Navy Admiral Wolfgang Higgs watched the
Exploration Corps admiral strut through the West Point spaceport. He enjoyed
watching people and figuring them out.
He now understood it was
his own vanity that misled him about his protégé, a perverse dolt like Gary
Fisher can only rise so high before he can no longer keep up with real leaders.
Fisher was as high as he could ever get, and perhaps too high.
“Admiral Fisher,” Higgs
called out from the cocktail lounge where he waited.
Fisher came into the
lounge with that toothy smile of his. He was a reasonably handsome man, twelve
years younger than Higgs, and looked excellent in an admiral’s uniform.
Higgs was jealous. When
Higgs was given his position after the coup, he had to get a uniform made for his
extra-large girth and always felt he didn’t look military enough.
“Admiral Higgs,” Fisher
said with the tight jaws that Higgs had learned were a sign he was trying hard not
to stammer, “I expected to see you at the Capitol.”
“I thought it best to meet
you early and review a few things before the meeting.”
The dolt nodded several
times with a raised-eyebrow ‘oh, yes, of course’ expression, meaning he didn’t
have a clue what they should talk about.
If it had been anybody
else, Higgs would offer him a drink and chat for a bit before going downtown,
but he’d chatted with Fisher before and saw no need to try it again. He pushed
away his half-finished whiskey and dropped a generous tip on the table. They
went out to Higgs’s waiting car.
“You’ve done well with your
new responsibilities, Admiral,” Higgs said as the car got moving. “I know the
financial side of things isn’t the usual business of your department, but we
have a keen interest in Stokes Industries and want to know everything about
their business practices.”
“Yes, sir. I’ve got a
pretty good overview of the whole operation concerning this particular
starship.”
“Of course, but what we
really need is information on the company’s vulnerabilities, especially
anything that might be used as leverage on Stokes himself. You can send
everything you’ve got to the attorney general.”
The puzzled expression on
Fisher’s face made Higgs impatient, but he merely explained—again, “The new government will eventually be like
the old Corporate State, but with all the little problems fixed so everyone
would stay happy. To do that, everything happening among the corporations must
be monitored.”
Higgs put it in the
simplest terms possible. It was a risky thing to admit while—after forty years—most
of the world still despised the Corporate State and would willingly fight
another war to stop it from coming back.
Higgs was a scholar of
history and understood where things had gone wrong. It would be done better
this time, and would only be an intermediate step leading to an even better,
perfect system that will last forever. It was his dream.
There was actually a lot
more to it, but he wasn’t about to start educating Fisher on the finer points
of designing a new society, especially because Fisher wouldn’t fit into the new
society. What Fisher would fit into were some nasty plans Batastia had going,
many of which Higgs wished weren’t necessary.
While they talked about
expanding the responsibilities of Fisher’s department to deal with political
issues, the car slowed to pass through the warehouse district. Higgs chose this
route to see Fisher’s reaction.
“Look at these people.”
Higgs indicated shabbily dressed men standing along the street. “They’re always
here, waiting for someone to stop and offer them work for the day, odd jobs and
such. They come from outside the city where they live in crude huts.”
“Mm…primitives,” Fisher
sneered. “We have them in Kansas too. They’re called grasslanders there.”
“Yes. They’re called
swampies here, because they live on the little delta islands. The ones in the
Rocky Mountains are called stonies—short for stone-age, I suppose. There are
more in South America, Europe and Asia, too…holdovers from the bad times
following the Great Disaster. In 500 years they haven’t progressed enough to
join the rest of the world.”
“They should be arrested,”
Fisher said, “and forced to learn some useful skills.”
This was the response
Higgs had hoped for.
“Well, there is a plan, a
sort of a pet project of mine. I don’t think there’s much we can do with the
adults, but the children could be…rehabilitated...for their own good. The vice
president hasn’t warmed to the plan yet, but I think he will once I clarify the
benefits.”
A waifish girl of perhaps
fourteen years carried a basket of fruit for sale. A faded yellow skirt and a ragged,
oversized shirt hung on lean, wiry limbs that came from walking miles each day
in her homemade sandals. Her face was innocent, pretty, and friendly.
Fisher’s eyes raked her
body and he laughed, “I could think of something that one would be good for.”
Higgs was disgusted. “Tell
me. What’s your conclusion about the new starship? The paper trail of how the Hanno
is being funded seems to run in circles, which is typical of the old
government’s bookkeeping.”
They discussed his
concerns until arriving at the Capitol. Before the Great Disaster there was a
university about 400 kilometers northeast of the old United States capitol.
Through the perseverance of the faculty and students, the school survived the
worldwide calamity, becoming a center of law and order for the region as
nation-states began to reappear in the twenty-fourth century. Today, it was the
capital city of Earth and, essentially, the galaxy.
The Capitol building was
originally made of stone blocks taken from ancient ruins, but was gradually remodeled
with modern materials and white columns and gabled windows: A grand mansion.
Statues from before The
Disaster decorated the north and west gardens like a macabre tribute to an
almost mythical era. Monuments from modern times lined the avenue leading from
the public entrance on the south side.
Admiral Higgs was deep in
thought as they walked through the rose garden to the main building. Fisher
gawked like a tourist at the elegance of the place until they met an attractive
young woman who directed them to the elevator.
Inside the lift, Fisher
whispered, “Is she one of them?”
“Eh?” Higgs turned and
raised his eyebrows. “Is who one of what?”
“That girl. Is she…one of
the perks?”
“Oh, uh, no. She’s just an
intern. Really, Fisher, you shouldn’t get preoccupied with the perks.”
Higgs watched with veiled
amusement as Fisher blushed scarlet.
“Oh…I’m not
p-p-preoccupied. I-I was just wondering. That’s all.”
Fisher briefly met Vincent
Batastia once, but this was his first visit to the office of the most powerful
man in the galaxy.
Higgs explained to Fisher
just after the coup that vice presidents were almost never assassinated.
Therefore, it was prudent to have an expendable figurehead while leaving the
real power in more capable hands. The right hands. Batastia’s hands.
The New Federation’s
president, Arnold Garane, was once a professional actor. The press adored him,
at least for the moment, but the real power was Vincent Batastia, a man
virtually unknown to most people until recently. He was the center of the Inner
Circle, a discrete group of businessmen that Higgs was part of and Fisher
aspired to join.
Higgs worked for
TerraPharm as a drug industry lobbyist when Batastia recruited him for
something he’d always dreamed of doing: rebuilding civilization into a perfectly
designed empire that would last forever.
Batastia had a persuasive,
old-fashioned charm that spoke of generations of wisdom distilled into a
patriarchal figure of bold vision which touched Higgs’s yearning for great
achievements. Only the rarest of men at the right moment in history could lead
mankind away from the shortsighted policies that keep the human race from
becoming gods. The time was now and, Higgs believed, Vincent Batastia was such
a man.
His belief in Batastia was
eroding, however. It started with the plan to take over the government. They
looked at every possibility and simply couldn’t find a way that didn’t require
the deaths of not only the old government leaders, but also hundreds of
innocent people. After it actually happened, the body count turned out to be
nearly five thousand. It weighed heavily on Higgs, but he became more
comfortable with it as he settled into his new position. What still disturbed
him was that it never seemed to bother the original members of the Inner Circle.
Such men were in today’s
meeting. Batastia himself led the meeting from his gigantic, polished walnut
desk. Attorney General Alexei Volk stood slouching by the window with his hands
in his pockets, half turned so he could watch the room with his left eye and
look outside with the other. Volk was a predator.
Chief of Staff Heinrich
“Crush” Skor sat at Batastia’s right hand. He had a shaved head with old scars,
and he never smiled. When Higgs first tried to find out more about the man, he
ran into a dead end. Skor had no past except for being Batastia’s long-time
acquaintance. No one ever talked about how he got the nickname, but Higgs knew
‘Crush’ kept a sledgehammer in his office.
The Secretary of the
Treasury, like Higgs, was recruited from private industry.
“Ah, Admiral Higgs.” The
vice president smiled warmly, transforming the fine wrinkles around his eyes
into deep canyons. He was in his sixties—perhaps even seventy—a product of the
old Corporate State that ended in the worst of wars. So many were displaced and
changed their names that people like Batastia had to be forgiven for not
knowing their own birth dates. “My golden boy, how do you like being head of
the Navy, eh?”
“I couldn’t be more
pleased, Mister Vice President.”
“And here is our Admiral
Fisher, our hero.” Batastia turned his dark eyes toward Fisher who was grinning
like an idiot. The words were accurate enough—Fisher received a medal for
discovering the time and location where the previous government could be
ambushed—but Higgs detected a subtle disdain in how Batastia said it.
The Secretary of State,
another long-time friend of Batastia’s, came in with his nineteen year old son
who was being groomed for some future position.
A general—the new head of
the Army—followed them. Some referred to him as Higgs’s counterpart, which
Higgs graciously tolerated.
There would be no public
record of this meeting. Official meetings were with President Garane and
resulted in nothing beyond good press, which also had its value. Four more
politicos arrived and the business of building a new world began.
First on the agenda was
money. The Secretary of the Treasury gave a good overview on the distribution
of the planet’s wealth, with suggestions on how to get hold of a lot of it.
This dovetailed nicely with a discussion on corporations.
“Big stockholders,”
Batastia said, “must be made to understand that it’s crucial to stand united
with the New Federation. They will have a voice in some things, but overall
strategy must come from this office, otherwise corporate leaders will treat
their positions as mere jobs rather than designers of a world that will come to
fruition when their grandchildren are in charge.”
“Precisely the point I
made in my master’s thesis,” Higgs agreed with delight.
“Yes, Wolfgang, I remember
reading it,” Batastia said. “But to make it a reality, we must still overcome
many challenges, such as the general population. As a scholar of history, as I
am, you realize the old Corporate State lost control of the masses because they
didn’t bother tracking trends outside of the corporations.”
“Well,” Higgs enthusiasm
was building momentum, “the State never really had much control to lose.”
He saw the flicker of
offense on Batastia’s face, and furiously backpedaled.
“No, no, what I actually
mean is that there were too many people who chose to live outside the system.
They didn’t participate in what was the legitimate commerce and productivity.
Much has changed since then, but there are still many who fall into this
category.”
His mentor’s face softened
and nodded. “Of course. You are referring to the primitives. What are they
called around here, swampies? In Europe, people call them landstreicheren.
You’ve been gathering them, I believe, and putting the land they occupy to
better use, yes?”
“Ah…yes. I’ve worked out
an arrangement with the governor of North America to take custody of the
children of primitive families, starting in the Rocky Mountain region. The
children will be raised as wards of the North American State, and taught to be
productive model citizens under the New Federation. When they become adults,
they will be integrated into society and help us steer the public in the right
direction.”
“I understand, Higgs.”
Batastia sat back with half-closed eyes. “They can also be our eyes and ears
for any sign of conspiracy.”
“Yes, I suppose that would
be another benefit. If it works in the mountain area, we can expand the program
to other regions.”
“My sources tell me it is
working even better than you describe,” Batastia said to Higgs’s delight,
“except for the leftovers.”
“Eh?” Higgs was puzzled.
“Leftovers?”
“The parents of all these
children. You’ve got over a thousand kids in your special training, but the
parents are camped at the gates of your new school making trouble and smuggling
messages to the children.”
“Oh, that. Yes, I’m
studying what might be…”
“Consider it solved.”
Batastia rocked his chair forward and slapped the desk with a meaty hand. “I
approve of your plan, Higgs, and I have arranged for the troublesome primitives
to be moved elsewhere. Let’s not speak of it now, but rather we will turn to a
different issue—our new starship.”
Higgs was flustered—not
quite sure what just happened—but, consummate actor that he was, managed to
smile and bow his head as if accepting a gift from his patriarch.
He looked at Fisher,
expecting the man to say something intelligent, but was disappointed. Fisher
was out of his league, overawed by the figures of power and authority that
surrounded him.
“Admiral Fisher?” he said,
hoping to break the spell and keep his protégé from making them both look
ridiculous. “Your department has done exhaustive research on the Stokes
Industries starship design?”
“Yes, t-that’s right. I
have a report.” He opened the envelope and pulled out a sheaf of papers.
“Yes, of course, Admiral…”
Batastia glanced down at something scribbled on his desk blotter “…Fisher, but
we just need the conclusion. Is the Hanno everything that Stokes claims, or a
waste of money?”
Fisher fought the urge to
squirm when all eyes turned to him in expectation.
“Well, the bottom line is,
the Starship Hanno is unsafe. Every expert in the field has serious doubts
about Mister Stokes’s theories.”
“You say that it is
unsafe?”
“Yes, sir. The moment the
new engines are switched on, the entire crew will be subjected to dangerous
energy fields.”
“Fatal energy fields?”
Batastia asked with his eyebrows raised, forming an upside-down V shape in the
middle of his forehead and producing lots of wrinkles above them.
“Yes. They may survive
once, but they would certainly all die if they use the engines twice.”
“So, they might go
somewhere, and survive, but they could not return.” It was not a question.
Volk laughed out loud.
“What a shame that would be.”
“It is a shame,” the vice
president said, “that such an expensive mistake was made. At least it won’t be
a complete waste. In fact, this is an opportune way to ensure the security of
the New Federation.”
His audience gravely
nodded in agreement, and Higgs warily nodded with them, suspecting he was about
to witness one of Batastia’s brilliant moments.
“How’s our list coming
along?” Batastia looked to Volk. The blacklist didn’t officially exist, of
course. It never officially exists, but every respectable bureaucracy had to
have one.
All eyes turned to Alexei
Volk. The Attorney General shrugged and leaned on the wall.
“Our list is too long—and
growing.” He spoke with a slight accent. All of Batastia’s oldest friends
seemed to be from Europe. “But this new starship can reduce it by at least
three thousand. The Hanno requires at least two thousand crewmen for optimal
function, but can hold another thousand. There are more than enough of these on
the list. I suggest that we pretend to compromise with Captain Poluka. He will
request people of his own choosing, and we will agree to give him anyone who’s
already on our list, provided he accepts others who are also on our list. If we
lose a few that aren’t on the list…well…they probably should have been anyway,
if Poluka wants them.”
Batastia slapped the top
of his desk with an open palm. “Perfect. He will think that his influence has
triumphed, and we will get exactly what we want. Thousands whose loyalty is
questionable will be smoothly eliminated.”
The Exploration Corps had
personnel spread across the galaxy when the old Federation fell, and those on
the blacklist were not reassigned outside the Solar System after returning from
deep space. Batastia kept them close until a way could be found to deal with
them, and kept them from joining the renegades who refused to return.
Higgs’s idol turned loss
into gain but, again, it required killing people who hadn’t actually done
anything—they just might do something. He sneaked a quick glance at Fisher,
wondering if the man felt any disapproval of such cold-blooded maneuvers.
Fisher was gazing at
Batastia with glassy-eyed worship, a half-sneer on his pale face.
“Admiral,” Batastia
instructed Fisher, “I will send files to your office tomorrow, our list and
Captain Poluka’s list. Find reasons to reject those who don’t appear on both.”
“Yes, sir.”
“By the way, Admiral, who
else knows the Starship Hanno is so…unsafe?”
“Um…I believe…an ensign in
my department knows, but no one else.”
“That ensign is now on the
blacklist.”
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