by John Bowers
"It is with some difficulty," Henry said clearly and concisely, "that I come before you this afternoon. It has been my great privilege to serve in the Federation Senate for the last three decades, and I want to thank the constituents of North America for giving me that opportunity."
He grinned engagingly.
"We've been through some times together, and there were times when I took the unpopular stance, even when it seemed my chances of reelection might be in jeopardy. But the good people of North America always seemed to realize that I had their best interests at heart, and they kept sending me back. I sincerely thank you — all of you — for your faith in me, and your willingness to overlook my weaknesses, of which I've had many."
He paused dramatically, sweeping the reporters with his eyes.
"But all good things come to an end. I feel that I've met most of the challenges that came my way, and for better or worse, met them head-on. It is, therefore, with severely mixed feelings that I must announce my withdrawal from the current race. It's time for me to step down from the Senate."
They had probably expected it, but they still looked shocked when he actually said it. Some of them scribbled hastily, others muttered into microphones. Several tried to interrupt him with questions.
"Hold on!" he laughed, raising his hands patiently. "I'll answer all your questions when I finish … but I'm not finished yet!"
The mob caught its breath and waited. There was more?
"As I said, I've met most of the challenges the Senate has presented, but I have one more challenge to tackle. I'm not as young as I once was, but I'm not dead, either!"
They laughed.
"And I'm not a quitter! From the very beginning of my tenure, I was convinced that the Sirian Confederacy had ulterior designs against the Federation. Back in the Nineties I was preaching defense, armament, and escalation of the Space Force. Not very many people were listening back then, but I didn't give up. I was convinced we were the ultimate target of Sirian aggression, and, as you are well aware, that finally proved to be the case.
"Since the war began, I have remained in office largely because I wanted to see it through. I felt my life's work wouldn't be complete until we had defeated those who seek to enslave us, and I still feel the same way."
He paused again, letting their hearts flutter as they sensed an even more momentous announcement. He didn't disappoint them.
"Although I will not seek reelection to the Senate, at this time I would like to declare my intention to seek the Presidency of the Federation! As your President, I will be in a position to positively influence the prosecution of the war, and I would have the opportunity to see it through. All the way through."
He smiled.
"I'll take your questions now."
Chapter 33
Saturday, 14 November, 0229 (PCC) - Wallace Plantation, Texiana, Sirius 1
Regina Wells lay in the darkness beside General Martin Vaughn. He snored heavily, exhausted by the sex. The redhead was also tired, and a little sore — Vaughn was a lusty fellow in spite of his age. Though he no doubt thought of himself as a tender, considerate lover, he reminded Regina of a Jersey bull she'd once seen mount a virgin heifer. Once his libido kicked in, he was pathological.
She'd learned little of value from him on this trip, his first since the crisis on Alpha Centauri began. He'd been all Sirian gentleman, shielding his bride from the harsher realities of life, at the same time begging her forgiveness for neglecting her. She had to tread carefully to learn what she needed to know; could not boldly bring it up. Everything had to be coincidental. Oblique references were the key. And the timing had to be right. Getting a single piece of information required hours and days of inconsequential chit-chat.
She sighed and turned, as if in her sleep, staring into the darkness. She was tired, but couldn't sleep. It still amazed her how it all worked, this Scarlett Wallace impersonation. From the moment she'd been activated on Altair, she hadn't just played Scarlett Wallace, she had become Scarlett Wallace. Every memory, every emotion, every inflection was genuine. It almost unnerved her when she had the time to think about it; though she was fully in character most of the time, she was also fully aware of what was going on. It was like having two people inside her head. She never had to think, never had to remember; as Wayne had promised, it was already there, all of it. She recognized people she'd never met before, and knew details that convinced them she was who she was supposed to be. She'd recognized the house, even felt a rush of sentiment at seeing it again; recognized her room, knew just where to look for what she needed.
But the scariest thing of all was her affection for General Vaughn. Regina was in no way certain that the real Scarlett Wallace had any feelings for the man. He was one of her father's friends, she had surrendered her virginity to him at sixteen, and her father had arranged the rest. But Regina, when she'd first seen him, had felt a rush of sexual desire that almost overpowered her passive real self. When she was with him, when she heard his voice — she actually did love him, at some level she could only marvel at. And the sex, though he was a rutting animal, left her weak with genuine fulfillment.
God! Was it any wonder the Federation severely restricted hypnotechnology? Its power was incredible!
* * *
Vaughn had only one day to spend with her, but insisted on bringing her to New Angeles with him.
"My dear, I simply cannot bear to be apart from you any longer," he pleaded. "Until this emergency is resolved, I would like you to join me in the city. I will still be occupied for many hours each day, but at least we can be together for a few hours at night."
Scarlett smiled with relief.
"My dear Martin, I was hopin' you would feel this way. I am also feelin' very frustrated at our separation. When shall we leave?"
His smile lighted the entire room.
"How long will it take you to pack?"
They left three hours later. Vaughn glanced unhappily at Capt. Davenport as he crawled into the back of the hovercar, but the SE man simply shrugged.
"My apologies, General," he said. "I have my orders."
"I realize that," Vaughn admitted with some frustration, "but do you truly think she is in any danger?"
"It isn't my decision to make, sir."
Scarlett sat snuggled against Vaughn on the trip into the city, and by dusk had been installed in her new husband's city residence. She'd never been there before, but it was modern and impressive. She swept through the rooms with the excited expression of a schoolgirl, squeaking happily at the modern conveniences, and finally threw her arms around Vaughn's neck and kissed him happily.
"Martin!" she exclaimed, "the house is simply adorable! I shall enjoy livin' here very much!"
He grinned boyishly.
"You cannot imagine how musical those words are to my ears," he told her. "I am thrilled that you like it."
"Like it? I adore it!"
Davenport was installed in a guest room. As he set his bag down on the hoverbed, Vaughn lingered in the doorway.
"May I ask the name of your commandin' officer?" he inquired.
"Certainly, General. My boss is Colonel Goats. His superior is Major General Davis."
Vaughn's face paled several shades.
"Major General Andrew Jackson Davis?" he asked hoarsely.
"Yes, sir. I believe my orders originated in his office."
Vaughn looked troubled. Andrew Jackson Davis was notorious as the iron-fisted head of the SE. Not even the Sirian General Staff wanted to cross him — he had a reputation of complete ruthlessness. Cocktail gossip suggested that even President Adolph trod carefully with him.
"Very well," Vaughn said thoughtfully. "I suppose it might not be a bad idea to keep you around, at that. With my own frequent absences, I suppose my wife could conceivably be in some danger."
"That's my understanding, sir. Rumor has it you will soon be promoted to General Field Marshal."
Vaughn shaded slightly.
"As
you said, Captain, it is only rumor." He smiled a little at the thought.
"The enemy has agents on Sirius, General. The Feddies are a ruthless gang of cutthroats, and I would not put any mischief past them."
Vaughn nodded, looking almost shy.
"I will guard her with my life, sir. Of that you may have no doubts."
Vaughn nodded once more.
"Thank you, Captain Davenport. Forgive my reluctance at your presence. I do see the wisdom of General Davis's orders. I shall be more solicitous of you in the future."
Davenport's lips curled in what could have been taken as a smile or a sneer. The coldness in his blue eyes didn't change.
"I understand completely, General Vaughn. You may attend to your duties without the necessity of worryin' about your lovely bride. And you need have no concern that I will in any way take advantage of her. My word as a Sirian gentleman."
Vaughn returned to the bedroom where Scarlett was unpacking. She turned to meet him and threw her arms around his neck for a kiss.
"Martin, must you leave so soon? Can't you stay just a few hours? I have been so lonesome without you!"
"It breaks my heart, Scarlett, but no, I must get back."
Her face twisted petulantly. "How much longer is this old emergency goin' to last?"
"There is no way to tell, my dear. Things are improvin', but they are improvin' slowly."
"We are still winnin', aren't we?"
"Of course we are. But the Feddies are vicious fighters, and they are not easily defeated."
"Can't we just bomb them and get it over with?"
He laughed, as he would have had she been a child of three.
"I wish it were so simple, my darlin'. But you may trust me when I say that we are turnin' the tide." He kissed her playfully. "And we are preparin' a surprise for them, a surprise they are not goin' to like very much."
Her eyes widened in anticipation.
"Can you tell me about it?"
"I'm afraid not. It's a secret."
"I love secrets!"
"I know you do, but you cannot have this one."
She kissed his nose.
"Then I shall have to live without it. I just hope your surprise works, for I would like to see this miserable war come to an end. Cousin Boyd said it is costin' the shippin' company a lot of money."
"It won't be long now. Another month, and Alpha Centauri will be free of all Feddies. We know where their spacecraft carriers are hidin', and when we have destroyed them, their armies will be completely at our mercy. We won't even have to kill them, just starve them out."
Scarlett's eyes were wide with admiration.
"You know where their carriers are hidin'? How in the galaxy did you find that out?"
"A little birdie told me," he laughed.
"A little birdie?"
"Mister Lonely." He nuzzled her neck. She twisted away from his lips, giggling.
"Martin, if you keep this up, you are goin' to have to stay with me tonight. You simply cannot light my fires and walk out without quenchin' them!"
He pulled back from her reluctantly, taking a shaky breath. His own passion had also begun to mount.
"You are right, of course. Really, darlin', I must leave now."
"You will be back tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow evenin'. If everything is under control, I will be able to spend the night."
"I do so hope everything will be under control!"
She kissed him good-bye at the door, and waved as his hovercar lifted off. She watched until he had merged with city traffic and was out of sight. She locked the door and turned back inside the house, her heart tripping in turbo.
Davenport stood in the middle of the living room, a small electronic device in his hand. Spotting her, he placed a finger over his lips and returned to his scanning. He walked from room to room, scanning every wall, every door, every corner. It took ten minutes, then he shut off the device.
"No listening devices," he told her, relief in his eyes.
Regina rushed up to him and looked into his eyes, breathless with fear.
"They know where the Federation carriers are located at Alpha Centauri!" she blurted, her voice almost cracking. "Captain, if they get those carriers, the war is over!"
His face paled. "Jesus God!"
Thursday, 19 November, 0229 (PCC) - Langley, VA, North America, Terra
Peter Miller came out of his chair with excitement. In all his years as Director of the Agency, he'd never been more ecstatic. He almost felt his scalp tingle. He said a few more terse words into his scrambler, then broke the connection. He punched a direct dial button, and Andrew Lockner answered.
"In my office!" Peter Miller fairly yelled. "Right now!"
Lockner stepped through a side door seconds later, question marks in his eyes.
"Good news and bad news!" Miller whispered, literally trembling with excitement.
"What's the bad news?"
"The Sirians know where our carriers are. You've got to warn General Willard at once. Use the normal channels."
Lockner nodded, frowning. "And the good news?"
"We have a code name for the leak," Miller replied.
Lockner's eyes widened in disbelief.
"Mister Lonely!" Peter Miller said.
"That's it?"
"Yes. It's not much, but it's a hundred percent more than we had before. Get on it!"
Polygon, Washington City, DC, North America, Terra
Wade Palmer stepped through the door into General Willard's private office and stood at attention.
"You wanted to see me, General?"
Willard looked up with his usual scowl. His brows seemed shaggier than usual, and to Wade's astonishment, he seemed to have aged over the weekend.
"Sit down, Palmer." He leaned over and touched a switch, killing the background music. He'd been listening to Twentieth Century Classical. When Wade was seated, Willard sat staring at him a moment, as if trying to analyze him.
"Palmer, you're a bright young man."
"Thank you, sir."
"Don't interrupt. We've got a thousand junior planners altogether, but you're the only one who's consistently come up with ideas that were worth a damn. I told you a while back that if this Centauri operation works, you've earned a promotion. Remember that?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, you've earned it. But for the time being, I'm going to hold on to it. I don't want to foster overconfidence at the present time."
Wade said nothing. He had a feeling this wasn't the real reason for the summons. Willard was staring at him again.
"The Sirians know where we're hiding our carriers," he said abruptly.
Wade's eyes widened in shock.
"Sir?"
"That's right. The fuckers have the coordinates. They know exactly where all five carriers are operating."
"How's that possible, General?"
"It isn't. I wondered if you have any ideas."
"No, sir. General, you're going to move the carriers, aren't you?"
"Already have. We moved them three hours closer to Alpha 2. If the Confederates try to send a strike after them, they won't be there. I would try to set up an ambush, but to do that I'd need to know their plans — which I don't — and I'd have to draw squadrons away from the operation, where they're badly needed."
He wiped his mouth with a grizzled hand.
"What would you do, Palmer?"
Wade's face still reflected his shock. "I think you made the right call, sir. Without a hint of their strategy, it would be virtually impossible to set a trap for them, other than to mine the area where they expect to find the carriers."
Willard nodded. "We did that, too. There's nothing there now to justify a normal spacecraft dropping out of warp, and anything that does is going to step in a bear trap." He scowled again. "Palmer, you get around among the various staff, don't you?"
"Somewhat, sir."
"Have you seen or heard anything that might indicate we have a leak? A
nyone who might be sympathetic to the enemy?"
"No, sir."
"Keep your ears open. We've known for some time that the enemy has agents on Terra, but I never once believed they might actually be inside this office. Now I don't know what else to think. No one else knew the location of those carriers."
"What about the Space Force? There must be people there who knew where they were. How else could they vector the squadrons out to them?"
Willard shook his head.
"It's all in the computers, very tightly encrypted. The squadrons get their vectors by datalink, and there's no human alive who can read or decipher that code."
Wade nodded, somewhat skeptical. Here and there one could always find the odd genius, but he wasn't about to mention that to Willard.
"This conversation is classified, Palmer. It did not take place. You understand?"
"Absolutely, sir."
"Good. Now … " He shifted gears, "let's talk about this business of basing our squadrons on the planet. You seem to be leading the charge for that option."
Wade flushed slightly, but met Willard's eyes confidently.
"I believe it's the correct course of action, sir. There is a risk, but I believe it's minimal. The advantages completely justify the degree of risk."
Willard nodded reluctantly. "I'm beginning to agree with you," he admitted. "I'm going to open up six of those captured bases for spacecraft operations. If things work out well after a few weeks, we'll increase that number."
"Yes, sir." Wade felt relief wash over him.
"Palmer, I appreciate your willingness to stick to your guns in the face of opposition. I'm sick to death of butt barnacles. I know I can be a son of a bitch when things heat up, but I'm not always right. Never forget that."
"Thank you, sir. I won't."
Willard nodded. "Dismissed."
Wade stood quickly, touched his heels together, and left the office.
General Willard watched him go, and sat staring at the door for a moment. Then he reached over, turned his music back on, and reached for the next item that required his attention.
