“True,” Kevin agreed. One problem with letting juries decide everything — including the simple question of if the criminal act was actually a crime — was that the results could be somewhat variable. But, as they built up much more case law, he had a feeling that problem would slowly resolve itself. “Steve?”
“Make it so,” Steve said.
Kevin rolled his eyes. The discovery that Gene Roddenberry hadn’t been too far wrong about the development of technology had given the Star Trek franchise a new lease on life. There were even suggestions that humanity’s first starships should be modelled after the USS Enterprise or even Voyager. But, apart from the Defiant, there were few Star Trek starships that were actually practical as warships.
Still, we could build an Enterprise-D and call it a long-range exploration ship, he thought, dryly. But may God help her if she runs into someone smarter than the Horde.
“I’ll see to it,” he said. “And I’m sorry for interrupting your vacation.”
“I bet you are,” Steve growled. “Just you wait until you take a vacation.”
Kevin swallowed. Steve was far from cruel, but he did have a nasty sense of humour, despite their mother’s stern lectures. But then, he did have good reason to be annoyed. If Kevin had known just what they’d been doing, he would have let them finish before calling and requesting that they join him on the ship. Maybe that would have made them both feel better.
“I’ll rest on the ship,” he said. The first group of mercenaries were midway through their basic training, according to Romford. They’d be ready to leave Earth within two weeks; Kevin knew he’d be going with them. They needed to gather more intelligence and set up a permanent base on Ying, after all. And then they needed to set up other bases on other inhabitable worlds. “No rest for the wicked.”
“And to think we always thought you intelligence officers spent the days making up shit and the nights trying to get into someone’s pants, so you could betray her to the MSM,” Steve teased. “You actually did serious work?”
Kevin nodded, expressively.
“Oh,” Steve said. He smiled. “Seeing we’re here, what’s the current status with Mars and the other colonies?”
“The new ships have helped us move several thousand volunteers to the Red Planet,” Kevin said, “now we have the bare bones of a colony to hold them. So far, there’s been no major trouble, apart from a handful of rainstorms. General reports suggest that the engineered plants are taking root, but it’s far too early to be sure. We may need to insert more water from Titan or a few more asteroids in the near future.
“Titan Base is slower, but coming along now that we’re training up hundreds of new workers to start laying the foundations of a colony,” he continued. “The plan to establish the mass driver first seems to be working, which will allow us to use Titan as a base for water collection and distribution. But it will be several months before we’re ready to proceed. Until then, Mars is going to be dependent on asteroids.”
He shrugged. “And the plans for terraforming Venus are being finalised,” he concluded. “But it will be a harder chore than terraforming Mars.”
“Well begun is half done,” Steve said. “And there will be plenty of room for humanity when it is finished.”
Kevin smiled. Despite the very best of human and alien medical science, it was unlikely that any of them would live long enough to walk on Mars or Venus without protective gear. But Steve hadn’t let that stop him start the terraforming process. Their children would thank them, even if the current generation was more interested in the asteroids than the uninhabitable worlds. Besides, the Mars Society was already trying to create its own canton.
“Politically, Mars wants to move ahead to internal self-government,” he added. “I think it’s a little early, but they’re determined.”
Steve hesitated, then smiled. “They’re still going to be dependent on us for a long time, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” Kevin said, flatly. “It will be years before Mars develops an industry of its own.”
He shook his head. Neither he nor Steve had really grasped just how much effort the Mars Society had put into planning the settlement of Mars. Their ten-year plans might not have been tested, but at least they had a framework to use for settlement. Heinlein, on the other hand, had been pretty much an ad hoc affair. In the long run, it would be interesting to see which vision of the future prevailed.
“Then tell them that as long as they abide by the terms of the Solar Union Treaty, they can have their political independence,” Steve said. “We don’t want to rule them indefinitely in any case.”
Kevin nodded. There were only two real rules for the Solar Union, the planned association of cantons that would make up humanity’s interplanetary government. They had to allow free access to the datanet and free emigration, if their settlers wanted to leave. In the long run, decently-run cantons would do much better than cantons that were run by oppressive governments or outright tyrants. The tyrants would, eventually, find themselves ruling over empty asteroids.
Or planets, he thought, morbidly.
He had his doubts about the wisdom of allowing the Mars Society completely free rein, but if people could leave at will it probably didn’t matter. Planning was important, yet he knew from bitter experience that plans rarely lasted when confronted with reality. If the Mars Society insisted on sticking to its plans, the results were unlikely to be good. But it was their task now, if they wanted it. And if their people didn’t like it, they could always leave.
And that is one right we will enforce, he thought, bitterly. Nothing else, but that.
“Very good,” he said. “Do you want to return to your holiday?”
Steve glared at him, then sobered. “I think we’ll come back to the ship in a day or two anyway,” he said. “I’ve relaxed for far too long.”
“Mongo can take the island in your place,” Kevin said. “I think Jayne and he probably need a break too.”
“Good thinking,” Steve said. “And how is Carolyn?”
Kevin flushed. “She’s fine,” he said. “And working on the first antigravity system.”
“That wasn’t what I meant,” Steve said. “Have you and her…?”
Mariko elbowed Steve, hard. Kevin concealed his amusement behind a blank face. He’d taken Carolyn out to dinner every time he’d visited the moon, but their relationship hadn’t gone much further. It was both frustrating and tantalising; the more he thought about her, the more he realised that she was almost an ideal partner for him. But did she feel the same way?
“Not yet,” he said, tightly. “But we shall see.”
“What a shame,” Steve commented archly, “that you don’t get to walk around with a suit, a gun and girls on each arm.”
Kevin snorted. “When I get my hands on the man who invented James Bond,” he said, “I’m going to strangle him.”
“You’ll have to hold a séance,” Steve countered. “He’s been dead for years.”
“Men,” Mariko said. “Kevin, if you’re genuinely interested in her, give it time. And if you’re not, stop messing around and get back to work.”
Kevin nodded, then watched as Steve and Mariko made their way out of the cabin. He shook his head, ruefully, then accessed the interface and called Komura. There was political work to do.