Kafari was loading trays with glasses filled with the first cider of the season when Stefano and Estevao rushed into Grandma Soteris' kitchen, bursting with questions. "Kafari! Is it true? Is Mirabelle Caresse really making a movie about you?"
Her younger cousins—aged nineteen and eighteen, respectively—waited with literally bated breath. She wrinkled her nose. "Yes. She is."
"Wow!"
"Will we get to meet her?"
"Before I have to ship out?"
That latter was from Stefano, who'd just signed a contract with the captain of the Star of Mali, as crew aboard an interstellar freighter. They'd lost both parents in the war and didn't want to try rebuilding, with just the two of them. Kafari hated to disappoint them. Mirabelle, the hottest star to hit the screen in Jefferson's history, didn't bother to actually research the characters—or real people—her scripts portrayed.
Kafari picked up the tray. "Sorry, guys, but I doubt any of us will meet her. Not even me. Mirabelle Caresse doesn't consider it necessary to talk to the person whose life she'll be playing, let alone that person's family. Trust me, you won't be missing much. I've read the script." She rolled her eyes and bumped open the kitchen door with one hip, heading out into the crowded family room with the cider just as Kafari's grandmother called out, "It's coming on! Simon's there, already."
There were nearly forty people in the family room, crowded onto every available seat and most of the floorspace, and that was only about half the immediate family. Kafari handed glasses around while her mother and cousins followed with more trays. When her tray was empty, Aunt Minau scooted over slightly to make space on the sofa for her.
Minau's husband, Nik Soteris, was a younger version of Kafari's grandfather, with the same carved-olivewood face, dark eyes, and work-roughened, capable hands. Aunt Minau was expecting again, another son. Kafari glanced into her eyes and saw shadows there, worry and fear as she watched her two young sons poke each other with elbows and roughhouse in a friendly sort of way. While Geordie and Bjorn fought a mock battle over their share of the floor space, Kafari reached over and took her aunt's hand, squeezing it gently. Minau's expression softened as she returned the comforting gesture. Then Uncle Nik signaled for silence and yanked up the volume.
As President Lendan made his entrance, Kafari wasn't the only person who sucked down a shocked breath. There weren't words to describe how terrible Abe Lendan looked. Kafari's eyes stung with abrupt tears. She knew exactly what had put that exhausted, burnt-out look in his eyes. He stumbled slightly climbing the steps to the Joint Chamber podium. Vice President Andrews shot out a steadying hand, preventing a nasty spill. Utter silence reigned, both in the Joint Chamber and the Soteris family room.
"My dear friends," he began softly, in that deceptively gentle voice of his, "we have gathered today to consider the most important decisions this generation of Jeffersonians will ever make. Many of us are alive today because the Concordiat upheld its obligations to us, sending the means to defend our homes and our children. Before Simon Khrustinov and Unit SOL-0045 came to us, we faced almost certain slaughter. Their courage and brilliance not only saved thousands of lives and homes, they did what we had thought impossible. They showed our troops how to fight what we had thought was a hopeless battle, against a far superior enemy. They showed us how to win. The battles we fought that day, street to street and barn to barn, helped remind us that Jeffersonians are capable of digging in and refusing to give up, no matter what the odds.
"With the help of Simon Khrustinov and his Bolo, we destroyed every Deng soldier, every Deng war machine that entered our atmosphere and touched our soil. Our capital city was damaged, but the vast majority of Madison was spared. Only fifty-five civilians in Madison lost their lives. Our agricultural heartland was gutted, but we fought back, killing Deng with every weapon we could lay hands on—including things no one had ever considered using as weapons."
Stefano flashed a grin at Kafari, who felt a flush rising to her cheeks. Aunt Min gave her a swift hug.
"We lost much, but we saved more than we thought it possible to save. We have planted again and harvested the fruits of that planting, which means no one will go hungry during the coming winter. We have replaced homes. We are rebuilding factories, retail businesses. We have kept our schools open, helped our young people continue their educations, as part of our commitment to building a better future."
The president's long, tired face tightened and his eyes turned steely as he looked squarely into the cameras—and straight into the heart and soul of every person watching. "And now, my friends, we must consider other commitments. Without the Concordiat's help, we would not be gathered here, today, in this Joint Chamber." He gestured to the room in which the entire government of Jefferson had assembled. "We could not be watching from our homes and shops and factories, sharing the momentous decisions now facing us, because we would not have homes or shops or factories. We would not have a capital city or farms or fishing towns or mining camps. We would not, in fact, be alive. Never forget this one, critical fact. The Deng sent a battle fleet strong enough to totally destroy us. And that is what they meant to do. Wipe us off the face of this lovely world, down to the last innocent child. If not for the Concordiat's decision to honor our desperate need under the provisions of our charter treaty, our enemies would have done just that. And the Deng would be harvesting their crops and building their homes on our graves."
The hush in the Joint Chamber was so complete, the scrape of a shoe against the floor sounded like a gunshot in the silence. Kafari clutched her cider glass so tightly, her fingers ached. The stink of battle and the crashing, thunderous roar of titans at war momentarily blotted out everything in her awareness—except Abe Lendan's face.
"And so, my friends," the president said, "we now face the moment in which we must decide what our future, what our children's futures, will be. Our treaty with the Concordiat spells out our obligations. We cannot afford to lose the protection we have, if we hope to safeguard our homes from a very real threat. There is a wildly unstable battle front beyond the Silurian Void. All along that front, men, women, and children are being slaughtered like vermin. We know the Deng can and will cross the Void. And a new enemy from a world called Melcon is driving humanity off worlds we have inhabited for over a century, in some of the worst fighting the Concordiat has ever faced."
An uneasy stir ran through the Joint Chamber and through Kafari's cousins and aunts and uncles, as well. She shivered, unable to imagine what could have been worse than the destruction the Deng had wrought in Klameth Canyon or Madison.
"The only thing that stands between our children and the savagery out there," President Lendan jabbed one finger in the direction of the Silurian Void, "is Bolo SOL-0045. We cannot—dare not—refuse to honor our treaty with the Concordiat. We either honor our obligations or we leave ourselves wide open to destruction. If we refuse to honor this treaty, we will watch our homes burn. Again. We will watch our children hunted down and shot in the streets." Abe Lendan leaned forward abruptly, his voice suddenly harsh and filled with iron. "We will die like rabid dogs, knowing that we did it to ourselves!"
Aunt Minau actually jumped. Cider soaked into Kafari's knee, from her own glass or her aunt's, she wasn't sure which. Abe Lendan's eyes blazed. He curled his fingers into claws around the edge of the podium as his voice lashed across the Joint Chamber, across the vast and lonely stretches of Jefferson's inhabited landmasses.
"The choice is ours, my friends. We can whine like spoiled children unwilling to part with outgrown toys, unwilling to face the realities of a grim, adult universe. Or," he drew a deep and deliberate breath, steadying his voice, "we can stand on our feet and pay the price of freedom. The Concordiat has given us a future, a chance to survive and rebuild. If we refuse to honor this treaty, we will lose everything."
He paused, looked slowly and deliberately at the faces of the men and women seated in the Joint Chamber, as though by the force of his willpower alone, he could force sense into those men and women whose obstructionism was putting them in peril. "Every man and woman in this chamber has a solemn duty, a sacred responsibility, held in trust for those who died in order that we could live and rebuild. When you cast your votes today, my friends, remember what is at stake. The decisions we make today will either give us a future or destroy us."
Half the Joint Assembly was abruptly on its collective feet, shouting and cheering. So were several of Kafari's cousins. Kafari was shaking. So was Abe Lendan. Ominously, nearly half of the Senate and House remained seated, faces cold and closed. What's wrong with them? Kafari wondered angrily. Don't they understand anything?
The president lifted his hands and the tumult died down as senators and representatives resumed their seats. "I've given you an overview of the situation we face. My cabinet, the War College's General Staff, Vice President Andrews, and I have met with Simon Khrustinov at length, going over defense plans. The Concordiat has agreed to sanction our decision to award Major Khrustinov the rank of Colonel in Jefferson's Defense Forces, in recognition of the utterly critical role he and his Bolo will play in any future defense of this world."
Kafari blinked, stunned. Most of her family turned to stare at her, thinking she'd known and hadn't said anything, only to stare again, seeing her dumbfounded shock.
"Why did he see the need to do that?" Grandpa Soteris muttered. "I don't like it, not one bit. What does the president know that he's not telling us?"
Kafari heard a whimper and realized it was coming from her own throat.
On screen, the president's voice was harsh with weariness and strain. "We've already seen what an invasion can do to us. Colonel Khrustinov was quite blunt in his assessments. We faced antiquated Yavacs and troops that were far from top of the line. A new invasion by the Deng would doubtless subject us to their top-line equipment, given the battle maps as they are currently drawn. An invasion by Melconian forces would be even more devastating, turning this world into a major battleground between the best the Concordiat can throw against the worst the Melconians can send against humanity."
Grandpa Soteris said a horrible word in Greek, which she'd never heard him do in front of the family's children. Aunt Min wrapped an arm around Kafari.
"The War College's General Staff and I are utterly convinced that without Unit SOL-0045, Jefferson faces total destruction. Colonel Khrustinov has warned that the Deng may well have dropped passive spy-bots into our space, watching for troop movements, particularly for the callback of the Bolo. Without our own space-based warning systems, this star system is critically vulnerable to attack. Without the heavy firepower represented by Unit SOL-0045, we are utterly helpless and the enemy knows it. We can't afford to blunder. If the battle lines shift the way Colonel Khrustinov fears they may, then we will find ourselves in the middle of an unholy war worse than anything we can even imagine. And if we fall, then Mali and Vishnu will fall—and that, my friends, will leave the back door to the whole of human space wide open."
A shocked murmur ran through the Joint Assembly.
Abe Lendan paused again, skin waxen, waiting for the rumble of voices to fade into silence, once more. "That is what we face. That is what we risk, if we do not honor our treaty with the Concordiat. This morning, Colonel Khrustinov received a message from the Dinochrome Brigade's Sector Command. Colonel Khrustinov is here, today, to tell us what that message said. I can guarantee you, my friends, that you will not like what you are about to hear. I can only say that you will like the alternatives far, far less."
Fear touched Kafari with icy, shuddering fingers. She watched her husband stand up, his crimson uniform looking like blood against the pallor of his skin. She knew that look in his eyes, knew the clenching of his jaw, had seen it one long-ago night on his patio, when memory of Etaine had passed across his strong features like a wave of death. He stood respectfully aside as Abraham Lendan stepped down from the podium, waited until the president had taken his seat before stepping up, himself. He stood silently for a long moment, a figure abruptly alien, a man she had never seen before, representing something she knew in that instant that she would never truly comprehend.
The stranger she had married began to speak.
"War is an expensive, dirty business. I've made it my business. Whether you like it or not, it is now your business. There are people in this chamber," his flintsteel-cold eyes tracked like his Bolo's guns, resting briefly and significantly on members of the House and Senate opposed to upholding the treaty, "who think the price paid already is far too high to justify more expenditures. Let me enlighten you."
The chill in his voice caused the ice around Kafari's heart to thicken.
"Under the treaty provisions ratified by this world, you are liable for the cost of maintaining certain defenses in fully operational condition. One of these is a system of military-grade surveillance satellites, to coordinate land-based and air defenses and to provide a long-range warning system, not only for Jefferson, but for the Concordiat as a whole. If you want to bury your heads in the sand, that is your business. But the Concordiat will not allow you to jeopardize other worlds for your own short-sighted, selfish motives. Under the treaty provisions binding Jefferson to the Concordiat, should you refuse to honor any clause of the existing treaty, at such a time as the Concordiat invokes that clause, you will immediately forfeit your standing as a Concordiat-protected world."
Those cold, alien eyes tracked across the room, again, a room still as death.
"Should you choose that course, you will immediately be presented with a bill for remuneration of expenditures made on Jefferson's behalf by personnel and mechanical units of the Concordiat. Failure to pay these charges is grounds for immediate confiscation of sufficient raw materials to equal the value of expenditures to date. To give you an idea of the size of Jefferson's current indebtedness, the cost of one Hellbore salvo alone would require roughly a week's worth of the gross planetary products—finished goods and raw mineral resources—from every factory and mine still in production on Jefferson. The battle for Madison, alone, would require remuneration in excess of the entire planetary economic output for the past six months. When Klameth Canyon's costs are factored into the equation, the bill due—payable immediately, by the way, on pain of confiscation by the nearest Concordiat heavy cruiser capable of taking on raw materials—will literally bankrupt what is left of Jefferson's economy and send this world plunging down a road you do not want to travel."
An outraged roar of protest from the Joint Chamber floor erupted, thick with shock and open hatred. Colonel Khrustinov—Kafari couldn't bring herself to think of him as Simon, as he stood there in icy silence—waited out the tumult while the Speaker leaped to his feet, banging his gavel and shouting for order. When the uproar finally died down, again, Simon spoke as though the outburst had been nothing but the whining of an insignificant insect around his ears.
"That is the least deadly of the choices facing you. The communique I received this morning from Sector Command was blunt and specific. Jefferson's government has twelve hours, beginning," he glanced at his wrist chrono, "with your official notification by the Brigade's designated representative, to comply with the treaty obligations deemed most urgent by Sector Command, or to present remuneration in full for Concordiat and Brigade expenditures to date on Jefferson's behalf. You have been duly notified as of now.
"Compliance will be deemed initiated with a vote to expend funds for the immediate construction and launch of military-grade surveillance satellites and with the passage of legislation creating troop levies for each Assembly district on Jefferson. Compliance will not be deemed fully met until satellites are in place, troop levies have been shipped, and urgently needed war materiel has been mined, refined, and loaded onto Concordiat-registered freighters. This clause will require the replacement of Jefferson's commercial space station."
Another howl of outrage erupted from the floor. The Speaker had to bang the gavel for nearly two full minutes, shouting for order. Again, Kafari's husband waited in utter silence, his face chiseled from white marble, then he went on with the relentless recitation.
"Given the extensive damage to this planet's agricultural sector, war materiel required to fulfill treaty obligations will not consist of Terran foodstuffs, but what is left of the planetary fishing fleet will be expected to ship, within the next four calendar months, a minimum of ten thousand tons of native fish, processed for Terran consumption, to support the mines on Mali. The mines have been expanded three-fold under emergency-construction domes, as the refined ores produced there are critical to the defense of this entire Sector.
"These obligations have been in place since the day I arrived on Jefferson with Unit SOL-0045. Each voting member of this assembly has known since that day exactly what Jefferson's commitments are. Sector Command's precise requirements were presented to you five months and seventeen days ago. Since this Assembly has failed to so much as vote on a single subclause during those five months and seventeen days, Sector Command has declared Jefferson out of compliance with its treaty obligations.
"I have spent months requesting action from this Assembly. I have been stonewalled and fobbed off with one excuse after another. On the other side of the Silurian Void, the Deng and the Melconians are butchering entire worlds, while you sit securely in your homes with enough food to stave off starvation, roofs over the heads of every man, woman, and child on this planet, and sufficient resources to rebuild anything you decide to rebuild."
His face went even colder and more alien. "And just to give you a little more perspective, let me give you a little history lesson . . ."
Kafari sat in numb shock while Simon's voice, as harsh and mechanical as his Bolo's, painted scene after horrifying scene of the hell he had witnessed on Etaine. She sat there in the midst of her family, cold and scared, tears on her face and tremors in all her limbs as he described the methodical slaughter, the towns incinerated with their occupants trapped in them, the cities reduced to smoking rubble, bits and pieces that had once been human blown literally into orbit. The faceless millions who had died, an incomprehensible number the mind could not fathom in its entirety, became brutally, staggeringly real, suffering and dying right in front of them. He spoke like a computer, inhuman, a man whose soul had blackened to ashes on a world whose sun Kafari couldn't even see at night.
She heard shocked weeping, realized Aunt Minau was sobbing. "Oh, that poor man, honey, that man you married is hurting down to the bottoms of his feet . . ."
I should have been there, Kafari realized with a sickening lurch in her gut. How could I have let him go into that room alone? She found herself hating the men and women in the Joint Chamber, the ones who had stalled spending bills in committees, who had tied up military allocations in technicalities and thinly disguised legal ploys designed to avoid payment altogether, hated them for putting the man she loved through the hell he was reliving in front of them.
The silence when he stopped speaking was so sudden, so brutal, Kafari could hear the clatter of her own heartbeat knocking against her eardrums. Simon stood like a statue, pale and cold and silent, a man with nothing human left anywhere inside him. Then a slight shudder of breath lifted his ribcage, lifted the bloody crimson uniform he wore like a shield and set the ribbons of valor trembling on his chest, and the stone statue vanished in a single blink of his ravaged eyes. In its place stood a man, once again, an officer of the Dinochrome Brigade, a very real and threatening presence that no one who had witnessed the last ten minutes would ever underestimate again.
"That," he said softly, "is the choice you face. Whether you build or burn is entirely up to you. Mr. President," he said in a voice filled with abrupt, deep respect, "I yield the podium to you."
Abraham Lendan rose to his feet, utterly ashen, hands visibly shaking.
"Thank you, Colonel," he said in a ragged voice, "for making our choices clear."
Jefferson's president didn't even try to make another speech. Whatever he or anyone else in that room might have planned to say had been seared into silence. "I would suggest," the president said in a voice hollow with horror, "that we poll the delegation."
As the voting commenced, Kafari's grandfather broke the ghastly silence in the Soteris family room. "Estevao, get the aircar. Kafari, get your backside into Madison now. That man is going to come apart, the minute he's alone. And Kafari, child . . ."
She paused, midstride, having already started for the door. "Yes, Grandpa?"
"Your husband just made a roomful of mighty powerful enemies. Don't ever forget it."
"No, sir," she said faintly. "I won't."
Then she and Estevao were running for the aircar.
So much for starting over, Simon reflected bitterly.
In a room jammed with more than three hundred people, all of whom tried their utter damnedest to look anywhere but directly at him, he felt an eerie kinship with the ghosts of Etaine's dead and largely unburied millions. If enough people pretended desperately that you didn't exist, you started to feel a little unreal, even to yourself. Or maybe the trouble was within himself. Whatever the cause, Simon sat surrounded by a cloud of silence against which the strident voices of those voting on the Joint Chamber floor shattered like Etaine's fragile glass towers.
He made a mental note to have Sonny triple the range that would trigger his Bolo to snap from Standby Alert to Proximity Alarm. The hatred directed his way by a good many of those refusing to look directly at him was no more than he'd expected. It was doubtless an omen of things to come and Simon was too good an officer to think himself immune to retaliation. Bolos were hard to kill. Their commanders were not. He wouldn't let himself think about Kafari.
The voting did not take nearly as long as he'd feared. Given the wording of the ultimatum he'd just delivered, any further delays would have been suicide and the Assembly members knew it. The ratification of treaty obligations passed virtually unopposed. Simon took careful note of those who cast dissenting votes, mentally comparing that short list against a roster of political affiliations and campaign funding he'd been compiling over the past few weeks.
A few of the yes votes surprised him, given what he knew. A cynical corner of his mind whispered, They've got something sneaky in mind. You'd better figure out what. Some bright analyst must've come up with an advantageous angle to casting a yes vote, or those particular senators and representatives would never have acted against their own political interests, let alone in opposition to their major campaign donors. They were in a numerical minority deep enough to've voted against honoring the treaty, had they wanted to make a show of standing on their principles, without actually jeopardizing the legislation's passage through the Senate and House of Law.
Whatever they were up to, he hoped it fell flat on its doubtless ugly face.
The final tally was two-hundred fifty-eight in favor of honoring the treaty obligations and seventeen opposed. Abe Lendan rose to take the podium.
"Since the legislation authorizing expenditures to meet our treaty obligations has passed, I see little point in delaying finalization. Does somebody have a printout of the final language approved by this Assembly?"
A clerk came running, the stack of paper in his hands appallingly thick.
"I am going to assume," the president said grimly, "that the wording has been correctly transcribed, since mistakes at this juncture would be mighty expensive?"
The clerk was gulping and nodding.
"Very well, there's no point in putting this off. Colonel Khrustinov, will my signature passing this," he tapped the stack of paper, "into law constitute compliance under Sector's demands?"
"Provided the legislation is not overturned by Jefferson's High Court," he glanced at the High Justices seated to one side, "and provided the materiel requirements are immediately initiated and are completed within the schedule mandated by Sector Command, yes, it will."
Abe Lendan started signing. He scrawled initials across page after page, handing them off to the clerk, who carefully stacked them in proper order. The hush in the Joint Chamber was such that the scratching of the pen against paper could be clearly heard, even from where Simon sat ramrod straight in his chair. By the time he reached the final page, the president's hands were visibly unsteady. He scrawled out the final signature and stepped aside for Vice President Andrews, who signed on the line beneath.
The president's eyes bore a hollow, exhausted look that had nothing of triumph in it. "Very well," he said quietly into the microphones, "that, at least, is done. And now," he added, "the truly hard part begins, turning that stack of paper into a physical reality. I am deeply aware of just how much each and every Jeffersonian has been asked to give, in meeting these obligations. But as we love life, we can do no less."
With no further fanfare, Abraham Lendan simply turned and stepped down from the podium, moving slowly toward the doorway through which he had entered. The ranking committee chairpersons in the upper tier of seats surged to their feet, in a show of respect that was, to Simon's faint surprise, utterly silent. He was more accustomed to seeing applause and cheering for exiting planetary heads of state. Out of deference, perhaps, for the utter solemnity of the moment, no one was making a sound, other than the shuffling of feet as the Joint Assembly rose to its collective feet.
Jefferson's president had gone slightly more than half the distance to the doorway when he lurched against Vice President Andrews. The younger man shot out a steadying hand, then cried out when Abe Lendan literally crumpled to the floor, landing in a boneless huddle. An icy dagger speared its way through Simon as pandemonium erupted in the Joint Chamber. Vice President Andrews bellowed orders to summon an emergency medical team. Security guards rushed forward, some forming a protective screen around the fallen statesman while others blocked the exits.
Simon slapped his commlink. "Sonny, go to Emergency Alert Status. Set your Proximity Alarm sensors to Battle Reflex distances." A reflex of his own caused him to scan the room for a potential sniper, although common sense told him the collapse had been triggered by stress and exhaustion.
"Understood, Simon," Sonny responded instantly. "I am monitoring the Joint Chamber through a variety of data sources. Stand by for arrival of a medical airlift from University Hospital, ETA one hundred eighty seconds."
The familiar voice in his earpiece, calm and rational, steadied him. Memory of Etaine had shaken Simon more than he wanted to admit. "Thank you, Sonny," he said quietly as he scanned the chamber, both visually and electronically. He couldn't help feeling a painful twinge of guilt. Simon knew how deeply his own testimony had increased the president's stress. Abe Lendan was too good a leader to hear that kind of thing and not project it onto the people whose safety lay in his hands.
But what, in God's name, could he have done differently? Simon had read the roster of Assembly members opposed to the treaty, while still in the president's office. Abraham Lendan had shoved it into his hands, making certain Simon knew precisely what the odds were, if he didn't speak as plainly and brutally as possible. There'd been enough names on that list to vote down the treaty and doom this whole world. And potentially a great deal more, beyond. Simon knew only too well the choice he'd had, forcing the Assembly to face reality.
So he stayed out of everyone's way and watched in silence as the president's personal physician arrived, emergency kit in hand. The medical team should be here in less than another minute, as well, given Sonny's occasional comments as the airborne crew rushed toward them. Simon forced his gaze away from the brave man on the floor, feeling disloyal in an intense and privately painful way as he shifted his attention to his immediate duty. Simon was only too aware that the dynamics unfolding in front of him were far more critical to Jefferson's future than the fallen president, which meant he needed to focus his attention on the men and women whose careers would outlast a far better man's.
Simon therefore made them his immediate and serious concern. Some, he already knew first-hand, having met with them briefly at one time or another. He knew all the names, faces, and "fireball issues" of those on the Assembly's Joint Planetary Security Committee, whose members were drawn from both the House of Law and the Senate. Simon had made it his business to learn everything he could about them. What they said and to whom they said it. What they supported and what they opposed. The men and women they allied themselves with and why. Which families they were related to by blood or marriage. What business ties they had. Which issues would turn them into blazing demons out for justice or vengeance.
Most of the Planetary Security Committee's members were arrayed solidly behind President Lendan, but not all. Representative Fyrena Brogan, an ardent advocate for protection of natural habitat, seemed at first glance to be out of place on a committee charged with military defense of this star system. On closer examination, however, Simon had discovered that her passion for preserving Jefferson's pristine ecosystems for future generations had led her in some very interesting directions, including a seat on the Agricultural Appropriations and Terraforming Finance Committees as well as Planetary Security, with its mandate to preserve Jeffersonian interests from harm. Simon had quickly ascertained that Representative Brogan's notions of what constituted Jeffersonian interests—let alone harm to those interests—did not match his in the slightest.
She was, at the moment, involved in an intense conversation with Senator Gifre Zeloc, a man who had the dubious distinction of topping Simon's watch-most-closely list. The senator was leonine in stature, dignified and deliberate in habit and speech, with prematurely silver hair that lent him an air of distinguished statesmanship at odds with a coldly vindictive temperament that lurked beneath a fatherly and benign appearance. Sonny's surveillance had discovered, by unexpected chance, that Senator Zeloc was clandestinely opposed to virtually everything President Lendan had ever said or done.
What disturbed Simon, however, was not the senator's opposition, per se; it was Zeloc's favored method of governance—pulling strings behind the scenes, manipulating people and events to suit his objectives, orchestrating situations that caused people to say what he wanted said, do what he wanted done, or destroy those he wanted destroyed. Simon had seen the type before. They popped up like poisonous weeds wherever high-stakes power games were played.
Clever and politically astute, Gifre Zeloc was, in Simon's opinion, one of the most dangerous individuals on Jefferson. Simon found it disturbing that Zeloc and Fyrena Brogan were discussing something so intently, they effectively ignored the turmoil around them, a circumstance that surprised Simon sufficiently to make him wonder what use Zeloc might find for a woman whose sole passion was protecting vast stretches of wilderness from human despoilment.
Another of Zeloc's quiet little alliances was a cozy relationship with the youngest member of the Planetary Security Committee, an outspoken firebrand named Cyril Coridan. Representative Coridan, who was violently opposed to spending the people's taxes on expensive military projects, had granted Simon a fifteen-minute audience, during which he had poured forth a list of grievances and philosophical "positioning statements" so full of vitriol, Simon had felt in need of an antivenin treatment afterwards. He hadn't allowed Simon to say anything beyond, "Good afternoon, Representative Cori—"
He was another man on Simon's watch-closely list, particularly since Coridan's name was linked to an "anti-war chest" of money raised by Vittori and Nassiona Santorini. POPPA, their brainchild, had the potential to be far more dangerous than the riot that had nearly killed Kafari, if it succeeded in its avowed goals. That demonstration outside the Assembly Hall—little more than an irritation at face value—spoke volumes to Simon, who had altogether too much familiarity with the history of charismatic fanatics.
Mother Russia had been cursed with her share of them and had fought others, through the centuries. Unfortunately for the human race, Mother Terra had exported fanaticism, along with everything else humanity had carried to the stars. Simon had asked Sonny to start tracking the campaign contributions doled out by the Santorinis' organization. He wanted to know just whom POPPA was paying, and why, although he didn't see much that he could do about it, other than keep a watchful eye peeled. Unless there was clear evidence of treasonable activity—as defined by the Concordiat under the provisions Jefferson's treaty-sanctioned charter—Simon was not authorized to intervene in a planet's internal affairs. Given the history of military abuses of power and the curtailment of planetary liberties, Simon agreed wholeheartedly with that particular set of regulations.
But he had broad powers of intelligence gathering, particularly when conditions indicated a potential for abrogation of treaty status on a world considered militarily strategic by Sector or Central Command. His duty as an officer of the Brigade mandated tracking such activity and reporting it, when necessary. Simon hoped like fury that he wouldn't have to transmit news any worse than he'd already been forced to do, in reporting Jefferson's refusal to vote on funding for treaty-mandated actions.
On the heels of that thought, the emergency medical team arrived, cutting through the chaos with smooth efficiency. Without fanfare or hand-wringing hoopla, they transferred the president to a gurney, activated the auto-doc, adjusted the floater controls, and rushed out again, surrounded by a protective shell of uniformed security guards. The Joint Assembly's speaker was banging his gavel again, trying to restore order. Simon was torn between a powerful desire to accompany Abraham Lendan, the man, to the hospital and the bitter knowledge that his duty as an officer of the Brigade was to remain where he was, since the governance of this world was clearly—and doubtless irrevocably—now in the hands of others. Vice President Andrews, badly shaken, climbed to the podium and added his voice to the speaker's, eventually restoring order to the chamber.
"I would suggest," the vice president said in a hoarse voice, "that we adjourn this Joint Assembly for now. We've accomplished the most critical task at hand. Those committees directly involved in the work of carrying out the provisions passed and signed into law, today, should reconvene in their respective meeting rooms. Until we have word on President Lendan's condition, our best course is to move forward and look to the future. Mr. Speaker, the podium is yours."
Simon frowned as the speaker gavelled the Joint Assembly closed. Vice President Andrews had just blundered—badly—and didn't seem to be aware of it. The people of this world would be in desperate need of a strong presence calming and reassuring them that the government was in capable hands during this new crisis. Yet the vice president's first action had been to dismiss the government for necessary but routine committee work, without even one comment directed toward the stunned millions watching the broadcast.
Andrews might be a capable administrator, but he was clearly accustomed to working effectively behind the scenes, which was the definition of a good vice president during the course of ordinary affairs. But his statesmanship skills were seriously inferior to Abraham Lendan's. The president knew, intuitively, how to communicate directly to the people, how to command respect, how to read a political situation for its fine nuances and built-in landmines.
One glance at Cyril Coridan, whose eyes were glacial and whose lips wore the faintest hint of a smile at one corner, broke Simon into a cold sweat. When Sonny spoke again, unexpectedly, his words deepened that chilly sweat into profound grief.
"I detect no heartbeat from President Lendan's auto-doc, Simon. There is no sign of respiration. The emergency physicians with him are attempting resuscitation. Their attempts are not proving successful."
Simon closed his eyes against the terrible knowledge even as the Assembly, still unaware of Jefferson's loss, came to its collective feet. Members were shuffling out of the room, voices raised in a babble of conversation as the group sorted itself out into committees and eddies of party affiliation that swirled through the main current of exiting dignitaries. Simon was abruptly exhausted. He remained where he was, partly to avoid being drawn into meaningless, stress-induced conversations and partly because there was not one soul in this chamber that genuinely wanted him there.
But before that thought had finished echoing through the bleakness gripping him, Simon saw her. She was pushing against the tide of outbound politicians, determined to get into the room. For long moments, Simon literally couldn't believe the evidence of his own eyes. Kafari was in Klameth Canyon, with her family, watching the broadcast. She couldn't possibly be only ten meters away—and closing fast, at that—shoving her way through the outbound crowd. He couldn't move, stared in rising amazement as she plowed toward him, a naval cruiser cutting through the chaos of enemy fire to reach her destination.
Him.
The look on her face as she closed the final distance between them scared Simon silly. Fierce. Gentle. Beautiful. Ravaged eyes brimmed with tears and pride and compassion. He couldn't speak, couldn't move, couldn't comprehend how she'd come to be here at all. She hesitated for just one heartbeat, one hand lifting to touch his face with a gesture that reached through the pain, the agony of loneliness, the blackened cinders of memory. Then both arms were around him, strong and loving, and Simon's world changed forever. He crushed her so close, neither of them could breathe for long moments. When the dangerous storm of emotion finally waned, Kafari simply took him by the hand and said, "Let's go home, Simon."
He nodded.
He had done what he could.
Jefferson—and Jeffersonians—would have to do the rest.