Rather than point fingers, Grand Admiral, I suggest we thank the Fates that the worst disasters were avoided and that we now take extreme measures to ensure they never occur again.
February 3
To Paenus:
Request for extra Highborn denied.
The Inspector General surely realizes that all troops are readying for the next campaign. Social Unity is on the run. We must maintain pressure. Nor do I accept your excuses for listless Hawk and panzer teams. What you’ve really said is that they are not properly motivated. Motivate them, my dear Paenus, and train them to fight!
February 4
To Cassius:
I will comply as best I can, Grand Admiral. But the number of recruits has swamped my resources. I suggest we make thorough tests for aggressiveness and combat ability, skimming the cream, so to speak, and train the remainder as fire fighters and other emergency personnel.
February 5
To Paenus:
I simply don’t understand you sometimes. War on this scale devours vast amounts of troops. Highborn casualties must remain within the accepted limits or we will lose. Anything else is superfluous. As it is impossible to advance without sustaining heavy losses, we must continue to absorb those losses among our Earth troops. Think of them as fodder, if it will clarify their true function.
If you lack enough training personnel, I suggest you throw the recruits into battle and let the war train them.
Yes, many units will break under the pressure, and yes, they will sustain excessive casualties. So you must rush them through basic training, discover the fighters and make them corporals and sergeants. The units that survive and perform above average will then be pulled out and retrained as Hawk and panzer troops. Use this promise of renewed training as a reward.
Please note the attached New Free Earth Corps unit configuration schedule. High Command has agreed that we must use this influx of volunteers to push Social Unity. Train them to fire their weapons, the corporals and sergeants to attack. We must maintain pressure. First grade levies, as they are now officially termed, can sustain one hundred percent casualties as long as they inflict harm upon the enemy.
February 6
To Cassius:
I hear and obey, and may I add, Grand Admiral, that as always your advice is flawless.
I wish to add a note of caution, however. One hundred percent casualties, over time, will undoubtedly cause a decrease in Earth volunteers. I understand the logic of mass wave assaults with expendable troops, behind which our men can maneuver. But surely, Grand Admiral, we must consider what effect this will have later in the War for Earth.
February 7
To Paenus:
Just train your volunteers into fighting troops, Inspector General. That’s all I ask.
9.
Marten hit upon the daring idea because he couldn’t think of anything else that would give him a reasonable chance of quick success. So the next time he came upon a police sweep, he halted them and snatched the hand computer from the sergeant. Then he punched in Molly Tan’s name. A few seconds scan and it gave her occupation as secretary to Highborn Government. Surprised, Marten noted her work place. It was very near the FEC barracks. How had Molly been able to enter government work? She hadn’t been a hall, block or ward leader, or…
A troubled feeling spread in Marten’s stomach.
“What’s wrong?” asked the police sergeant. He was the one Marten had taken the hand monitor from.
“What? Oh.” Marten thrust the computer back. “I must report to Highborn HQ.”
That shook the three policemen, who had turned suspicious. They hurried from the man that dared go to the bastion of Highborn power.
Marten made his way up the various levels, wondering what he would do if Molly were living with Quirn. That was the only possible explanation for Molly getting a secretary’s job in the new Highborn government. As he walked, he thought about all the times they’d enjoyed together, how he’d wanted to marry her. He’d never taken her to bed. In retrospect he wondered if that had been a mistake. He kept telling himself that it was impossible she’d shacked up with Quirn. Blake would have brayed at him, he knew. Good old Blake the disembodied brain. He wondered if Tunnel Crawler Six was still operational. Blake had always told him, “Women follow the power, Marten.”
In his daze and without being accosted, Marten made it near the surface levels. The data had said Government House Three. He lowered his helmet’s dark visor, drew the shock baton and patrolled in front of the government house. He periodically spoke into his sleeve as if making reports and he watched the arrogant, giant Highborn enter and leave the pseudo-marble building. Tanks were parked in front. Fortunately, the Highborn Military Police ignored him as beneath their notice. They tramped around in their bulky powered armor, immune to everyone.
What kind of future did he have under the Highborn?
Marten shrugged, and prowled. Two hours later, he saw Quirn. The former hall leader still wore a military cap, but he’d shed his block leader cape. He wore a black uniform and limped with his old arrogance. On his arm chatted Molly, just as she used to chat with him as they’d ridden the conveyers. She wore a business suit and a military style cap similar to Quirn’s.
Marten stared, transfixed as they strolled near. He heard Molly say, “And then I told him, ‘but we must have the pits processing by nine tomorrow.’”
“Maybe they’ll send criminals to work the pits,” said Quirn.
“Quirn,” chided Molly, “that’s careless talk.”
“Yes, you’re right.” Quirn gave her a quick kiss on the lips. Then he looked up to see a black-visored policeman staring at him.
The former hall leader stopped. Molly did too, also looking up.
“Trouble, officer?” asked Quirn.
Marten simply stared at him, his fingers squeezing his shock rod so hard that his hand hurt. He wanted to beat Quirn to death. Then, minutely, he shifted his gaze to Molly.
“Do I know you?” asked Molly.
Marten had no idea what to say. He slowly shook his head.
“You seem familiar,” she said.
“Humph!” said Quirn. “Come, Molly, we don’t want to be late for tonight’s meeting.”
Molly agreed, and they moved on, although Molly looked back once with a worried frown.
Marten wanted to howl, to beat his head against a wall. Molly… despair filled him. How could she? Marten finally swallowed the lump out of his throat. What was left? Nothing in Greater Sydney. He stood there for five minutes, rooted. Then he turned abruptly and headed for the FEC barracks. He was going to slip back among his friends.
10.
In the morning, training began. Marten viewed the training as the descent of man, even though Highborn theories proved antithetical to Social Unity. Marten’s awareness of the change of basic assumptions didn’t come right away. First, the volunteers from Greater Sydney took a medical examination. Marten endured the probes and pinches, but he hated it.
He donned his clothes afterward and exited through the door the doctor told him. Marten walked down a hall and entered a small room. A huge, uniformed Highborn, an angry-looking giant without any front teeth, scowled down at him. Like all their kind, this man radiated intensity and a heightened vitality. He seemed an auto-trash compacter, eager to crush and destroy. This close to him and in such tight confines, Marten grew tense and worried.
“You believe yourself capable of combat?” the Highborn rapped out angrily.
Marten nodded.
“Speak up, man! Don’t cower!”
“Yes,” Marten growled.
The Highborn sneered. And he rapid-fired a bewildering set of questions, edging closer the entire time.