He stood. “There is some good news,” he admitted. “Between what we discovered on the trip out and the alien files we downloaded, we might be able to start mass production of human-built antigravity units within a year or two. And then the solar system would lie open in front of us.”
“The Mars Society will be delighted,” Steve commented. He grinned. “Assuming, of course, they stop arguing over the political structure of Mars to actually take note.”
Kevin smiled back. “Is Mars going to be one of the cantons?”
“I suspect we will end up with several cantons on Mars,” Steve said. “The real problem is dealing with the prisoners. Perhaps we can find them some hard labour on Mars.”
“I’m surprised you let them live,” Kevin commented.
“Oh, the ones who were truly guilty are dead,” Steve said. “As are the ones who committed foul crimes against their own people. But the others… finding them something to do is a little harder. Maybe we should just have them breaking rocks.”
“Good idea,” Kevin said. He smiled at the thought of fundamentalist clerics actually forced to work with their bare hands. “Make the bastards work for a living.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Washington DC, USA
The Secret Service had objected, strongly, to someone teleporting into the White House, even with permission from the President. They’d compromised, eventually, with an agreement that Steve could teleport into the Treasury Department and walk though the underground tunnels to the White House without being seen by the protesters gathered outside the building. Steve couldn’t imagine why they honestly thought they were doing any good — he wasn’t about to stop the terraforming of Mars, no matter what they said — but the President had felt it was best to keep his visit low-key. And he was probably right.
It wasn’t the first White House, he knew. That building had been burned by the British during the War of 1812 and then replaced with the structure that had represented the heart of American government ever since. It was an impressive building, Steve had to admit, but it was grander than he felt the government should have wanted. Successive Presidents, each one almost a prisoner within the White House, would have developed delusions of grandeur, perhaps even dreams of absolute power. Perhaps a smaller building would have served the United States better.
A log cabin, perhaps? He asked himself, sarcastically. Or a simple farmhouse?
He couldn’t help looking around like a yokel as they came out of the tunnel and walked up towards the Oval Office. The White House was like a palace, at least in the parts that were used to impress foreign visitors. He couldn’t help wondering if some of the odder First Ladies had been warped by living in the house, both mistresses of the building and, at the same time, prisoners of their husband’s career. But then, it was only recently — comparatively speaking — that women were expected to be more than just wives and hostesses.
The President rose to his feet to greet Steve as he stepped into the Oval Office. Steve held out his hand and shook it firmly, then sat down facing the President’s chair. The sofa was sinfully comfortable, he decided, as the President sat down. Perhaps he should buy a few for the moon.
“The world seems to have turned upside down yet again,” the President observed. “But at least people seem supportive of your decisions.”
Steve nodded, shortly. The capture of Iran’s government had been greeted with cheers in the streets of America, particularly after the blame had been placed for the bombings in New York. A handful of politicians who had openly questioned Steve’s actions had been hit with a colossal backlash from the voters and several of them looked likely to be recalled or lose the next election. The rest of the world had been a little more cautious in their responses, but it was hard to argue against the evidence. Some of the clerics had been shaming their religion in ways Steve had always considered only theoretically possible.
But the entire world seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for the next change in the global situation. God alone knew what would happen next.
“My brother returned from an alien world,” Steve said. In the five days since Captain Perry had returned to Earth, the news had leaked and spread widely. Everyone wanted to interview the commander and crew of the captured starship. Kevin had given a handful of interviews, but mainly kept himself out of sight on the moon. “Among other things, he obtained several more fabricators and plenty of alien tech manuals.”
“Allowing you to unlock the secrets behind alien technology,” the President said. Once, Steve would have suspected the President hadn’t actually read his briefing notes. Now, he knew the man was far from stupid. “How long do you think it will be before you produce your own fabricator?”
“Probably several years,” Steve admitted. “Reassembling molecules is a little more complex than producing fusion power or even antigravity. But the new fabricators will allow us to expand by leaps and bounds. Unfortunately, it comes at a price.”
He paused, then explained about the alien demand for mercenaries.
“We don’t seem to have much else to market,” he concluded. “And we need your help.”
The President frowned. “I believe that much of your population is made up of ex-military personnel,” he said, after a moment. “It was one of your criteria for early recruitment.”
Steve nodded, remembering how the DHS had seen vanishing veterans and panicked over nothing. But then, he would probably have asked a few hard questions if he’d seen veterans disappearing without explanation.
“It is,” Steve said. “Their first request is for five thousand soldiers, Mr. President, but we believe they will want more. Hundreds of thousands more.”
The President’s eyes narrowed. “You want to borrow American military units.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Steve said. “Maybe not for the first deployment, but certainly for others.”
“I have a feeling Congress will not be pleased,” the President said. “There was a reason mercenaries became so popular in Iraq.”
“Cowboys,” Steve muttered. The government had been worried about the effects of losing troops on American public opinion, so they’d hired mercenaries to fill some of the gaps. But the mercenaries had ranged from genuinely competent to idiots and they’d caused a lot of political problems for the government. He didn’t blame the Iraqis for wanting to prosecute some of the former mercenaries. They’d killed people without any good cause. “But we’re going to do better than that, Mr. President.”
The President sighed. “And if I refuse?”
“We intend to recruit anyway,” Steve said. “But we won’t recruit from serving formations.”
He left unspoken the simple fact that quite a number of serving soldiers would consider moving to the mercenary force rather than reenlisting in the United States military. There were soldiers who had enlisted for adventure, rather than anything else, and what better adventure than fighting on a whole different world? And there would be a high rate of pay, generous benefits and other advantages, even if most of the alien currency they earned would be taxed heavily to help fund Earth’s expansion into the galaxy.
“I was also planning to buy up one of the private training complexes and turn it into a recruitment and training depot,” he continued. “But if you think that would cause political problems…”
“It would,” the President said. “Unless, of course, we got something in exchange.”
Steve leaned forward. Now the bargaining could begin. “What do you want?”