“And they hated that, so they sent us in on what should have been a suicidal mission,” I concluded. “We won, somehow, and embarrassed hundreds of Generals who’d declared that the mission was impossible. They sent us to Heinlein where we held an entire sector against the most bloody-minded group of insurgents in the Human Sphere, which made us even more of an embarrassment. And then…”
I broke off. I couldn’t discuss that in front of anyone, even John. “They decided we needed punishment and dispatched us to Botany,” I concluded. Hopefully, he wouldn’t see the hole in the story. “When the UN collapsed, we ended up homeless exiles, so we became a mercenary unit and picked up others in the same boat. A while later, your messengers found and hired us, saving us from financial catastrophe and disaster. You know the rest.”
“Thank you,” the President said. I wondered if he’d believed everything I’d said, or if he harboured doubts. “Do you regret the UN’s fall?”
I hesitated. “I used to think that I was part of something greater than myself,” I said, finally. “Now… I realised fairly early on that all we were was a tool of oppression and most of us just fought for pay anyway. There were no grand causes, nothing to fire the blood, just money. It wasn’t that hard to make the switch to doing it openly and accepting your money. Other planets have loyalty and causes worth fighting for, but the UN never had. It’s hard to believe in a greater cause when you’re wading through the blood of slaughtered children.”
“I understand,” the President said. He looked weaker by the second. “I had to order strikes that took out — killed — innocents in the crossfire. I used to hate myself for it, but I kept telling myself that the ends justified the means and everything we did served a useful and necessary purpose. And, in the UN, someone hundreds of light years away ended the war without any help from us. They call me the saviour of the planet and they have great difficulty finding anyone to stand against me for President, but what happens when I die?”
“Good question,” I mused. The President could, in theory, stand for re-election until he died, but I doubted he would stand for another term if he could avoid it. The elections might confirm him as President for another five years, but judging from his appearance, he probably wouldn’t live through them all. If the Progressives gained a decisive advantage in the Council, they might even try to weaken the President’s position still further, or worse, impeach him. The Communists already hated the President. They wouldn’t oppose him. “They might find someone else.”
“I used to tell myself that I could let go and nothing bad would happen,” the President continued. “Now, I feel as if I don’t dare let go, or the whole planet will come apart.”
“You’re probably right,” I said. I could be open with him, slightly. “My people believe that you’re looking at a major collapse within the next few years.”
“I know,” the President said. “Did they propose any solutions?”
I smiled. “You’ll have to send the unemployed out to the farms for training under supervision,” I said. “You’ll need a program of public works to improve the living conditions and the planet’s infrastructure. You’ll even need to expand the planet’s industry and energy sectors, which is something you desperately need. Your power shortage keeps you from developing into a properly developed planet.
“It might even get the Conservative and Progressive voting bases to get a good look at each other,” I added. “They might learn that the other side isn’t composed of monsters, or work-shy layabouts. It might help head off the coming disaster at the pass.”
“They’d never stand for it,” the President said. “There’s enough doubts about the army, let alone anything else. The Progressives would oppose sending people to the fields because it violates their rights; the Conservatives would oppose it because they’d see it as a dreadful mistake. They might even be right. The last bunch of people we sent out to the farms… well, only three of them ended up as proper farmers.”
“And you need to do something about the street toughs,” I added. “At the moment, they’re nothing, but a drain on your resources and a headache for the ordinary citizens. You should have them all rounded up and dumped in a work camp.”
“The trouble has been down since they started running into your soldiers,” the President said, wryly. “Of course, the Progressives are protesting that as well. The common people shouldn’t take the law into their own hands.”
“And so on, and so on,” I agreed. It seemed to be the only deterrent that had halted the street gangs in their tracks. The police weren’t allowed to do more than move them on and they often returned when the police left, intimidating the entire neighbourhood. My soldiers… well, they found the gangs, kicked the shit out of the ones stupid enough to stand and fight, and put the others to flight. Personally, I’d have rounded them all up and conscripted them, but the old arguments against conscription continued to apply. “They do need to be taught a lesson.”
“Yes,” the President said. He changed the subject abruptly, reaching into his briefcase. “I have something for you.”
He pulled out a small velvet box. I opened it and saw a pair of golden wings. “Mr President?”
“That’s the rank badge for a General,” the President said. “At the moment, according to the Rules of Engagement, you’re not actually a military officer on this world. You don’t have any legal authority to command our soldiers.” He nodded towards the box in my hand. “You do now.”
He held up a hand before I could speak. “You’re not from here and you understand our problems better than most of the people here,” he admitted. “Lennart is going to be retiring in the next few weeks — he doesn’t want to serve under a Progressive Government — and I decided to use my authority to promote you into his place. You may find it useful.”
I stared down at the badge. “Fleet…”
“Fleet will accept it if we commission you under specific conditions,” the President said. I suspected — hoped — that he’d consulted with Fleet before giving me the badge. “We have a month before the election, when everything changes. By then, I want you to be ready.”
“Mr President?” I asked. “What should we be ready for?”
“Anything,” he said. “Whatever happens… we have to be ready.”
Chapter Eight
The UN maintained a touching faith in elections, despite the development of a system that ensured that the average voter’s vote counted for nothing, and insisted on universal suffrage on every world it controlled. Although they intended to use it as a control method — divide and rule, in this case — many worlds accepted the right to vote… and even took it as the right to vote against the UN. This was not, of course, acceptable. In the long run, no pretence at anything, but a dictatorship would have worked.
I had been nervously expecting trouble on Election Day. The grapevine among the other mercenary companies — although I would not have willingly classed myself among their number — suggested that elections could be deadly dangerous, particularly if the political situation was volatile. I cancelled all leave, kept the troops on alert, and waited for the explosion. Nothing happened. The voters flocked to the voting booths, watched by the local reporters who made a habit of filming brief interviews with the voters after they left the booth, and politicians made their final speeches. It was surprisingly peaceful. A handful of bar fights broke out afterwards in the darker areas of New Copenhagen, but the police broke them up without trouble.