our own, they have only hardened our resolve. They have secured our commitment, and they have crystalized our knowledge of what needs to be done. Terra needs to step up and put an end to this war, once and for all.”

  Steady applause broke out and washed over her. No cheers, no hoots, but a steady, determined show of support. Such was the Tritonian way. She nodded grimly.

  “There are some voices in Parliament, such as Mr. Sheridan”—she practically spat his name—“who argue for a lessening of violence against the rebels. For a return to a more ‘civilized’ kind of warfare. But there is nothing civilized about what the rebels do. They sneak in the shadows. They kill civilians. They murder our loved ones, and the time for debate in Parliament is over!” More applause interrupted her, but she raised her voice and bellowed over the swell.

  “This is not the time for debate—this is the time for action! As your representative in Parliament, I will throw my full support behind a quick and decisive end to this war. Terra must be protected, and these criminal terrorists must be brought to justice.” She paused, summoning tears to her eyes. “They must pay for what they have done.”

  The ovation was tremendous and, slowly, members of the audience began to rise to their feet. Breeze let the moment ride, pausing in stillness in front of the applause before delicately wiping her eyes. Then she straightened again.

  “As a veteran, I understand what war is. As a veteran who fought the enemy in Sirius, Centauria, and here in Terra, I know the horror of war, and it is with a heavy heart that I choose this path. But I know our enemy, and only through overwhelming force will the enemy be defeated. Security and freedom will be returned to the innocent people of Terra. Elect me as your representative, and I will follow this path with cold resolve.”

  Another surge of appreciation rose from the crowd, and Breeze finally allowed a grateful smile to split her features. She made eye contact with the local councillor in the first row, and as planned he promptly stepped onto the stage and took both her hands in his, beaming in admiration.

  “Wonderful words, Mrs. Shah,” he said quietly.

  “Thank you,” she replied, knowing that the audience couldn’t hear, but could see the exchange. “I’d love to stay longer, but I have another engagement to attend.”

  He nodded, and then motioned for the security team to clear a path out of the auditorium.

  “Mrs. Charity Shah!” he bellowed to the crowd. More applause.

  Guided by his hand, Breeze stepped down from the stage and began her slow walk out of the auditorium. She made eye contact with as many of the clapping people as she could, and noted in those gazes a quiet respect and—more and more—acceptance. Very few actually reached out to her, but she grasped their hands of those who did and quickly thanked them. Such an open show of admiration was a risk among the Tritonians, and she wanted to reward each person who dared to make their feelings visible.

  Her car waited outside, door held open for her to slip into the back seat. Her assistant Susie was close behind her, and her two senior campaign advisors were already seated facing her. The car door shut and silence descended.

  Her staff knew not to break the silence as the car pulled away from the civic hall and headed for one of the main access tunnels. Despite all her years being the center of attention, Breeze was still getting used to the intensity of the political spotlight, and every speech drained her emotional reserves. Not that she’d ever show weakness in front of the staff, but she’d made it clear that she needed a couple of minutes of silence each time.

  The low, utilitarian buildings of the domed city whisked by outside, and as always she marvelled at how the “sky” began to close in as the car approached a tunnel. The dome finally tapered down to meet the ground, and in a flash the warm light of human space vanished behind them, replaced by the dim, starkly beautiful landscape of Triton.

  Through the clear tunnel wall Breeze looked out across the silvery plain, broken by jagged pillars of methane ice. High above in the starry sky, Neptune was a blue crescent, impossibly large to her Earthling eyes, and toward the horizon she could see one star outshining all the others. It would be good when this campaign was over, and she could head back a few billion kilometers into Sol’s welcoming warmth.

  The team
kept busy checking their devices, and she knew that they were assessing the social impact of her speech. Her entire staff was already a well-oiled political machine, having been Vijay’s staff for years. It was several minutes before they reached the next dome, and when she felt settled she offered her gaze to the advisors who faced her.

  “How did that go?”

  “More than two hundred clips of your speech have already been shared by audience members,” one offered.

  “The local news feed has already broadcast your finale,” the other said.

  “I’m getting a lot of positive feedback on the social nets,” Susie reported.

  The tide was turning, she decided. It had been a delicate thing, positioning herself both as the sympathetic widow of a beloved politician, and as a strong, capable candidate in her own right. On sensationalist Earth she would have sailed the emotional tack more aggressively, and she would have dressed more like a movie star. Here on grim Triton everything had to be understated and backed by pragmatism.

  She primarily wore black, with occasional hints of gray, and whenever she spoke of Vijay it was to praise and honor him. Tears had been kept to an absolute minimum, and it was with a steely resolve that she had built her platform around a stronger military position. That had played nicely to her own Astral Force experience, and it had allowed the idea of vengeance to be implied with ever being stated. The people of Triton had been shaken by the assassination, but open talk of violent retribution would have been unacceptable.

  All the other candidates had steered clear of such talk almost entirely, fearing a backlash, but Breeze had stepped into that space with ease, and woven her tapestry of fear, negativity, and revenge, delivered with a beautiful smile and sympathetic story. It was working, too. With four days to go, she was finally edging into the lead.

  Criticism over her lack of political experience had dominated the early weeks, but it was being pushed out by the image of a hardened veteran with a love for her husband’s homeworld. She hadn’t even been certain she would receive support from Vijay’s own party—the endorsement from Minister of Defense Taal had been lukewarm at best—but even he seemed to recognize the momentum she’d built, and lately his support had been far more enthusiastic. A political survivor, he wanted to be on the winning team, and that team now appeared to be Breeze’s.

  Perception was everything, and the winner was usually the one who understood best what the public wanted to perceive.

  “Any thoughts on fresh content for the final push?”

  “Admiral Eric Chandler was in the news again,” Susie offered. “Very positive interview, and he emphasized the need for a stronger military solution—one that would be taken to the colonies directly. We might play up your personal connection to him.”

  “Yes,” she nodded. “He’ll never give an open endorsement, but I might be able to convince him to make a few extra remarks to Triton media.” She glanced at the man who sat across from her. “Get in contact with him.”

  “I think we still might pick up momentum by bashing Sheridan, too. His position on reducing the conflict is emerging as his party’s main platform, and his personal presence these past few days has attracted a lot of attention. Triton isn’t really buying the argument, though.”

  “Very good,” Breeze said. “See if you can get me in to speak with a widows and widowers group, or something like that. If we’re going to push the idea of violence against the colonies I need to have a human face attached to the suffering here in Terra—and particularly on Triton.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And make sure to get some more footage out there from the assassination, where I was doing CPR on my husband while Sheridan was hiding behind a wall of guards.”

  “Right away.”

  * * *

  Breeze sipped at the hot tea with sweet satisfaction. All around her the staffers were still congratulating each other with hugs and handshakes, but she appreciated their universal respect for her personal space.

  Sitting alone on the couch, she faced the main news monitor where the announcement of her victory had just been declared. The Terran Parliament would continue to be represented by a Shah. Or at least, she smiled to herself, a wolf in Shah’s clothing.

  Susie crouched down in front of her, holding out a headpiece.

  “Ma’am, it’s Christopher Sheridan on the line.”

  Setting down her tea, she fastened the headpiece to her ear.

  “Mr. Sheridan.”

  His voice was calm and clear on the line, blocking out the celebratory hubbub around her.

  “Congratulations on your victory, Mrs. Shah,” he said. “I’m sure that Vijay would have been proud.”

  “Thank you. You and your local rep ran an admirable campaign, but it seems you still have more to learn about the Triton mentality.”

  “It would appear so. No doubt we’ll have many more opportunities to debate once you reach Parliament.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  “As do I,” he replied. “Enjoy your evening, Mrs. Shah. Your real work is about to begin.”

  She disconnected and handed the earpiece back. She couldn’t tell if Sheridan’s final words were meant as an encouragement, a warning, or a threat. Not that it really mattered, she reminded herself. She was part of the ruling government coalition, and Sheridan was just the drum-beater on the outside. She’d seen how Vijay and his colleagues had skillfully deflected any criticisms of their policies, and while making verbal concessions to the Opposition’s arguments, they’d in fact rarely made any actual changes to their decisions.

  It was all a big game, and now she was a player.

  The cold seeped into her from every corner of this iceball world, and the sooner she was back on Earth the better. Breeze drained the last of her tea, enjoying the warmth that slid down her throat.

  27

  Katja opened her eyes, bracing for a visual chaos which matched the Cloud assault in her mind. Jack was seated across from her at the café table, watching her with maddeningly sympathetic eyes. All around them, the bustle of the busy shopping concourse throbbed with visual advertising messages, audible speech chatter, and the incessant interaction of average Centauri citizens in person and in the Cloud.

  She’d thought the Terran Cloud had been busy, but in reality it was still in proto form, comprised of blind electronic messages from an ignorant populace. Here on Abeona, every man, woman, and child could access the Cloud consciously as part of their daily routine. The result was a thunderstorm of noise that made her head hurt. Yet Jack just sat there, looking completely at ease—and even a little sorry for her.

  “How can you stand this?” she muttered.

  He shrugged, glancing here and there at their surroundings. The café spilled out into the covered concourse, and sunshine streamed in through the glass ceiling high above. Trees formed a line down the middle of the mall, around which hundreds of shoppers padded by quietly on the treated softstone.

  “It’s neat,” he said. “They’re so open in their chatter and yet at the same time so sophisticated with their networks. I can really keep my finger on the pulse here.”

  Most of the tables around them were occupied by students from the local university, and Jack very much blended in with his boyish looks and casual attire. Katja wasn’t fooled by his appearance, though. This kid had come a long way since his days as a pilot. He was smart, insightful and, in his own way, tough as nails. If he could just lose his moralizing, she might actually like him again.

  Or, to be more accurate, if he’d just stop reminding her about morality, she’d have an easier time liking herself. His presence was distracting in a most unwelcome way, and she hardened herself against the intrusion. Today was their first major excursion, and she needed them both to be focused.

  On the table between them were a large coffee and a disposable news reader, but they were just props.

  “Are you sure you’ll be able to focus on the mission?”

  “Def
initely,” he said, “and in a crowded place like this no one will ever notice my activity. Even if Centauri security detects what I’m doing, they won’t be able to pinpoint me among all this.” He gestured vaguely at the hubbub around them.

  “Okay,” she said, rising to her feet. “Just don’t start chatting with the college girls and forget about me.”

  “Never, dear.”

 

  He nodded, then gave her a playful smile.

 

  She weaved her way through the tables and out onto the concourse. The noise from the Cloud actually started to give her a headache, and she projected barriers in her mind to fend off the bombardment. Heading for the nearest exit, she gratefully breathed in a deep lungful of fresh air as the shopping mall faded behind her. It was only a short walk back to their apartment, and within minutes she was safely secured in the car. A quick check confirmed that all her gear was still in the rear cargo space. She programmed her destination into the vehicle and let it drive itself, freeing her to focus.

  The wide streets of Starfall drifted past, fading eventually to the countryside. Out here the Cloud was much more manageable. Katja dropped the barriers and began examining the live data that was leaking out from her target—a Navy munitions depot tucked discreetly in one of the vast forests stretching away from the city. All security systems appeared to be operating in normal mode, and she located the interrogation from the depot to an approaching convoy. It was an expected resupply shipment, arriving on schedule two days before the departure of a squadron of frigates currently in orbit.

  Her hope was that the personnel at the depot would be occupied with the convoy, and not as attentive to other areas of the compound.

  Katja opened her eyes as the car pulled to a stop in the artificial clearing of a local hiking hub. She surveyed the smooth grass of the parking lot, noting only three other vehicles nearby. One of them was open and the occupants were busy unloading camping gear. No one even gave a glance in her direction. Shutting down, she leaned forward in her seat, staring at the dark dashboard and focusing her mind on the vehicle’s computer brain.