Another page of history is being turned…
Chapter Twenty
Election Day
March the Third.
In many ways, an ordinary date. Four years out of five, nothing special happens on that day. There are no holidays, no commemorations, no civil or military attentions of any particular kind. Four years in a row, it's a day like any other.
But it so happened that, for over two centuries, the Alliance government holds what many call its most important event. It is the day that represents the best of democracy: the time when people are able to make their voices heard in a tangible way. It was a day that every government throughout a quarter millennia of history have been bound to follow, no matter where it lay on the scale of corruption, no matter whether its body was led by idealists or cynics.
No expense was spared on that day, no matter how wretched the economy was. Expensive faster-than-light communications, which were generally used relatively sparingly when out of the main communications hubs, were opened everywhere, allowing a rare opportunity for the entire Alliance to communicate results of the day almost in complete real-time. For once, everything from the Alliance Capitol World to the smallest colony was linked.
It was one of the few days when the Galactic Empire as a whole wasn't the priority it usually was. Once of the few instances when the republican population of the interstellar nation could somewhat forget about its larger, more powerful enemy.
It was a day where the weary in the population griped that their voice might not change anything, hadn't for years. Where the naive thought the world would change. And when most just enjoyed the holiday feel, the energy, that always managed to streak through the otherwise normal, daily affairs.
The booths were opened. Calculation devices powered up. And experts readied themselves to give their opinions.
This was March the Third, and it was the Fifty-Third Election Day of the Free Planets Alliance.
March 3, 797 UC, Proctor's Bay, Heinessen
5:47 AM, Standard Heinessen Time
Rebelo sighed as he looked at the simple gravestones, part of himself wondering what precisely drove him to seek this place every time there was a major election. Another, more visceral part of himself, felt that there was no question why. Either way, here he was, and he looked walked to stand right between the two headstones. He didn't need to read them to know what they said. He knew it by heart.
STEPHANO REBELO (711 - 780) BELOVED HUSBAND AND FATHER
LUCILLA JORGES REBELO (714 - 794) THE LIGHT OF HER FAMILY
He grinned at the last part. It had been his idea to put that in. He wasn't sure if his mother would have truly approved of it. She was neither much of a romantic, nor was she really a believer when it came to religion. On this last, she and her husband disagreed. Although pragmatic in his daily life, Stephano had always, if quietly, believed in a higher power.
Although they had both been born on a relatively rural colony, the both of them, with their natures, had been more attached to city life. And so, when his father's work as a stock broker gave him an opening in Proctor's Bay, the fourth largest city on Heinessen, they had jumped at the chance. Dragging their son Juan, all of fourteen, with him.
He hadn't liked the move, hated the idea of losing all of his friends, social standing, connections. He sometimes wondered if it was a rabid need to rebuild such a network that had sparked his interest in social works despite his strong head for numbers. Despite graduating third in his class in his major in economy, it had been his minor degree in political sciences that had interested him in his youth. Forsaking the higher pay of a financial advisor, he had gone into politics.
Neither parent had liked it, this or the fact that he devoted so much of his energy into his politicking that romantic relationships never really entered into consideration. But, when all was said and done, they had accepted it, and had been behind him when he had sought higher and higher offices. As such, it became tradition for him to go see his parents before a major change in his life.
Well, he reasoned, this change is potentially as big as it'll get. So, here he was, even though neither of them was there to give their once-precious counsel.
"Hello mother. Father. It's been almost a year, sorry," he started, coughing. As ridiculous as he felt, he simply couldn't stand there without saying something. "Things have been... fast-moving lately. I'm sure you'd understand." Well, mom would. She saw me elected to the High Council. She liked that. She was proud, she made sure I knew that. Too bad father didn't live to see it.
"I'm just here to prattle a bit before getting back to my party headquarters. Can you believe that? My party. We're going to try and get the High Council away from my old party. Funny how things change, eh? As I said, a pretty fast-moving year." He grinned. Fast movements, hectic, busy days. That part, that love of such things, he got from his father.
"If I win, I'll be Chairman of the High Council. The very top office in the whole darn Alliance," He shrugged, "I should probably feel more excited about it. I mean, if things go well, I'll be leading the entire country. But I'm more bothered about the idea of losing. And that's got nothing to do with personal standing. Well, maybe not nothing, but it's not the main thing that's getting to me."
He looked at his mother's headstone. "Remember Job Trunicht, mother? The Secretary of Defence, the one you said had a fake smile? He's head of my old party, and Acting Chairman. And between you and me, you didn't know just how right you were when you said there was something fake in that man. It wasn't just the smile, either. It was the whole thing."
"That man's got some serious allies, many of whom are questionable, if not completely despicable. He's linked with the Patriotic Knights Corps, although we can't prove it. And then there's rumours about the new Church of Terra movement that's been gaining ground lately. All of that, tip of the iceberg. There's more. The man's relations are bad news, to say the least."
He shook his head. "But that's not why I need to win this. If he had all those things, but I felt he wanted the best for the Alliance, I'd be able to take a defeat. But he's not. I'm sure of it, now. Job Trunicht doesn't give a damn about the people he's supposed to be serving. He's been using his position at the Defence Department to create a virtual little kingdom for himself. If he becomes Chairman, he's capable of running the Alliance right into the ground to get ahead."
He spread his hands. "I'm not perfect, I know that. But I do want this country to get better. I want to stop the machinations that are destroying the economy, and d something about the stubborn mindset that keeps us throwing men and resources into a war that we simply can't win. I might fail, but I've got to try. I've got to try."
This part came with more difficulty. Why? His parents were dead, gone. Why did he feel like he was standing before them, about to tell them about a mess he made, a unruly teenager once again? The mind really could play tricks on people.
"So I made a deal to help me win. Nothing big, but I let someone I don't even know, a group who won't reveal itself, help me get ahead with the Alliance population. Rui, you know him too mother, you liked him, he felt I shouldn't have done it. That we could've won on our own. Maybe he's right. But I had to make sure we had a credible chance. Because I can't let people like Trunicht get complete control. It seemed like the only way."
He lowered his head, sighing. "Was it?" he asked, and for a split second, he thought he would get an answer. That his father would say something in his deep, measured voice. That his mother would add to it in her more excitable, lighter tones. Of course, nothing came. These two people, who had been so important in his life, were gone. They would never say anything again.
Despite that, he didn't feel like the time coming here had been wasted, far from it. For the first time in a while, he felt like a weight had lifted off his shoulders. Perhaps simply talking about it had been enough to alleviate his burdens. Just saying that he had doubts out loud made him more willing to face up to the possibility of consequences in the future.
Maybe that voice which had given him the recording out of an alleged desire to help would be trouble. But that didn't mean he had to play along with whoever it was. His goal was to help the Free Planets Alliance get back on its feet. To protect it from threats without, but also from threats without. He wasn't going to be anybody's puppet, no matter what.
He was in that mindset, looking at the tombstones of his parents without truly seeing them, when he heard steps behind him. Young steps, energetic, but slightly hesitant. He knew who it would be before he spoke.
"Mister Rebello?" Came the voice of Francis Belford, his new personal aide. The younger man, tall brown-skinned, not yet thirty, seemed a bit hesitant to bother his boss. Rebello nodded at him inquisitively. This encouraged the younger man to continue speaking. "Sir, the party members have begun to meet at the Fancy Alleys Hotel."
"They're not wasting any time, I guess. Is he there?"
"Yes, sir. Or he should be there shortly, I guess."
He nodded. "It wouldn't do to let these people at headquarters manage all of that excess of vanity and excitement by themselves, would it?"
"Sir." It was as noncommittal as Belford could sound, he supposed. He didn't blame him. It had been a rather strange question, and a badly-worded answer might have sounded pretty wrong. A neutral answer was the best choice here. The kid thought fast and a had a good head.
He gave the tombstones one last look. Thanks, mother. Thank you, father. Until next time, he told the people who still lived in his mind's eye, before turning back to the business at hand. He needed to be out of this cemetery, and back into the field of politics. Today, things were going to change. He was sure of it.
"Well, let's get out there, then, Francis. Let's see what the will of the Alliance people has in store for us."
Enough doubts for today. Time to get back to work and make things happen.
Throughout the Alliance, anticipations ran high. The political battle that was certain to be waged between the New Democratic Party and the Free Alliance Party was of tremendous interest to most, even those who normally had little to no interest in such affairs.
Historians have agreed that the reasoning for such excitement was twofold.
First, and foremost, the New Democratic Party hadn't been challenged in a quarter century. The Sullivan Administration, followed by the Stratos Administration, had been dominant power. It was only in the last two years of the Stanford Administration that some parties began to regain some of their old standing. The domination had been so complete that critics had come to call it the Dynasty of the Letter S, touching upon the coincidence of the three Chairmen's family names starting with that very letter. To have them face a true political opponent - even one formed from mostly former Union members - was enough to warrant attention.
The other reason was that Operation Free Stars, the largest and most expensive military operation that the Alliance had ever mounted, had ended in humiliation and defeat. This left the population despondent, bitter, and more willing to give any new government a chance. The latest debacle had used up the patience of a large part of the republican populace. Its younger and more risks-accepting parts weren't so much willing to vote for the Free Alliance, so much as they were willing to vote against the Union.
As such, a larger part of the Free Planets Alliance sat in their homes and workplaces that evening to look at the latest Election Night, than had been seen in living memory, with only a few elections before the War warranting anything resembling that level of interest.
March 3, 797 UC, Supply Base Sixty-Eight, Baros Starzone
8:56 PM, Standard Heinessen Time
It was a strange feeling, when you owed your new position to your former subordinate. Even though you considered that former subordinate a friend, and had for several years.
This was how Caserne saw his recently-finalized transfer to Iserlohn Fortress, where he was to become Fortress Vice-Commander, with the accompanying rank of vice-admiral. This would put him as the effective second-in-command of Iserlohn, as it had been decided that the Fortress Vice-Commander's post had precedence over the Garrison Fleet Vice-Commander, a position held by vice-admiral Fisher.
This presented two differences with the way the Imperials managed things. In their administration, the Fortress and Fleet command elements were entirely equal, which likely brought some if not all of the conflict which Yang had been able to capitalize upon. And neither force had an overall commander to answer to and mediate between the two sides if trouble did arise. Yang, in this case, held the newly-created position of Iserlohn Fortress Commander, which superseded both Caserne and Fisher's commands. Not that he foresaw any trouble with Fischer, but if it did happen, Yang would be able to quickly bring things under control.
It was one of those rare instances in which Caserne had to admit that the Alliance admiralty had shown more sense than their Imperial counterparts. But all of that changed nothing to the very peculiar feeling that he was soon going to be answering to Yang as an officer.
Caserne didn't feel jealous. He had always held jealousy as a rather stupid feeling that never got anybody anywhere. Yang had earned his first fleet command the hard way, had then taken Iserlohn, and then had shown himself as a tremendously competent leader during the aborted invasion. He deserved the high post. It just felt strange that the places had been exchanged in the pecking order. He'd get used to it soon enough, he wagered.
He looked about his rather bland living quarters. They were large ones, as he had wanted his family with him on this assignment. Yang had promised that his stay at the backwater post would be short, but even the short time it had been would have become tough without his wife and daughters to alleviate things. It had been a selfish move on his part, in retrospect. He should have asked them to stay on Heinessen, not come here with him in the middle of nowhere.
He shook his head. It was too late to think on that, now. Besides, the wait was over. His orders had come the day before. In two days, they'd depart to Heinessen, to then board on a vessel Yang had sent – one of the cruisers modified for scouting and, thus, for speed.
Hortense was, at the moment, getting the girls to bed, and his work at the base had been finalized. He thus found himself with an evening with absolutely nothing to do. With that in mind, he set down on of the standard couch, and opened the wall's vidscreen, choosing to set it to the Interstellar News Network channel after a moment's thought. There was certainly something worth listening to that evening.
He didn't have to wait much. The moment the image appeared, with the very slight blurring of interstellar communications, he became interested.
'Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.'
Right on the end of an add, as well. He was right on time. On the screen, in a suit which was clean and professional without showing off, was Dario DeLaRoma. Balding and with grey hair that was veering into snow territory, his slightly rounded face showed unflappable calm and yet unmistakeable warmth as he looked at the expensive camera apparatus that allowed him to be seen and heard across the light-years and on a multitude of Alliance worlds. It was this mix of competence and natural kindness which had made the star anchor the man to listen to when important news were being discussed.
A popular figure, he had anchored innumerable, important political events, including six of the past High Council elections.
'Today is an important day for all of the citizens watching, as yourselves, your families, friends and neighbours, have used your right and privilege to decide who will be leading the Free Planets Alliance for the foreseeable future.' DeLaRoma mused, his voice quiet, yet carrying confidence and authority. Thirty-five years on the screen had only made his speaking ability greater.
'Today and in the preceding weeks, nine point one billion registered citizens have voted. Some did it directly, others through advance voting.'
Caserne, not certain if he could finish up his work during the day, had done the latter.
'The three thousand seats of the Alliance Parliament are in play today, and it will be my duty, and most of all my pleasure, to keep you up to date on the details of the election, as our major parties battle it out to designate our future government, including which administration will make up our current High Council. The electoral outlets will officially close in one hour, which will officially start the counting and the first presumed winners and elected representatives.'
'You most certainly have noticed the coloured list on the side of the screen, which represent all five of the major parties who are expected to win seats this election. In purple, there is the New Democratic Union Party, which currently holds the majority of the seats and led by Interim Party Leader, mister Job Trunicht. Following them, in blue, is the new, and surprisingly popular Free Alliance party, whose Party Leader is mister Juan Rebelo. Following this, in pale gold, is the Peace Party, which has known an upsurge of popularity since the Ternuzen Peace Headquarters is led by…'
Caserne drifted a little bit as the enumeration of the five main political players droned on, the Liberal Front Party and the Popular Conclave following the Peace Party. The latter two didn't interest him much. Nor, he was certain, were that many Alliance citizens viewing either with interest.
The polls had been very clear, especially within the last three weeks : the Election of Ninety-Seven would be decided between the Union and the Free Alliance, both of which were expected to carry the lion's share of the votes and then some. The Peace Party was also popular in some circles, and many polls indicated that it could well hold the balance of power in the next Parliament. His hopes, and the hopes of a significant number of Alliance citizens from what the polls stated, were on the Alliance Party and its leader, Rebelo. He started listening again as DeLaRoma ended his enumeration and comments on the different political combatants.
'For the next four hours, it will be my pleasure to discuss the evening's returns and their ramifications with the three esteemed gentlemen and lady on my left.' At this, the camera shifted images to show one woman and two men sitting side-by-side in clean, tasteful suits. The image panned to a woman whose age seemed to be close to Caserne's own, and certainly not more than forty as the presentations began. 'First, let me present Andréanne Marchand, of the Santuario News Network. Welcome to INN Election Night, miss Marchand.'
The woman nodded, smiling brightly. 'The pleasure's all mine, mister DeLaroma.'
The image then changed to the next person, a man who seemed to be in his fifties, with greying, short brown hair. 'Next would be Sugiyama Masahiko, Editor-in-Chief for the Shampool Global news. A hearty welcome to you, sir.'
'Thank you, mister DeLaRoma. It's certainly an honour to be here tonight.' Finally, the image rested on an elderly gentlemen who held himself with the air of someone complete at ease with the spotlight. White-haired and wrinkled, he was, by far, the eldest of the four at the table. Unlike the first two, he wasn't a new face at all on Election Night.
'Finally, returning to us for the fourth time on Election Night is Erland Duus, owner of the Neptune Planetary and a former member of the High Council under the (insert name) Administration. Welcome back, sir.
The elder man nodded, grinning. 'Pleasure, of course. I might add to those who're surprised this old man's still around that I'm going to be bothering them for a good long while still.' A round of chuckles followed the proclamation.
Caserne nodded when he realized the balancing act INN had managed. The show itself was anchored on Heinessen, capitol world of the Alliance, with the most political power and population. The three invited personalities were from Santuario, Shampool and Neptune, the three next worlds in importance in the Alliance. Not only that, but the balance continued in the projected winners. Santuario's population was clearly slanted towards the Free Alliance Party, while the New Democratic Union was favoured on Shampool. Finally, Neptune's polls were so close that neither of the two main political powers of the current election had any appreciable edge. All in all, excellent casting to represent the broader Alliance sentiments.
Hortense returned from the girls' room, having finally managed to get their reluctant youngest daughter to sleep – not an easy task at times. She blinked as she saw him. "Well, that's an unusual sight these days."
"What?" he retorted, raising an eyebrow, "I do listen to this from time to time. Besides, its Election Night."
'Yes,', she answered with a slight note of amusement in her voice, 'I know. You never cared before.'
He shrugged. "I didn't really have a reason to in the previous elections. I voted, but the polls always proclaimed an easy Democratic Union victory." Which would make anyone question the democratic process. No party should remain in power twenty-five years. Not even if they're good. And especially if they're as bad as this.
"This time, it's gonna be a real race," he continued, "That's real democracy at work, with varied opinions and enlarged possibilities." He stopped, thought about what he'd just said, and gave his wife a sheepish grin, "That… really sounded like Yang."
"Oh, it did, at that. Almost got the voice right, too."
He tried hard to sound put off by her teasing, but couldn't manage to get the damn grin off his face. He wasn't good at faking indignation. "You're in a sarcastic mood tonight."
"And that's your fault." She said, point her finger at him. He blinked.
"My fault? How is any of this my fault?"
"Who got reassigned just a few weeks ago?"
"Well, that's me, but it's not like I…"
"And who got reassigned again, just yesterday?"
"More like two days ago, but…"
"And who's had to pack twice, and take care of two hyperactive girls, while all of that moving around happened?"
"Alright, but…"
"You got anything to say in your defence?" she said, imperiously enough that he'd have thought it was a serious question if not for her smirk.
He raised his hands. "I surrender. But it's still not my fault! Besides, Yang's post is worlds better than this one!"
She chuckled., and came to sit beside him, gently patting him on the head like some lost boy. "You're so easy, sometimes."
"Just with you." He said, pulling her close. Yup. Anybody who thought that women weren't worth the time clearly had never asked Alex Caserne his opinion. Just imagining his life without Hortense or his daughters… well, he couldn't manage that. His life before them always seemed so ... stale in comparison.
As they chuckled like their own kids for a moment, Election Night droned on.
March 3, 797 UC, Landsherr's Private Office, Phezzan
9:45 PM, Standard Heinessen Time
'Ladies and gentlemen, over nine hundred Council Districts have now either been elected, or are called for one part or another. At this moment, on the nine hundred and three districts, three hundred and forty two are now firmly in the hands of the Democratic Union, with the Free Alliance on its heels with three hundred and thirty four districts. The Peace Party, for its part, has already won eighty-seven districts. The Liberal Front and the Popular Conclave are closing the march with seventy-seven and sixty-two districts respectively. Miss Marchand, you were often quoted as saying that the people of the Alliance would have to choose between a secure choice and a new choice. Could you elaborate?'
'Of course. Over the last twenty years, the entire political apparatus was rather dominated by the Democratic Union. That meant that people were quite aware of their policies. Their... ideas, so to speak. Now, that sort of thing is very comforting, especially since we're caught up in the middle of a continuing war with the Galactic Empire. A lot of people want stability.'
'But we can see that the Free Alliance has been gaining grounds since the beginning of Election Night. How does that fit in?'
At this, Rubinsky couldn't help but chuckle, a brief burst of mirth that he quickly stifled. Dominique raised an inquisitive eyebrow, but he gently waved her off. He wanted to hear a little more first.
'Well, the Free Alliance is headed by Juan Rebelo, and most of his strongest candidates where part of the Democratic Union until a few months ago. I think that this gives many people the impression that they can vote for the new party, because they can think that, in a sense, they're not.'
'So, people are voting for the Alliance because it still feels like they're voting for the Union?"
'Well, yes and no. I wouldn't, well, think that all of them are thinking that way. Some do, surely, but most probably just want to go for a change, without going too far over change. I mean, Mister Rebelo's ideas aren't utterly dissimilar to the ones that Mister Trunicht is talking about in his own speeches. There's core issues on which they disagree - the way the war is going, and what to do about it, is perhaps the most contentious - but many of the smaller issues stand on the same grounds. How they're addressing these issues seem to be somewhat dissimilar, but not compared to how parties like the Front or the Conclave are voicing them. And let's not start with the Peace Party's message...'
'So, the Free Alliance is a way for the electorate to stick to ideas they feel secure with?'
'That's exactly.'
He chuckled again. This time, the red-haired woman spoke. "You seem very much amused by this."
"You mean by these men and women giving away facts that everyone with a bit of sense would figure out?" he answered, "Of course it's amusing. What's even more amusing is that they talk as if this is some sort of profound political truth. I can't say I really blame them. After all, its been a long time since this Alliance tradition has produced factions that really wished to challenge each other."
"An upstart political faction against an established one." The woman shrugged, "It doesn't really interest me."
That was a lie. They both knew it, but neither ever spoke of it, never would. Most people who met Dominique St-Pierre saw her great beauty first and foremost, and took her aloofness at face value partly because of that. In such instances, it didn't matter if one was a man or a woman, she seemed the embodiment of these two traits: a magnificent creature intent upon not letting the affairs of mankind bother her, as long as it didn't trouble her own, posh lifestyle.
Thinking like this about her, in itself, was the foolish thing. While it was true that Dominique didn't wish for political power for herself, she was keen in her knowledge of it, as in many other subjects. Knowledge, after all, meant information. And information, when used thoughtfully and prudently, brought wealth and power that could easily be hidden.
Information and wealth. The pillars of Phezzan society, and the main reason why the Dominion still stood between two far larger nations. Every Phezzan-born citizen knew to play for these two items if he or she wanted to have a clear path to success. Dominique was one of its greatest players. She was simply more subtle about it than most. That, of course, made her all the more dangerous to the reckless and those who couldn't see past her carefully-crafted, ever-present facade.
That was why he knew that she was far from disinterested in the current Alliance political bout, just as she probably kept apace of the growing troubles in the Empire. She probably knew everything she asked already, and her questions were simply her way of prodding Rubinski, and see if information she could use slipped out.
It was a game they both rather enjoyed. If anything, it was even more interesting to him than even the admittedly-delightful physical part of their relationship.
He shrugged. "It probably doesn't interest many a Phezzan." A slight jab, there.
She gave the screen an almost disdainful look, although her eyes took in every detail. "They probably have problems to take care of closer to home."
And a jab in return, both of which good-natured in their lack of necessity. He knew what problem was closer to him than these elections, and they happened to be the product of a time when he had been less careful than he was now. That youthfulness and lack of forethought had created a man who was both brilliant and fundamentally flawed.
Ah, Rupert, Rupert. Kill me to seize power? It's too soon, your bases aren't covered, and you have no backup plan ready. It's disappointing, really. Why kill someone when careful, untraceable slander and simple manipulation of market and people could achieve what you wanted? Killing is too final, it destroys future options. That, and his son's inability to think that the associates he was transforming into his power base where still on Rubinski's side was why the poor man would lose.
He felt sorry for Rupert's mother. He'd have to make sure she was taken care of properly when the inevitable conflict between father and son erupted and the father inevitably did what he had to do.
Presently, however, he stood and went to the bar, picking up a glass and choosing from his extensive selection of liquors. He quickly picked a bourbon and poured it. "You're drinking Rovasel Red Bloom, one of the best-quality drinks in the Empire. And this," he mused, putting the bourbon container back where it belonged and raising the glass of amber-coloured liquid in a silent toast, "Is Gold Trident Bourbon, also one of the best drinks. In the Alliance."
"There's a point to that short showing off of your knowledge of alcohol, of course." she answered, silently answering his toast.
He took a sip, nodded. "Delightful as always. If I were in the Alliance, or you in the Empire, the price for such drinks would be much higher. You know why that is?"
"I suppose the answer one should give would be that either of these economies is much weaker than our own."
Suppose. Should give. Never an entirely straight answer. Admirable, shrewd woman. Rupert, you fool. She was one of the worst ones to underestimate. "There's that. Our economy is stronger. There's also the fact that we control both of these producers. We can control the prices."
"Now, the Alliance changing leadership after twenty years is probably a big thing over there, but it won't affect us all that much. We already control twenty-four point seven percent of Alliance industrial output, from farming tools to pharmaceuticals. And sixteen point nine percent of the same in the Empire. Our overall position is secure."
"So, not a financial concern."
"Hardly a chance of that. Especially from the Alliance, which owes us an enormous financial debt. The war isn't cheap. Ships, soldiers, food, materiel... a huge drain on their finances."
"But you're interested in the elections anyway."
"Of course. Although we're financially safe, it's a good thing to be up to date in the ideological shift that a win by the opposition might bring. And yes, I do think the opposition will win. People tend to lose their minds when shown what appears to be a new path." he smirked, "Even if said path leads to the same thing in the end."
Dominic was silent at this, considering, then drink the rest of her wine, before reaching for the bottle near her. "And what will they think of that shift? I heard they were embedding themselves in the current leadership quite well." She asked, pouring the deep red wine expertly.
That gave him a bit of a pause, despite himself. Not because he was caught off-guard - he had seen the question coming - but for the simple reason that he didn't know what they would do. There was little that could be as opaque and yet as relentless as the Church of Terra.
When Leopold Laap, the driving force and first of Phezzan's landsherrs, had lobbied the Imperial government to gain possession of the newly-discovered , habitable planet and had established it as a nearly-independent power, he had done it not only through expert negotiations, but also through the spreading of favours and quite a few enormous bribes. In their greed and politicking, the Imperial nobles hadn't wondered where a merchant from far-away Terra had acquired such funds. The answer, after all, was hidden by the centuries, a history that the High Imperial Nobility cared little for in the first place.
Terra. If one asked the average citizen in the Dominion, the Alliance, or the Empire, the name would invoke very little. Historians, more knowledgeable, would point out that it used to be an important world. In fact, it had once been the only planet inhabited by humans. It was on Terra that the human race had evolved from mere primates, had gone from cavemen to space travellers.
It had been from that planet that the first wave of interstellar colonization and terraforming had set forth. In those days, the planet had simply been known as Earth, and it united the human race for centuries as its central hub of civilization. If one went back a millennia, Terra was the center of everything.
Things, however, then changed. Unwilling to relinquish control over an empire it wasn't equipped to rule, increasing corruption and ever-harsher measures against its colonies ignited a conflict known to historians - and those in the know - as the Earth-Sirius War. A war that Earth lost, leading to the victorious colonies bombing Earth into an obsolescence it had never risen from. The Sirius Republic rose, then fell. Then, a century later, the planet Theoria united humanity into the Galactic Federation, eventually ceding its place to Odin as the center of human civilization. With each century, the hubs of mankind's development had shifted further away from its initial birthplace. Earth, simply known as Terra, became a backwater, considered so poor and undeveloped that few in the Federation or the subsequent Empire took notice of it.
But the Terrans had never forgotten their past glory. Nor had they forgiven the fact that mankind had forgotten them. As far as Rubinski and his predecessors could tell, this resentment had coalesced into a burning need to return Earth to its long-lost position of prominence. This need became an obsession and, eventually, an actual religion arose around the concept, which became known as the Church of Terra.
What was known only to a few was that Terra still possessed the hoarded wealth that its last leaders had hidden from the victorious colonies, spitefully denying them their spoils. It was from this wealth that the Church had helped found Phezzan, the neutral ground between the Empire and the Alliance in their continuous war.
And that was Phezzan's actual purpose: to keep the war continuing until both sides collapsed under the weight of their own bloated military, while the church used a message of unity to a weary humanity. The Church would then take control, and shift dominance to the original human world, Earth.
It was undeniably a grand plan. Rubinski, and most probably all of his predecessors, also found it profoundly silly.
Any reasonable person would understand that Earth, now populated only by a few million people, paled in comparison to not only Odin, Phezzan, or Heinessen, but was nothing to many other highly populated worlds around known human space. It was on the fringes, no longer central. It had little to no industry, no trading lanes.
Earth would never regain its glory. Sense made that plain.
But when Leopold Lapp, after over thirty years overseeing Phezzan, had passed away, his successor had asserted this to the Church and its leader, the Grand Bishop of Terra. That second Landsherr, his wife, his children, and his entire family had been killed over the next two years in a series of incidents that no one was ever able to explain. Except for the third Landsherr, who knew exactly what had happened, and understood the implications: there was nothing sensible about the Church's position, and to go against their dogma was to invite unrelenting disasters.
And so, the third Landsherr had come to the conclusion that Phezzan should continue doing the Church's bidding, at least enough as to appear subservient. Rubinski's mentor, the fourth Landsherr, had been secretly contemptuous of the Church, but also aware of the hidden power of their fanaticism. Phezzan would continue to do its duty in the Church's 'Grand Plan'.
At least until there's no more profit in it, the old man had told him with a smirk that rarely left his face when in private, then it will be an entirely different story.
The Church had made headway in the Empire and even more so in the Alliance, converting many people and incrusting itself within many parties, most importantly the ruling Democratic Union. The Free Alliance, however, wasn't nearly as... affected... although Rubinski knew that it would be folly to think that it was free of influence. Still, if the latter party won, it would undo much of the clergy's work.
The fact that Dominique probably knew enough to make such a judgement was only more proof of the shrewd, informed mind under the beautiful face and relaxed attitude. Truly, and once more, his son was a fool who would deserve whatever came to him. Still, he considered what she said.
"Well, they have kept silent so far," he pointed out, "Which means that they either haven't grasped what they stand to lose yet, they don't believe the Union will lose, or possibly have another ploy ready in case the Free Alliance wins."
"And which one do you think it is?"
"There's no way to tell at this moment."
She gave him a knowing look, sipping her wine. She knew him too well. "Hypothetically, nothing more."
He looked at the screen, where the Alliance experts continued their self-important analysis of the election. He had his own ideas on the matter, but he wasn't going to tell even Dominique St-Pierre about it. This was something he couldn't risk the Church ever getting wind of. He hadn't reached his position by showing his cards - any of his cards. Not when one played for such high stakes as he was.
So he shrugged, and smiled at the beautiful, shrewd woman. "It doesn't really matter. Whichever it is, it will be interesting to watch events unfold. What's interesting about life is that something always happens, no matter how prepared one is."
March 3, 797 UC, Silver Lane, Heinessen
9:52 PM, Standard Heinessen Time
The return to the Alliance had been as nightmarish as he'd thought it would be. Oh, sure, all of it was hidden under a veneer of good taste and impeccable politeness. They had gone out of their way to fake a certain understanding. But the fact of it was, he had been treated like dirt from start to finish.
It had started at Iserlohn himself, right after the exchange was finalized. For the first time in nearly a decade, he had seen the treacherous officer who had betrayed him and dashed his future: Yang Wen-li himself.
The young man had aged a bit, the face having lost the lingering boyishness the lieutenant he had had serve under him had shown. He was slightly taller, his physique filling the uniform a bit more. All cosmetic. The difference with the face seared in his memory and observed in his bitterest of moments in his mind was negligible.
A change that shook him far more, of course, was the blue pin and orange ribbon of Fleet Command on the front of Yang's uniform, and the rank insignia of a full admiral on the man's collar. Yang Wen-li, the opportunistic runt had become the damned commander of Iserlohn Fortress and of its fifteen thousand-strong defensive fleet.
Even before Yang had opened his mouth to greet the assembled officers – all of the flag-ranked officers were present – he had wanted to murder the guy right there and then. A stupid thought, of course, especially with Yang being surrounded by several officers from his own circle, including a tall, smirking man who walked with the arrogance and strength that only a veteran Ground Forces grunt could show.
It had been a moment, but he knew better than to act on it.
No, he let the thought remain a thought, but he enjoyed the mental image thoroughly as Yang made a short speech, expressing his happiness at being able to bring them home, and wishing them all to enjoy themselves here and when they returned home.
He had even shaken hand with Lynch, smiling. Lynch was certain he saw a mocking edge to that smile as they did. The man was almost perfect in hiding his contempt, something the others weren't quite as good at. One of them was a young woman whose name he hadn't caught, a pretty thing who gave him a look that was cold fire. Unlike the others, who seemed to look at him with merely professional disdain, her glacier-like yes seemed to tell a more personal story.
And he felt that he knew her. The question was, where? He hadn't come up with an answer yet.
The trip back was just as bad, with him having to suffer the presence of people like Shapira and Cerebrese as they returned to Heinessen. And on the planet, where a ceremony was held and attended by the Headquarters Chief and the Space Fleet Commander, he had felt the same contempt wherever he went. Even admiral Kubersly had been rather short, if polite, with him. He had been really happy to be done with them all.
He had known, right then, that there was no future for him in the Fleet, or anywhere in the Defence Forces. If he did remain, he knew that they'd put him in the most backwater post they could find, to be rid of him. And nobody would ever consider him for any sort of promotion. That ship, as the ancient saying went, had sailed long ago.
That was actually good, even thought a part of him felt a pang of longing for the life he'd once led. It made what Lohengramm wanted him to do even easier than he had predicted. He really wanted them all to suffer like he had now. He wanted them to be just as reviled as he was, those judgemental pricks. As he read his carefully-hidden instructions, he came across this piece of advice, one of tremendous importance.
Betrayal of one's national interests, whether warranted or not, has the effect of severely limiting the leadership capabilities and charismatic qualities of the person or people involved in such a betrayal. Because of this lack of reputation, such elements would have an extremely difficult time in raising and leading a movement in credible rebellion against the state.
To that effect, such a person would have to find and convince other people, whose reputation is in no way affected, to foment the aforementioned uprising . Charismatic and/or respected military personal of high rank would be the best choice for such an undertaking, as military force would be the best way to bring about quick results. It would be wise of such people to create a list of the best target personnel.
Once enough such elements are convinced into the rebellion, the initial founder(s) of the movement should let the new, respected personalities direct the rebellious actions, so as to give the illusion that the uprising is theirs. The initial founder(s) should remain as a satellite advisor, using follow-up information and direction from the present document to advise the rebelling elements.
Nothing is as important to individuals who are being used than to feel that they are in actual control.
Bear in mind that there is a limited timetable to the endeavour, after which such a plan would lack the necessary effect that this state would prefer.
Cold, clinical, detached. The entire plan was written like that. Although no one had signed it, Lynch was certain about who it was that wrote it: the cold, cybernetic-eyed Imperial officer who was named Oberstein. That unsettlingly-calm man had the personality needed to draw up such a cold plan and put it on paper, in such a way that it kept the man behind Oberstein, Fleet Admiral Lohengramm, completely clean. After all, there was absolutely no indication that Lohengramm was in any way related to the unsigned missive.
It had made sense, to draw up a list. And while people from the higher ranks knew him enough that they wouldn't give him the time of day, he had managed to talk to several lower-ranked officers who had drawn him a picture of recent events. Like Operation Free Stars, the Battle of Dionysus, and the blame that had fallen at the feet of several leading military men. And so, between bouts of drinking, he had come up with several names he felt might fit – men of impeccable reputation who might well be willing to join up in rebellion against a government that had treated them badly.
And first on that list was Dwight Greenhill.
Greenhill was one of the most respected flag officers in the entire Star Fleet, with no demerit, no flaw, nothing but a show of great competence. And there had never been a hint of unease about politics, any comment to put the government ill at ease. In fact, he was one of the very last men one would think would rebel. Which was what made him perfect. And was one of the two main reasons he was there, literally knocking on Greenhill's door.
The man in question opened it, dressed in a casual shirt and pants and still managing to give the impression he was in uniform. Dwight Greenhill's calm, self-possessed eyes gave him a brief look, recognition dawning immediately. Especially touching, as Lynch's hair had gone from brown to grey in the last decade, and that he had also dressed in civilian clothing to be as inconspicuous as possible. His face had been aged prematurely by the unfair imprisonment, too. The other man's stern, business-like face actually softened a bit.
"Admiral Lynch."
"Admiral Greenhill."
"It's good to see you."
"Same here. Sorry to come here so late." He lied. You haven't changed, Dwight. Still the uptight prick you always were, even back at the Academy. But he supposed it was good to see someone looking at him with some sympathy.
Greenhill had been two years his senior back then, one of the place's top-graded cadets. Calm and composed even in those days, he had been a popular person despite a certain detached air about him. It was this and a disinterest for field command that had robbed Greenhill of enough points that he finished third in his class rather than first as people had thought he would.
They had been good friends despite key personality differences, despite the fact that they eventually lost track of each other as Greenhill took on administrative assignments, while Lynch yearned for field advancement. By the time of El Facil, Greenhill had just been promoted to vice admiral, a rank he would have reached himself quickly had Yang not been there to mess things up. They should have been equal now.
He had heard that Greenhill had been one of the few to defend Lynch after his capture, pointing out that nobody actually knew what the rear admiral wanted to do, and that hasty judgement wasn't the way of a democratic society, a speech that people hadn't been keen on hearing. It didn't make up for all of the unfair treatment, and it didn't lessen Lynch's feelings. But the fact that Greenhill had given that defence had been...almost touching.
They stood at the door for a moment, before Greenhill beckoned him inside with a simple 'please come in', which he accepted. Inside, the house was rather simply, but pleasantly, decorated, with enough quality-items to show that his former Academy upperclassman had enjoyed the benefits of an admiralty for quite a long time. Unlike Lynch himself. While he was languishing in an Imperial prison, Greenhill was enjoying the high pay and privileges of a full admiral.
Okay, let's calm down, he told himself, he'll get his like all of the others. Let's pretend we don't care about that today, shall we? He told himself, controlling the wave of resentment successfully. Greenhill didn't seem to see the lapse as he offered him coffee, an offer that was accepted as well. Soon, both men were in the admiral's living room. Lynch sipped his coffee, and deeply missed a much stronger kind of drink. He had made sure not to touch a drop yet – showing up drunk would have doomed any attempt to talk to the uptight officer about anything.
"Nice place you got there," he said, fishing for something to start the conversation. He saw pictures of two women, and recognized Elena Greenhill as one of them. "I heard about your wife. My condolences."
Greenhill nodded his thanks. Lynch moved on, looking at a younger woman who was very similar to Elena in looks. "Is that Frederica? She's grown up."
There was definite pride in the admiral as he answered. "She certainly did, and she's doing very well. Two years out of the Academy, and already a full lieutenant. In fact, you've met her already?"
"I have?"
"Well, yes. She's admiral Yang's personal adjutant these days."
For a moment, that comment didn't register. Then he took a second look to the picture showing the two women. Then it clicked. The fact that she'd been smiling and dressed in a civilian garb on the photograph had thrown him off. The woman he'd seen beside Yang had been tight-lipped and impeccably dressed in a military uniform, but it was her. So Greenhill's kid is working for Yang, eh? Figures. Kid went where the power lay. Smart one.
"Now that you mention it, I met her." He said. Something in his voice must have tipped the admiral off, because he shot him a knowing look.
"I take it that meeting didn't go well."
Not worse than I'm used to from all of you backstabbing pricks, he thought. Outwardly, he shrugged. "She was a bit... curt. But that's okay."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Greenhill sighed, "The entire ordeal at El Facil weakened Elena's already fragile health, and Frederica always held the entire affair responsible for her... untimely death."
"The 'entire affair'. Meaning, me."
"Not personally..."
"Come on, admiral, that's the way it goes. She blames me. After all, she isn't blaming Yang."
Greenhill shrugged, "Yang brought them both to the Alliance, so she never had a problem with him. She wanted someone a lot easier to blame."
"Who doesn't?" He said sharply. Too sharply.
Greenhill gave him a look that said, Watch your tone, I have my limits And Lynch could have kicked himself. He wasn't supposed to bring his issues up that quick. But he hadn't been able to keep the bitterness out. He'd have to watch out for that. For now, however, it was too late.
"I understand that it must be difficult for you," Greenhill mused after the tense moment passed, "You were a large target for the people's anger. Too large, in my opinion. But you must admit that, to an outside observer, it didn't look very good."
"And I suppose that then-lieutenant Yang didn't help my case at all," Lynch added.
"No, not extensively," Greenhill said quickly, shaking his head, "His report can be read if you wish for it, at the Fleet Archives. But I remember that he made it clear that he was merely reporting on what he had seen with his own eyes. And I've personally talked to him on the subject since. He's adamant in saying that he didn't have all of the facts."
That's a good way of covering your tracks right there, Yang, Lynch thought, make your accusations just enough that people will draw conclusions, but leave the elements just vague enough that people don't ask you for more details. And if there are inconsistencies later, well, you just remind them that you did say you didn't know everything to begin with. Clever, clever little traitor.
"That's the problem in this country, Greenhill," he snapped, "People choose their heroes and their villains. Now, Yang, he's their hero. He's like Ashbey, McGreer, Forbes, or, Hell, Lin Pao himself! A hero that can do no wrong. But in the meantime, everyone else is suffering. You should know about that, too."
"I don't follow what you're saying." Greenhill said, narrowing his eyes just slightly. "Certainly, these men you named had flaws that seem to be forgotten in the stories told about them. But they were loyal, steadfast and did manage the feats they're known for."
"Yeah. And Lin Pao was almost forced to become an hermit because he didn't like some governmental decisions, and Forbes was forced to retire because of a petty scandal, despite his achievements. Asbey was too popular and died in combat, so they didn't have to touch him. And McGreer became Chairman, so he had nothing to fear."
"Careful. That sounds like malcontent talk, Lynch." The untarnished admiral said. His nose lifted a fraction, and Lynch was sure that it was taking the man a lot of effort not to sniff in distaste.
That's the prick I remember.
"No, that's talk from someone who's been screwed over, thrown away like trash, and who doesn't need to mince words anymore." He retorted. "Tell me, Greenhill. I mean, honestly. Let's go from Iserlohn being taken. Okay, Doesn't matter who or how, Iserlohn's taken. What was the plan, then?"
"You know that much. The military plan was clear from the first attempt to take it onwards."
He nodded. He had, in fact, participated in the fourth attempt. He pressed nonetheless. "As they say, humour me. What was the actual plan?"
A sigh. "Let's sit down." A pause. "Want a drink?"
Boy, do I ever. But not this time. I can't afford to slip again. He feigned being reluctant as he sat. "Well, it's tempting. Maybe later."
A moment passed in silent contemplation before Greenhill spoke up again.
"That's why you're here, then. To tell me about personal misgivings?"
"Personal?" he echoed Greenhill's word, letting it drift between them a moment. "The plan was to fortify Iserlohn fortress, if I remember well. Correct me if I'm wrong, it's been a while, I've been out of the loop of things."
"Yes."
"And then, the fleet would have fortified every single world on our side of the corridor, with supply depots and maybe some production satellites. Turning it into a meat-grinder for the Imperials. Hell, that entire thing was designed almost as soon as the damn thing was put up."
"Again, correct."
"But that's not what happened."
"Your point, Lynch." Greenhill's tone showed that he was reaching the ends of his patience.
"My point is that the government didn't follow that plan. They forced the fleet to send the bulk of its forces out into Imperial territory. We lost tens of thousands of ships, millions of men, because those idiots wanted political points!" He laughed. "And they call me a traitor. Everyone sees me like some sort of villain for El Facil, but nobody does anything about them?!"
"It's the government," Greenhill responded, but there was a note of clear dissatisfaction in there. Lynch knew too much about bitterness not to see it in others. He took a sip of the bourbon. Yes, it was truly great stuff.
"And that gives them more rights?! They killed millions of soldiers. For their own damn ends! I paid for whatever people think I did, but they won't?! Where's the justice in that? How come they didn't answer for it?"
"You're not the first one to come to me with these things," Greenhill said with a sigh, "There's quite a bit of an undercurrent of dissatisfaction in the Fleet. An inevitable effect, given how badly things went."
I know. There was dissatisfaction before I was captured. I can imagine it's even worse now. "It doesn't surprise me. How badly does that undercurrent run, you think?"
"Badly enough." Greenhill mused, "Things are stable for now. But it's worse than before."
"You're damn right. Then maybe you ought to do something about it, eh?"
Greenhill started at that, glared at him for that. "I'm a loyal officer of the Fleet. I swore an oath to serve the Alliance. What you're talking about is nothing less than treason!"
But you're not throwing me out, are you?
"Treason? I don't think so. You swore an oath to protect the Alliance and its people, not its corrupt government. And even if you don't see there's a difference, how long before others decide to act on their resentment?"
"It won't come to that." But Greenhill's face was doubtful. "If Rebelo passes..."
"Don't bury your head in the sand, Greenhill! If you're concerned, it means something's up. Nobody's got a better pulse on things than you. You think it will happen, I can see it in your face. But that's not the only thing you're seeing, is it? Rebelo? Come on! He's Union material, has been for years. Any change'll be worthless."
There was no response from the other man. But although he didn't look happy, he was listening. Lynch could tell that much.
"Now, listen to me, Greenhill," he mused, "I just want to tell you about a group of people who, really, just want what's best for the soldiers of the Alliance. I'm their messenger. You let me tell you what they're saying, and then you can see if you want anything to do with that. Hell, maybe you can find an alternative to all this foolishness!" Fat chance. That's not in the Empire's plan.
A moment of tense silence as the man who had tasted the success Lynch was cheated out of pondered things. And finally, tersely, noncommittally. "Go on."
Lynch smirked inwardly. Dwight Greenhill was tempted, if only a little.
That was all he needed.
March 3, 797 UC, Standard Planetary Orbit, Kaffer
10:03 PM, Standard Heinessen Time
"This is Osiris Seven Control Tower to Shuttle Lambda Six-One-Zero-Three."
Bagdash gave the pilot a look and a nod, before speaking into the mike. "This is Shuttle Lambda Six-One-Zero-Three. We receive you, Osiris."
"You have been cleared by Intelligence Division Command upon receiving Callsign and code."
Good. Bronze came through fast. "Understood, Osiris. Callsign is Blue Seagull. Authorization code for entry is seven, eight, nine, eight, Charlie, six, six, three, Echo, four, three, one."
A moment's wait, end then the communication's officer's voice came back. "Acknowledged reception of callsign and code, both authorized by Intelligence Division Command. Maintain current approach vector and dock at hangar twelve. A party will attend to the guest once you have arrived.
"Roger, Osiris Control. Shuttle out." Bagdash broke communication, then sighed. He was almost done with the mission. And it was about time, too. Although he knew the importance of the project took precedence over any officer's ego, he couldn't help but dislike the fact that he had been sent on an errand to gather just one man. Him, a captain.
He actually listened to himself and realized how vain he had sounded just then, and grinned to himself as he left the shuttle's cockpit and the four men whose job was to get the ship to destination, and went into the passenger section.
The Alliance military shuttles were enormous affairs, able to transport no less than one hundred and twenty soldiers. Neat rows of seats, separated by strict walking spaces, made up, were generally filled with uniformed men, going from and to difference assignments, whether planetside or in the Alliance's ever-growing space elements.
Today, however, the shuttle was almost empty. Aside from himself, Keats and their charge, the only other occupants were two men from Intelligence Security. Five men, in a place meant for twenty times that number, made the inside of the shuttle akin to a sort of vault. It was an eerie feeling that he didn't like, and quickly made his way to Keats and Bendling, resuming his position near the windows. Keats was reading a pocket novel of some kind, but raised his head to nod respectfully towards Bagdash.
"All good, sir?"
"Never better. We'll be there in twenty minutes at the most." he looked at his charge, who been almost silent and mostly scowling the whole way. "Come now, commander! Smile! It's a new life, and Kaffer is certainly much more interesting than Nueva Vista."
Bendling only glared at him. Ever since he had put his thumb to register himself as an Alliance soldier, he had given him little else. Being forced to wear an Alliance uniform seemed to have only exacerbated the problem. He shrugged at the reaction. Frankly, he was sorry about the methods he had used to get the man onboard, but he hadn't lost any sleep over it since it had happened. Bendling was a mission, nothing more.
Shrugging, he seated himself, and took the view of the view of Kaffer's main urban center, Errelson Ridge. Since Osiris Base was situated near the city itself, the shuttle was flying beside it while on approach.
He had been entirely truthful to the former Imperial officer one thing: Planet Kaffer, one of the Alliance's Core Worlds, was quite a long way above Nueva Vista.
Like all of the main worlds of the Alliance save Heinessen itself, Kaffer became what it was in the wake of the massive Second Exodus that flowed from the Empire to the republican nation as the most telling aftershock of the Battle of Dagon. When it arrived in Alliance Space, the massive wave of refugees became an instant problem for the government of the time. The Free Planets Alliance, after all, was by then only made up of Heinessen as a sizeably populated world. The few worlds that had since been terraformed were barely outposts.
It was then decided to send the refugees to those worlds, with their ships and possession, to truly colonize these few worlds as Alliance settlers, with what little help the government could give. Kaffer was one of those worlds. Quickly, the people settling there had found that the ground was rather poor for farming, but was rather rich in rare earths and industrial materials.
Today, with a population of over three hundred million, its rugged terrain was home to sprawling cities and extensive works, up to and including orbiting habitats dedicated only to producing the crystalline composite that made up the standard armour of Alliance warships. Kaffer was urban, bustling, and arrogant.
It fit him perfectly, and he knew it quite well. He couldn't wait to go out and sample some of the more varied pleasures of a major world after so long at the rim of human civilization. He asked his assistant what he was going to do, and Keats answered after a moment's thought.
"I think I may go and vote. I nearly forgot."
"That's a boring plan," Bagdash grinned.
"And you, sir? Have you voted?"
Bagdash's grin faded a bit, twisting. "No. And I don't intend to. I'm not a fan of big crowds and long lines. Besides, not really a fan of the whole thing."
That wasn't quite true. He simply didn't think that things would change in any meaningful way by him showing up at a voting booth. He didn't like the current government, but he saw no way that things would get better through the current farce that was the election. He much preferred to waste his time on things that he knew he could affect. A good night on the town was something he knew would do the trick.
Besides, it's never wise to pick a side before you really, really know who'll win, he thought. People certainly found that a very shifty dogma, and he had to admit that they were right. But it had allowed him to navigate through life quite successfully, if he did say so himself.
For instance, he knew that Admiral Auclair currently reigned supreme in the Intelligence Division, and that nobody should think about crossing her. But Auclair, unrelenting as she was, was old, and near retirement. Soon, there'd have to be a replacement.
As far as that was concerned, he figured that vice admiral Bronze might well be Auclair's successor. Although he lacked her gravitas, his negative position on the current state of affairs was gaining him a lot of support, especially from the lower ranks. And the fact remained that the current operation was at least partly Bronze's brainchild. No, Auclair wouldn't be there long. Bronze, however, would be.
That was why he made sure that the man knew that he agreed with his idea. He had been rather vocal about it, including in meetings with such admired officers as vice admiral Appleton, or admiral Greenhill himself. Of course, he hadn't gone too far, either. You never knew how fortunes would shift. He had to be ready for anything.
Right now, however, he was ready to settle for some private reward for a job well done. The rest would wait until the next morning.
It had seemed like a sound plan. Only, he quickly found that what he had built up for himself in his mind wasn't what his superior intended.
The arrival at Osiris went without anything remotely resembling a hitch. Bendling, sour as ever, was handed over by men of the R&D Division, who quite happily took charge of the former Imperial officer and led him away, most likely to slave away on the Seffle Particle problem that it had become so very important to crack. He was busy signing the last files that would close this mission and allow him the leeway necessary to take some time off before the next mission came in, when one of the base's officers told him that there was a message awaiting him. From vice admiral Bronze.
He immediately had a sinking feeling that his beloved night on the town was about to be postponed indefinitely. He very briefly considered not responding, but every rational bit in his mind told him how foolish that would be. He took the pad and, when he was alone with the files, entered his codes and opened the message.
The woman who appeared on the screen didn't surprise him in her relative dishelved appearance. A woman who managed to appear unkempt in a uniform without actually being all that unkempt - a feat that was managed through a peculiar slouch, oddly tousled hair that always seemed in rebellion no matter what its owner did, and a roguish grin that never quite left her lips - could only be commander Helena Copos, one of Intelligence Division's most eccentric yet accomplished officers.
His reaction seeing her face was immediate. "Oh, great. You, eh?"
Her grin widened, revealing perfect white teeth. Copos could be quite pretty when she showed her smile, something that people who dealt with her on a semi-regular basis tended to forget.
"Aw, Bagdash dear, don't be that way. Just making sure to catch you before you went off God knows where."
"To give me grief in the form of a new assignment, I suppose," he sniffed, frowning, "I just ran the admiralty's errand. The damn engineer's gonna work with Research Division. Can't I catch a little break here?"
She shrugged. "Sorry, dear, but that's not my job. You know I live only to break you boys' balls."
He chuckled at that, both for the jovial tone she took while saying that, and from the fact that, as one of the most accomplished hand-to-hand combatant at Intelligence headquarters, she could and had done such an act as often physically in session, as in verbally. She had done both several times. In fact, it seemed to be a bit of fun to her.
"Putting that aside from a minute, how did you know I was going to come into the base?"
"I knew the shuttle's flight path and time."
"Of course you did. Silly of me, really. So, is there a reason why I can't have some fun after accomplishing my mission?"
"Didn't vote, then?"
"No, thank you," he scoffed, "I've got better things to do than to see that pitiful excuse for a government get re-elected. I'll go do some more pleasant things. Now, stop eluding the question: why can't I have my fun after a mission to the end of nowhere?"
The woman shrugged slightly. "Reassignment just came in. We need someone keeping tabs on a higher up, and Bronze's decided it was going to be you."
He grimaced. Going to keep tabs with someone in the admiralty wasn't something he particularly liked. Certainly, it had some glamour, but spying on a powerful member of the Defence Forces could become a nightmare if one was caught. Not that he had ever been caught, but still.
He sighed after a moment. "Can't I talk admiral Bronze out of this one? I really don't want to tangle with some general or admiral if I can help it." He had talked Bronze out of giving him assignments before. The man could be manipulated if one really knew what buttons to push.
Copos shook her head, and he grin all but disappeared. A rare occurrence, and never a good sign.
"Not this one, no. Admiral Auclair herself signed off the recent assignments. Bronze's just handing them out, really."
Well, that was it, no mistake. Bronze could be talked into letting it go. The elderly head of Intelligence Division, however, was well-known to be determined to the point of stubbornness. It had allowed her to build quite a career for herself. It also meant that he wasn't getting out of this one. He could kiss his night on the town goodbye. He'd be too busy preparing for the assignment, now.
"Guess there's no helping it, if Old Auclair's involved," he mused, resigned, "Okay, hit me, who's the higher up I need to go and see?"
Her grin returned. "No idea. That surprise is all for you. But you need to report back immediately for a private briefing."
"Oh, come on, now." He couldn't believe it.
"Hey. Its orders!" She answered cheerfully.
What a lousy day this had turned out to be. He wanted to hurl. He wanted to close the link and forget it had ever happened. Childish and immature thoughts flooded through his mind, and he let himself enjoy them for as long as possible before the adult in him reasserted himself. The order came from vice admiral Bronze, who had always had his back, and whose thinking largely coincided with his own. He couldn't turn it down. But, by all that was Holy in the Universe, how he wanted to.
"Okay," he said, with a cheer he didn't feel, "Guess there's no stopping it! Send me the dirt, and I'll be on my way!" Dammit, it better be really important to make me miss a well-earned night on the town!
March 3, 797 UC, Standard Planetary Orbit, Kaffer
10:29 PM, Standard Heinessen Time
"You shouldn't worry too much about such things, Negroponty." Trunicht mused with faint amusement. It was always somewhat entertaining to see the little man pulling himself all in a twist. And he was certainly doing that as the results kept coming in. He and Walter Islands, another little man, had come to talk to him in his office the moment that things had started to shift.
And there was no mistaking it: things were shifting. Slowly, but perceptively. While Heinessen itself had voted mostly for the Union, many of the colonies hadn't been so gushing in their support. It was especially true of the major worlds of Santuario and Jamseed. The population there had always resented the Union-directed policies coming from the capitol world, often keeping to the letter of what was being asked of them. Santuario, the second-largest world in the Alliance and certainly one of its wealthiest, had always resented its position as second to the original Alliance colony.
It wasn't surprising, given past policies and the recent military setbacks, that many worlds were jumping into two different bandwagons, so to speak. There were those who believed that the Alliance should devote every resource to finding a way to end the war, and most of those voted for the Peace Party, which was rather strong, but still a distant third compared to the two parties above it. People who wanted peace at all costs were rare, after all. Far too many had lost loved ones, and they voted due to emotion. Silly, he thought, but true.
The other, larger group, was the one that was tired of the Union, but didn't want to switch all that much. Those people tended to choose the Free Alliance Party. It wasn't quite spite, it was simply that they wanted to vote against the Union for the sake of doing it. Again, emotions rules rather than logic. He found he really couldn't understand that. If one made a decision, it had to benefit you. A wild leap of faith was foolish at best, dangerous at worst.
And he had seen the results. He didn't listen to the network droning about the whys and the hows, he knew that better than the fools who styled themselves political experts. But he kept the numbers on his private computer screens. He glanced at them a moment.
New Democratic Union: 856
Free Alliance Party: 854
Peace Party: 125
Liberal Front: 30
Popular Coalition: 28
Highbloods Party: 5
Undecided: 1102
"Ah, it seems they've closed the gap to two parliamentarians," he noted dryly, "Rebelo must be having quite a time right now."
"How can you be so calm about this?!" Negroponty exclaimed, actually waving his pudgy hands in his excitement.
"Is there some reason I shouldn't be? This is the democratic process, the will of the people, the core of the Free Planets Alliance, as it were. We should be happy with fair results like these, and accept them."
That was well said, if I do say so myself, his mind told him, I can almost believe that I give any sort of damn about any of those things. It came with the habit that he had honed to say exactly what people thought he should say. Anywhere. At any time. Breaking the mask was certainly a mistake he didn't intend to make again, especially at such a crucial juncture. He had made it, once, and it had been costly.
He felt a surge of anger when he thought about it, even now. He'd been recorded talking to that lunkhead of a man, the Patriotic Knight Corps leader in Heinessenpolis, and the population had been shaken in his trust of him. He had effected damage control, but it would take longer for the people to forget about what he'd said. It was fortunate that he hadn't actually said what he thought of that Edwards woman.
Jessica Edwards. Bah! Good riddance. You've been nothing but grief to me. And whoever used my own voice against, payback will come.
"We're worried that the Alliance people are being fooled," Islands said, "Rebelo is giving everyone false dreams."
"Who cares about that?!" Negroponty retorted, "What's important is that we're on our way to defeat if it keeps going, and that means that Rebelo and his ilk are going to form the next Council!"
Of course, what Negroponty meant by that was that, if Rebelo won the elections, if his people came to to the Alliance High Council, that they would lose their important places, as well as the comfortable situations they allowed. Nobody was fooled. It was money, and power, that made the little man lose his calm, far more than anything else. At least, Trunicht told himself, it was an honest thought.
For himself, the money didn't matter. He had used his time as Secretary of Defence as wisely as he could He'd made enough deals and was owed enough favours that his financial situation would be so little affected that he probably wouldn't notice.
Losing power, however, that did rankle.
"He hasn't won, yet." Islands defended himself.
"I don't see why he wouldn't at this point," the Acting Chairman mused idly, looking at the screen. No new change yet. "The colonies seem to favour his party, and the stupidity of Free Stars is weighing us down. Frankly, I think we should seriously prepare ourselves."
"Prepare ourselves to lose?!"
He shook his head, grinning. "No, prepare ourselves to win in five years."
They stared at him at that. His smile widening, he spread his hands slightly as he explained his thoughts to them.
"The party Rebelo is leading is new and fragile, and it brings a lot of the same skeletons we have. Oh, the people will elect them this time. It's a reaction, not any sort of loyalty. I don't see Rebelo being able to hold it together, even with Hwan Rui helping him out. It'll collapse under its own weight. Then we can sweep back in."
"Will that really happen like that?" Islands mused, after a moment. "What if they manage to hold it together after all?"
Then we'll simply have to make sure that won't happen, will we? He mused to himself, but that was something he couldn't say out loud. Another thing he had honed over the years: never say what you know might be used against you. The costly slip about the damnable Edwards had only reinforced this value.
"Then that's the people's will." He might have said more, but at that moment, his vidphone rang, announcing 'SOL III - VOX ONLY'. He pursed his lips a moment, before looking at the two men once again. "Gentlemen, we'll deal with what happens. Neither of you will be forgotten for your efforts, no matter what. Now, I need to take this call alone, if I may."
He was throwing them out, no matter how polite his tone was. But neither man would have dared to be offended. Too much of their political future rode with him, and they weren't about to jeopardize them. With much politeness and as much dignity as they could muster - oddly enough, the pliable Islands tended to show more of that - they left. He immediately took the call as the door closed behind them.
"It's me." he said.
"I assume we can talk?" said the man on the other side of the line. Deep, slightly wheezing, the voice was instantly recognizable to Trunicht's practiced ears: Deacon Kavanough, one of the most important men in the Church of Terra, at least in the branch that was attempting to plant seeds on Alliance soil.
"Yes, this line is secure, and I'm alone. We can talk at our leisure."
"Good. Then I won't waste any of our precious time. Mister Trunicht, the Church is... concerned... with what's happening tonight."
"Concerned? I did say that the possibility of this existed. Nothing should come as a shock."
"Yes, but you implied that the chances of Juan Rebelo winning the election were slim. You said that the people of the Alliance would prefer security over taking a chance."
He rolled his eyes at the pressing, annoyed tone the voice had taken, and was somewhat bothered by its accusatory undertone. He had, in fact, said such a thing. But the fact that the people of the Church of Terra had taken all of it literally showed a lack of political knowledge that was, in a word, galling. Not for the first time, he wished he didn't have to play nice with such obtuse people. Unfortunately, there wasn't any choice to it. Not unless he wanted the Patriotic Knights Corps to turn against him.
The Corps. People thought of them as an extremely right-wing, vigilante group . Some also believed they were under his control. Both of these lines of thinking were right. What people didn't know, however, was that it had been the Terraists who had founded the group to serve as a disruptive force. And it had been the Church that had put the Corps under his control, after he had done a few services for the organization as Secretary of Defence.
They had been useful to him, if obnoxiously simple-minded. So he didn't want to aggravate the Church. Not yet. For all of its rather imbecilistic ideas, the organization was potent because of that very single-mindedness, not to mention its wealth. He checked the numbers again.
New Democratic Union: 859
Free Alliance Party: 859
Peace Party: 128
Liberal Front: 29
Popular Coalition: 28
Highbloods Party: 6
Undecided: 1091
Rebelo must be going a bit insane with glee, right now, he mused to himself. In his own mind, there was no denying the terse, angry tone his voice took. That mewling, plodding fellow, on his way to the top spot. Right at the time I was supposed to take the damn thing. One election, one damn election, that was all I needed. And that bunch of fools are just going to...
He realized he was gripping the hand rests of his chair. He didn't hear the people on the vid, and barely remembered he was talking to one of the highest-ranked Terraists in the Alliance. With an effort, he mentally pressed down on his mounting indignation, the feeling of being cheated. It was a setback, nothing more. He'd have the place he was due. He'd make sure of that.
"I'm sorry, sir," he rasped, coughing once to regain himself, "What did you say?"
"That we sank a lot of money into you and your people, mister Trunicht. I'd find it really upsetting if the Word of Holy Terra found an obstacle despite all of those spent resources."
Holy Terra. At that, he couldn't help but smirk. He had always found religion silly enough, no matter what it was and where it came from. But he found the Terraist ideals of what was divine - that planet Earth was some sort of paradise that humanity had selfishly abandoned - the height of ridicule. Earth was a footnote in modern history, home to fanatics descended from men and women who were beaten by their own rampant greed.
There were better ways to accumulate power, after all. Stupid of them not to see it.
"You don't have to worry," he assured the man on the other side, "You money was well-spent. And it will continue to pay dividends in the future, I assure you."
"For your sake, I hope so. The Grand Bishop himself is taking an interest in these matters. Disappointing him, is disappointing Terra's Holy Will in itself. Never forget, Trunicht, that you owe your material power to us." The communication stopped at that.
He repressed a surge of anger. Terraists certainly had some nerves, thinking they somehow owned him. They were merely a useful tool, one that he'd dispose of once he had the power he wanted. But that was for later.
Because today was the time for new plans. Plans against two men who had managed to set him back more than he had in quite a long time. Juan Rebelo was one, for certain. That the colourless Secretary of Finance had managed to potentially oust the Union from power with a ragtag group - a feat only managed two hundred years earlier under very different circumstances - had been something he hadn't fully prepared for. An oversight.
One that he would rectify.
It was only a matter of time, planning, and finding the right pressure points.
March 3, 797 UC, Iserlohn Fortress
11:18 PM, Standard Heinessen Time
"With the numbers coming in, it seems that the Free Alliance Party is maintaining its edge. Is that coming as a surprise, Erland?"
"To this extent, certainly. There had been many predictions that the new party had become really popular away from Heinessen, but even a week ago, you couldn't have predicted they'd be anything but a strong opposition party. Of course, the question is, will it last to the end?"
Attenborough groaned. "Oh, for Cripes' sake! Don't jinx it!" he called to Erland Ruus as the editor went on. Beside him, Schenkopp grinned in wry amusement.
"My dear admiral," he snickered, "The poor man can't hear you."
The green-haired Fleet officer looked right back at his larger colleague. "Well, my dear general, let's go with I don't give a damn about the fact that he's not there to hear me. A jinx is a jinx is a jinx, and we don't need those tonight!" At that, Attenborough actually crossed his arms. The sigh caused Schenkopp to give a chuckle, and Yang couldn't help but smile. His friend tended towards childish outburst to cover his nervousness, especially when something really riled him up, or something was exciting him to the extreme. And to the son of a respected, opinionated political journalist, a man who had been fed politics since childhood, this was probably far more interesting than it would be to the average mortal.
Yang swallowed the rest of his glass of brandy at that. He barely felt the burning effect, and he knew that it wasn't due to the alcohol he had drunk previously, since he'd had only one yet. No, it was something else. The historian in him was excited too. At the prospect of an historical shift in Alliance voting, a surprising twist that he hadn't really believed in until now.
He put his glass down, and Schenkopp, who had taken the bottle to refill his own, nodded towards him. "One more, admiral?"
He nodded, gesturing to his glass, watching as the liquid filled the clear glass, and nodding again when it was full, in thanks. Once again, the fact that he was sharing a drink with the two men struck him.
Yang had always been rather picky with the men and women he was willing to have a drink with. Aside from the late Jean-Paul Lapp, with whom he had gotten drunk on several occasions, only one other man had been allowed in this, what he considered his guilty pleasure and one of the few places he felt truly relaxed in. That was Alex Caserne, a man who he hoped would soon join him at the fortress, but who was pretty far away at the moment.
Dusty Attenborough had been close to him for many years, but the time on Iserlohn had only made them closer. Perhaps it was the easy familiarity in the midst of the uncomfortable admiration he kept seeing from the lower ranks. Perhaps it was just because Attenborough was the kind of fellow who had a great knack for putting people at ease. Either way, their relationship had grown, in a good way.
Schenkopp, however, that had been a surprise. He had never thought he'd get to know a man of the front lines, someone who tended to fight the enemy hand-to-hand more often than most. Yang knew himself as anything but a frontline soldier. He was fit enough, he supposed, but he was a mediocre hand physical combatant and such a lousy shot that, if he was ever attacked, he'd throw the gun at the enemy rather than shoot with it. At least, that way, he might hit the target.
Not only that, but the general was a freewheeling womanizer who openly partied with his men, something Yang knew he was anything but. Yet, despite such differences, the two had found themselves getting along just fine. As for Attenborough, he had quickly decided to out-snark the general, a challenge that had seemingly been fully accepted.
Without knowing quite how it happened, these two men had been allowed in that select circle of 'drinking buddies', a peculiar expression as far as he was concerned.
This time, they had congregated at Yang's office, and had been watching the unfolding events of the election live, with Attenborough making several acerbic comments, especially when some planets decided to favour the Union. Schenkopp, for his part, took a certain fun in lightly deriding the entire thing.
"Do you think this'll change things? Even if Rebelo passes?" He had asked, and Yang had had to admit that he wasn't really sure of that, either.
Even with a more open-minded governmental body, the fact remained that the Free Planets Alliance was in dire straits. The economy was unstable at best, and the many battles in the past several years had sapped much of the resources and energy that it could invest in the war. At this point, no matter who took the helm, a continuing war would eventually cost the republican nation everything.
However, as he had mused to Schenkopp at length, it didn't mean that he didn't prefer Rebelo in charge.
"If a way to negotiate peace or end the war in some other way were to appear," he had noted, "Rebelo has the political mindset to look past immediate rewards and focus on the long-term. That alone makes him much better than Job Trunicht, who wants power for himself, in the short term, and likely at any cost."
"Negociate?" Schenkopp had argued, sceptical, "I like your idealism, admiral, but I'm not sure why the Empire'd want to negotiate with our side. Isn't the Alliance pretty much nonexistent as an entity."
"As an independent, national entity, yes," he'd nodded, "Its been that way ever since the Battle of Dagon. To the Empire, this is only an overly long rebellion. At best, to them, this is considered a civil war. But even a civil war opponent has some possibility for negotiation. The Empire'd need to be pushed into at least partial recognition of the Alliance."
"Then, there was Free Stars. Several intercepted dispatches talked about an 'invasion' with the wording clearly denoting the enemy force as foreign. This, and many other moments throughout the last fifteen decades have shown that the Empire may not consider this country as one on paper, but that most see it that way in practice. Just letting us have an embassy on Phezzan is rather telling." he had added.
"Another fine history lesson, sir," the general had quipped, his eyes bright with mirth, "But that won't mean much if we're defeated before that happens." And there had been nothing to say about that.
Still, he didn't feel worried about an Imperial attack at the moment. Tensions were seemingly mounting between factions, and unless he missed his call, the might of the Imperial Fleet will soon find itself turning its weapons against itself as it splintered to follow different loyalties. Even Reinhard von Lohengramm would be too busy to entertain the sort of assault necessary to take Iserlohn.
In the long term, however, they could be in trouble, because if he followed the coming civil war in the Empire to its logical conclusion, he couldn't help but seen Lohengramm on top, reigning supreme. And with the entirety of the Empire's military assets to bring to bear against them. He didn't like their odds if that happened.
"You're off brooding again, Yang!" Attenborough mused, snapping him back to reality.
He grinned ruefully, scratching his head a moment, even as his shoulders gave an apologetic shrug. "Sorry about that."
"Don't tell me you're spacing out in the middle of elections!" his former Academy friend muttered, "Don't worry about whatever the Imperials are gonna do! That's for later. Today, I want to see Trunicht trampled!"
Yang's grin widened, "Maybe you should limit your alcohol consumption, you know. I vaguely remember your name being on the duty roster first thing tomorrow, setting up patrols through the corridor." He had mostly just signed the orders, the rest had been Murai's job, one that the stern officer had done with his usual efficiency.
"I don't need to worry about it. Tomorrow's one of my few off-duty days, so I can do whatever I damn well like," the general added, earning himself a dirty look from Attenborough. Yang shook his head, now understanding why they had these get-together in his or Attenborough's office rather than the Officers Lounge: they couldn't let loose to the same degree over there.
He was about to add something about the duty roster, a detail he remembered seeing that had grasped his attention amidst the tedium of running Iserlohn, but a sound stopped him then.
It was an important sound as far as the day was, a triumphant moment where the travails of the political system, for a moment, came to a result.
And there was DelaRoma, looking solemn and somewhat pleased, well aware that, at this moment, the attention of the Alliance population, of all of those who had been watching and listening with varying degrees of interest, were now utterly focused on him. At that moment, Yang understood, the famed and well-respected news anchor was as much the center of Free Planets Alliance society. And while Yang had come to understand that the man was too professional to wallow in his own importance, he certainly grasped how defining the moment was. When he spoke, his voice was steady, clear, without ambiguity.
"Ladies and gentlemen, citizens of the Alliance. It's the privilege of the Universal News Network to say that, at this stage, we can announce that the next Alliance High Council shall be formed by members of the Free Alliance Party. With the tally of the current vote…"
And the moment passed : the rest, while useful future reference, was trivia. Yang leaned backwards into his chair as he took in the words. Mechanically, he downed his second drink, unaware of his digestive system crying out at the sudden abuse. For a moment, he didn't quite know how he felt.
Attenborough, of course, was far more sanguine about it, whooping and throwing his arms up as if he'd just won a race, as Schenkopp raised an eyebrow and chuckled.
"Now, this is what I'm talking about! Right here! Right now! Oh, this is a good day!" he crowed, grinning from ear to ear.
'Finally,' the general said in what was clearly mock annoyance, 'Now, maybe people'll calm down, you included.'
The young admiral gave the larger man next to him a playful punch on the shoulder. "Oh, even a cynical guy like you's got to get how great this is! Trunicht lost, for Heaven's sake! That's worth some joy, isn't it?"
"Yes," Yang found himself nodding at that. No matter the doubts he had about the Alliance's ability to save itself, there was one fact that was clear in his mind : Rebelo as Chairman was quite a few degrees above Trunicht holding the same post. He refilled his glass, quite intent on actually tasting the brew this time, with a voice in his head telling him just how disapproving both Julian and Frederica would be for drinking so much.
He rose, sheepish, abashed. Even in front of only two men. It was at moments like these that he wondered how he ever managed to command anyone, much less a fleet. Speeches tended to elude him. Badly.
"This is good. There's a lot of problems left, but this is good. Let's drink to Chairman Rebelo!"
"Damn right!" Attenborough said excitedly, rising. "To Rebelo! May he keep kicking at the top for a long, long time!"
The general shrugged, rising with a half-grin. "To Rebelo. Hopefully, he won't screw this up."
The glasses clicked.
March 3, 797 UC, Free Alliance Party Headquarters, Heinessen
11:46 PM, Standard Heinessen Time
He could hear the crowds going wild in the Free Alliance Party headquarters. Shouts, hurrahs, and indistinct, excited voices merged into a massive backdrop of cheerfulness. Laced into the cheer, of course, was some good-natured impatience. They had won, now they needed the leader of the party for which they had worked to speak to them.
Rebelo, as he walked through the back of the building, completely agreed with the sentiment. He was still in some disbelief that they had actually won more than the Democratic Union. Despite Operation Free Stars, and in spite of the backing of people like Yang Wen-li, he realized that he hadn't fully believed his party would be foremost. What he had hoped for, to think about it, was that his party and the peace party would have to make a coalition to topple the Trunicht Administration. It was a relief that it hadn't come to pass. He didn't want to think how that snake would have tried to tear that alliance apart.
"Congratulations, mister Secretary," a delegate, a young woman of about thirty, said, coming forward to shake his hand, "Or, more to the point, congratulations, mister Chairman."
Rebelo smiled, shook the hand warmly. "A bit premature, but thank you, miss...?" he inquired. For the life of him, he couldn't place the name.
"Almoni, Jessica Almoni." came the answer readily.
"Well, miss Almoni, we've got a lot of work ahead, all of us. Let's all do our best, alright?"
"Yes, sir." she nodded, and he moved on. It was only a few more moments before he heard a deep voice he knew well.
"Seems like you won." Sydney Sithole mused, dressed in rather casual clothes. Rebelo blinked. It was still strange to see the large black man out of uniform, at least in a public setting. Still, he was damn glad to see the man, and went to him quickly. "Good to see you."
"Took you long enough," he groused good-naturedly, "You coming in at the last minute like that. Do you know how hard a night it was for me and Rui?"
"I see your overflowing with joy," Sithole said, stone-faced. For a moment, the two regarded each other levelly. And then, despite his best efforts, Rebelo cracked a grin, and both men found themselves chuckling. They shook hands, and the former officer slapped the politician on the shoulder.
"You made it. Good one! Miss Lucilla'd be really proud," he mused. Having grown up near the Rebelo household, Sithole had known Juan's parents, and had respected them. He had grieved for Lucilla Rebelo when she had left the world. His words were heartfelt, and Rebelo nodded in appreciation. Yes, his mother would be proud. Both of his parents would be.
"Yes, yes we made it. Now, there's a lot of things to do. Nominations to the High Council, for instance." he said, giving Sithole a look. "I'll need good people to help me out."
Sithole shook his head. "Already setting things up, eh?"
He nodded. "I need to. I can't make mistakes. Too much's riding on this one."
Sithole grinned. "Preaching to the choir. Well, it'll be nice to have a Chairman without so much dirt on him that you can't see the man. It's sadly been a while."
The newly-elected leader of the Free Planets Alliance didn't let it show, but the comment hit harder than it would have only a few weeks ago. His hands, clean? Who was he kidding? He'd made a deal with the devil to win this thing. A clean victory, that was what everyone saw it was. Everyone except the few who knew about that garbled voice, that voice that seemed to know everything.
And it didn't stop there. Five years on the High Council, he'd honestly tried his best. But how many times had he made a deal for expediency. How many times had he looked away from an injustice, while telling himself that, one day, he'd do something? Too many times. And now he was supposed to lead an entire nation? For a moment, he felt like a fraud, someone who talked about principles without having done anything to back it up.
Unbidden, doubt - that damnable uncertainty - welled up inside him. And then Sithole's hand came down on his shoulder, large powerful, yet friendly.
"I know that look," the black man mused, "You're thinking about all those skeletons in your closet. "Take it from someone who's got his share of bitter regrets: listen to those people right in the next room. Listen to them."
And he did. His ears, which had narrowed the sound, let themselves hear the voices of the multitudes. He could hear them: nervous, elated, shouting to each other cheerfully. He could hear joyous chants of the Alliance Anthem, mingled with insistent shouts of 'Speech! Speech! Speech!'. They wanted him in there, and they didn't sound like they intended to be denied.
He shook his head, smirking and shaking off his friend's hand good-naturedly. "I must be one Hell of a wreck, if I need you to cheer me up. Rui'd mock me for it, if he wasn't busy with his own district."
Sithole gave him a vexed look that would have seemed real to anybody who hadn't know the man for over forty years. "Rui got elected with a bigger share of the vote than you."
"Are you implying something?!"
"That he's more well-liked than you!"
"Well, that's...!" he stopped, chuckled, "Absolutely true." He nodded to his aide, who was waiting for his word. They went to announce him shortly. As they did, he pointed a finger at the former admiral. "You stay here, you insufferable retiree. You're not getting out of this that easily."
"I brought a nice little cider that'll help that future conversation go easier."
He nodded. "That's good. " They were getting to him, now, the crowd was going even wilder. "Well, well, guess it's time for me to do this."
"Yeah, try not to screw that up. From now on, Heaven help us, you're the face of the Alliance."
"Sure, great. No pressure at all!" he grunted, and then entered the great hall.
The sound, the high sound of crowd excitement, went through the roof as the spotlights fell on him. The crowd, drunk on their victory despite the odds set against them because of almost a generation of precedents, now had someone to target their elation on. The roar became deafening as Rebelo shook hands with Free Alliance Party members who seemed to be struggling not to bounce with excitement.
"Rebelo! Rebelo! Rebelo!" was the commanding cry, and at that moment, as it came for every election he had won, the doubts completely left him. He forgot about the voice that had helped him subversively. He forgot about Trunicht's short congratulating call and the undertones that promised a hard fight in the future. He forgot about the Galactic Empire and the fact that the Alliance may not be able to continue the deadly struggle against it for very long.
He forgot all of it. It was for later. This was what he lived for. This moment. And he let himself enjoy it to the fullest. If that was pride or vanity, he didn't care. He let the elation course through him, invigorate him. Problems were for tomorrow. Tonight was for victory.
He went to the podium, where flashes from lights and the whirring of high-tech recording devices from news media across the entire republican nation captured the moment. He waited until the roar subsided before he spoke.
"My friends," he said, and had to stop as the people shouted him down in a sudden cheer. He smiled, waited, started again. "My friends, I remember people once telling me that there wasn't any room left in our nation for change, that the will of the people could no longer have an impact!" he paused just a moment for effect. "Tonight, you all proved it: Those people were wrong!"
Another cheer. Resounding. Deafening. One of many to come.
"Tonight, the people of the Alliance have decided to take a chance. They have decided to break with tradition. They have decided: we want something better! We want something new!" He paused again, this time with determination. He was about to give the people a promise. A political one, but also a personal one. He wasn't to let this go to waste.
"I promise you: this government will give you those things!" he said. And as the assembled people roared again, he nodded to himself.
It was a promise he would fight as hard as he could to keep it.
It was a day of victory, a changing of the guard that most in the Alliance welcomed. On that victorious day, however, shadows were already forming, unknown to many. Resentments and ills, long kept in check, fanned by malicious interests, were about to explode. The Alliance would soon be made to forget the elation of March the Third.
HISTORICAL FACTS # 4
CHAIRMEN OF THE ALLIANCE HIGH COUNCIL
THE FOLLOWING LIST IS THAT OF THE MEN AND WOMEN WHO HAVE HELD THE HIGHEST POLITICAL OFFICE IN THE FREE PLANETS ALLIANCE, THAT OF HIGH COUNCIL CHAIRMAN. THIS LIST IS DATED FROM ITS FIRST OFFICIAL 'ELECTION DAY' IN UC 528 TO THE CURRENT ELECTION OF UC 797.
I - Stephen Hart - United People's Party (UC 528 - UC 538) : Empire-born. Passed the Population Fortification Act and the Space Fortification Act (538). Alliance Backbone Fleet formed (531).
II - Satoru Sakura - Liberal Front (UC 538 - UC 543) : Expanded the first colonial hubs. Tried to mitigate the Population Act with little success, but fully supported the Space Act.
III - Martin Leyland-Dutel - United People's Party (UC 543 - UC 563) : Restructured the ABF into the Free Planets Star Fleet (551). Elected four times, the most of any Chairman. Cynically called 'King Martin the First' by political rivals due to the length of his tenure.
IV - Petyr Roslov - Liberal Front (UC 563 - UC 564) : Mired by poor leadership and a minority government, he was in office only 9 months before being defeated by a massive vote of no-confidence.
V - Alberto Lorenzo - United People's Party (UC 564 - UC 569) : First expanded the Defence Forces and the Star Fleet. Otherwise had a lacklustre tenure. Died suddenly in UC 573. The first colonies outside Heinessen were founded during the Lorenzo Administration. Election Day made official.
VI - Bastian Hart - United People's Party (UC 569 - UC 579) : Grandson of Stephen Hart. Was Vice-Chairman under Lorenzo. His last term was increasingly unpopular. He repealed the Population Fortification Act (577), but it was too late to regain the public's trust.
VII - Raphael Delphino - Democratic Union (UC 579 - UC 589) : First Alliance-born Chairman. A great reformer, his years refocused on culture and the economy. Credited in bringing the 'Golden Sixty'. Also known as the 'Father of the Alliance Golden Age' to later historians.
VIII - Mary-May Winstonberg - Democratic Union (UC 589 - UC 594) : Largely elected due to predecessor's popularity, but unable to measure up to expectations, losing decisively.
IX - Nikolai Zatesef - Liberal Front (UC 594 - 604) : A former Chief Justice, he greatly reworked the Alliance Justice System, especially with the Second Judicial Act (606). He later returned to work in the Justice system, where he actually accrued far greater accolades than he ever did as High Council Chairman.
X - Bijan Nazari - United People's Party (UC 604 - UC 609) : Was known as impeccably honest, but unable to keep the people's support. Election Day is now set to March Third, where it will thereafter remain.
XI - Annabel Thomson - Progressive Party (UC 609 - UC 619) : Led the Star Fleet's second expansion, and created the Reserve Force Provisions (615). The colonies were expanded during her tenure.
XII - Dixon Smith-Davis - Progressive Party (UC 619 - UC 624) : Continued his predecessor's policies. His lack of drive in putting forth his own personality was said to have led to his defeat.
XIII - George Atieno - Democratic Union (UC 624 - UC 629) : Won a surprise victory, but was unable to capitalize on his gains, and lost to resurgent rivals. The party would lose power for several decades.
XIV - Maurice Lamontagne - Progressive Party (UC 629 - UC 639) : An energetic man, he revived interest in his party and enjoyed quite a bit of popularity. Expected to run for a third term, he refused due to health issues.
XV - Juan Manuel Patricio - Progressive Party (UC 639 - UC 649) : Expected to be an average Chairman, showed leadership in the events that changed the Alliance, such as the Battle of Dagon (640) and the early years of the Second Exodus (641 - 665), also known as the Third Colonial Expansion.
XVI - Cornell Youngblood - Progressive Party (UC 649 - UC 664): Secretary of Defence at during the Battle of Dagon, was dynamic and was able to coax the small Alliance into actively absorbing the people of the Second Exodus. Elected three times. His last tenure was exhausting, and he died only a year after leaving office.
XVII - Gilbert Rossa - Democratic Union (UC 664 - UC 669): Elected due to many of the people having grown tired of 'Progressive Party Rule', Rossa was elected with a resounding majority, but the Kornelias Invasion destroyed his power base and reduced the party to minor status.
XVIII - Yuval Malcah - Republican Alliance (UC 669 - UC 672): The leader of a new party, he took the Alliance by storm due to arguing for a stronger defence. His passing the National Birth Amendment (671) and discovery of widespread profiteering eventually caused him and the entire Council to be dismissed by special parliamentary order.
XIX -Erza Kaya-Opal - Coalition (UC 672 - UC 677): Born to Imperial parents, Kaya-Opal was elected by the former Imperial population in earnest, but failed to rescind the National Birth Amendment in 674 and 677, losing the next election.
XX - Harold Sterngate-Mayen - National Conclave (UC 677 - UC 682): An officer during the Kornelias Invasion, he and his government began to modernize and greatly expand the Star Fleet. Critiques and pressure caused him not to seek re-election.
XXI - Viviana Tucci - National Conclave (UC 682 - UC 691): Continued her predecessor's fleet expansion program, the Star Fleet rose from 34,000 to 57,000 in her time. Phezzan gave an extensive money loan during that time, bolstering the strained economy. Her constant pushing back the date for a counter-strike made her administration lose popularity, and she resigned in October of 691.
XXII - Joel-Henry Walburg - National Conclave (UC 691 - UC 692): Viviana Tucci's Vice-Chairman, who was Acting Chairman from October 691 to March 692.
XXIII - Marcel Toussaint - Liberal Front (UC 692 - UC 697): A former social worker, he was generally anti-war and was reluctant to commit the restored Star Fleet to a major offensive. Eventually relented in 696, leading to the lopsided Alliance victory at the Battle of Shandarua the same year. Due to his opposition to the operation and bitter conflicts with the Department of Defence, his party lost enough popularity and was defeated in 697.
XXIV - Tang Heng-Zong - Popular Coalition (UC 697 - UC 702): Was said to have been largely elected due to his staunch support of the Furious Comet Operation that led to Shandarua, as his government was actually considered less than competent in several quarters, only staying in power for one term due to a complicated system of political alliances.
XXV - Walter Prentiss - Liberal Front (UC 702 - UC 707): A rear admiral during the Battle of Shandarua, his strong pro-war stance gained him enough backing to sweep into power. He, however, was unable to competently deal with a strong pro-peace resurgence within the Alliance population, made all the stronger due to Crown Prince Manfred von Goldenbaum, who had been raised within the Alliance and became Kaiser, launching into peace talks.
XXVI - Al Altaf - Popular Coalition (UC 707 - UC 717): Cautiously followed Kaiser Manfred II into preliminary peace talks, but quickly backed off after the Kaiser's assassination brought the now-infamous Phezzan Peace Summit to a complete halt. Despite this setback, he was able to navigate political currents and remained in power for a decade, leaving of his own will. For this reason, he came to be called 'The Chessmaster of Alliance Politics'.
XXVII - Juan Palacio Zamora - Liberal Front (UC 717 - UC 722) The five years of the Palacio Zamora Cabinet were politically and militarily uneventful. He, however, decided not to run again despite pressure to do so. The National Birth Amendment is repealed during his administration (720).
XXVIII - Charlene Youngblood - Liberal Front (UC 722 - UC 732) Scion of the powerful Youngblood political family, her extensive connections and several Alliance military victories - most notably the Battle of Forseti - allowed her to create a power base which would keep her party in power for two decades. Remained highly active in political circles until her death in UC 759.
XXIX - William Laine - Liberal Front (UC 732 - UC 742): Followed in the wake of his predecessor, and steered the Alliance competently for a decade. Eventually, however, he lost due to a worsening relationship with Star Fleet Commander McGreer, who ran against him in a new party.
XXX - Thomas Robert McGreer - Labour Party (UC 742 - UC 752): A famed Alliance admiral, known for his Defence Doctrine (UC 725), his victory at Forsetti (UC 728) and his mentoring of the Mafia of UC 730. Considered an honest man, he eventually tired of the nature of Alliance politics and retired from most social circles, prompting the Labour Union to lose most of its support from the considerable military power blocks. Died in UC 783 at the age of 101.
XXXI - Filip Larssen - Liberal Front (UC 752 - UC 755): Elected due to McGreer's departure from politics, he and his Cabinet were deeply embroiled in the Triton Planetary Tax Scandal of 754, which led to such a political and social uproar that, for the only time in its history, the Alliance High Council in its entirety was dismissed by popular pressure. The 226 years old Liberal Front Party, the oldest active political party in the Alliance, never recovered.
XXXII - Carl Blake - Independent (UC 755): Was Acting Chairman of a Provisionary High Council for six weeks, until elections could be called. The only Independent to be Chairman.
XXXIII - Gupai Hindocha - Popular Coalition (UC 755 - UC 762) Was elected in a large majority in 755 due to the Liberal Front's complete collapse, and managed to be re-elected in UC 760. Links to the Tax Scandal, however, were discovered, and the Hindocha Cabinet was forced into a special election in 762, which it lost to a restructured Labour Union.
XXXIV - Laura Marek-Lebane - Labour Party (UC 762 - UC 772) A well-oiled political campaign and strong charisma allowed the Labour Party to be elected ahead of the wealthy, new-created New Democratic Union, and the Marek Lebane Cabinet managed to survive renewed assaults and gain re-election in 767, but was unable to survive the political fallout that was the First Battle of Iserlohn.
XXXV - Kevin Hallard Sullivan - New Democratic Union (UC 772 - UC 782) An extremely astute, highly connected man, he took the New Democratic Union and destroyed all opposition, making his party the dominant one for a quarter century. Ruthlessly pursued a pro-war stance, and survived even defeats at Second and Third Iserlohn. By the end of his tenure, where he retired, his party was firmly in control.
XXXVI - Anna-Maria Stratos - New Democratic Union (UC 782 - UC 787) Was Secretary of Transportation in 772 and Vice-Chairman in 777, considered to be Hall Sullivan's 'heir'. Decided to scale back assaults after Fourth Iserlohn's severe losses and a worsening economy. Eventually was pressured to retire due to unspecified issues within the party. Died in an accident in late 788.
XXXVII - Royal Stanford - New Democratic Union (UC 787 - UC 796) Well connected and from a powerful family, the strength of the Union's dominance allowed the Stanford Cabinet to survive Fifth Iserlohn, and profit from Sixth Iserlohn. With popular support eroding after nearly twenty-five years, the decision was made to launch Operation Free Stars, which met with failure and became a tremendous political backlash, forcing most of the High Council to quit the party and shaking the Union's foundations.
XXXVIII - Job Trunicht - New Democratic Union (UC 796 - UC 797) The former Secretary of Defence and Acting Chairman for four months. Highly charismatic, he retained his popularity despite his party being narrowly defeated in the 797 Elections.
XXXIX - Juan Rebelo - Free Alliance (UC 797 - INCUMBENT) Elected in the wake of the Free Stars political and military debacle, largely due to his spotless reputation, his refusal to acknowledge Free Stars as anything but a terrible decision, and the Alliance public ready for any alternative. His Cabinet not yet having been formed, it is impossible to tell what his government intends to do now that it is in power.
Note: The highest political office from Landfall in UC 727 to the 1st Elections of 728 was held by Nguyen Kim Hua, leader of the Exodus Fleet Council. Although he led the Free Planets Alliance for some months, he didn't do so officially, and publicly refused the title. As such, he is not considered to have been Alliance High Council Chairman.