“Indeed,” responded Darracott. Not a big stage, she thought, but this is still grand political theater.
Maxon continued. “Yes. It has been decided that the title of Prime Minister will be eliminated. We would like you to continue in your role as the government’s chief executive under the title of First Consul. This title will be used to honor Admiral Polanco, as he was the first person to hold the office. The First Consul will be considered the leader of the Union government.”
“Indeed,” Darracott repeated. She had already considered the possibilities, and this had been one of them. Whatever they called the leadership position, the military had a majority of votes on the Directorate, so they would still be running the government. All they needed was an administrator who doubled as a figurehead leader.
Foreign Minister Amesbury shifted in her seat. The heavyset black woman with graying hair took a sip of her coffee and looked up from her cup. “Well, say something dear. A tongue-tied leader won’t do at all.”
“I’m afraid that’s the problem, Minister. It seems to me that all you’re looking for is someone to, as you put it, ‘say something.’ You want someone to make speeches and manage the bureaucrats, which is what I’ve been doing for the past year and a half. You want me to be the face of the government and to carry out the policies made by the Directorate, but a true leader does more than administer policy. A true leader makes policy.”
Darracott gazed around the room. Nobody looked too pissed off—yet. What the hell, go for it woman—roll the hard six. “Let’s face it, ladies and gentlemen: you need me to save the military’s partnership with the economically powerful elements of Union society. The fat cats are jittery after last week’s coup attempt. You need a popular figure to convince the civilian power elite that the military hasn’t completely screwed the pooch. That would be me, and I’m with you, but we have to do this my way.”
“You seem to know a lot about what we need,” said Amesbury in a sharp tone.
“I know more about what you need than you do. For instance, that vibe you’re picking up from the civilian power elite isn’t jitters at all—it’s a school of sharks, and they smell blood in the water.”
“Explain,” said Admiral Schooler, in the way most military people asked questions—by issuing an order.
“There are two groups vying for power in the Sarissan Union: the military elite and the corporate elite—us and them. We need to work with the multi-world corporations, but at the same time, we need to keep in mind that the citizens are our real source of power, not the corporations.
“In the People’s Rebellion, Victor Polanco used force to gain the upper hand and forge a partnership with the megacorps. However, after what happened seven days ago, they’re rethinking that partnership. They believe that right now the military is politically vulnerable, and they’re looking to take advantage of the situation.”
The room wasn’t as taken aback as she thought it might be. Maxon spoke up. “So what do you suggest?”
“A flanking maneuver,” said Darracott. “Give them something they’re not expecting to put them back on their heels.”
“Such as?” asked Carson.
“We bring back an elected leader, but we do it on our terms.” That caused a stir. “I propose an elected civilian leader who bridges the gap between the military and the people. An elected leader who is an advocate for the people and acts in concert with the military to check the power of the corporate elite. A leader that acts on the advice and with the consent of the Directorate. A Directorate, I might add, which will still be dominated by the military.”
There was quiet in the room as everyone let it sink in.
“You know, that could work,” said Maxon. “The Directorate would still make policy, under the leadership of an elected First Consul.”
“I like that,” put in Gil Trenner, turning toward Darracott. “Even though you weren’t elected, in a way you’d be the incumbent. One of the campaign angles could be that you’re already doing a great job as First Consul.”
Jon Schooler was plainly dubious. “But an election could be dangerous.”
“Not really,” countered Maxon. “If we stage a quick election, the opposition won’t have time to organize.” Polanco had clearly shared Darracott’s ideas on an election with his favorite admiral. Perhaps Maxon had anticipated Rennie’s pitch, because she was playing her role beautifully. “We could have an election within eight to ten weeks from now. I think it would work. Who could beat her?”
A moment passed as the group considered Maxon’s question.
“John McDaniel,” said Trade Minister Boucher. “If he came back from exile, he might be able to best her in a free and fair election.”
“He can’t,” Darracott pointed out. “He’s not a citizen. Victor stripped him of his Sarissan citizenship and banished him for life.”
“Does it really need to be a fair election?” pondered Hinojosa aloud. “We could always rig it.”
“No,” said Darracott emphatically. “Any hint of scandal would blow up in our faces. Besides, that’s the beauty of it—we don’t need to fix it.”
Nico Stavrianos moved to the bar to pour himself another glass of wine. “I have to say, First Consul Darracott is extremely popular on each of the Six Worlds.”
Schooler was still unsure. “But what about future elections? What’s going to stop the corporate leaders from basically buying candidates, just like they have in the past?”
Darracott started to answer, but Hinojosa jumped in. “The Directorate could control the timing of the elections. We pick the best situations for our candidate to be successful and back them with all the support they need.”
“Very good, General. You learn fast,” said Darracott with a grin and a wink Hinojosa’s way.
Treasury Minister Trenner spoke up like a man who had made up his mind. “I think this would appease many of our powerful corporate partners. They want stability for trade and commerce, and I know many of them have a favorable opinion of the First Consul.”
“Agreed,” added Boucher.
“The Union Army will accept this as well,” declared General Stavrianos.
As with most things, it all came down to the space force. Maxon turned to Schooler. “Jon, what do you think?”
Schooler stroked his white beard. “The flag officers like you, Ms. Darracott. Your decisiveness in the period following the assassination has impressed people. Many in the space force reason that if Victor Polanco liked you, you must be all right.” Suddenly concerned that he had committed a faux pas, Schooler added, “Liked you as Prime Minister, I mean.”
“I know what you meant, Admiral,” she smiled, trying to set him at ease.
Maxon looked over to Carson, who nodded his endorsement.
“Excellent,” said Maxon, looking very pleased with things. “It seems that settles it.”
“Before it’s settled, Channa, I want to make something clear,” said Darracott. “If I’m the leader, we do things my way. I’ll support the military, but if push comes to shove with the corporations, I need the military to have my back. Agreed?”
Jon Schooler was the first to speak up. “Agreed. Most of the enlisted folks in the military come from the working classes. They have no particular love for the rich and powerful.”
Darracott eyed Schooler. She wondered if someone should explain to him that in most circles, space force admirals were also considered rich and powerful.
“And the officer corps? Can I count on them as well?”
“You certainly can,” answered Maxon with conviction. She held her glass high in a toast and the others followed suit. “To the First Consul.”
“Thank you, thank you all. I truly appreciate your confidence in me,” Darracott said. “And if you’ll permit me, I’d like to make some appointments while I have you all together.
“I don’t mean to be pushy, but there are some positions which must be filled immediately,” stated the Union leader. “One is the Ho
me Ministry. Gil, would you consider moving from Treasury to take the reins at the Ministry of Home Affairs?”
Trenner was taken aback. “Well, if you think…”
“I do. We need to get our constabulary back up and running and we need to retool State Security. We also need to appoint a new chief of the SSB. Oh, and by the way, you just inherited the task of organizing an election on the Six Worlds within two months.
“Admiral Schooler,” the First Consul pushed on, “I’m transferring you to the Artemis system to take command of First Fleet.” There was a sudden hush in the room. People were trying to decide if she was serious or not.
“Ma’am?” questioned a surprised Schooler. “But, Channa…”
Darracott turned to the woman sitting next to her. “With the retirement of Admiral Sanchez, we need a new CSO. Admiral Maxon, you are hereby relieved of command of First Fleet and appointed to the position of Chief of Space Operations. You are also promoted to the rank of Fleet Admiral.”
“But, First Consul,” said a stunned Maxon, “there’s no such rank as Fleet Admiral.”
“There is now,” declared Darracott, turning to the room. “Fleet Admiral Maxon will command the space force and Field Marshal Stavrianos will be in charge of the army.”
Stavrianos almost choked on his wine as the others gasped in delight. No one had held the rank of Field Marshal in the Union Army for over a century. Helen Amesbury applauded with glee.
“I know some of you may be surprised by my taking change so aggressively,” Darracott said, “but we need to move on some things, and move swiftly. In terms of the military, I don’t want any confusion as to the chain of command.”
Another forty-five minutes went by with discussion of appointments and policy. Eventually, the meeting wound down and everyone had departed except the First Consul and Fleet Admiral Maxon.
“Channa, you must be exhausted,” said Darracott as she downed her second martini. “It was inconsiderate of me to keep you here this long.”
Maxon laughed. “Convalescence is boring. You cheered me up considerably with your performance today.”
“Too much too soon?”
“Not really. We both loved Victor, but we also both know he could be a little laid-back at times. It was good for everybody to get a kick in the ass. Oh, Gods, did you catch the expression on Helen Amesbury’s face when you told her she was headed back to the Threnn homeworld? It was priceless.”
The two of them snickered. Amesbury was an excellent diplomat, but she could also be more than a little arrogant at times.
“One question,” said Darracott. “Leo told me you lobbied for me to have this position. May I ask why? Was it because of Victor?”
Maxon looked thoughtful as she considered her response. “Victor Polanco was an inspiring leader and a good politician. A year and a half ago, he was the right person to lead this starhold, but obviously things have changed. Right now, we don’t need a good politician—we need a great one. We need someone who knows when it’s time to play the political game and when it’s time to bust heads. We need a person who’s not afraid to make enemies and smart enough to survive the enemies she makes. I was looking for someone with both brains and balls, and that was you.
“Rennie, about the Directorate, you do realize they all think they can control you.”
A mischievous look came over the Union leader’s face. “I was counting on it. Otherwise, they would have never given me the job.”
Maxon maintained her grave expression. “Seriously, watch your ass. They’re a pack of jackals. I lost Victor and I lost…” her voice trailed off just as Darracott was sure she was going to say Choi. “I wouldn’t want to lose you too,” finished the admiral.
“You won’t. Growing up, I endured the arctic wastelands of Odessa. If I could survive that, I can survive the Directorate.”
“One more thing,” said Maxon, “as long as I’m in command of the space force, the space force is yours. If push ever comes to shove, and it’s you against them, you can tell the Directorate to go screw themselves because you’ll have starships and Marines at your back. Agreed?”
Darracott didn’t say anything, simply nodding. So this was the kind of power Victor Polanco commanded. Maxon was giving her the keys to the kingdom, and despite Darracott’s thirst for power, she suddenly felt overwhelmed.
“Then it’s a deal,” said Maxon, extending her hand.
As Darracott shook the fleet admiral’s hand, she noticed the time on a nearby clock. “Let’s get you back to your room, you must be tired.”
“Actually, I’m headed to the space force shuttlebay. The docs have ordered me to take some dirtside R&R, so I’m going to a vacation house on Wallenquist Bay for a week. Why don’t you come with me? There’s plenty of room and I’d enjoy the company. It would be good for both of us.”
“Oh, Gods, I’d love to, but I can’t take a week off right now. I have a government to patch up and an election campaign to organize. And then there’s Earth—we should be getting word about what’s happened there soon.”
“Well, what about the weekend?” Maxon suggested. “Two days—surely you can spare two days. Besides, you could use some rest yourself.”
Two days of rest. When was the last time she’d had two days rest? The fact that she couldn’t remember was a compelling case to accept the offer.
“Okay, but just two days.”
“Wonderful! Although, if we really wanted rest, we would follow Leo’s lead and just retire.”
Darracott’s thoughts turned back to Leo Sanchez. You wanted change my friend—well here it comes, but we have to do it my way. This will only work if we do it from the inside out.
32: Aftermath
Union cruiser Tempest
In Earth orbit
Five days had passed since the First Battle of Earth, as historians would eventually refer to it. The ceasefire was holding and then some. The Rhuzaris had been impressed with the rescue of their spacers who were forced to abandon Imperial Wrath. Their people would have been incinerated in Earth’s atmosphere if the surviving Union vessels hadn’t moved to retrieve the life pods. In gratitude, Rhuzari forces had been providing Pettigrew’s people with supplies and raw materials in order to implement repairs. The new Rhuzari commander, Fleetmaster Balasi, had been a cooperative if not charming host.
“I see some more empty beds in here,” said Captain Pettigrew as he and XO Adams entered Tempest’s sickbay. The ship had been fortunate during the conflict, sustaining only light casualties. As he glanced around the compartment, Pettigrew noticed another vacancy had occurred since his visit yesterday. “Doc, where’s Ensign Naseer?”
“Back on duty,” replied Chief Hospital Corpsman Jabrille Robinson. “That gets us down to seven. In a few days, you’ll have your whole crew back.”
“Not quite,” said Pettigrew in a low voice, staring across the compartment. “How’s he doing?”
Robinson shook his head. “Same as yesterday, and the day before. He’s in and out, mostly out. He spends a lot of the time just staring at the ceiling.”
“Is he talking?” asked Adams.
“He mumbles to himself sometimes. Captain, I’ve done all I can do for him here. We’ve cleaned the pills out of his system, but he needs more…specialized care.” Robinson didn’t have to say psychiatric care for his superiors to take his meaning.
Parker Knox had ingested a bottle of sleeping pills while confined to quarters during the battle. Sargent Hiteshaw recognized what had happened when he checked on Knox, and the Marine guards rushed him to sickbay for treatment. Later, a note was found on his datapad that simply read ‘When I take the pills, I don’t have the nightmares.’
“Sir, I recommend that Commander Knox be transported back to the Hybrias system on Goshawk when she departs,” Robinson advised. As soon as the destroyer was adequately repaired, Pettigrew was sending it back to Union space, taking the most seriously injured personnel with it. “And for his own good, I think he shoul
d make the trip in hypersleep.”
Pettigrew continued to look at Knox, who didn’t move and hardly even blinked his eyes. He just lay in his bed and stared upward. Anyone who didn’t know better might have thought he was a corpse. Maybe he is… thought Pettigrew.
“You’re the expert Doc, whatever you recommend. Commander Adams, make the arrangements.”
“Yes, sir,” Adams said, cupping her hand over an earpiece. “Captain, Shuttle One is approaching, and you said you wanted to be on hand to greet our guests.”
As they walked to the shuttlebay, the two found themselves discussing Knox.
“As much as he infuriated me, I actually do feel sorry for Mr. Knox,” said Adams. “He must have been under enormous pressure from his mother as a youngster. It has to be hard growing up in the shadow of a hero.”
Pettigrew stopped and took her aside in one of the passageways. “Taylin, have you ever heard of Weston Knox?”
She thought carefully. “No, not before meeting Commander Knox.”
“Right. Don’t you think that’s odd? You graduated from Acworth, and in all your years of study there, did anyone ever bring up this great hero of the Union?”
“Now that you mention it…”
“I did a little digging in the databases,” Pettigrew said as he lowered his voice and nodded to a pair of passing crewmembers. “It’s true that Weston Knox was an officer in the Union Space Force and that he served during the Settlement Wars—but he was a lieutenant on a light cruiser. As far as I can find, Park’s father was never a ship captain and never got close to the Dijana Campaign, or any other fighting for that matter.”
Adams stared at her commanding officer. “He made it all up?”
“I don’t think Park did,” said Pettigrew. “His father probably did, sending home embellished tales from space. Or maybe it was his mother, trying to make her son proud of the Old Man. Either way, I’d bet that deep down inside the Commander actually knew it was all lies.”
Starhold Page 33
