“I’ve spoken to Mr. Flynn,” Komura said, an hour later. “He’s willing to undergo the lie detector test if we swear we’ll take him.”
Kevin resisted the temptation to snort, rudely. Teenagers. Didn’t they have any idea just how many people gave their solemn word in one breath and broke it in the next? Actually, they probably did… but if Flynn was innocent, he probably wasn’t feeling much trust in adults and any sort of government official at the moment. And if he was guilty…
“Good,” he said. “Make it clear that he will suffer our punishment if we discover he’s guilty.”
He couldn’t help wondering if that would cause more of a diplomatic incident than anything else. The Germans presumably wanted to punish him themselves, even though they wouldn’t kill him or do anything more than lock him up for a number of years. They might not even insist he served his full sentence, too. Liberal justice systems, in Kevin’s mind, often ensured that the punishment did not fit the crime. But then, they also often had skewed ideas of what was a crime.
It was nearly another hour before Komura got back in touch with him. “He’s innocent,” he said, shortly. “He didn’t kill the girl, he doesn’t know who did and he hates the German government.”
“Not our problem,” Kevin said. “Have him moved to Heinlein — he can go into one of the basic introductory courses until we know where he will fit in. And make sure that full copies of the interrogation record are placed online. Let the Germans download it and see that they nearly jailed an innocent man.”
He sighed, inwardly. In the long run, the Germans had badly damaged their cause. How many others, threatened with extradition, would use this as an excuse to delay or cancel their departures from American soil? And, for that matter, what would happen when a real criminal requested extradition?
What a fucking headache, he thought.
Shaking his head, he walked over to the console and started to tap in orders. The bloggers on the moon could start the ball rolling, ensuring that they got as much good publicity as possible. He had a feeling they were going to need it. Given time, the Germans might use the whole affair as an excuse to meddle with the new world order.
Or perhaps they will learn something from the whole affair, he thought, instead. If nothing else, the real killer is still unidentified. He must be laughing his ass off at the Germans — but not at us. Now the mistake is known, it can be fixed.
He sighed, again. The technology they had could be used to prevent all crime. A few billion nanotech surveillance drones, a handful of powerful computers to monitor their take… and crime would become a thing of the past. But the price would be a total loss of privacy and freedom. No one would be able to do anything without being observed. It would become a nightmare even if there was no Big Brother watching everyone. The entire human race would become neurotic.
But isn’t that the promise and threat of the future, he asked himself. The eternal balance between good and ill, between freedom and slavery, between the ideals of the future and the curse of the past?
In truth, he conceded, he had no answer. All he could do was wait and see.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Montana, USA
“Earth’s 1st Interstellar Regiment,” Romford said. “Reporting for duty, sir!”
Steve had to smile. Seven thousand men, most of them former American military officers and personnel, had passed through the training camp; five thousand, six hundred had graduated. Romford’s reports made interesting reading — there had been soldiers who had been unable to face the aliens, officers who thought they should automatically be given command positions — but in the end the really bad ones had been weeded out. Future officers, he’d quietly promised himself, would follow the Marine concept of rising from the ranks, having served as riflemen first. It helped ensure they knew what they were doing.
“Good,” he said. He stepped forward and up onto the podium. He’d never reviewed troops before, but he’d taken time to cut the ceremony down to the bare minimum. It was always irritating to have to stand for hours while some politician pontificated on a subject dear to their hearts. Most of the time, it consisted of meaningless words and phrases. Bracing himself, Steve keyed the mike. “I won’t waste your time.”
A thin ripple of amusement ran through the assembled ranks of soldiers. Steve concealed his own amusement and continued.
“Many have said that you are mercenaries,” he said. “Many have accused you of going off to shed alien blood in alien wars. Many have accused you of being nothing more than guns-for-hire, men and women who are paid to fight whoever the paymaster wants you to fight. But those people do not understand the true situation. You are going to fight beside aliens we desperately need as allies. And you are going to fight for Earth.
“Make no mistake. Barely a year ago, we knew nothing of affairs out beyond the edge of Earth’s atmosphere. Now, we know that great interstellar powers wage war constantly, with human slaves serving in their armies. Now, we know we need to prepare for the coming struggle for a place in the universe, for independence, for survival itself. You are the ones who will learn about the universe and bring your lessons back to us, to help us prepare for the oncoming storm.
“I wish I could promise that it would be easy. I wish I could promise that each and every one of you will return, one day, to Earth. I can make no such promises. But what I can promise is that Earth will never forget you. History will enshrine your names for the rest of time — and Earth’s survival will be your legacy.”
He paused. “I’m not very good at making speeches, am I?
“I want you to know that you have my gratitude for volunteering and that, one day, you will have the eternal gratitude of Earth. And that’s enough speechifying from me. See you at the spaceport in a week.”
There was a brief cheer, then the soldiers started to scatter. Most of them, Steve knew, would head for the nearest town for food, drink and women, the last they would see of anything remotely human for several months at the very least. A handful would head home, if they were willing to use the teleporter, or stay on the base and write their wills. Some of them simply didn’t have anywhere to go.
“No,” Romford agreed, breaking into his thoughts. “You’re not a very good speechwriter.”
Steve flushed, then shook his head. “At least it wasn’t faked,” he said. “Not like a political verbal orgasm.”
“True,” Romford agreed. “I assume you have a shipping plan?”
“Yes,” Steve said. “Two of the freighters will carry you and your men to Ying, where you will meet up with our allies. At that point, you should receive the supplies they promised; if you don’t, or there are problems with the supplies, work with them to fix it.”
He sighed. The aliens had promised everything from cybernetic enhancement to suits of powered combat armour. Given the sheer productive might of their fabricators, they could afford to fabricate literally millions upon millions of battlesuits — or anything else the human race might need to arm its soldiers. And, if there were problems with the first batch, they could easily put together another set of equipment within the first few days.
“And if they turn out to be a real problem,” he added. “Use your own best judgement.”
“I will,” Romford said. “These men, Steve, will not be wasted.”
Steve nodded. The soldiers were a diverse lot; soldiers, sailors and airmen from America, joined by a relative handful of retired soldiers from other English-speaking countries. Some of them had been old, on the verge of death, or badly crippled like Romford before they’d been recruited. Most of the ancient veterans would have signed away their souls for a chance to return to the battlefield one last time. Retraining them on Galactic-standard equipment had been one hell of a mission. But it had been done.