“We did not ask for them to be dumped here,” Erik snapped, angrily. “We did not ask for them to be forced on us when we were weak and could barely feed ourselves. We did not ask for people who were culturally and socially very different to us to be dropped on this planet and then allowed to mooch rather than work for a living. We are unable to provide more ore for you and all the political buzz-words in the universe will not change that!”
“Racist,” someone hissed in the background.
Erik’s face purpled dangerously. “We should have insisted that the poor and dispossessed work for a living,” he snapped. “When the UN pulled out, we could have moved quickly to force them to work — or starve. Instead, we waited until it was too late and the Communists — your former Party — used them to wreck vast amounts of our industry. We will not beggar ourselves for people who are unwilling to do whatever they have to do to earn money and a living. We will not work ourselves into the ground for you.”
He stood up and picked up his briefcase. “I cast my vote, as futile as it seems, against your proposals,” he snapped. “They will bring us all to rack and ruin.”
I watched him march out of the room, his back bent as if there was a colossal weight pushing him down, and winced. Neither of them had left any room for compromise. I thought about keying my earpiece, about ordering his assassination before he could leave the city, but there would have been no point. Erik wasn’t the only member of the Independence Party and assassinating him would have convinced the others to rebel sooner rather than later.
And, if he were right, there was going to be a war.
“These proposals are unconstitutional,” Councillor Albin Arvidsson said, flatly. The Conservative looked over at Frida, his eyes hooded and wary. “The Government is specifically forbidden from meddling in private industry, apart from guaranteeing public safety…”
“And what, exactly, is ensuring that people don’t starve, apart from public safety?” Frida demanded. Her lips tightened noticeably as she addressed the problem. “The food exists, Councillor; we have nothing, but a distribution problem, one that must be solved. As prices and inflation rise, we face the prospect of mass starvation, a problem that must be avoided at all costs.”
Her face tightened. “I have obtained an emergency ruling from the High Court,” she added. “They have decided that our measures are barely constitutional and can be used, purely on an emergency basis. The measures will be reviewed every year — and, of course, the next election will be based around public confidence in the success, or failures, of our measures. You may argue, as the racist did, that the UN caused the problem, but we have a duty to fix it. I will not stand by and allow thousands of people to starve to death on my watch.”
“And if you make it impossible for the farmers and miners to meet your demands, what is going to happen then?” Albin demanded. “The whole area was unstable before you came up with these… half-baked measures. It’s going to explode now, and the results will be disastrous, or are you so confident that the army can handle a second uprising? What will you do if the farmers start refusing to send you food outright?”
“Then I will order it seized,” Frida snapped back. There was an audible gasp in the chamber. No one had expected that. “I will not let people starve!”
The discussion raged backwards and forwards, but the outcome was preordained from the start and all parties knew it. I wondered if Albin was right — no, I knew he was right. The farmers would object to having their crops confiscated and would fight back. I knew how many weapons there were in the inner farmlands and the mountains, including far more armed and armoured vehicles than the Communists had ever possessed. I had the unshakable feeling that we were about to rage headlong into another insurrection, only a far more dangerous one. The army I’d built was going to be fed headlong into another meat grinder and this one would be far worse.
I looked over at Frida and realised, to my shock, that she believed every word she was saying. She truly intended to feed the poor and dispossessed. It wasn’t even an ignoble goal, but I feared that it was an impossible one. There were too many mouths to feed and most of them were useless. She needed long-term plans, not short-team measures that would only alienate the farmers and miners from her government. If she fostered out dispossessed and orphaned children to farming families, she might even prevent them from dying in the streets.
“It is time to move on to the vote,” Frida said, finally. The standard procedure allowed an hour for debate and discussion, but it had gone on for far longer. “All those in favour of adopting the emergency measures, raise your right arm.”
I counted the votes. As I had expected, all seven Progressive Party Councillors had voted in favour of the measures. The independent hesitated, and then voted in favour as well, leaving the two Conservatives isolated. I wondered if they would vote in favour now, just to have the law passed unanimously, but they were made of stronger stuff than that.
“I will not continue to participate in this farce,” Councillor Albin Arvidsson snapped, as he stood up. “These measures are utterly illegal and without any form of justification. You are attempting to square the circle and you will soon discover that you don’t have the ability to even begin to get enough food for all the poor and hungry there are out there, nor can you hope to get enough jobs for them just by decreeing them into existence. We barely escaped one bureaucratic state and you intend to create another. There will be no pretence that we agree with your plans, or that we will merely… view with concern. We will challenge you in the High Court and the court of public opinion.”
“Public opinion is firmly behind these measures,” Frida said, coldly. She believed — again — what she was saying. “We did hundreds of surveys to see if the public would accept them.”
“And you did them here, in the cities, where people believe that food magically appears on the shelves of shops without giving any thought to the harsh realities of farming life,” Albin said. “The farmers will be against your plan because it enslaves them for nothing. The miners will be against your plan because it enslaves them for nothing. The rest of your population will be behind your plan until they realise the costs and how badly you’ve fucked up your duty. It will all be on your head. Goodbye.”
He marched out with the same precision that Erik had shown, but I hoped that they wouldn’t be going to the same place. As the new measures were passed into law, and the reporters scurried out to write their stories and place them on the news nets, I looked over at Frida, hoping she would consent to talk to me. It would be easier said than done. She was currently shaking the hands of various celebrities and thanking them for their support. I knew it would come back to bite them on the behind. I just hoped it would be painful.
I keyed my earpiece as the room emptied. “Ed, this is Andrew,” I said, without preamble. The spaceport had to be warned before the shit hit the fan. If we were lucky, we might avoid further losses. “Code Yellow, I repeat, Code Yellow.”
“Understood,” Ed’s voice said. Code Yellow warned him that the spaceport — or anywhere else we had a presence — might come under attack at any moment. They would all be put on very quiet alert and patrols would be doubled, just in case. The soldiers on leave would be recalled to their bases and warned to be careful. The situation might explode at any moment. “Our heavenly friend had a message for you; it came in two minutes ago. There was another one. Another one what?”
“Never mind,” I said. Daniel and I had arranged for me to be informed when there were any more encrypted transmissions. If there had been another transmission, who had sent it? Erik? One of the Conservatives? I looked over at Frida again and wondered just what she was thinking. “Go to Code Yellow Status and wait for me.”