by Timothy Zahn
“Probably should. Who’s best?”
“Carmen Olivero,” Andrews said, gesturing to the attractive woman standing quietly among the uniformed men. The only one among them in civilian dress … on a hunch, Meredith nodded.
“Miss Olivero, come with me. Let’s go, Major.”
Dunlop led them inside and down a couple of corridors to a door flanked by two stunner-carrying soldiers. The guards came to attention; without bothering to knock, Dunlop opened the door and went in.
Cristobal Perez was stretched out on his back on the floor in front of the desk, a wadded-up jacket serving as makeshift pillow. About twenty-five or twenty-six, Meredith automatically estimated, his face already showing the first signs of a lifetime out under the sun. His eyes, which had been shut, opened briefly to survey the newcomers and then closed again. “I don’t suppose you brought a doctor this time,” he said tiredly.
“All you need is rest,” Dunlop told him. “The effects’ll wear off in another hour or so. On your feet now—Colonel Meredith has some questions.”
“Colonel Meredith, eh?” Perez made no move to get up, but his eyes opened again, shifting from Meredith to Carmen and back. “You always let men in your command fire on unarmed civilians, Colonel?”
“Be thankful they were only using stunners,” Meredith countered, watching the other’s face closely. “Other mob control methods are just as uncomfortable and usually take longer to go away.”
A flash of anger swept Perez’s face at the word mob; but instead of the verbal explosion Meredith had expected, the Hispanic seemed to withdraw behind a stony mask. “You obviously haven’t been shot by one of the damn things,” he said, closing his eyes again.
“No. But I have been shot with real bullets. How about telling me what happened out there?”
“My word against Dunlop’s? No, thanks—my breath’s too valuable to waste just now.”
Meredith pursed his lips. “If you tell the truth—”
“Look, Colonel, I was in the Army a couple of years,” Perez interrupted. “I know how military people stick together. You just go ahead and figure out my sentence and we can skip the show of impartiality.”
“Perez—” Dunlop began.
“No, it’s all right, Major,” Meredith cut his subordinate off, mentally berating his own carelessness. His deliberately tactless choice of words had forced a reaction out of Perez, all right, but driving the other into silence was a result he hadn’t counted on. A strategic withdrawal was in order. “Perez, whenever you’re ready to talk, just let me know.” He opened the door and left, Dunlop and Carmen behind him.
“I told you he wasn’t very cooperative,” Dunlop commented as the three of them stopped a few meters down the hall.
“Uh-huh. What sort of charges have you filed against him?”
“Incitement, congregation with felony intent—a couple other minor charges. Object lesson stuff, mostly.”
“I want them dropped. Miss Olivero—”
“All of them?” Dunlop looked nonplussed.
“That’s right. What’s the problem?—If my investigation indicates he’s guilty of something, we can always charge him later. It isn’t like he can skip town or something. Miss Olivero, I want you to go back in there and talk to Perez.”
Carmen turned wide eyes on him. “Me, Colonel? But I don’t know anything about interrogation methods.”
“I don’t want you to interrogate him, just to talk with him awhile,” Meredith explained patiently. “Find out what exactly his complaints are, for starters. Let him know we’re not out to scapegoat him or anyone else. You’re a civilian; maybe he’ll be more open with you.”
Carmen’s lip twitched, but she nodded. “All right. I’ll … try.” Stepping back to the guards, she took a deep breath, tapped once on the door, and went in.
“Keep an ear out for trouble,” Dunlop advised the soldiers quietly.
“There won’t be any,” Meredith told him. “Let’s go, Major—we have a lot to talk about.”
Perez’s first surprise was that someone was coming in so soon after the colonel’s party had left; his second surprise was that the visitor bothered to knock. Prying his eyelids up against his fatigue, he watched the woman close the door behind her and stand with her back to it. For a moment there was silence as they eyed each other. “How do you feel?” she said at last.
“Tired, mainly,” he answered, wondering idly about her background. From looks alone she could be fresh from Guadalajara, but her speech was definitely middle-class American. Second generation, perhaps, whose parents had become respectable before the flood of illegal refugees from the 2011 Mexican collapse had made “Hispanic” a curse-word again? “Most of the pain’s gone.”
She nodded. “Good. Uh—my name’s Carmen Olivero.”
“Honored. Meredith send you in to wring a confession from me?”
Some of her nervousness seemed to vanish, to be replaced by coolness. “Hardly. The colonel has gone with Major Dunlop to get the charges against you dropped. He asked me to find out what your complaints are—assuming you want them addressed, that is, and aren’t just using them as an excuse to riot.”
“We weren’t rioting!” he snapped, the outburst intensifying the pain behind his eyeballs. “We wanted to complain about the lousy conditions in Ceres and the damn soldiers fired on us.” He stopped abruptly as she took a half step backward, her hand reaching for the doorknob. Good job, Perez, he berated himself silently. You wanted a sympathetic ear, and now you’re trying to bite it off. “You say he’s dropping the charges?” he asked in a more reasonable tone.
She regarded him uncertainly, her hand on the knob. “That’s what he said.”
“Very kind of him.” Moved by an obscure feeling, Perez forced himself to a more dignified sitting position, sliding back so that he could lean against the wall. “I’m sorry I blew up a minute ago. I’ve never been wild about pain.” He waved to the desk chair. “Please sit down?”
She hesitated only a second before stepping to the chair and sinking a bit tentatively into it. “So … what is it you don’t like about this place?”
He snorted. “The list would fill a disk,” he said. “As far as I’m concerned it would have made more sense to colonize the South Sahara. I’ve never understood why the UN wanted to pour so much money and effort into Astra in the first place.”
“If you felt like that, why did you sign up?”
“I volunteered because many of my people were coming. Many of them, on the other hand, didn’t truly volunteer.”
Her eyes widened momentarily, then settled into cool disbelief. “You have any proof of this?”
He shook his head. “Nothing that would be seen as such. And don’t misunderstand me: I’m not saying they were kidnapped and loaded aboard trucks for the training center. The pressure was much more subtle than that—portrayal of Astra as a new beginning, the land of opportunity and freedom that the U.S. had turned out not to be, plus the implication that life would be getting harder if not enough of us volunteered. We were painted a rosy picture—can you blame us for being unhappy with the housing and working conditions we’ve been put into here?”
“This is a brand-new world. Did you expect to find hotels and theaters waiting for you?”
“I expected exactly what is here—a continuation of the social injustices I was already tired of.”
“Everybody’s had to make sacrifices—”
“But some aren’t making nearly as many as others,” he shot back. “Are the scientists living three and four to a house? The soldiers? How many Anglos are going out in the fields tomorrow, planting crops by hand because the extra machinery is still packed into their crates?”
“All right, then,” she said after a short silence. “Assume for the moment that you’re right. What do you suggest be done?”
“For now, a sincere commitment to improve conditions in Ceres would probably be enough. We’re not stupid—we know you can’t build new houses ove
rnight. If you could get us another couple of hologames for the rec center, that would be a nice gesture.” Perez paused as a flicker of surprise crossed Carmen’s face. Probably expected some wildly impractical scheme for turning Ceres into Little Mexico, he thought. Well, enjoy it while you can, because here comes the bite. “And I think Major Dunlop has proved he has no real feeling for the people here. He should be transferred and someone else put in charge.”
Carmen’s pleased/surprised expression vanished. “Oh, you think that, do you?” she asked coolly. “Do you want to suggest a replacement while you’re at it?”
“Not necessarily. But why are you suddenly so hostile? I thought United States citizens had the right to choose their own leaders.”
“Don’t play word games,” she snorted. “You know perfectly well that you gave up certain rights when you volunteered for this trip.”
“Perhaps,” he shrugged, locking eyes with her. “But having spent time in the Army myself, I can tell you that people grow tired of military rule very quickly. I think that Colonel Meredith would be wise to consider what he’ll do when that happens.”
Her face darkened still further, but before she could speak, the door was opened and one of the guards peered in. “Olivero? Colonel Meredith’s ready for you.”
“All right.” Carmen stood up—with more than a trace of relief, Perez thought—and went to the door. There, she paused and looked back. “I’ll tell the colonel what you said. But no promises.”
The door closed behind her. Wincing with the effort, Perez eased himself back to the floor. Closing his eyes, he replayed the conversation and Carmen’s facial expressions as best he could. Still on the side of the middle-class conservatives, he decided, but not close-minded, either. Obviously has some influence with the colonel. …
He was still sorting out the possibilities when the soldiers came to turn him loose.
The drive back to Unie was long, dusty, and quiet. Meredith kept his eyes on the patch of lighted road ahead of them, his brooding silence stifling all other conversation in the car. Which was fine with him: most of the team’s reports could wait until they were officially filed onto the computer, and the single exception could wait until they reached the privacy of his office.
The lights in the admin complex were still burning when Andrews pulled the car to a stop in front of it—one more reminder that there were a war’s worth of details still waiting to be handled. “Your reports are due by oh-nine-hundred tomorrow,” Meredith told the group as he opened his door and climbed out. “Miss Olivero, come with me; the rest of you are dismissed.”
The colonel led the way down deserted hallways and into his outer office—and because it was the last thing he expected at that hour, he was three steps into the room before his eyes registered the visitor waiting there for him.
He stopped abruptly, combat senses flaring with the surprise; but the other showed no signs of hostility as he scrambled to his feet. “Colonel Meredith?” he asked, his casual stance and tone immediately tagging him a civilian.
“Yes,” Meredith acknowledged. “You?”
“Dr. Peter Hafner—I’m a geologist with Dr. Patterson’s group. Sorry about the hour, but your secretary said I could wait until you got in.”
“No problem,” Meredith assured him, making a mental note to set up new guidelines on such things. “What can I do for you?”
“Well, sir, I’ve been trying to arrange for a flyer and pilot to run me out to Mt. Olympus, but everyone I’ve talked to says the flyers have been grounded.”
“You haven’t heard about the crash?” Meredith asked sourly.
“Yes, sir, I have; and I’m sorry about the loss of its crew. But everything I’ve heard indicates the accident was a fluke, some aberration of the plasma itself and not an actual equipment malfunction—”
“Whoa. An aberration caused by what?”
“Maybe a rogue solar flare or something—I don’t know. The point is it’s very unlikely the other flyers would run into the same problem.”
“Unlikely’s not good enough,” Meredith said, shaking his head. “Until we have a better idea of what went wrong you’ll just have to make do with cars or the Cessnas.”
“Neither of which will be of much use,” Hafner sighed. “I understand your concern, Colonel, but please recognize I’m not talking about some abstract search for knowledge here. Astra has got to have some metal somewhere, and if it’s not in the crust it must be deeper down. If volcanos like Olympus show any evidence at all of metal content in their rocks, it’ll offer a reasonable alternative to the asteroid mining you have planned.”
Meredith held up a hand. “Doctor, it’s late and I’ve had a very hard day. If you’ll file a formal request with Martello Base, you’ll be put on the list for whenever the flyers are put back into service. Until then, I repeat, the cars and planes are all we have.” A footstep behind him made him turn: Andrews, back from returning their car to the pool. “Now, if you’ll excuse us,” he added, “Lieutenant Andrews will escort you out. Good night, Doctor.”
Hafner grimaced slightly, but had the sense not to argue. “Good night, Colonel. Thank you for your time.”
The geologist left, followed closely by Andrews. Unlocking his office door, Meredith ushered in Carmen and waved her to a seat. “Now,” he said, sinking into his desk chair, “tell me about Perez.”
He listened in silence for the few minutes it took to recount her conversation with Dunlop’s alleged riot leader. “He seemed pretty sincere, Colonel,” she said when she had finished.
“I’m sure he did,” Meredith nodded. “Whether he was or not is another story. A massive plot to press-gang Hispanics is a bit hard to swallow.”
“I know.” She paused. “There do seem to be a lot of Hispanics here, though.”
Meredith shrugged. “The climate here approximates the Southwest, and we needed people experienced in farming sandy soils. That focuses on the area where Hispanics are already concentrated, so what’s the big deal?”
Carmen shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, sir. But even if nothing … unfair … has occurred, there’s still that perception. I was thinking on the way back … perhaps you could set up something like a city council in each of the towns. Not with any real power,” she added quickly, correctly interpreting his expression. “It would be more of an advisory sort of body, a clearinghouse for complaints and suggestions.”
“We already have channels like that set up,” he reminded her.
“Yes, but …” She pursed her lips. “It’s all organized along military lines. The civilians may not feel comfortable with that; I know it took me a while to get used to military procedure and I was raised in an Army home.”
“What you’re suggesting is that I give them the illusion of democracy without the substance.” Meredith shook his head. “It’d be more trouble than it’s worth. You’d add top-heaviness to the administrative sector, inject a battalion-worth of unnecessary political maneuvering and infighting, and generally use up man-hours for no net gain.”
“The gain would rest in smoother cooperation between civilians and military,” she countered.
“Technically speaking, Miss Olivero, there are no civilians on Astra. Everyone is under military rule and law, and if some of them don’t like it, I’m sorry. They’ll get used to it in time.” He glanced at his watch. “I’d better let you go; it’s getting late. I’ll want a formal report from you for the file, but there’s no particular rush.”
“Yes, sir.” She recognized the dismissal and stood up, but then hesitated. “Colonel? What are you going to do about Major Dunlop?”
“Whatever I do, it won’t be because of Perez’s veiled threats,” Meredith told her shortly.
She swallowed. “Yes, sir. Good night, Colonel.”
“Good night.”
He gazed at the closed door for several seconds after she was gone, wondering what exactly he’d done to deserve such a day. Then, with a sigh, he turned to his computer terminal and f
licked it on. The screen lit up but remained blank; apparently the underground light-pipe network was still generating problems. Cursing under his breath, he turned the machine off and buzzed for Andrews.
“Yes, sir?” the aide said as he entered.
“I hate to do this to you, Lieutenant, but I’ve got a couple of projects I want started right away, and I’m just too dog-tired to hunt up a working terminal.”
“That’s all right, Colonel,” Andrews said, pulling out a notebook and sitting down. “I’m fine.” He looked it, too, though Meredith knew for a fact that the other hadn’t had any more sleep lately than he had.
“Okay. First off, I want every scrap of information we’ve got on Cristobal Perez. Not just his colonist file; check to see if any military, educational, or employment records came to Astra with us. Second, I want farm equipment assembly bumped a couple of levels up on the priority charts—and for the time being have some of the planting equipment in Crosse shifted up to Ceres. The farmers in Crosse are sitting on their hands now anyway.”
He paused. Andrews finished writing and nodded. “Anything else?”
“Yes.” Meredith hesitated, then plunged ahead. “I want you to work up a list of possible replacements for CO at Ceres.”
Andrews looked up in obvious surprise. “You’re transferring Major Dunlop?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t yet made up my mind.”
Andrews toyed with his pen. “The major’s pretty popular with his men,” he said obliquely. “He has a reputation for sticking up for the common soldier, making sure they get all the rights and privileges they have coming.”
“I know,” Meredith nodded. “But that ‘us versus them’ mentality is exactly what’s going to lose him the support and confidence of the civilians in Ceres. We can’t afford unnecessary friction.”
“I understand that, Colonel. But … you know it’s going to look like you’re giving in to pressure.”
“Of course it is—and I hate the signal that’ll send. If Dunlop hadn’t fired from the hip like he did I’d back him all the way; but as it is I either look like a coward or someone whose orders can be ignored with impunity. Either way, I give someone the wrong idea.” He shrugged. “If you can come up with a better idea I’ll be glad to listen.”
