Knight's Move

by Nuttall, Christopher

  “That may be true,” the President agreed. The edge had not faded from his voice. “But the fact remains that the Federation lost our trust. You will have to work long and hard to regain it.”

  Glen followed the party into the vehicle, then took a seat at the back and listened as the vehicle roared to life. It was no comfortable aircar or hovercraft, merely an old-style automobile that would be childishly simple to repair if it broke down. The Governor seemed surprised that she hadn't been given a vehicle more appropriate to her station, but Glen doubted there was anything more advanced on Fairfax. Unless, of course, it was configured for medical emergencies. Even low-tech worlds made some exceptions to their rules.

  “Government House is currently in use by the Republic,” the President said, as the vehicle drove down a long road leading towards Fairfax City. “We required a centre of government, such as it is, and Government House seemed appropriate. However, we have taken the liberty of clearing a floor for you and your personnel. If you require other housing, we will see what we can make available.”

  “That is against Federation law,” the Governor said, crossly. She did have a point, Glen had to admit; Federation installations were effectively federal territory, not planetary. And she was technically entitled to the entire building as a residence, although it also served as her office. On the other hand, it was a petty thing to argue about. “And if I require the whole building?”

  “The building is currently in use,” the President countered. “We do not waste money by building expensive government offices when there is a war on.”

  Glen understood, even though it was clear the Governor didn’t. The Federation, even during the height of the war, had been able to build more than starships and planetary defences. He shuddered to think how much it had cost his brothers to build the new headquarters for Knight Corporation on Mars, or the installations on Earth. But Fairfax wouldn't have been able to afford starships and government buildings. He rather approved of the attitude that placed starships ahead of gratifying a politician’s ego.

  Nothing more was said until they reached Government House. Unlike the last such building he'd seen, Fairfax Government House was out on the edge of the city, as if the population preferred to forget that it existed. A handful of apartment blocks had sprung up nearby, clearly of newer construction than the looming granite mansion, but the building had a sense of isolation that nothing could dispel. The gates were guarded by soldiers in green combat uniforms, as if they expected to go straight to war. And they weren't even trying to hide the weapons they carried.

  They weren't the only ones, Glen realised, as the gates opened. Almost everyone in view was carrying a weapon, strapped to their belt or slung over their shoulder. He hadn't seen so many weapons since the Marines had been preparing for their last combat deployment, when they’d known that the Dragons were prepared to throw away hundreds of lives just to kill a single human. But by then nothing could have altered the outcome of the war.

  “It’s the law,” the military officer explained. There was something about his blunt stiff-necked face that was oddly familiar. “We believed that the Dragons would invade at any moment, during the worst of the fighting. They actually landed a few blows on our surface. So we insisted that everyone old enough had to carry a gun – and fined those who didn’t. Even now, we still keep the law. The referendum on keeping it was near-universally in favour.”

  Glen looked at the Governor, who didn't seem too pleased. Earth and most of the Core Worlds had strict laws against private ownership of weapons, believing that the disadvantages of having them in civilian hands outweighed the benefits. The colonies – and not just those in the Fairfax Cluster – disagreed. They’d borne the brunt of enemy occupation, after all. The handful of densely-populated worlds the Dragons had overrun had changed their attitudes very quickly.

  We gave Earthlings basic training when we feared Earth would fall, but we didn't hand out weapons, Glen thought. He’d been a baby during those days, too young to be really aware of what was going on, yet his brothers had told him horror stories of the panic that had gripped Earth. Maybe that was a wise move.

  The vehicle lurched to a stop. A small band on the steps began to play a tune as the President helped the Governor out of the car. It took Glen several moments to realise that it was based around the same theme as the Federation March, but altered to reflect the simple fact that the Fairfax Cluster no longer considered itself part of the union. The Governor would require tact and diplomacy to woo them back to the Federation.

  Wonderful, the cynic in him thought. We’d better start preparing for war.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Governor was practiced at controlling her expression, but Glen could tell that she was growing more and more irritated as she made her way through the reception hall. Normally, she would take the stand – as if she were a Queen reviewing her Court – and the delegates would come to her. But the colonials flocked around as if there were no rules or procedures at all ... which there weren't, for them. The formality the Governor was expecting simply didn't exist in the Fairfax Cluster.

  Glen found it somewhat refreshing. His naval career had spared him from most of the formal corporate functions his brothers were obliged to uphold, but he’d attended enough of them to know that he hated such gatherings. They were full of people pretending to be happy, all the while either glancing around to prove that they’d arrived or so certain they belonged that nothing could possibly change their minds. If any of them said anything genuinely heartfelt, they said it by accident.

  He followed the Governor and her staff at a distance, noting with some amusement that Windy was recording everything. His crew had noticed it too, with the net result that they’d either started playing to the camera or avoiding Windy whenever she appeared. Sandy had pointed out, rather snidely, that if Windy recorded everything it would take her just as long to review and publish her recordings, but Glen had seen similar PR officials. They sent their take back to editors, who did the reviewing and publishing for them. But there was no way to know just how important Windy actually was to the Governor. Most of her PR staff remained on Earth.

  Playing to the real audience, Glen thought, ruefully. Earth was where the Governor’s career would be made or broken, no matter what she did in the Fairfax Cluster. Even disaster could win her a promotion, if disaster could be spun to make her look good – or someone else very bad. The Navy believed firmly that the Captain was responsible for whatever happened onboard his ship, even if he knew nothing about it, but politics was a whole different world. Glen couldn't dump the blame onto Sandy, even if it had been her fault; the Governor could drop one of her staffers and come out smelling like roses.

  And to think Theodore loves playing politics, he thought. I wonder what that says about him.

  The President guided the Governor into the next room, where a long row of tables waited for them. It was nowhere near as fancy as the Grand Hotel on Luna; the tables were wooden, the plates were plain china and the knives and forks were steel. All in all, it lacked even the slightest hint of sophistication. Glen couldn't help thinking of a naval mess as he took his seat; unsurprisingly, he’d been placed next to a colonial military officer. The weirdly familiar officer held out a hand and Glen shook it, firmly. It was easy to tell that the man had real combat experience.

  A diplomatic reception on Earth would have had nine courses, broken with interminable speeches from politicians and their guests. This reception had two courses, Glen gathered, as the first trolley of food was brought into the room. The colonials had clearly slaughtered the fatted calf for the Governor; each trolley held a whole roasted animal, a sight that would have been quite out of place on Earth. At least the Governor wasn't a person who refused to eat real meat, he thought, like a growing number of people on Earth. That would have put the cat among the politicians.

  The food might have appeared crude, but there was plenty of it and it tasted surprisingly good. Glen helped him
self to roast potatoes, vegetables and a helping of gravy, then tucked in when he realised that no one was waiting for a formal signal to start eating. The colonials seemed to eat well, he decided, as he took a second slice of meat. Or had they decided to go all out to welcome the Governor. It was hard to see her from his position, but it looked as though she was reluctantly eating a plateful. Windy, beside her, recorded everything.

  “I understand that my daughter serves on your ship,” the officer said. “I trust that you find her conduct acceptable?”

  Glen cursed himself under his breath. The officer had Sandy’s jaw and hair colour, even though there was something more feminine about her appearance. And they shared the same eyes ... he should have seen it at once. Instead, he’d been too focused on the Governor to notice that his dinner companion was his XO’s father.

  Theo taught you to pay attention to seating arrangements, he berated himself, angrily. He should have known better than to assume it was random. Even in the colonies, they wouldn't leave it to chance. And you let the Governor distract you.

  “She is a fine officer and a credit to the Navy,” he said, unwilling to say much more anywhere near Windy. Her equipment was mil-grade, as Cynthia had pointed out when she’d stopped worrying about Sandy; she could record every conversation in the room and play it back for later analysis. No human mind could pay attention to so much at once, but there were commercially-available AIs that could isolate separate conversations for human inspection. “And I am fully satisfied with her conduct.”

  “That is good,” General Mannerheim said. In his own way, he was as much a legend as Admiral Webster. Up close, there was a sense of bulky inevitability around him, as if he would get whatever he wanted, no matter what stood in his way. The Bulldozer, his crews called him, according to the files. “I trust that you will accept my dinner invitation?”

  “I would be delighted,” Glen said, truthfully. It would be nice to hear from someone who wasn't a politician, in or out of uniform. “And I would be equally honoured to offer you a tour of Dauntless.”

  The servants came back into the room, pushing empty trolleys in front of them. Glen noted another difference between the Federation’s elite and the colonials; where the Federation’s elite would ignore the servants completely, the colonials passed them their plates and actually thanked them for their service. Glen had to admit that they probably got better service, even though Theodore paid his house servants more than officers in the Navy were paid. Goodwill was often just as important as money.

  He watched as the dirty plates were replaced by china bowls, each one containing a scoop of ice cream. It was a tiny portion compared to what was available on Earth, yet one taste convinced him that it was perfect. A blend of orange and lemon, he decided, mixed with cream and frozen into a solid mass. He hadn't realised that the colonies produced anything so tasty.

  “It’s a very small operation,” the General commented, when Glen asked. “They only make a few dozen boxes a month. Nothing synthesised in it at all.”

  “You should export it,” Glen said. It was rare for worlds to have truly unique products – and he was sure that the ice cream could be duplicated once the recipe got out – but it would certainly help Fairfax’s trade balance. “People would love to buy it.”

  Or at least the cosmopolitans would, he thought, dryly. They bought everything, as long as it was fashionable; they’d even eaten foodstuffs from various alien homeworlds, convinced that merely eating it boosted their social status. There were dark rumours that they’d actually eaten Dragon eggs or flesh, although Glen doubted that was true. Even the most obsessed social climber would hesitate at eating the flesh of sentient creatures.

  Even Theodore would balk, he told himself. And besides, there would be riots if it ever got out.

  A dull tapping sound rang out through the room as he finished his ice cream. The Governor was tapping her spoon against the table, calling for silence. Glen concealed his amusement – normally, one tapped a knife against a goblet – and sat up straighter. He didn't think he was going to enjoy hearing whatever the Governor had to say, but he knew he had to pay attention. If nothing else, the speech and their reactions would probably be broadcast back home for media consumption.

  Silence fell, slowly and rebelliously, as the governor stood up. The colonials probably didn't bother with after-dinner speeches, although they were a required part of social gatherings on Earth. Glen had once asked Theodore, when he’d been ten years old, if people were bribed with food to listen to the speeches. His brother had given one of his rare chuckles and then insisted that Glen attend the next few functions as a guest. Glen would have preferred to be grounded. The dinners might have been boring to an adult, but they were agony personified to a child.

  “Many years ago,” the Governor said, “it was determined that human unity was the key to human survival. We had not been a united race in the past. We fought wars that slaughtered vast numbers of human beings hundreds of times. Even when we encountered our first alien race, we only really gave lip service to the importance of unity. We still bickered amongst ourselves rather than putting our petty arguments aside and facing the universe.

  “It almost killed us all.

  “When we first encountered the Dragons, we were consumed with the dispute between the People’s Republic of Zion and the United Taiwanese Stars. It was a petty dispute, but it looked as though those two power blocs were going to go to war. The Federation Navy was caught in the middle; the Federation Senate was paralysed, helpless to intervene. A minor star system that hardly anyone had heard of before the dispute materialised would become the catalyst of a colossal civil war. Because of this, we barely noticed when the Santa Maria was lost. Because of this, we ignored the threat the Dragons represented to our very existence.”

  She paused, looking around the chamber. “There were other disputes,” she continued. “All of them took our attention from the real threat. Colonies wanted independence – or at least autonomy. Power blocs wanted to establish other colonies; the Federation Navy needed to patrol space and eradicate pirates in neutral zones. We barely noticed that the Dragons were drawing up their plans against us, right up until the moment we flew into their trap. Because of our lack of unity, we came close to losing the war.”

  There was a certain amount of truth in what she said, Glen knew. The Federation had noted that its technology was superior to that possessed by the Dragons – and assumed that it would always remain that way. But it hadn’t; the Dragons might have been weak in the pure sciences, but when given a problem to solve their scientists had worked wonders. By the time the war broke out, their technology was actually more advanced in places than human tech. And yes, disunity had played a role in the Federation’s inattention.

  “There was no grand plan to abandon the Fairfax Cluster,” the Governor said. Glen heard a hiss of indrawn breath from the representatives. “The situation was dire. In order to preserve the Federation Navy intact, the Bottleneck had to be abandoned. The decision was not made lightly, but it had to be made. We took as many refugees as we could as we withdrew from the outer worlds, while delaying the Dragons until we could meet and stop their main fleets. There was, quite simply, no other choice. If we had stood and fought, we would have lost everything.

  “We understand that you see it as a betrayal. We understand that you believe that we wrote you off, that we abandoned you – and we do not blame you for being angry. But what we did was the only thing we could do. We were delighted to discover that you had survived, even prospered – and to welcome you to the grand offensive that ended the war. A whole new universe beckons us now.

  “But unity is still important.

  “My purpose in being here, in serving as your Governor, is to reintegrate the Fairfax Cluster into the Federation. We cannot allow the disunity that threatened human survival, not any longer, nor can we tolerate too many departures from the Federation Code. The Federation can provide you with supplies you desperately ne
ed, both for yourself and the alien populations. It can and it will go a long way to convince you that you will not be abandoned or penalised. But it cannot permit disunity.”

  Glen scowled. He would have bet good money that Theodore – or one of his PR staff – had written most of the speech, blending together truth with the best possible spin on events ... and concluding with what was, in effect, an ultimatum. Admittedly, there had been no consequences or other threats attached, but it was unlikely that anyone in the chamber had misinterpreted her words. The Fairfax Cluster would be rejoining the Federation, like it or not.

  His implants twitched, reporting a sudden increase in message traffic in the room. It was considered rude to use implants to talk in public, at least in the Federation, but it allowed the assembled representatives a chance to coordinate their response. Maybe they already had a response lined up, yet it would need to be fine-tuned to respond to the Governor’s precise words.

  He looked up as the President rose to his feet. “Those are fine words, Madam Governor,” he said, politely. There was no edge in his voice, just a hint of bitter amusement. “But I am afraid that they do not address the true scale of the rift between the Bottleneck Republic and the Federation. You may indeed have had no choice, militarily speaking, to pull back and abandon us to the Dragons. But your post-war actions show a lack of concern for our position – and our fears – that suggests that the Federation has learned nothing from the war.