"Free love will be available to all!" More deafening applause.
"All citizens of the People's Egalitarian Commune shall receive a guaranteed income from the people's government." Thunderous applause followed by shouts: How much? How much?
"The Ministry of Equality will shortly determine the amounts. All citizens will receive identical incomes to ensure equality." There was not much of a reaction from the crowd to that.
"Private property is abolished!" Applause. "All formerly private property will be redistributed fairly." More applause.
"All banks are to close and new currency will be issued." Heavier applause.
"The People's Emergency Committee and the People's Militia will maintain order in the streets and take charge of critical public facilities." Silence.
"Peace and Joy!" He raised his arms again to massive applause.
"The Peace and Joy movement is victorious. Now let's return to stability and show all those doubters that the revolution will bring wealth and comfort for all. We don't need any more demonstrations. We have succeeded. Peace and Joy!" More applause.
The Prof abruptly turned off the broadcast.
"It's a shame," he said, "to see UMC society devolving so quickly. They are reinstalling the worst features of the System, and making them even worse with this redistribution nonsense, and the guaranteed income. Of course that's impossible. I had hoped that the UMC was going to go the other way. But keep in mind this is only one world, even though it's an important one. Galactic Info tells us that it will not last long because the UMC stellar forces on Alphard have initiated plans to reimpose control over Terra by force. Ultima Spring in New Aztlan is the administrative capital of the UMC and the Mocains are furious over this development. The former New Aztlan President was a puppet of the Mocains, but that's over now. The UMC government, speaking from Alphard, has declared the People's Egalitarian Commune an illegal terrorist organization. The UMC leadership and military in New Aztlan completely lost their nerve, it seems, following the spineless civilian leadership, and have been neutralized and have agreed to remain in the military bases. The UMC plan is to first reinstall order in New Aztlan and they believe the rest of Earth will fall into line. However, this may take some time. It looks to me that by the time they get ready to intervene, the revolutionary government will already be crashing because their new currency will be worthless and famine and disease may be taking their toll by then as well. But there will be this little interval when the PJ's will be able to demonstrate conclusively just how stupid they are."
"Their proposals are so crazy," I objected. "Don’t they realize all this has been tried before – repeatedly – and failed miserably, always? Doing away with private property, enforcing non-existent equality, paying everybody not to work, printing paper money that isn't worth the paper it's printed on, punishing people for success, redistributing all wealth until it's all gone, nationalizing everything and living communally? Are they really that stupid? Do they really believe it will work?"
"There's not a lot of thought involved," the Prof replied. "Most of the people who propose these things are ideologues who have never worked a day in their lives and who have no idea how the real world works. They are arrogant and angry, especially if their government-subsidized grants are under threat. They are convinced that they alone have the answers to mankind's ills. And if you disagree with them, they will kill you if they can. They know that if you take from Peter to give to Paul, you can always count on the support of Paul, and that's what keeps them going. Until Peter runs out of money. Just thank God you are a ConFree citizen."
Δ
"Good morning, good morning all. Beautiful day, isn't it?" The Professor was in a very good mood. He was addressing us from behind the lectern in Conference Room D, which was a small but cheerful place, with morning sunlight streaming in from the skylights. Delta Research's core team was there, Doctor Dimension and Paula Deep and Ice and Saka and Bees and me and our support, Doggie and Blackie, Scout, Smiley and Nitro. The medics had been invited as well, Honeyhair and Blondie, and even Bird was there. In addition, Kwan was there – he was the official Assid Confederation delegate. Sometimes you could guess the subject depending on who was there but this time I had no idea – except that it was important.
We were all seated at the long conference table with the Prof near the center behind the lectern. "All right, well let's get started. We're in a strange profession here, as you all know. And very strange things have been happening lately. Our mission to Bliss was a success and ConFree is pleased. However, we are still left here with no permanent contact with the Brights, and so that critical objective remains unfulfilled. Meantime Prophet's disturbing DX dream remains – a possibility. We must not let that happen so we must remain alert to any avenues to regain contact with the Brights. Meantime we must work with people who have similar goals. Captain? Please." He looked over to the door. It opened, and Captain Nan Man strode in, a very large, strongly-built Mocain clad in a plum-colored uniform, bald head, pale slightly-greenish flesh, golden earrings, a chest fill of medals, confident and calm. He walked over and stood next to the Professor.
"Delta, let me introduce Captain Nan Man of the Tenth Recon Strike Force of the StarCorps of the United Mocain Coalition," the Prof said. "He is temporarily assigned to the Strategic Information Corps of the UMC, and is here on official duty. Some of you may remember him from when he pressed the barrel of an SG up against my forehead on Bliss and almost blew me away."
"We remember you, sir," Scout said with a smile. "I had you in my sights almost all night when you were with the Prof in that squadmod."
"I'm glad it was a happy ending," the captain said, with a faint smile.
"The captain is here because I asked for him," the Prof said. "We need an official UMC rep here, because of the threat to Terra. Until we resolve that threat, Captain Nan Man will be our colleague and comrade, fully authorized for access to all our secrets. We're going to do the right thing, you see, no matter what. However, the situation is complicated by the political mess on Earth. Captain, welcome to Delta Research. I'd like everyone to make the captain feel at home."
"Thank you, Commander," the captain said. "It was quite unexpected, but I am happy to be here."
"Delta, I asked for the captain to be the UMC rep because he has more experience with the Brights than anyone else in the UMC, and he knows exactly what we are dealing with. The UMC proposed somebody else, undoubtedly a professional intelligence officer, but I turned them down and said it was the captain or nobody. It's because I trust the man. He came through under the most trying circumstances on Bliss. I think he even impressed the Brights. His mission here is to defend Ultima Spring, and the planet Terra. That's our mission, too. So we are going to work together. He'll be reporting regularly back to the UMC. That's fine – we expect it. Captain?"
"I am anxious to work closely with all of you, and perhaps we can even work out some of the historical and political differences that have caused serious disagreements between the UMC and ConFree. We are all professional soldiers. We can start with that similarity, and get acquainted. I have always respected the Legion."
That's about all Captain Nan Man would say from the lectern but I was curious to learn more about him. A visit to the Viking was in order.
Δ
The Viking was a cozy little bar that was set up fronting the rec park so you could either drink outside in the garden terrace or inside in the darkened Blood Hall, which was set up to look like a Viking drinking hall. We chose the Blood Hall. The walls were lined with primitive, edged weapons. The Viking was closed during working hours, but at 2000 hours it opened up. Our chief janitor, Fred, was the bartender. He earned extra money doing it, and he enjoyed the camaraderie. He was a very good bartender.
"Mead!" Scout called out. Doggie and Arie and I were with him. Blackie was with Doggie as usual.
Fred brought us the usual, golden-dark tankards of knock-you-on-your-ass mead. We each had our own pe
rsonal tankards, which were stored at the bar. Blackie had his own plate, from which he was soon lapping up mead.
"All right, Scout, let's hear it," Arie said. "You've been around. What's the secret of life?"
"The secret of life," Scout mused. "Yes, I was searching for that for many years." He paused for a deep draught of mead. "Finally found it."
"And?"
"It was on Sirrah during the insurgency. Even in the midst of all that crap, I was searching. I heard about this old mortal mystic who was a hermit – lived by himself on top of a mountain, chewing narcotic berries and communing with nature. Or whatever. I hiked up there seeking wisdom. I was really confused at that time."
"So things haven't changed much," I couldn't resist adding.
"No," he said. "They haven't. Anyway he was sitting there on a rock, white hair, wrinkled skin, no shirt. I told him I was seeking enlightenment and respectfully asked if he could tell me the secret of life. He said yes, and gestured me to come closer."
"I leaned in real close and he whispered 'Get all the pussy you can.'"
We laughed and cheered and drank more mead.
"Hey, here's the captain!" Nan Man was standing in the doorway, his huge form blocking out much of the light.
"Welcome, Captain," Doggie said. "Come on in. Join us." Fred brought him a tankard of mead.
We told the captain the secret of life. He laughed.
Δ
"The idea of the UMC was to cast off the dead hand of the System, and start over, and create something worthwhile from the wreckage," Captain Nan Man said. The captain was quite a guy. He told us his warname was Nan, although his troopies had called him Nan the Man. "We recognized where we had gone wrong," he continued, "but the list of catastrophic errors was so long as to be endless." The mead session in the Viking had turned quite serious. The rise and fall of civilizations was not something to be lightly discussed over mead, and both the captain and his audience were very concerned about the subject, although they viewed it from different perspectives. "And every error led to another," he continued, "and soon we realized the only solution was to rip up everything that had gone before. Annihilate the past, and build the future from a firm foundation." The captain took a deep draught of mead.
"Easier said than done," he said. "The main problem is the human material you are working with to build a new society. The idea of the UMC was to build it around the Mocain race – a strong ethnic base to construct a constitutional republic. We were looking at the CrimCon – excuse me, Con Free, believe it or not, although we would never admit that to anyone. Your society worked, we had to admit. Ours didn't.
"We cast off a whole lot of troublesome worlds, just cut them loose, and got to work on our core. Even then we were left with plenty of problems – problems we'd created ourselves, when we ran the System. The System was an empire. We ruled over hundreds of worlds and races and cultures and societies and religions and political philosophies. All different. The Mocains were a disciplined minority. Still are. Our solution, under the System, was to divide and conquer, pit everyone against everyone else, and create a climate of ignorance and dependency on government largess by redistributing society's wealth while stressing that everyone was equal. This worked for hundreds of years. The result was a society of parasitic slaves. Millions of them never worked, and we helped them convince themselves that society owed them everything. Those are our citizens. No, they're not interested in a constitutional republic that will produce great wealth if you contribute to it. All they want is for you to give them money. And our political class supported them – in return for the political support that allowed them to live like kings off the public tit. So we found we couldn't just tear down the rotten structure of the System. Our citizens much prefer slavery to freedom."
"But if your government has made the decision to reform, can't you do it? And work around the obstructionists and all those ignorant slaves?"
"No. We can't. We tried that on Earth. Look what happened. It was the politicals – traitors. The military and intelligence services see the problems clearly, but the politicals are wedded to the past. It's like a civil war is coming at us. That's what's happening on Terra. It's the Mocains versus everyone else. And everyone is going to have to choose sides."
"It sounds like you've already chosen sides."
"Yes. The major problem is those treasonous politicals. After that we can address the problem of the slaves. Maybe we can just write them out of the society. You have restrictions on citizenship, don't you?"
"Yes. You have to demonstrate that you are contributing to society, before you get your citizenship and can vote. And you have to demonstrate that you understand the issues."
"Good idea. If we did that, about ninety-nine percent of our citizens would fail the test. But they don't care about voting – all they want is the money."
"Are you going to attack Terra? Take it back?"
"You know I can’t answer that."
"Revolutionary decadence, right?" I asked. "The UMC overthrew the corrupt United System Alliance and imposed what was to be a better society. But it became what it had overthrown. And now the PJ's have their chance at constructing a tyranny. Right?"
"More or less," Captain Nan replied. "It's depressing. It's easy to lose sight of your original objectives. You need a strong, united base. With goals that are understood by the entire society. A revolution that will not eat its own children."
"And how do you do that?" Scout asked.
"I think it has to be strong – very strong. Based on blood. Based on people who are all pledged to the same objective. And it has to involve the family – and it has to include the extended family. ConFree has the Outworlders, and the Assidics. We have the Mocains. You can trust blood, you can trust your family. You can't trust outsiders."
"It has to be stronger than that," Scout said. "You need holy warriors – people who have lost everything, people who are left with nothing but a burning hatred and a determination to avenge themselves upon their enemies. People who have accepted that they are already dead, and want only to make the death worthwhile. Then great things can be accomplished."
A stunned silence followed.
"Are you talking about yourself, Scout?" I asked cautiously.
"No. No. Not anymore. I used to be like that. But not anymore."
Δ
Arturo lived in an awful, rotting crash pad that he rented by the month. Scout had used it, once, as a safehouse. More than once was always dangerous. Things were very bad on Sirrah in those days and Arturo was lucky to find the place. Arturo was an old friend. As Scout approached the pad through a filthy, trash-strewn alley his senses were acute – it was a wet, cold, very dark night. Nobody was stirring. The old wooden door to the pad was locked but Scout disabled the lock easily and slipped in to the short, pitch-black entry hall. A soft light was on in the bedroom area. Scout stepped in. Arturo was seated at a little table, clad in a thick ratty sweater, sipping a cup of warm water, staring into space blankly.
"Harold!" Arturo exclaimed, twitching in surprise, spilling his drink.
"Yes, it's me," Scout said. How long had he known Arturo? Arturo was a close comrade, always faithful, standing by your side thick and thin, risking it all – for a new world. Fearless. My blood brother, Scout thought.
Arturo was pale. He looked frightened. "What is it?" Arturo asked.
"The Thought Police are raiding our safehouses. Looks like most of them. Rounding up the action cell. The Hand has been arrested."
"Good lord! Do you need help? I don't know if this is the best place–"
"No. I don't need help. I've come here to kill you."
Arturo just stared at him. Scout was covering him with a silenced handgun. Finally Arturo found his voice. "Don't do it, Harold. How can you think it? Whatever you heard, it's a lie. I'd die before I'd…"
"We know all about Uncle Earl," Scout said. "We've been listening to your transmissions. You're a traitor."
Arturo was de
ad white and silent. He was sweating. He sighed, and spoke, almost in resignation. "They've got Alicia. They're torturing her. They'll kill her if I don't cooperate. What am I supposed to do? Let her die? She's all I've got to live for."
"Yes, I know," Scout said. "It's best to have nothing to live for. I'm sorry it had to end this way. Goodbye, my friend. We'll meet in Hell." Scout fired, a double tap to the chest, one more to the head. Arturo crashed to the floor, his blood splattering all over the walls.
"Scout! Scout! Wake up! What is it?" It was Bees, shaking Scout awake. Scout's heart was hammering, cold sweat on his brow.
"Oh God. Sorry. It was a nightmare," he confessed, groggily. "Something from the past." Bees was crying! Scout was instantly awake and alert. "What is it, Bees? What?"
"Oh. You woke me up," she said. "Thrashing around like that. I didn't get to eat the soup." She was wiping the tears from her cheeks, faintly smiling.
"Soup? What soup? Why are you crying?"
"Tears of happiness, my dear. I was so happy! And then you woke me up."
'I'm sorry. Sorry. What were you dreaming about?"
"It wasn't really a dream. It was my mom. She came to me. She was real – so real! I had forgotten how wonderful she was. Calm and smiling, for me. All those little details I had forgotten – that tiny little mole on her neck. Those golden flecks in her brown eyes. So much love, flooding me with love. Her smile was like a sunrise. We were at our little breakfast table, on Mica, with the blue and white checkered tablecloth. She made wheat noodle soup for me, with mint and bean sprouts. That was my favorite. She made it for me! She came out of her world, out of Heaven, and visited me, and made my favorite soup for me. She placed the bowl before me, and touched me lightly on the arm. It was the touch of an angel. Infusing me with love. Looking right into my eyes. And the soup smelled so good! It was love soup, that's what it was." She was dabbing at her eyes with the sheet.
"I'm sorry I woke you up."
"What was your dream about?" Bees asked.
"Nothing. It was nothing."
Prophet and the Blood March (Prophet of ConFree) Page 17
