“The young men would be away from home for years,” Councillor Stevens said.
Ed felt his temper flare, but he kept it in check. “Councillor,” he said instead, “every soldier in the CEF knows that service away from Avalon is a possibility. The units attached to the CEF were built specifically for speedy deployment. Their personnel were told, when they were offered their choice of assignments, that they might be spending years away from home. They volunteered for the assignments, regardless.”
Councillor Travis spoke, quickly. “You do not feel that we should establish a hard limit on deployment time? Or on our commitment? I must note that your war against the bandits and the Crackers resulted in victory in less than a year.”
“In the bedchamber,” someone muttered from the audience.
Ed felt the back of his neck heat, but refused to look round. “There are some similarities, I will admit, between Thule and Avalon, under the old Council,” he said. “However, the problems on Avalon admitted of a simple solution, once the old Council was removed from power. Eliminating debt-peonage alone, Councillor, ensured that hundreds of thousands of settlers could claim their democratic rights. The Crackers no longer needed to fight to accomplish their aims. And, unlike many insurgent groups, the Crackers were actually rational.
“In short, we could forge a political consensus that provided a long-term solution to Avalon’s problems. And we did.
“On Thule, however, there are many other problems. The population is considerably larger, there is a large supporting base for the government – and, to be fair, the government is not driven by a desire for personal power. There is a political solution already, Councillor; the local government merely needs to hold on long enough to implement the solution. And we have a commitment to support them.”
He took a breath, then continued. “Insurgencies can be very difficult to destroy,” he admitted. “If we tell the insurgents that our deployment will last no longer than five years, they will pull in their horns and outwait us. We may be successful in building up the local government to the point it can handle the insurgency on its own – or we may not. If we fail, the insurgency will resume operations as soon as we pull out.”
The thought reminded him of far too many operations carried out at the Grand Senate’s behest. Some problems could have been nipped in the bud, if the Grand Senate had been willing to make a commitment in time. Others needed political solutions as well as the application of military force, the carrot as well as the stick. At least the Commonwealth wasn't backing a particular faction, not like the Imperial Army had often had to do in the days of the Empire. There wouldn't be a need to do whatever it took to ensure that their faction won, just because the faction had won the bidding war.
“So you would have us make an open commitment,” Councillor Travis said. “I confess this makes me very uneasy.”
“That isn't the issue,” Councillor Jackson snapped. “We made commitments to the Commonwealth. Are we going to abandon them merely because they prove inconvenient?”
Ed concealed his amusement with an effort. Both of them had been raised in an environment where their word was expected to be their bond. Even now, in politics, neither of them had devolved to the point where they believed in the tactical lie. But actually keeping their word – or Avalon’s word – would cause them some problems. Would Travis vote to uphold the commitments, thus damaging his campaign against off-world involvement, or try to break the commitments and damage his reputation for keeping his word?
“Colonel,” Councillor Travis said. “How do we know that the information we have in our databanks is accurate?”
“The crucial difference between Thule and Lakshmibai,” Ed said, “is that we have a large presence on Thule. We have followed local politics ever since we made contact with Thule and they applied to join the Commonwealth. The situation on the ground is well-understood, Councillor, and we will not be going in blind. We know what we will face if we get involved. But we also know the price for not getting involved.”
There was a long pause. “We will hold a vote after we take a break,” Councillor Stevens said. “But then we must return to the subject at hand.”
Ed sighed, inwardly. The Grand Senate could delay the conclusions of an inquiry until everyone involved was safely dead, if it felt like it. But the Commonwealth Council had no delaying tactics it could use. The Constitution specifically forbade any form of filibuster, let alone endless hearings and debates. Delay could not be tolerated.
He caught sight of Councillor Travis leaving the room, his face an expressionless mask that suggested he was trying to hide some strong emotion. Ed couldn't help feeling a moment of pity – he couldn't imagine what it was like to lose a son – which he ruthlessly suppressed. No matter the emotions driving the older man, he couldn't be allowed to tear the Commonwealth apart. But he was so likeable ...
The old Council had been composed of power-hungry men and women, some of which had indulged themselves to the point of becoming pederasts and perverts. None of them had really cared about Avalon – or about anything other than themselves. The Grand Senate hadn't been much better. But Councillor Travis genuinely cared.
No one ever told you that you would only face evil men, he thought, bitterly. There had been a few deployments when he'd sympathised more with the insurgents than with the forces he was supposed to support. They’d been murderers, rapists and thugs – but he’d been ordered to support them, because someone felt they deserved support. Sometimes, even good men can disagree.
Shaking his head, he strode from the chamber. There was a waiting room just down the hall, where he could get a cup of coffee and catch up on his mail. And wait, he knew, for the vote that would determine the fate of the Commonwealth.
And what will happen, he asked himself, if they vote against the deployment?
He couldn't help wondering if it would be the beginning of the end.
Chapter Six
Or, perhaps worst of all, the ethnic/religious conflict on Morningstar, where one ethnic group became determined to convert or eradicate the other ethnic groups. The Empire attempted to keep the peace and so persistently refused to pass judgement (such measures were forbidden by the social scientists on Earth) that the net result was that all ethnic groups came to loathe the Empire more than their fellows.
- Professor Leo Caesius. War in a time of ‘Peace:’ The Empire’s Forgotten Military History.
“There doesn't seem to be any choice,” Suzanne said. “We do have a legal obligation to send assistance, if requested.”
Councillor Gordon Travis glared down at the coffee cup in his hand, silently cursing the timing. He’d gone so far as to check and recheck the message, half-hoping to find proof that the whole affair had been faked by someone with a vested interest in undermining his position. But there was nothing ... and besides, he had to admit, Colonel Stalker wasn't the type of person to fake a message just to interfere with the political system he'd designed. No, the request for help was real. But the timing was suspicious as hell.
He had to admit, when his anger cooled to manageable levels, that both Suzanne and the Colonel were right. An obligation could not be discarded when it became inconvenient, not if the person who had made the obligation wanted to be trusted in future. Part of him was tempted to insist on discarding the obligation anyway, but it wouldn't have helped his reputation on Avalon or off-world. The rest of him remembered the lessons of building a successful business and knew that the obligation had to be honoured. His political opponents wouldn't hesitate to use it against him during the lead up to the next election.
“Damn it,” he muttered.
How many other young men, he asked himself, were going to die on Thule? He’d read the files carefully and noted, like Colonel Stalker, that the situation was likely to get very bloody very quickly. Hell, it would take roughly two weeks to get the CEF there, assuming that the formation was ready for instant deployment. And then ... he gritted his teeth, remembering
the moment he’d had to tell his daughters that their brother was dead. The scene would be repeated in countless more homes on Avalon. What good did it do to send their young men to Thule to die?
Suzanne kept wittering on, but he ignored her, tuning out her voice with the ease of long practice. It was a shame that he even needed a political advisor, but he was expected to manage his business as well as serve as a Councillor and someone had to keep tabs on what the other Councillors were doing. And yet she was far too careful for his tastes, far too focused on getting him into high officer and keeping him there ... and yet he needed her. He knew, without false modesty, that his first campaign might well have failed without her assistance.
“The vote will be taken in twenty minutes,” Gordon said, glancing at his watch. It had been passed down from his father, who had claimed it dated all the way back to the pre-space era on Earth. Personally, Gordon suspected his father had lied through his teeth, but there was no doubting that the watch came from humanity’s homeworld. Humanity’s wrecked homeworld, if the rumours were true. “And I have to vote, one way or the other.”
He briefly considered abstaining from the vote. It could be done, he knew, but he would pay a high price for it. And if the vote was drawn, he would have to get off the fence and cast the deciding vote, one way or the other. Either way, he would have to pay the price for abstaining without actually abstaining.
“Yes, sir,” Suzanne said. If she was irked at being so blatantly ignored, then interrupted, she didn't show it. “I believe you should vote in favour of the deployment.”
Gordon nodded. Avalon had given its word – and the Commonwealth had taken it. There was no choice, not if they wanted to maintain interstellar trust. Maybe the terms could be renegotiated again, later, but not now. But he hated it. How many young men were going to die because of his decision?
“I will,” he said. “And then we can return to the issue at hand.”
He put the coffee cup down before his grip cracked the ceramic. The hearing would be sharp, very sharp. And Gordon knew, without lying to himself, that he was going to enjoy it. His son might be dead, but he would ensure that the full story behind the fateful deployment was brought out into the open for judgement. And, if it seemed that someone had been careless, he would make damn sure they were crushed like bugs.
The whistle blew, calling them back to the Council Chamber. Sighing, Gordon nodded goodbye to his aide and strode over towards the door. The other councillors met him outside, exchanging brief greetings as they made their way up the corridor. It was tradition, almost, that the councillors couldn't talk to one another in the building, outside the Council Chamber. Gordon rather approved, even though it could be irritating. They couldn't do anything outside the light of publicity.
That was the problem with the Empire, he thought. No accountability. And now I have to hold someone to account for the death of my son.
***
President Gabriella Cracker disliked politics intensely. She’d never asked to be the granddaughter of Peter Cracker, let alone to be forced to take her father’s position as rebel leader. And yet she’d had no choice. Despite her youth, she'd seen and heard enough to know the rebels would fragment into a multitude of smaller groups if she didn't step up and take command. For all their claims to fight for democracy, they’d only proved capable of uniting behind a Cracker.
It had placed no shortage of restrictions on her life. She had to move from place to place constantly, one step ahead of the old Council’s hunters, talking to senior resistance leaders and pushing them to work together as a group. There had been no hope of a boyfriend; the boys she knew were all awed by her reputation or terrified at the prospect of dating someone who could order them killed if they put a foot wrong. Nor had there been any hope of a normal life. By the time she’d been captured, after the Battle of Camelot, it had almost been a relief. And then to hear that there would be a political solution ...
Avalon had expanded, faster and further than she would have believed possible. Who would have thought that a comparatively minor colony world along the Rim of explored and settled space would wind up as the core of a new empire? She certainly hadn't assumed anything of the sort, not when she’d been in command of the Crackers. The best she’d known they could hope for was an agreement with the Empire that would allow them internal independence. And even that was a gamble. The last time the Empire had intervened openly in Avalon’s affairs, the Crackers had been smashed from orbit.
But we’re paying a price for our size now, she thought. How can we continue to be representative if we swallow up several sectors?
The Empire had based political representation on population size, she knew, something that had given the Core Worlds immense political clout. Even the entire population of the Commonwealth, put together, couldn't match the population of a single Core World. The Commonwealth had set out to change that, to ensure that each world got one vote regardless of its population size, but even that presented its own problems. Would Corinthian – or Avalon, for that matter – accept equality with farming worlds that had only a handful of settlers?
She thought she understood, now, why the Empire had become so undemocratic. The more space it controlled, the harder it was to have any form of accountability. They’d had to send out orders, then wait for months before they heard back from their subordinates. And the Commonwealth was growing larger every year. How long would it be, she asked herself, before they started issuing very strict orders to their subordinates? Even without the temptation to meddle – no, she admitted; the legal right to meddle – in local affairs, the problems would still prove difficult to surmount.
Bracing herself, she pasted a smile on her face as she stepped back into the Council Chamber and took her seat in the middle of the bench. As President, she had a vote – but she knew she couldn’t use it. If she voted in favour of the deployment, she would be accused of supporting her lover; if she voted against the deployment, she would be accused of trying to avoid the appearance of supporting her lover. All she could do was abstain. She caught sight of Colonel Stalker as he returned to the room and sighed, inwardly. He was a good man, dedicated to his position – and she loved him. But part of her would have liked to go to an uninhabited island with him and stay there, far away from politics.
But he has a sense of duty, she thought, as the doors were closed. He can’t abandon his men, any more than I could abandon the Crackers after my father died.
The thought nagged at her mind. What would happen when she left office? There would be no child of her body to take the presidency, even if her child had been legally allowed to inherit. What would happen when someone else became President? Would the system they had created, the system they had built to avoid the problems that had torn the Empire apart, remain stable? Or would public service be replaced by single-minded power grabs?
She nodded to Councillor Stevens, who stood. “The issue before us,” she said, as if there was anyone who was in any doubt, “is the deployment of the CEF to Thule. We have debated the facts of the case in our prior session. I call upon you all to put politics aside and vote as you feel you should vote.”
Gaby sighed. There was an idealism about Councillor Stevens that had never faded, something Gaby envied and distrusted in equal measure. After all, what could one make of someone who had never chosen a side? Stevens could have covertly supported the Crackers in more ways than just providing medical treatment to all comers. She hadn't done anything of the sort. But she had too many friends to be edged out of her council seat.
And here I am, she reproved herself, considering removing someone because I don’t like their politics. What does that make me?
“All those in favour, raise your hands,” Councillor Stevens said. “I repeat, all those in favour raise your hands.”
Gaby watched as seventeen hands were raised, one by one. Seventeen. It was better than she’d feared, although she knew it wouldn't go down well with the Commonwealth. Four councillors o
n Avalon had voted against upholding the Commonwealth Treaty. God alone knew what the repercussions would be, in the long run. The only real surprise was that Councillor Travis had voted in favour.
“All those against, raise your hands,” Councillor Stevens said. “I repeat, all those against, raise your hands.”
She paused, significantly. “I must remind you,” she added, “that refusing to cast a vote will be taken as an abstention.”
There was a long pause. No hands moved. Gaby wasn't too surprised. With such an overwhelming vote in favour of the deployment, there was nothing to gain by trying to take a stand against it. It would be far better for the remaining councillors to abstain, whatever they’d intended to do. She shook her head, bitterly. Lord, but she hated politics with a white-hot passion.
“The motion is passed,” Councillor Stevens said. “Seventeen in favour, none against, four abstentions.”
A dull ripple ran through the chamber. “As it is late,” Councillor Stevens continued, “I propose pushing the rest of the hearing back until tomorrow. Are there any objections?”
“I have one,” Councillor Travis said. “Several of the officers I intend to call before the hearing will be dispatched with the CEF.”
Councillor Stevens looked over at Colonel Stalker, who nodded. “That is a valid point,” he said, evenly. Only someone who knew him very well would have noticed the irritation in his voice. The implication, that he was sending people who could testify against him away from Avalon, hadn't sat well with him. “However, the CEF will require at least a week before departure. Those officers can be called to face the hearing prior to departure.”
“Acceptable,” Councillor Travis said, surrendering the point. “I have no further objections.”
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