Counterweight
Page 26
Cal took his place at the edge between Rick and Freya. Behind him, Thorstein lifted a huge five-foot-long mace and brought the butt down onto the concrete. A deep, sonorous boom echoed through the open atrium, reaching the two kilometers to both ends thanks to the sound units built into the thousands of holo emitters.
He brought the staff down twice more, silencing the last of the crowd noise.
Freya took a deep breath. “Citizens of Tsekoh, your great struggle has won you the freedom to chart your own destiny!” She paused to let the roar of the mob build to a crescendo. They were cheering their own achievements but it never hurt to keep the crowd as happy as possible. She was speaking and the citizens were cheering. You’d have to be an idiot to miss the upside of that.
Finally, she raised her hand and three more booms echoed through the atrium, bouncing back on them in increasing tempo, as though someone had suddenly started playing taiko drums.
“Though we are grateful for the chance to fight by your side, the time for us to leave the surface is fast approaching. The last of the magister stations has surrendered to us.” She paused again. This time, more of the cheering was for the Midgaard who’d helped to expedite the surrender of the magisters. It had taken most of the week and the storming of two more stations.
Seeing their fellow lawmen being wiped out by blades had convinced them to surrender and take ship for Dactar. The Firm Resolve had taken them aboard and was already en-route for the Dactari home world. That left thirty thousand fewer mouths to feed and forty empty atrial stations as well as a host of dispersed patrol bases.
This time when she raised her hand, the noise began to subside far more quickly and Thorstein kept the mace still.
“We need only a few thousand more volunteers for the city’s very first professional police force and, when they’re in place in your neighborhoods, we will withdraw to orbit and leave the running of this world to you. That is when our real work will begin but I think it best if C’Al tells you the rest of the plan.”
More cheering greeted Cal. He played the politician – smiling, waving and pointing to random spots in the hazy distance as though recognizing citizens who’d won special distinction in the fight for freedom.
Rick raised an eyebrow but he held his tongue. He’d seen enough Earth movies to know what Cal was doing. It was no coincidence that the terms ‘honest politician’ and ‘repeat term’ had never been used in the same sentence anywhere in the known universe.
They needed to get this world back on its feet as quickly as possible and that meant a stable, reliable government. Cal had to engage these people and fire their imaginations. A world fresh from revolution needed a good solid dose of responsible government to settle them back down.
If Cal had to engage in a bit of theater to get the job done, then so be it.
“Tsekoans,” he called, spreading his hands out to the sides, “the city is yours!” He let them scream their approval for a long interval. One of his senior followers caught his attention and he waved him over, the roar of the crowd increasing as he approached.
Cal lowered his head, listening to the Oaxian’s pre-planned message before nodding gravely and slapping him on the back. The Oaxian, having delivered his message, took off at a brisk trot.
The whole thing had been a bit of stagecraft, reminding the crowd that he was constantly busy on their behalf, coordinating with the Alliance worlds to bring in food and supplies, keeping the electricity flowing…
He raised his hands again and the crowd began to grow quiet but many kept up the din. Thorstein hammered his mace again.
“Many Alliance worlds have committed to short-term support. There will be enough food to get us through the transition from an unregistered company mine to a full member world of the Alliance. Our Midgaard friends have been reaching out to their contacts and they’ve already managed to find enough market demand to justify sixty percent of our mineral output.”
A rough wave of cheering ran through the atrium at this but he kept going. “By year’s end, they expect to find takers for the full output.” He indicated Rick and Freya, extending his hands toward them. “That’s one of the great strengths of the ancient Warlord contract of the Oaxians. The warlords are entitled to the standard tax revenue that would otherwise go to the Republic. If we accept their service, they’ll spare no effort in support of our economy.
“And they’ve already indicated their intent to return half of that revenue to the city budget for the first year. Revenue we can use to refurbish half of those central magister stations.” He grinned. “We don’t need so many police for a free city, so many of those stations are going to be restructured to attract monastic orders. So far, five different orders have met with our representatives on Weirfall and Tauhento and they’ve signed letters of intent agreeing to establish cells here.”
The cheering broke out again and he let it run until it showed signs of abating. “This is unprecedented,” he shouted. “For centuries, the old Imperial laws prevented economic diversity and the monastic orders were subject to those rules. The planets were kept reliant on each other and the orders came to guard their turf with lethal intensity.
“But now there’s a new world where no order can claim primacy. All will be welcome here, provided they leave their intrigues behind before riding down that elevator. In time, every major order will realize they have to open a cell here or miss out on the one planet where all of the others are represented.
“Your children will be free to pledge to any order they want and they won’t even need to leave home to do it. In removing the barriers to education, we’ll be able to nurture brilliance and usher in a golden age for Chaco Benthic.”
He looked to the side, catching the eye of one of his followers. He nodded to her, holding up an index finger as though asking her to wait a moment. “One further thing before we get back to work,” he announced.
“In one year’s time, we will hold an election to choose this world’s satrap. The basic Alliance system is similar to that of the Republic, though our satraps are chosen by the people rather than appointed.
“Any citizen may put their name forward. The link to the candidate database is on your screens and they’ll be prominently displayed throughout the city for the next year.”
He held up a hand. “We’re not going to see an election where twenty million citizens are all voting for themselves.” He continued over the rumble of laughter. “Anyone can enter their name for candidacy but each must collect ten thousand endorsements from fellow citizens in order to stand in the actual election.
“Each citizen has only one endorsement, so consider carefully before you throw your support behind a particular candidate. Beginning one year from now and repeating every five years, we will elect a satrap from among those who’ve managed to collect the endorsements of ten thousand fellow citizens.”
He looked at a holo-screen to his left and chuckled. “I see we already have more than seven hundred candidates – you can see why we insist on citizen endorsement!”
The crowd roared in mixed approval, anger and laughter, and the candidate list shot above the thousand mark in a matter of heartbeats.
He held up his hands and Thorstein hammered his mace three more times.
“This all starts with one question. Will we accept the services of these two Midgaard as our warlords?” It wasn’t much of a question, when you thought about it, and Cal had encouraged such thought over the preceding week. His resistance fighters had been spreading the message at every public house and streetcorner.
Without the Midgaard, Chaco Benthic was hopelessly vulnerable, not only to a Republic task force, but also to any well-organized raiders who might want to seize the counterweight and starve the city into submission.
Though there were many angry voices of dissent, the overwhelming majority understood the need for protection and they out-shouted the nay-sayers.
Rick and Freya each held a hand out toward him palm up and Cal waved his
hands over theirs. “On behalf of the citizens of Chaco Benthic,” he intoned solemnly, “I accept your service as our warlords.”
Loose Ends
Lychensee, capital of Weirfall
“Level twenty-five is an excellent choice, Brother Yo’Haled,” Rick enthused. “I believe the Carbon Fellowship consumes more coffee than any other order? The station on twenty-five is only fifteen cubits away from one of Tsekoh’s two Moonsilver franchises.”
Brother Yo’Haled smiled, tilting his head to the side. “The mysteries of carbon are somewhat less exotic than those of quantum tunneling. Our acolytes must be kept awake somehow.”
They were meeting in the residence Shelby kept on Weirfall. Members of the family often had to travel to the Alliance capital and it was important to show they had a strong presence in Lychensee. The apartment was directly under one of the rooftop wildife habitats and the seven-meter-high ceiling of the great room had a large glazed panel set into the center, giving a view of the aquatic species that had once roamed the planet’s small seas.
They were sitting out on the deck to take advantage of the late summer sunset and Rick was constantly aware of the complete lack of any railings at the edge. He was both awed and terrified by his wife’s typical Midgaard nonchalance with heights.
She had rolled her eyes as he pulled the deck furniture away from the edge but she said nothing. He’d also moved the spicewood chairs, taken from Fletcher’s old quarters, closer to the windows.
The monk pursed his lips for a moment, dragging the floor-plan of the former magisters’ station up to a snap point in the air between him and the Midgaard couple. “There is certainly room,” he muttered. “We might want to include a roasting operation.”
Rick raised an eyebrow at Freya.
“He means he wants to roast coffee in Tsekoh,” she explained. “They do a profitable sideline in coffee.”
She nodded at the monk. “Moonsilver – Alliance would raise a fuss but they aren’t going to pull their franchises over it. We never offered them a monopoly, so the Carbon Fellowship is more than welcome to set up shop.” She reached out to change the floorplan to a three-dimensional model of the city.
“You’ll need to move down five levels, so you don’t get into a trade war with Moonsilver. We don’t want your acolytes dropping onto the mining equipment down on the lower levels.” She frowned at the image for a moment. “Fifteen percent tax on the coffee.”
Yo’Haled spread his hands. “A new monastery would have to build its market for coffee,” he advised. “The staff and acolytes would drink some of it but profits from public sale would be very low at first, even if our tax was as low as five percent.” He inflected this last as a question.
“And those taxes would be a mere token at first.” Freya smiled. “Small price for access to a market of more than twenty million customers – a market currently served by only two other outlets.”
He nodded, extending his hand in the old Imperial gesture of agreement.
She stood, holding out her hand as the monk came to his feet.
He waved his hand over hers. “We have an agreement. Give us a few weeks to arrange our staff and equipment and we’ll send a ship to set up the new abbey.”
Rick saw him out, returning to stand in the doorway of the deck, one hand holding the window frame. “Seems like such a small thing,” he mused, “discussing taxes on a single coffee shop.”
She waved him over, supressing a grin at his irrational fear of heights. “It’s a matter of protecting our rights as warlords,” she explained. “The monastic orders are exempt from tax, except where they engage in commercial enterprise unrelated to their order. If you don’t enforce these small things, it becomes the norm to ignore them and it soon becomes all but impossible to repair the damage.”
“It makes sense,” Rick agreed, “but it still seems silly when you consider how little a year’s taxation from their coffee shop will add up to.”
“It’s not about the money,” she insisted. “Our people learned long ago that the pursuit of enrichment was far more destructive than war. Our worlds, the worlds I will probably never see, don’t have growth economies.
“If you were to visit Beringsburg or Midgaard itself, you’d see the same prices that have been in effect for thousands of years. We have carefully crafted controls that have evolved over the centuries to balance free enterprise and public interest.”
“Is that like communism?’
She laughed. “Not at all. We simply guard against the dangers inherent in a completely unrestricted free market economy. If we didn’t, the major corporations would bend rules, hide funds and, eventually, commit theft and fraud on such a grand scale that those who govern would be held hostage by the enormity of corporate crimes.
“How do you bring a corporation to justice when it would destroy your economy in the process?” She reached out and turned his face away from the edge of the deck. “All you can do is leave them to carry on and let the public believe in corporate accountability while you search for some way to gradually undo the damage.”
Rick grimaced. “It reminds me of my Dad’s favorite saying – a pretty lie is easier to believe than an ugly truth.” He shook his head. “I thought I’d left that all behind me but I suppose it’s a universal truth.”
A warrior appeared at the door. “They’re here.”
Freya nodded, motioning for the new arrivals to be conducted out to the deck.
He brought in Sam Fletcher, Norm Fletcher, Barry Fletcher and Ivar, the leader of the Midgaard who’d been stranded for so long on 3428. They stood before the young couple.
Rick looked them over. Ivar looked happy to be back in civilization and the slight flush of his skin indicated he’d found a good source of ale. Barry gave him an easy grin. His own face was slightly reddish and it seemed a camaraderie of sorts now existed between him and Ivar.
That was what Rick had hoped when he’d asked the Midgaard to show Barry around Lychensee. He needed to start integrating his people back into the Alliance. Caul Hrada and Admiral Towers, the co-leaders of the Alliance, had been quick to see the advantages of having pre-cognitive abilities on the bridges of all their warships.
Even Norm, stolid old Norm Fletcher, seemed to be warming up to the idea of returning to the fold. Rick was sure he still detected the occasional hint of elitist defiance in the old master-at-arms but Norm always suppressed it quickly enough.
But where would Norm come down on the issue at hand?
Rick looked back at Barry. He couldn’t come straight to the point, not with Sam’s relatively strong pre-cog abilities. “How’s the refit going, Barry?”
A brilliant smile. “The old gal’s being re-plated, all the emitters are getting switched out, the life support system for the new computer core is going in next week and, if that weren’t enough, they say they want to take up some of the hangar space to test out a tandem pitch lay-out for larger vessels.”
As an engineer, Rick couldn’t help but hear warning bells. “Will her structure hold up under that kind of force?”
Barry waved off the concern. “She’ll never be able to dance with a Mark III Hussar but she’ll still beat seven kinds of hell out of any Dactari ship we run into.”
“Are they paying for the equipment to try this experiment?”
Barry frowned. “They are,” he admitted. “Rick, what’s gonna happen to her? Does she still belong to the Alliance or to us? I don’t want them kicking us out of our home and putting their own crew aboard her.”
Rick sighed. “We made an agreement with Alliance command,” he explained. “We promised to start providing bridge officers to the other ships in the fleet.” He shrugged. “You knew we couldn’t keep the pre-cog advantage to ourselves forever…”
Barry held out a hand. “Hold on,” he pleaded. “Don’t say it!”
“You’ll be shipping out on the Trafalgar next week,” Rick advised him in his best mournful tone. He waited for several seconds.
“Oh, you bastard!” Barry jumped over the low table between them and wrapped Rick in a bear hug. “You magnificent, fornicating bastard!”
“C’mon,” Rick admonished, extracting himself from the gleeful embrace. “I don’t want to spend the next few weeks with a cracked rib.” He stepped back to get a better look at his old friend. “Did you forget how you swore to our service after we got that old bucket into orbit? You’re not just an Alliance officer; you’re one of our captains and they can’t take you without our consent.”
Sam had been getting increasingly agitated and, hearing his former protégé referred to as one of Rick’s captains finally goaded him into speaking. “Do I really need to be here?”
Rick gestured to the spicewood wicker chair. “Have a seat, Sam, and we’ll get to you shortly.”
Sam darted an alarmed glance at his former furniture, suddenly in no doubt about the reason for his presence. Sweat began to bead on his forehead in the cool night air.
“Huh,” Freya muttered. “Sam seems oddly reluctant to sit in his own furniture. Isn’t that a little odd?” She looked at Norm. “What do you think, Norm? Isnt that a little strange?”
Norm looked genuinely puzzled. His own ability wouldn’t show him what Sam was seeing – not if Sam refused to sit in the chair. “It does stretch the bounds of normality a bit, ma’am,” he managed to reply.
It was unlikely, then, that Norm was involved.
Rick nodded in agreement with Norm’s assessment. “Perhaps he’s had second thoughts about the comfort-enhancing qualities of the explosive device he installed shortly before he moved out of his former quarters.”
“Explosives, you say?” Norm looked at his former captain. “Sam, what the hell did you think you were going to accomplish?” He sounded genuinely angry. “We just redeemed ourselves from generations of dishonor and you want to drag us straight back into the mud with an act of treason?”