“I don’t understand,” Peter said. “What’s wrong… ah.”
“The farmer children are brought up to help with the farm,” TechnoMage confirmed. “The law would have prohibited the farmers from allowing their children to work on the farm, even in the most minor jobs. It sounded good, but it was so poorly worded that the farmers ended up refusing to tolerate it. The Government backed down on that issue, but continued to spout out an endless series of laws and regulations that annoyed and then outraged the farmers. Worse, they’re driving up farm prices at the same time they need to drive them down… and yet, they cannot force the farmers to lower their prices, now. In a month…”
I followed his logic. “They’ll be able to pass whatever laws they want,” I said, sourly. “I see your point.”
“I don’t get it,” Ed snapped. “Why can’t they move those bastard street children up to the farms and teach them something about working for a living?”
“They’ve tried on a small scale,” TechnoMage commented. “It was largely a failure. The youths who were sent up to the farms were hardly volunteers and didn’t want to be there. Some deserted almost at once and managed to get back to the cities. Two stole from their hosts and were arrested and charged with theft. One raped a farmer’s daughter and was shot by an outraged farmer. That farmer, by the way, was charged with manslaughter and is currently an outlaw, somewhere up in the mountains.”
He shrugged. “The program, worst of all, cost the government votes,” he concluded. “There’s always some damn fool telling the people that they can have something for nothing and… well, it’s an easy thing to believe.”
“Understood,” I said. I looked down at the map for a long moment. “And your final conclusion?”
“Svergie is heading for a disaster,” TechnoMage said. There was no dissent. “If the Progressives win the election, the farmers and miners will almost certainly revolt, as will the Communists. If the President attempts to stop them… well, they’d have the votes in Council to remove them. If the Progressives lose the election, they’ll still have plenty of influence and probably also a violent option of their own.”
“And they see us as mercenaries,” Peter commented, in a vaguely insulted tone. “Do you think they see us doing their dirty work?”
“As far as they know, we are mercenaries,” I pointed out, dryly. “TechnoMage, could we rig the election?”
TechnoMage looked uncomfortable. “Probably not,” he said. “The voting districts have been carefully studied by all of the major parties. I doubt we could deliver a convincing result that didn’t give the Progressives a victory. Even if we prevented them forming a government, they would still be able to ally with the Communists and form an impregnable voting bloc. We couldn’t give the Conservatives or the Liberty Party a victory without rigging the election in such a way as to ensure that it would be noticed.”
“And we’re not here to rig their elections,” Russell added, firmly. “The best thing we can do for Svergie is build them the army they need.”
“The one that will be used against the rebels after the election,” TechnoMage commented, dryly.
“We’re not here to judge,” Russell snapped. “We’re here to do a job.”
“Enough,” I said, before they could start a fight. “Unless there is any other business, I am declaring this meeting closed.”
Peter, Muna and TechnoMage remained behind after the others had filed out the door. “We probably couldn’t rig the election anyway,” TechnoMage said, once the door had closed. “This planet… well, it’s primitive in many ways. Their computers are junk even compared to the UN’s crappy scrap heaps, so they use humans to record and count the votes. We’d have to stuff the ballot boxes and it is pretty likely that we’d be caught at it.”
“Oh, my god,” Peter intoned. “The dead have risen and they’re voting Conservative.”
“Quite,” TechnoMage agreed. “Sir, unless you want to launch an open assault on the government now, we’re going to have to just… watch and see what happens.”
“I see,” I said, coldly. Fleet would almost certainly step in if we intervened that openly. Besides, taking New Copenhagen would be easy, but keeping it would be hard. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”
I looked over at Muna. “Work out a plan for investing in their industrial base and see if we can improve it,” I ordered. “TechnoMage, keep working on penetrating their datanet and see if you can locate anything we can use for leverage. Peter, you’re with me. I feel an urge to spar.”
“Yes, sir,” Peter said.
“Remind me of something,” I added. “Next week, the President is coming here, right?”
“Yes, sir,” Peter said. “It’s the graduation day for the current lead class.”
“Good,” I said. “I think I want to have a few words with him after the ceremony.”
Chapter Seven
Graduation Day: The Ceremony in which a recruit class is formally decorated as soldiers and honoured as such, before being assigned to their units and operating base. It is a time of celebration and yet, even in the heat of the ceremony, discipline is absolute.
“This is an impressive display,” the President said, as we watched the newly-minted soldiers lining up in front of their trainers. For once, the drill sergeants weren’t shouting or hazing the recruits, but being as pleased with them as they ever were — acting as if they might just barely survive their first years as soldiers. “What’s the point of the ceremony?”
I shrugged. “To remind them that they all sweated blood and struggled to get as far as they have and to convince them that it was all worthwhile,” I said. “To show them the comradeship of their fellow soldiers and how they’re all part of the same system, even though they’re going to be going to different units. To reward them for their suffering and promise them further suffering in the future, even though they’ve made it through the hardest part of the training. To…
“Pick one or all of them, Mr President,” I added. “With such baubles armies are led.”
“I see,” the President said. I would have been surprised if he had understood, at least completely. Civilians rarely understood the need for such ceremonies, either Graduation Day or the more-feared Last Night, where the recruits would be hazed one final time by the graduated soldiers before welcoming them into the ranks. The training never really stopped, of course; they’d be spending the next few months exercising as soldiers. “And you got them decent uniforms.”
“Yep,” I said, pleased with myself. Muna had rounded up a few hundred local seamstresses and hired them to sew the uniforms themselves. I had considered using the UN uniforms that had been abandoned at the spaceport, but it would probably have been impolitic. As it was, the simple green uniform was impressive enough for the local civilians; the soldiers who had gone on leave after graduating had been boasting about their conquests. On Svergie, all the nice girls seemed to love a soldier. It was a shame that that wasn’t true of Earth. “They’ll get urban or rural battledress for actual service, of course, but they deserve at least one nice uniform.”
We watched as the Drill Sergeants pinned on rank insignia and a handful of training medals. Some of the recruits from each class had already been marked out for advancement, but they’d all get at least six months experience in the ranks before they were promoted, unless they had to be promoted into a dead man’s shoes. It was something we’d borrowed from Heinlein, where every senior officer needed to have experience as a common soldier, not the UN. The UN had had a habit of promoting the wrong people.