Published: 13 Mar 2017
Part XXI
THREE WORLDS
Formerly Published as “0300 Books I, II, and III”
Chapter 64: It’s Hard to Keep a Secret
We could not hide our invasion of the Reverends’ territory for long. The destruction of Mt. Zion should have stirred things up; but as far as we could determine, the only people who really understood what that meant were some survivors of the Arcana and the scientists in Chicago and Miami Even they weren’t sure what to believe except that they were under attack.
Whether he personally believed it, or not, the Scudder proclaimed that it had been an act of God. The common people swallowed that and so, it seemed, did the Sheriffs and the Army. That wasn’t hard for us to understand that the Reverends had fed them lies and myths for so long, and had suppressed any facility for critical thinking, that they’d likely have believed in the Tooth Fairy, too.
We knew that eventually we would have to deal with the Reverends’ hierarchy as well as the Pan-Asians and the Mujahedeen. We were allowed only three months before this came to a head. By then, we were prepared.
Even before the news of our activities broke on the Reverends’ world, and following the model developed for “softening up” the Reverends’ territory, we made sure the Pan-Asians knew about us—at least, what we were capable of. We put a satellite in synchronous orbit over Malaysia, and broadcast video showing the destruction of Mt. Zion. Based on what they learned from captured video equipment in the Reverends’ territory, Marty and his sigint team found ways to block central signals without having to lock out the microwave network. We didn’t do that, too often, however.
And, we recruited the Australians.
Noah was terrified. His mouth was dry and his tummy was jittery. He had been injected as a humint resource during his team’s initial analysis of the Aussies of F-U, and had met a couple of people he thought might become friends. Now, a few months later, he was going to visit them again to tell them he was a Lieutenant in a Fleet that had spaceships and that were the people responsible for what the Aussies had been seeing on their televisors, courtesy of our new broadcast satellite. That was quite a burden for a fourteen-year-old boy.
I pulled him aside when he reported to my Ready Room and gave him a hug. “You’re going to do fine, Noah. You kept your head when I threw Team Australia at you; you’re going to do just as well on this mission.”
His stomach had settled, but his mouth was still a little dry when he presented his plan for first contact with Australia to key staff and me. Tomorrow, he’d brief the Task Force.
“There will be six of us. That’s small enough not to frighten people, large enough to provide all the skills and security we need.”
Besides Noah, the team would include Alberto, the boy the GWGs had rescued during war games on the Yucatan a few years ago, and Concho, a native of Long Island but who spoke like a kid from Brooklyn, and who wanted to be called “C.” A new kid, Colin, a Meta from Ireland who had been picked up by one of the “Press Gangs” would fill out the team. Colin with his fiery red hair and pale white skin, Alberto with black hair and brown skin, and “C” with white hair and café-au-lait skin were perhaps the three most unlikely of the geeks to blend in with the homogenous population of Australia.
“Alberto, Colin, and Concho are going to help the Australian people understand that there’s a big world out there—and up here,” Noah said. “We’ll also take two of the younger Marines. I hope we don’t need the Marines—except to buy the beer.”
The kids—all Metas—grinned, and then snapped shut their minds. I knew I had to answer that thought.
“I know that Noah and some of the other youngsters sampled Aussie beer during the earlier humint missions,” I said.
And I know that you got hold of a couple of kegs during the field day at Yucatan, and shared it, and that some of the kids got a little more than just buzzed, I sent to Noah, privately. Had you not made sure they were watched over and protected I would have been extremely upset. Noah blushed, and then grinned, ’cause he knew what I was going to say.
“Guys? You’re going to be risking your lives. Not just on this mission, but as long as you are in Fleet. You’re not old enough, but you are wise enough to do that. You know and accept the risk. You are also wise enough to drink beer, and you’re smart enough not to drink too much.
“You are smart enough, aren’t you?” I asked.
Noah and the other youngsters nodded their heads vigorously. There were some grins, but I scanned and found seriousness and understanding.
“You’ve selected the Marines?” I asked.
Noah called in the Marines who had been waiting for his summons, and introduced them.
“Sir, the other members of the team are Lance Corporal Kennedy, from Adelaide, and Private Hancock, from Sidney,” Noah said.
The two Marines remained stiff, even after I invited informality. That was a conundrum, but one which I had encountered before. I was pleased that the Marines maintained formality. It was part of what it meant to be a Fleet Marine. On the other hand, I saw that the Lance Corporal and the Private were not only boyfriends themselves, but that they had formed a mentor bond with Noah and the Metas on Team Australia. As long as Noah could deal with that, I was okay with it, and let Noah know.
“What’s your plan?” I asked, with an It’s time to cut to the chase message to Noah. He didn’t disappoint me.
“Re-establish contact with some of the people I met, before. Scan them as necessary, and identify links to the people in power—their government. Get introductions to people who can lead us to people who can lead us to the people in power. It’s like the Six Degrees of Kevin game that we play sometimes.
“Establish a relationship with the government, which we know not only wants freedom from vassalage to the Pan-Asians, but also is beginning to understand the message of the Enlightenment.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” I said. “What happens next?”
Noah continued. “Our strategy will be best served by equipping the Aussies with cargo ships rather than warships. There’s a lot of opportunities for legitimate trade with the Pan-Asians, and later the people of the liberated Reverends’ territory. On the other hand, we want the Aussies to help us deal with the Pan-Asians, who have a lot of warships.
“We will need a bunch of cargo ships equipped with shields and radar—good radar—and armed with HE rockets with pyrotechnic loads—just to impress the Pan-Asians with what they could do. They’ll also need good anti-missile and anti-ballistic shell defenses—to impress the Pan-Asians with what they can do.
“The Pan-Asians have managed to block any Australian shipbuilding, so the first ships will have to come from us. The Aussies have heavy industry, so it won’t be long before they can build their own ships. We’ll still have to continue to help with defensive weapons and shields, though.
“We’ll need additional help in establishing diplomatic relationships between Sydney and Formosa.”
“Walk softly and carry a big stick,” one of Cory’s people said. Sounded like he was quoting someone, but I’d not heard it before.
Corporal Kennedy, stiff and uncomfortable in mufti, brought the second round of coldies to the table. That’s it for us, Noah sent his team, and felt their assent.
“You been watching Channel 6?” Noah asked Liam.
“Sure. They know a lot they shouldn’t know,” the boy answered. “And—I figured this out, myself—they’ve got a bunch of secret transmitters, somewhere.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, if you ain’t in cooee of a transmitter, you won’t get a signal, and everybody’s gettin’ the signal.”
“Did you tell anyone that you’d sussed this?”
“My dad; he’s a lieutenant in the Home Guard. He said he’d tell his boss.”
Second degree of Kevin! Noah thought. “You know the signal comes from space, don’t you?” he asked.
“What? How do you know?” Liam asked.
Here goes, Noah thought, crossed his fingers, and then said, “‘Cause I helped put the transmission satellite in orbit.”
“Go on! You’re a nutter, you know.”
“Give me six words, and I’ll have them put on Channel 6.”
“Six words? “Liam thought for only a moment. “That’s easy, ‘Noah ain’t got the full quid.'”
Noah nodded. “Now, get the publican to switch to Channel 6, and pay attention.”
The boy stared at Noah for a minute, and then turned toward the bar. “Hey, mate, switch to six, won’t you?”
“They won’t put anything new ’till later,” the man groused.
“Just do it, mate,” Liam said.
As soon as the picture cleared. A kid about Noah’s age appeared. He held a piece of paper. He read, “Noah ain’t got the full quid.” Then he grinned. “But he does.”
The kid winked and said, “And Liam? Noah thinks he’s fair dinkum.” The picture faded, and a rerun of the previous evening’s news broadcast resumed.
“Well gobsmack me!” Liam said. “How’d you do that?”
Noah took the pack of playing cards from his shirt pocket and shook out not cards, but an iPhone. “This is like a televisor,” he said. “Except it lets me talk to my ship. They’ve been listening to what we said. The ship is in orbit, too.”
“What was that all about?” the publican asked, but turned away when no one answered. Alberto’s push had something to do with that.
Liam’s father was surprisingly easy to talk to. He accepted his son’s story, including the proof that had been broadcast earlier that day. He agreed that Noah and his team might meet his boss, a regular Army colonel, the next day.
Third degree, Noah thought.
The Australian Army was small enough that the colonel had access to the commanding general, who had access to the Prime Minister. Five degrees, Noah thought while he waited in the PM’s anteroom. I sure hope this works.
“Lieutenant Smith tells me that you are a great deal more than you appear to be,” the PM said after shaking Noah’s hand. “He tells me you are the Noah mentioned on Channel 6 at 11:42 AM yesterday, and that his own son is the Liam addressed a minute after that.
“Oh, yes,” he said in response to Noah’s raised eyebrows. “We monitor the channel continuously. And we have already determined that the signal comes from space at a point over the equator. That you knew that was another proof of your bona fides.
“What do you want?” The man cut straight to the point.
Noah took a breath, let it out, relaxed, and listed the points that had been hammered out by Commodore Stewart and the diplomats from Geneva.
“An alliance with the people of Australia based on mutual trust and benefit. We know that trust may come slowly; we’re prepared to accept that. We know that the benefits may be a bit one-sided, initially; we’re prepared to accept that, as well.
“Second, your help in creating an alliance with the Pan-Asians.”
Noah held up his hand to forestall the PM. “We know,” the boy said, “that you want out from under their thumb, and we don’t mean an alliance that will keep you there. We want the alliance among the three of us to be based on trust and mutual benefit.
“Third, your agreement to base your government on the principles of the Enlightenment—we know you are moving in that direction, and we hope that you will be an anchor for a world government that shares those values.”
The PM sat silently for a moment. Then, “That’s all?” he asked.
“Actually,” Noah said. “I’d like to know what we can trade for a bunch of Aussie beer. It’s awesome! Better even than back home.”
It took much longer to explain what back home meant than for the PM to agree to the proposals Noah had outlined and to agree to host a delegation of diplomats in the immediate future. And it took only two months to build cargo ships to Noah’s specifications. The first open contact with the Aussies was made considerably easier when a fleet of these ships steamed into the Sidney harbor, with a bunch of Noah’s Aussie friends as their crews.
Formosa
The boys wanted to send the Enterprise, but agreed that would have been too much of a big stick. The destroyer Qin Shi Huang, with her name boldly painted in both Roman letters and Chinese characters, hovering 10 yards above the water, escorted the Aussie merchant fleet on their maiden voyage to the Qiajin Harbor when we made first contact with the Pan-Asians and introduced their former vassal state of Australia as our ally.
The Aussie ships were loaded with rice, wheat, and low-sulfur coal. Not as gifts, although we knew that a drought had created famine in some regions of the Pan-Asian Hegemony, but to be traded for machinery, electronics, luxury goods, and—perhaps more important—diplomatic relationships.
Team Pan-Asia had warned us that the Pan-Asians of F-U were very proud of their history, and very sensitive about their image and prestige. We kept that always in mind. It was not hard to find things to praise about their culture. We sought diligently to establish trade on fair terms, including offering to continue food shipments in return for access to their televisor networks.
I think the Pan-Asian leadership realized that this access would be the beginning of the end for their autocratic government, but they were considerably more pragmatic than had been the Inquisition. They were favorably impressed that we knew a great deal about their history, including their invention of paper and the compass, and the first-ever recorded observation of a super nova. But our friendship was sealed when one of our people, an archaeologist, dropped a hint telling them where to excavate to find Qin Shi Huang’s Terracotta Army.
A carefully orchestrated visit for their leadership and the Aussie PM to our world, including a reception attended by the entire Fleet Council, was actually anticlimactic after that.
In reciprocation for that diplomatic reception, I was invited to a banquet on Formosa to celebrate our alliance. The people from Geneva gave me all sorts of advice, including how to eat the chicken head that would probably be presented to me at the dinner. It was some sort of symbolic delicacy. I thought of the rations we’d eaten while in training in the mountains of British Columbia, and shrugged. As long is it’s not chicken feet, I thought.
The chicken head wasn’t a problem. The problem came when I was introduced to the son of Party Chairman Quan.
“Commodore, this is my son, Quan Chang Chu. He is sixteen, and he is a student of science. It is my hope that he will learn from you.”
The Chairman had slipped in another requirement for our friendship.
That was not, however, what I thought of. What I thought of was that this Chang was my friend from Hong Kong, the boy for whom I’d learned Cantonese and with whom I’d spent many nights as a young teen engaged in oral sex. Couldn’t be. That Chang would be 20, 21 years old, now. But except for the difference in age, they could be twins!
I grasped for something to say. “Chu, means scarlet red, and is the name of emperors,” I said. “I know that your country no longer has emperors; however, I understand the symbolism.”
“You know our language?” the boy said. It was only then that I realized I’d spoken in Cantonese.
“I’ve not had opportunity to speak it in many years,” I said, “and I speak poorly, I’m sure.”
The Chairman was more surprised than his son, but managed to tell me how well I spoke. “Your accent is more liquid than ours. I suspect you learned in Hong Kong.”
“You are correct, sir,” I said.
“We are all full of surprises, are we not?” Chang said. Then, perhaps emboldened by the exchange between his father and me, he asked, “May I visit you on your spaceship some day?”
There was a hiss as the Chairman drew in his breath through his teeth, but I forestalled whatever he was going to say.
“I think it would be an excellent way to expand our amity,” I said. “Your honored father said you were a scientist, and there is much science for you to see. And there is much science you can teach us, as well. Did you know that your people were the first…”
I continued the sentence using not only tidbits that had been impressed upon me by the diplomats but also things I remembered from my time with the other Chang. Although we’d spent nights engaged in sex, we’d spent the days in museums and libraries, and I had a better grasp of the Pan-Asians history than even our diplomats.
The Chairman was quite overwhelmed by my invitation (although I realized that was probably his reason for introducing his son) and by my knowledge.
“You are well schooled in our history,” he said.
“Actually,” I replied, “it was a boy from Hong Kong, in my world, who taught me. We were teens, and spent a few weeks together visiting museums. It is a happy memory of my childhood.”
Diplomats from our Geneva bartered with both the Aussies and the Pan-Asians to establish sovereign embassies in those countries in return for positioning their embassies in our Switzerland. The notion of freedom of movement and immunity for diplomats was foreign to them, since they’d not exchanged ambassadors since the middle of the 19th century. Explaining that was another task I was happy to turn over to the experts.
Chang, however, was a problem I had to deal with—a problem I could not solve by myself. As soon as I returned to the Charleston I summoned George to my Ready Room.
“George? You’re in charge of a major planning effort—the rollup of the Inquisition’s forces. You are still the top physicist on the GWG team. You want to lead strike teams, and I’m happy for you to do that when it doesn’t interfere with your first and second jobs.
“Besides, my Little Leopard, you are never so eager as when you return from a mission.” I grinned.
George knew exactly what I meant by that; I didn’t have to send the imagery that formed in my mind, although I’m sure he saw it. The first time George had invited me to enter deeply into him had been the morning after I’d marked his ticklish spots with a chocolate magic marker, mimicking a Leopard’s spots, before licking them off. I knew that he would return from a combat mission with similar eagerness.
“I have yet another task for which I think you are the best qualified.”
I explained that the son of the most powerful of the Pan-Asian leaders would be arriving on a shuttle and that he needed a host. “He’s here to study science. And you’re the best member of the GWGs to show him that. He is the son of an important man, and will need security. But his security detail cannot be obvious. You’re the right person to provide that.
“I don’t know if he’s gay or straight. He’s fifteen, and may not know, himself. I know you can deal with either situation.
“Would you form a team—Danny, Bobby, Jonathan, Marty, and Will come to mind—to be his friends and mentors—and his security—for a few weeks? You can trade off responsibilities. That way none of you will have to dedicate 100% of your time to him, and he will get to see different aspects of our science.
“He’s certainly going to be debriefed strenuously when he returns. Our relationship with the Pan-Asians is not yet built on trust. You can show him everything except our AG drive, rift science, FTL and phaser technology from Cory’s world, and atomic science—I don’t want that genie getting out of the bottle on his world, again. Let him know upfront that there are some things he cannot see. Make sure he knows you all are telepaths, but stress that no one is to read him.
“Will you do this, George? And what have I missed?”
“Of course, I will Daddy. What about access to Tobor?” George said.
“Good point: not past Level 5. Oh, and make sure he sees the solar power satellites and the images we get from the Omegas —and then make sure he knows exactly how we do it. If he asks, give him engineering specifications and drawings. And an iPad. We want to impress him, but in no way make it appear that it’s something that his people couldn’t do if they wanted to.”
Three weeks later, I got an urgent call from Danny.
He’s gay, Danny sent. His father knows and approves, but they’re both really scared of what we might think, and of what would happen if we found out. They think we’ll find it—weak? What should I do?
How did you find out, Danny? That could make a big difference in how I answer.
We had just come back from a hands-on, close-up of one of the orbiting solar power satellites, and were taking off the skin suits in the locker room when Chang saw two of the boys in the shower kissing—and, uh, groping. Chang got hard as a rock, and blasted me telepathically. I got the whole bit—his sexuality, his father’s feelings, and fear of what we would think. He was wide open, Daddy!
The boys? Were they ours?
No. They were crew. They didn’t know, Danny sent. I should have—
No, you shouldn’t have. You couldn’t have known. Where are you, now?
Still in the shower. Chang’s drenching himself with cold water. It’s working, sort of.
Do you want to handle this? I asked.
I don’t think so, Daddy.
Bring him here.
“What did you think of the solar power satellites?” I asked after Danny and Chang had arrived and been served tea and some curled up cookies made by a recipe from our Pan-Asia.
“They are amazing technology,” Chang said. He blushed, and then whispered, “You must think us very backward, despite all the nice things you have said about us.”
“Chang, I meant every word I said. And it’s important that you understand these satellites. Your country will need to create dozens of them to replace the coal-fired power plants in operation, now.
“You have a history that is thousands of years longer than that of my culture. We have had only three hundred years to develop our technology. There’s—”
“Why?” Chang interrupted. “Why have you in three hundred years made greater progress than we in three thousand?”
I understood the depth of his feelings. He would otherwise never have interrupted me.
I described the Enlightenment, and presented it as an alternate way of looking at reality. I talked about the republics that were the foundation of the Fleet Council and how they were different from the top-down, rigid government that had grown to feed, house, and clothe his people’s burgeoning and largely agrarian population.
“You think our way is wrong!” he said.
“I think it is not the way I would select,” I said. “I think it worked for you and your people. I think, in fact, that it was the only option for your people at that time. I also think that it may be time for a change. I think that your father believes this, as well, or he would not have sent his most precious son to visit us.”
I pushed a little when I said this, and Chang calmed down. Still, he had objections.
“Even if we were to build such a satellite, we could not place it above Earth as you have. Will you show us how to do that, as well? George has said I may not see the engines of this ship.”
“Quan Chang Chu,” I addressed him formally. “The relationship between your people and mine will ultimately be built on trust. However, we have not known each other long enough to have created that trust.
“I believe that your honored father understands that, and that he has sent you to us as a gesture of trust. At the end of your visit, if your father agrees, I will send one of my sons to him to reciprocate and expand that trust.”
Danny? Yes, Daddy. Our exchange took less than a second; it was settled.
Chang nodded. “I will ask my father if Danny might visit.”
Did he hear us? I wondered, but remembering our promise not to pry, I refrained from trying to read the boy.
“There’s something else we must address,” I said.
“My son, Danny, is gay… homosexual,” I said. “As am I and as are many of the boys and men you will encounter on this ship and all ships of our fleet.
“Neither my culture nor I see homosexuality as synonym for weakness. Your culture is still somewhat ambivalent, but your honored father would agree with me, I think. Am I correct in this?”
Chang nodded, and blushed. His blush was not as obvious as it might have been on Colin, the Irish boy, but I saw it.
“The boys you have met told you they are telepaths and that they would never try to penetrate your mind or your memories. However, Danny told me that you saw something, today, that revealed your sexual orientation.”
Chang blushed, again. “The boys in the shower they…”
“They expressed their love in a touch and a kiss,” I said. “And you reacted in a normal fashion. You also blasted your thoughts to Danny. You sent them; he did not pry. Do you believe that?”
Chang’s blush got deeper. “I believe you,” he said.
“I… what did you see?” he asked Danny. I knew that took a lot of courage.
“I saw that the boys’ kiss excited you. I saw that you wanted to be able to kiss a boy, that way. I saw that your father knew of your desires. I saw that you and your father were both reluctant to make this known because of the reaction you expected from us.” Danny carefully did not say fear or afraid. He was becoming quite the diplomat.
“You said I sent my thoughts to Danny,” Chang said. “Does that mean I’m a telepath?”
Danny looked at me. Your call, I sent to him.
“You do have the sending part,” Danny said. “And the emotions part. Cam will work with you on the blocking, receiving, and control parts. He’s our best telepath.”
“Chang?,” I said. “That will happen only after you have talked to your father. I think it is time for you to return home. You may visit us again, soon. Will you ask your father to come for you? We will assign to him a diplomatic shuttle for his personal use.”
Chapter 65: Diplomacy is War by Other Means
We gave Chang’s father the same honors we would have offered a member of our Fleet Council, including donning seldom-worn dress uniforms complete with swords. I don’t know what the Chairman expected, but was pretty sure he was impressed, as were the members of his staff—civilian and military. Danny had reviewed our plan with Chang, who had relayed it to his father so the man would not be surprised. He wore a dark, civilian suit and displayed a number of miniature ribbons on his lapel—ribbons Chang had told us were marks of military honor.
Chang, himself, wore a uniform with insignia that identified him as a Lieutenant (j.g.) in their Naval Fleet—the same grade as those of my boys who provided the honor guard—although I suspected Chang could have worn any rank he chose. Like the honor guard, Chang wore a Sig Sauer 9-mm pistol. It had been a gift from the GWGs. His father saw the pistol and raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
Chairman Quan was quite affable. After the honors and official reception he accepted my invitation to tea with Danny, Chang, and me. After tea had been served and tasted, I dropped the bomb.
“Chairman, we understand that you might be concerned that we would think ill of you and your culture if we thought that Chang were homosexual. Nothing could be more removed from the truth.” I pushed slightly, just enough to keep him from jumping from his chair. I had been careful to use subjunctive tense, and had confirmed the translation from English to Cantonese with several experts.
“Many of the boys Chang has met, including all the boys in the honor guard which greeted you, are homosexual. I trust you saw no signs of weakness among them?”
The Chairman shook his head.
The members of the honor guard had been carefully selected, and I was able to continue truthfully. “They are all soldiers, and all have seen battle. They have been under fire; they have returned fire. They all have taken the lives of their enemies. When they return from battle, they take comfort in the arms of their brothers, their boyfriends, their lovers.
“We do not see that as a weakness in them nor do we see it as a weakness in others.”
The Chairman looked at his son. Something passed between them. Danny and I saw and felt relief in Chang’s face and mind. An almost imperceptible softening of the Chairman’s face followed.
“I think, Commodore, that you have a bright future as a diplomat as well as a military commander.”
I cemented our friendship when I replied, “Sun Tzu said that the art of war is vital to the state. And I believe he was right to place moral law as the first of the five constant factors. I also believe that both our cultures are founded, at their base, on the same moral laws. All else follows, I believe, from that.”
Danny sent a formal message reporting his arrival and describing the palatial quarters he’d been given. About eight hours later, he blasted all the Metas when Chang slipped into Danny’s room for his first experience with boy sex.
Because of their location on rail and telegraph lines, we found it convenient to roll up the Sheriffs Ranches as we moved from town to town. None of the sheriffs or deputies, including those in the headquarters and regional supply depots, were entirely innocent of some form of abuse of the boys in their care.
Those who were not executed or held for trial were put on a single ranch in Montana. We established a force field that completely surrounded the ranch. We gave the surviving deputies shovels, picks, scythes, and seed, and left them to their own devices. I did make a note to check on them in a couple of years, but somehow that never reached the top of my to-do list. I was sure someone took care of it, however.
Tobor’s database plus extensive DNA testing helped us return to their homes about half the boys from the liberated Sheriffs’ Ranches. The other boys, whose origins and families we could not determine, were offered the opportunity to remain on the ranches to raise food for themselves and to create a surplus to trade for goods ranging from clothes to tools to televisors to books. Most of the boys accepted that offer, especially after we promised to help with tractors and irrigation pumps.
We set up a school at each ranch. Attendance was voluntary, but we made it clear that education could lead to advancement. We also put an adult team in charge until the boys could organize themselves. Easy peasy, I thought.
We had nearly completed our roll up of the towns, villages, and Sheriffs’ Ranches of the Reverends’ world without forcing engagements with large bodies of Army troops. There remained a few larger targets. The most important of those were Fort Belvoir, the headquarters of the Army; Miami and Chicago, formerly Arcanastrongholds; Lynchburg, the Scudder’s headquarters; and Las Vegas, a cesspit.
George, Artie, Cory, and I looked at our resources. About 70% of the Task Force personnel were already on the ground, securing towns or repairing the infrastructure of the Reverends’ territory. I had to maintain a certain number of people on the ships to keep them in operation and to sustain the flow of supplies to troops on the ground.
“What’s left?” I asked George, who was working the spreadsheets.
“Ten strike teams,” he said. “Maybe you could ask Admiral Davis for more Marines and Seabees,” he suggested.
I wasn’t happy with that thought. Admiral Davis had given me command of nearly two-thirds of the Home Fleet, plus about half of the Venus Terraforming Fleet. I had more power and people than any commander in the history of Fleet. I wasn’t about to tell my boss that I had run out of resources.
“George? I want a solution that doesn’t require that. Let’s look at the situation.”
By reducing slightly the troops who were working in secured towns, George was able to assemble another ten strike teams. He assured me that would be sufficient.
Marty and Bobby had gotten together and reverse-engineered an iPad. They then created an iPad that would do one thing, and one thing, only: play a pre-recorded video every time the start button was pushed. Actually, it would do two things: it would self-destruct gently but spectacularly if anyone tried to open it.
We recorded a message to the Scudder and to the Seniors of Las Vegas, Chicago, and Miami as well as the commander at Ft. Belvoir warning them that any attack on us, any attempt to stop us, would be met with annihilation—and then added the video we had made of the destruction of Mt. Zion.
We were pretty sure that knowledge of our shuttlecraft was limited to people in territory we controlled, and we wanted to keep it that way. We couldn’t follow the precedent set when we delivered our message to Mt. Zion. That posed a problem.
“A kid,” Terry said. “A kid dressed like someone local. Got a skin suit on under his clothes, force-field off. Sub-vocal communicator. Comes up to the gate or whatever with this thing he’s found. Gives it to a guard.” It was pretty clear Terry wanted to be that kid.
“And if they insist he bring it in? Or fire on him without warning?” George said.
“Then he switches on the force-field and sub-vocals for pickup. They know we’re magic already. Giving them a couple more reasons to see that won’t hurt.”
Terry’s logic was good. The only change I made was that he have the force-field switched on when he approached the gate.
Terry’s missions went without a hitch. The results were not what we’d hoped for. The Scudder’s people and the army brass “turtled up.” The telegraph lines were full of traffic recalling what was left of their forces to assemble at Lynchburg, Ft. Belvoir, and Fort Pickett. The messages from Las Vegas, Chicago, and Miami requesting—demanding—troops smacked of desperation, and were not answered.
Our response was to cut telegraph lines and destroy sections of rail to isolate them from reinforcements. By taking on the Army in smaller pockets, we cut the number of casualties at Ft. Belvoir, Ft. Pickett, and Lynchburg significantly, but did not entirely eliminate them.
The Scudder’s body was found at his desk. The autopsy showed he’d died of alcohol poisoning.
The response from Chicago was completely unexpected: they sent us a message on the Arcana telegraph network. It was in the clear, and addressed to “Those who destroyed the Inquisition.” The offer to surrender came from a captain who reported that the Senior Reverend of Chicago was dead, that the Reverends’ Council was in disarray, and that the city was quickly running out of food. It was several days before we learned the entire story.
“Wash yourself, boy, and get into bed.” The Senior Reverend of Chicago demanded. His voice was slurred. The smell of onion and partially-cooked beef on his breath would have nauseated the boy he addressed except that the boy was so hungry even the man’s stink caused the boy’s stomach to rumble.
“May I have some food, sir?” the boy asked. His voice was barely above a whisper.
The man struck the boy, knocking him to the floor. “Do as you’re told, catamite!”
The boy crawled out of reach before standing and rushing into the bathroom.
The man lay on his back. His breathing was heavy. He’s asleep, the boy thought. He opened the towel in which he’d muffled the sound of breaking glass. He pulled out a shard, leaned over the bed, and cut the man’s throat. The glass sliced into the boy’s fingers. He wrapped his hand in the towel, sat on the floor, and rocked back and forth in pain.
“One of our people reached the room before the boy bled to death,” the captain said when we arrived. “Under other circumstances, the boy would have been executed. That we did not do so should tell you that we are not all evil.”
I stared at the captain. What you did to save that boy was to save yourself. The evil you have done in the past cannot be wiped away by one act of desperation.
Is the boy safe? I asked Kevin, who had escorted the Captain to me.
Safe, on the Hope. Six hours of microsurgery. He’ll lose the tip of his smallest finger, but he’ll be okay otherwise,Kevin replied.
“Hold the Captain for trial,” I ordered. “Look for someone else to lead Chicago.”
Our strategy for dealing with the Mujahedeen was quite a bit different from any other. We simply introduced the Mujahedeen of the Reverend’s world to their co-religionists of our world and of Cory’s world. The Mullahs of three worlds immediately began squabbling over doctrine. At the same time, we began a propaganda battle—on all three worlds—making sure the common people of the Mujahedeen’s territories understood that there was something better than what they had. Bit by bit, pieces of the Mujahedeen territories on all three worlds seceded, established secular republics, and joined the government of their respective worlds.
In Miami, we were surprised to be introduced to not only a Rabbi, but also a survivor of the Arcana. We were even more surprised by Lt. Riggs, who insisted on donning his old uniform before meeting us.
“I am faced with a dilemma,” he said. “I have sworn allegiance to a power I now know is not only destroyed, but also corrupt. I have believed for years in a power that is powerless against the weapons you wield. My dilemma is whether I should believe in what I see and sense, or what I have been taught is in an invisible realm that is to be believed on faith.”
The Rabbi nodded. “It is the same dilemma we have faced for many years. I do not expect either of us will answer those questions in this lifetime.”
Given its history, we agreed to leave Las Vegas to last.
“The biggest danger is that the Reverends will murder the children they are holding hostage,” George reported. “This is going to call for commando strikes, without warning.”
“What forces do we have?”
“Ten strike teams—and ten more from Australia,” George said. His grin answered the question I was about to ask. “F-U Australia,” George added. “And they’re good!”
The operation was much cleaner than we could have hoped for. When the light of day broke upon the city, every Reverend was dead. Only four children had died, and autopsies showed that two of those had been dead before we struck.
We evacuated the civilian population, after carefully screening them for complicity. John Patmos took charge of the eunuchs, and with the help of Andrew and Hamish, screened them, as well. Those who passed—and wanted it—were referred to medical for “refurbishment.” Following that, they were offered jobs as teachers and doctors.
As soon as the city was empty, Artie pressed a single button on the bridge of the Honolulu. Salvos of rockets with HE warheads pummeled the town until the ammunition magazines of the Honolulu were empty, and there was nothing larger than dust left on the ground.
It was two years afterwards before we were ready for the most dramatic broadcast since the destruction of Mt. Zion and that of Las Vegas. We’d already drained the “Lake of the Lord” so that we’d not cause a flood downstream. Naturally, George wanted to use gamma-burst lasers or, at the very least, HE rockets from one of the battleships to destroy the dam, but I vetoed that plan. It was too much of a show-of-force. We planted charges in the inner passages of the “Scudder dam,” and set them off remotely—from the bridge of the Honoluluwhile it hovered over the dam. That, I thought, was sufficient message. It took the Seabees only six months to rebuild the dam. By that time, the aqueducts were in place, and the desert began to bloom.
It took three years to roll up the Reverends’ territory, five more years before the people could feed themselves, and another ten years to educate the people sufficiently to establish a republic.
Europe of the FU developed a cultural identity and with little help from us formed a united government. They sent teachers and diplomats into Africa armed not with the poison of the missionaries who’d tried to convert the heathens, but with the knowledge of the Enlightenment.
Russia, a sleeping bear, woke, saw what was going on around it, and ran eagerly into the Enlightenment.
As late as thirty years afterwards the Mullahs in the Mujahedeen territory were still squabbling with their counterparts on our Earth and Cory’s about religious dogma. They’d lost all of their territory save a few cities, and nearly all of their adherents. We monitored them, but largely ignored them.
It was about that same time that Artie became the Prime Minister of the republican government of a nation that stretched from Baffin Island to Tierra del Fuego. Chang was an Admiral in his world’s United Space Fleet. There was a Fleet Council which included representatives from Artie’s Americas, Australia, Pan-Asia, Russia, California, Europe, and Africa. In the Long Universe, Cory was an Admiral in Star Fleet. There were hundreds of Metas throughout all the fleets of all the universes; Danny and George were the fathers, by host mothers, of two boys, and I was a granddaddy. But that’s another story.
As always, please let David know what you think of his story:david.mcleod@castleroland.net