EMPIRE: Intervention (EMPIRE SERIES Book 13)

by Richard F. Weyand

  “Yes, Ma’am. The reason I ask the question, though, is the Executive Building is finished. The repairmen concentrated on getting that building done, and it wasn’t that damaged, other than the windows on that side of the upper floor, and, well, Ma’am, it’s ready.”

  “It is?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. The president’s residence. The cafeteria, including meal service to the president’s residence. The office blocks. It’s all done. We can move now.”

  It wasn’t until Sunday that they made the move. It took all day Saturday to organize, including which cooks went to the Executive Building and which stayed with the mess tents at the spaceport or the dam site, to which most of Jensen’s armored units had returned. The mounted infantry was patrolling in the city and its environs, so they were now based out of the spaceport, bunking in the warehouse that had been used for the ‘training’ of the Secret Police officers.

  But the Government Center complex in general and the Executive Building in particular needed security in order to open. Those security people also needed places to live and eat within the complex. Some of the barracks and at least one of the mess halls had been relatively undamaged, so they pressed those into service.

  The entranceway barriers also had to come down. Having what amounted to tank traps at the entrances prevented Turley’s armored elements from entering the compound and giving it a strike force.

  When all the issues had been dealt with by mid-afternoon Sunday, President Turley moved her operation to the Executive Building.

  There were immediate benefits to moving to the Executive Building. For one, after all week of living out of a tent, Turley was back in a real bedroom, with a real bed. Even more important, the bedroom had a real bathroom, with a real bath.

  As Turley luxuriated in the tub, she ran down the list of items Lieutenant Parsons had sent her. She had asked him to make a list of what other things she might have forgotten, like the personnel department review of government employees. Many of those employees would have been simply functionaries of one sort or another, not the people who had made and carried out the more brutal policies of the regime. Those functionaries were the people she needed.

  Parsons had done what any good aide would do when asked such a question. He had asked others, and then produced to her an extensive list. Payroll review, because favorites would be paid out of all proportion to their worth. A press office, so she could get accurate information out to the citizens. Bring up a Health Ministry, so they could make sure everyone had VR nanites, make sure all the women had contraceptive nanites, and screen everyone at risk for coronary artery disease and get them all the proper nanites. Restart the Treasury Ministry, with people who didn’t spend all their time diverting funds to themselves and their friends.

  The list went on and on. It was good to have, no doubt about it, but Turley had to delegate more, and do it faster. The sheer scope of the project made most military operations small in comparison. And more focused. This was all over the place. And, unlike a military operation, she felt like she was doing her planning while the battle was under way.

  She sighed. She had carried out the military portion of the operation without a hitch. Normally, she would get a furlough, to go home and spend some time with Bob. But Bob was gone, and she had gone right from one battle into another, one she was unprepared for.

  The stress level was high, and so was the resulting tension. She only knew two ways to get rid of tension like this, and they both had problems. Going out in an M15 and blowing up a building or two with H-E rounds was just straight out of the question, and the military’s strict ban on fraternization made the other impossible. Everybody she knew on the planet reported to her.

  Except–

  Turley put in a VR call to Paul Gulliver.

  “Yes, Madam President.”

  “Mr. Gulliver, I wondered if you might do me a favor.”

  “That was extraordinary. You are a man of many talents, Mr. Gulliver.”

  “Thank you, Madam President.”

  Turley giggled into his chest.

  “Maybe we should switch to first names in private.”

  “Actually, I would rather not, Ma’am. I’m wary of slipping in public.”

  Turley sighed.

  “You’re probably right. Anyway, thank you. I really needed that.”

  “I found it therapeutic as well, Ma’am, after all that has happened.”

  “Until next time, then, Mr. Gulliver.”

  “I am at your service, Madam President.”

  She giggled again and kissed him tenderly, then he left as quietly and unobtrusively as he had arrived. Who would have thought such an unassuming and nearly invisible man would be so, so–

  Turley sighed and rolled onto her other side. She grabbed a bolster pillow to hug and was asleep within minutes.

  Paul Gulliver went back to his room in the staff residence wing of the Executive Building. He had been preparing his regular report to Section Six when President Turley called.

  He considered the evening’s events, then added a short section to the end of his report and sent it off to headquarters.

  Personnel, Health, & Ordinance Disposal

  The next morning, after her first full night’s sleep in two weeks, Turley woke feeling like she could wrestle tigers. After breakfast brought up to her private dining room from the kitchens downstairs, she went over to the office wing and up to the president’s office.

  “Good morning, Lieutenant Parsons.”

  “Good morning, Ma’am.”

  “That was a great list you prepared for me.”

  “Thank you, Ma’am.”

  “Let me send you my prioritized version.”

  She shoved it to him in VR.

  “Now, let’s just work our way down it one at a time, Lieutenant. What’s first?”

  “Personnel Department, Ma’am.”

  “Any suggestions there?”

  “Actually, yes, Ma’am. I’m told the Minister of Personnel who was in place when Mr. Mieland took office only lasted with him two years, but she was highly regarded.”

  “Let’s see if we can find her and bring her in to talk to me, Lieutenant.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Next item, Lieutenant?”

  “Health Department, Ma’am.”

  “Any suggestions for Minister of Health, Lieutenant?”

  “Not the previous Minister of Health, Ma’am. He wasn’t even a doctor, just one of Mr. Mieland’s cronies. But there was an assistant minister of health who’s interesting. He was let go six years ago when the Mieland administration stopped getting VR nanites for children. They enrolled them instead in government schools.”

  “Which taught, among other things, the wonderfulness of the regime and how much better it was to have the government control everything.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. Well, the assistant minister of health complained about all this, and he got sacked.”

  “Let’s see if we can find him as well, Lieutenant.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  Later that morning, Parsons escorted a stocky woman in her early sixties into Turley’s office. She was dressed for a day at the office, whereas Turley was still wearing MCUs. Turley’s office wardrobe would take another couple of days to arrive.

  “Ms. Anita Blackwood, Ma’am,” he said.

  “Ah, Ms. Blackwood. Come in.”

  Turley walked around her desk and waved to a seating group under the windows.

  “Please, have a seat.”

  “Thank you, Madam President.”

  They both sat, and Blackwood simply waited. She had been summoned to the president, after all, not the other way around.

  “I need a Minister of Personnel, Ms. Blackwood.”

  “I have already served in that position, Madam President.”

  “I know, that’s why I bring it up. But you don’t sound enthusiastic about it.”

  “I’m not.”

  “May I ask why, Ms. Blackwo
od?”

  Blackwood looked at her, trying to decide whether Turley wanted the truth or not. Telling the truth in this office could be a hazardous undertaking, as many of her friends had found to their dismay. Turley saw the hesitation, lifted her eyebrows, and shrugged.

  “It’s an honest question, Ms. Blackwood. There is no danger in an honest answer.”

  “That has not always been true, Madam President. Particularly in this office.”

  Ah. That was it.

  “Ms. Blackwood, there will no longer be any imprisonment or other repercussions for speaking one’s mind on Julian, whether in this office or outside it. Free speech is making a comeback.”

  “Indeed. Well, then, Madam President. I have already served as Minister of Personnel, and under Mr. Mieland it became frustrating, if not outright infuriating. The sorts of people who were hired into various positions were almost completely out of my control.”

  “Like the former Minister of Health, Ms. Blackwood?”

  “He was not even a doctor, Madam President. And the salaries these people were hired at were often at odds with any reasonable estimation of their likely contribution. All of this was out of my control. I became little more than a payroll administrator.”

  “And you spoke up about it and were sacked.”

  “Yes. I was lucky I wasn’t shot.”

  “And yet you came today, Ms. Blackwood. I did make it clear you were to be asked, not ordered.”

  Turley looked over to Parsons, hovering nearby, and he nodded.

  “It was out of respect for the office, Madam President. What it used to be, anyway.”

  Turley understood. To step into that fray again would be insanity. Yet, Turley needed her. Her or someone like her.

  “I understand, Ms. Blackwood. Perhaps I should tell you what I’m looking for, and then perhaps you can help me select the right person, if you’re not willing yourself.”

  “As you will, Madam President.”

  “I would divide the people in Mr. Mieland’s administration into five main types.”

  Turley ticked them off on her fingers as she spoke.

  “The true believers, people who bought into Mieland’s social vision and would do anything to push it along. The cronies, people who went along with Mieland’s vision because it was their avenue to power, money, and influence. The lazy, people who see a government job as easier than working for a living. The bureaucrats, people who see no end of the government’s powers as long as it extends their span of control. And the competent, the people who want to use government’s legitimate powers for the benefit of the people of Julian.

  “I need someone to sort those out for me, to weed out those first four categories and hire back into the government only that last group, to the extent it can be done. I need to prepare a functioning, legitimate government to smooth the path for a new, elected president.”

  “You do not plan to be president yourself?”

  “Ms. Blackwood, I am a senior executive for a major interstellar firm. We have billions of employees strung across human space. I have no desire to be the president of Julian.”

  “Then why are you here, Madam President?”

  “Because Julian needed me, Ms. Blackwood, lest millions starve in the famine Mr. Mieland’s policies would ultimately have produced. But in several months I will turn this government over to a legitimately elected president and go home.

  “I need someone to help me build that government. I need you, Ms. Blackwood. Or someone like you.”

  This was a scenario Blackwood had not considered at all. She had thought Turley just another in what would likely be a dreary succession of presidents by fiat. That Turley would instead build a legitimate government and simply walk away from the most powerful position on Julian had not been a part of Blackwood’s thinking.

  “My authority, then, Madam President?”

  “Absolute, or the next thing to it. Build a real government for Julian, Ms. Blackwood. Build a good one. Build one I can be confident leaving behind, knowing it is the best we can do for the people of Julian.”

  It was a compelling offer. A challenge match. The sort of offer any competent person would find almost impossible to turn down, and both Blackwood and Turley knew it.

  “Very well, Madam President. That is an offer I cannot refuse.”

  “Excellent.”

  Turley turned to Parsons.

  “Lieutenant.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Find temporary office space in this building for Ms. Blackwood until her permanent offices are ready. Make it a big space, as I suspect she already knows who she needs to hire for this assignment and will staff up fast.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “And now, Minister Blackwood, I need a Minister of Treasury and a Minister of Health. For Minister of Health, Dr. Friedrich Baum has been suggested.”

  “Yes, Madam President, he would be a good choice. I concur.”

  “Very good, Ms. Blackwood. Bring him in. Make him the offer. I’ll help sell him on it. And let me know when you have a treasury candidate.”

  Blackwood blinked at Turley’s ruthless dispatch.

  “Yes, Madam President.”

  “Lieutenant, have you found that office space yet?”

  Parsons looked up from the VR display in the lower half of his vision.

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Very good. Lieutenant, please show Ms. Blackwood to her office.”

  Turley stood, and so Blackwood stood. They shook hands.

  “Welcome aboard, Minister Blackwood. Report progress as you have it.”

  President Turley had lunch with Command Sergeant Major Gordon, Paul Gulliver, and Mark Chapman in the small dining room adjoining her office.

  “One week today, gentlemen. We actually pulled it off,” Turley said.

  “Well, I wasn’t ever worried about knocking over the government,” Gordon said. “We brought along enough firepower to do it the hard way.”

  “There’s a question,” Turley said. “What do we do with all the tanks and APCs and shuttles? Mr. Gulliver, can we sell them?”

  “There’s not much of a market for used tanks, Ma’am. They lose a lot of value once they’ve been in combat. And the Empire does impose restrictions on things like the M15s. Same with the APCS. The shuttles are different. Lighter to ship. Those we can return for some credit.”

  “What do we do with the tanks and APCs then?”

  Turley looked back and forth among the others.

  “I worry about them being left on Julian, Ma’am,” Chapman said. “You can’t let the government have them, and you can’t let the citizens have them. We’ve already had a repressive government even without them. They represent a real hazard.”

  Gulliver started to chuckle. Turley had very recent fond memories of that chuckle, and she shut them out of her mind.

  “Mr. Gulliver?”

  “Well, I don’t think our tankers will like it much, Ma’am, but we are going to build that dam, right?”

  “Yes. We need it for water and power.”

  “Use the tanks and APCs as the base of the dam.”

  Gordon started, and Turley’s eyes widened.

  “Can’t,” Gordon said. “They’re too light. Full of air, after all.”

  “Not if you fill them with epoxycrete, Sergeant Major,” Gulliver said. “Drive them into position, then pump them full of epoxycrete. It’s easier than moving boulders into place.”

  “What about the ammunition?” Chapman asked.

  “We might be able to use the H-E rounds for some of the excavation,” Turley said. “You would need some blasting done anyway, right, Sergeant Major? For the base and abutments? Run the M15s up onto the sides of the valley and let people get in some target practice.”

  “We’re gonna just bury a battalion of new M15s?” Gordon asked.

  “I know it runs against instinct, Sergeant Major,” Turley said. “But can you think of a better way to use them while makin
g them completely unavailable for future shenanigans?”

  “No, but– I guess it just seems a waste, Ma’am. And kind of a heresy, to be honest.”

  “I told you the tankers wouldn’t like it,” Gulliver said. “But I can’t think of any better use that gets them permanently out of the way.”

  “I agree,” Turley said. “I like it. Plan on it, Sergeant Major.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” Gordon said, shaking his head.

  “What do we do with all the containers?” Turley asked.

  “I had a thought there, Ma’am,” Chapman said. “Can we use them as temporary housing? Put some windows and a man-door in them, and use them for bunkrooms. We’ve got several projects – the dam, the pipeline, the refinery – and we need a lot of on-site housing.”

  “That could work,” Gulliver said with a distracted look as he consulted his VR. “A quick search shows it’s been done before. There’s plans, dos and don’ts, that sort of thing, on the Imperial network.”

  “Yeah, we done that a couple times,” Gordon said. “You gotta ventilate ‘em good, because they’re space-tight. And you gotta watch the climate, because they’re hard to heat and insulate effectively, but that won’t be a problem here.”

  “Let’s plan on that, too, then,” Turley said.

  She set her napkin on the table next to her empty plate.

  “Well, gentlemen. A very productive lunch. Thank you all.”

  After lunch, Anita Blackwood stopped by Turley’s office with a fellow in tow.

  “Good afternoon, Madam President.”

  “Good afternoon, Minister Blackwood.”

  “Ma’am, where is your staff?”

  “Lieutenant Parsons is out on an errand.”

  “But where is your chief of staff, Ma’am? Where are the secretaries?”

  “Well, my executive officer is now the head of the police force, and I don’t have any secretaries.”

  “You need to have a staff, Ma’am, or you will be overwhelmed. I’ll see to it.”

  “Very good, Minister Blackwood. And who do you have with you?”