“Make it so,” he ordered.
Kevin rolled his eyes, then sent the command through the interface. “It should be interesting to watch,” he said. “I rather doubt that most people will believe it at first, even with the President vouching for us.”
Steve shrugged. The politics in the US had grown poisonous long before the current President had taken office. Republicans wouldn’t believe a word that came out of a Democratic President’s mouth and vice versa. Hell, most people assumed automatically that politicians lied whenever they started to speak. It was hard, given the number of scandals that had washed through Washington one day only to be forgotten the next, to fault anyone for believing that politicians were out for themselves, first and foremost, and to hell with the rest of the country.
“That isn’t our problem,” he said, as he stood up. “Keep an eye on it; let me know if something happens that requires immediate attention. I’m going to work.”
Kevin lifted an eyebrow. “You are?”
“We need a constitution,” Steve reminded him. “And a legal code. It’s time I started writing them both.”
“Let me read it before you start uploading it,” Kevin called after him. “And make sure Mongo and a few others read it too.”
Steve nodded as he stepped into his office and closed the hatch. It had once belonged to the Subhorde Commander, although Steve had no idea what the alien actually did in his office when he was so rabidly anti-intellectual. If there had been Horde females on the ship, he would have wondered if he’d used it for private sessions, but there had been none. Females, according to the files, were restricted to the very largest ships.
He sat down at his grandfather’s old desk — he’d had it shipped up from the ranch — and activated the interface. Downloading hundreds of actual and theoretical constitutions hadn’t been difficult, but he found himself returning time and time again to the Founding Fathers greatest piece of work. It had a simplicity that most later versions lacked. Pulling up Keith Glass’s recommendations, he read through them and then reached for a sheet of paper. He had been taught by his mother, while she was homeschooling her children, that something written down physically would last longer in his mind than something typed. Besides, it felt right to use pen and ink for the first draft.
It was a more complex task than he’d realised, somewhat akin to editing his writings, but on a far greater scale. The sheer weight of history — future history — pressed down on him. He wrote out the first section, then crossed it out completely and wrote out something different, asking himself if each and every human right had to be guaranteed by law. And yet, if the rights known to exist at the time were included specifically, would that automatically exclude any rights still to be discovered?
Carefully, he outlined the structure of government. Keith Glass had pointed out that small government was best — Steve was hardly going to disagree with that sentiment — but there was also a need for a unified government. Very well; instead of a handful of large states, there would be hundreds of small cantons. The Solar Union — as Glass had termed it, after a government in one of his books — would not be an entirely coherent entity. It would be more like the Culture than Star Trek’s Federation.
We’ll have to see how it works in practice, he noted, as he finished writing out the government design and sent it to Kevin and Glass for comments. It would have the advantage of allowing the local governments to remain in touch with their populations, but it would also take time for them to come to any decisions. In the meantime, the overall government would be responsible for defence and foreign affairs. We might have to modify the system later if it doesn’t work properly.
The Bill of Rights was simpler than outlining the government, he decided. Anything that took place between consenting adults in private, whatever its nature, could not be considered a crime. There would be a right to bear arms, but there would also be a responsibility to use them carefully. Everyone, no matter the offence, would have the right to a jury trial and/or the right to insist on being tested under a lie detector. There would be total freedom of religion for individuals, but religion could not be used as an excuse for criminal or terrorist acts. Extremists of all stripes would very rapidly find themselves removed from society permanently.
Defining a citizen was simple enough, he decided, as he wrote out that section. A citizen would be someone who had lived in a canton for two years, paid taxes and chosen to join its voting register. People could refuse to become citizens if they wished, but they would have no voting rights and no say in government. It struck him, a moment later, that some people would probably move between cantons regularly, so he rewrote to say that someone had to have a canton as his permanent residence for two years. There would be no joint citizenship of cantons. One person, one vote.
He was midway through drafting the legal code when Kevin called him. “There are some quite interesting responses,” he said. Steve glanced at his watch, then down at the sheets of paper. Had it really been three hours since he’d started work? “I’m afraid the Russians, Chinese and French have lodged protests at the UN and are demanding we turn the starships and the lunar base over to them.”
Steve snorted. “Them and what army?”
Kevin chuckled. “The UN is calling an emergency meeting to discuss the situation, scheduled for tomorrow afternoon,” he said. “They’re undecided if they want to treat us as an independent state or not, but we have been invited to participate.”
“I’ll think about it,” Steve said.
The thought made him grit his teeth. He hated the UN and considered it worse than the federal government. At least the feds could sometimes find their asses with both hands when they went looking. There was no war or natural disaster, no matter how unpleasant, that could not be made worse by the United Nations. Hell, the fighting in Libya might have ended sooner if the transnational ICC hadn’t put out a warrant for the dictator’s arrest, making it impossible for him to back down.
But then, what could one reasonably expect from an organisation that didn’t even have a majority of democratic states? The whole concept had been fundamentally flawed from the beginning.
“They’re also demanding access to the alien prisoners,” Kevin said. “In fact, they’re not the only ones — and quite a few of the others have been much more respectful.”
“They’re not going to be paraded around Earth,” Steve said. Quite apart from the violation of the Geneva Conventions, it would probably be considered cruel and unusual punishment. And it wouldn’t help any attempt to convince the Hordesmen to join humanity. “But if there are scientists who feel they can add to the research program, see if they’re worth recruiting.”
“Understood,” Kevin said. “By the by, did you read the report from the two new ships?”
Steve shook his head. He really needed to recruit more staffers. But maybe that was how bureaucracy had begun, back in days of yore. The guy in charge, unable to do everything himself, had recruited more and more people to help him do his work. And then the whole process had just snowballed out of control.
The bureaucrats will be held to account in the cantons, he told himself, firmly. They will not be permitted arbitrary power.