Knight's Move (17 page)

There were a handful of military installations around the city – and a giant Planetary Defence Centre constructed on top of a nearby mountain.  No forcefields crackled through the air, but Glen was sure there were forcefield generators emplaced near the city, if only to ensure that all of the defensive works weren't wasted.  A forcefield would make the difference between forcing the enemy to carry out a ground assault and simply throwing projectiles at the defences until they were smashed into rubble. 

“They
have
been busy,” the Governor breathed, as the shuttle approached the spaceport.  Hundreds of starfighters and assault boats were lined up on the concrete, ready for immediate departure.  For the first time, Governor Wu sounded as though she were taking the colonials seriously.  “How many ships is
that
?”

Glen concealed his amusement with an effort.  The assembled starfighters might just fill a single fleet carrier, if there was a carrier that could take so many different types of starfighter without having supply problems.  There were at least seven different make of attack fighter on the tarmac, including two designs that had been outdated even before the war.  Up close, it was clear that many of the fighters had been modified in non-standard ways; several of them had additional power cells or weapons bolted to the hull.  Glen would have hated to be the supply officer in charge of keeping them all flying.  The Federation Navy would simply have replaced them all with the latest designs.

But that wasn't an option for the colonials, he knew.  They did have an industrial base of their own, but it was largely devoted to producing new starships and keeping the ones they had running.  For starfighters, they were forced to fall back on what they could buy, beg, borrow or scrounge.  One of the reports had even suggested that the Colonial Militia had bought the entire contents of some naval junkyards, a report that made little sense until one remembered how desperate the colonials were for spare parts.

The shuttle dropped to the ground and landed, so gently that Glen barely felt the bump.  He wanted to hang back again, but the Governor motioned impatiently for him to follow her out of the shuttle, onto the tarmac.  A handful of people were waiting for her, slouching rather than standing to attention.  Glen couldn't help wondering, as he sensed the Governor’s back stiffening in disapproval, if it was a calculated insult or colonial informality. 

He studied the colonials with some interest.  Sandy was the only person he’d met from the Fairfax Cluster and she’d been in the Federation Navy long enough to pick up the Navy attitude.  These colonials looked ...
slovenly
.  Their leader wore a suit, complete with a top hat, that made him look like someone out of a historical romance, while a grim-faced military officer wore a khaki uniform.  The others seemed to have worn whatever they fancied; one woman wore a dress that showed off the tops of her breasts, another was completely buttoned up despite the heat.  There didn't seem to be any formal dress code at all.

“Madame Governor,” the leader said, removing his hat.  His accent was thick, but understandable.  “Welcome to Fairfax.”

He extended his hand.  Governor Wu hesitated, then took it and shook hands firmly.  President Bjorn Paulsen– the briefing notes had identified most of the senior officers and politicians on Fairfax – looked more open and friendly than any politician Glen had met in the Federation,
genuine
in a way such politicians rarely were.  It could have been an act – politicians knew they had to look like they were part of the common herd even though they weren't – but there was something about it that convinced Glen it was real.  Oddly, the slovenly look helped, he decided.  This was a man who had little patience for
appearances
.

“Thank you, Mr. President,” Governor Wu said.  “It’s good to be here.”

“We have prepared a small reception for you in Government House,” the President said, taking her hand and guiding her towards a large car resting at the edge of the spaceport.  “There are people who would like to meet you, just to confirm for themselves that the Federation has not abandoned them again.”

There was a faint edge in his voice, Glen noticed – and he would have bet good money that Governor Wu noticed it too.  When she spoke, her voice was stiff.

“The Federation never chose to abandon you,” she said.  “There was simply no choice.”

“That may be true,” the President agreed.  The edge had not faded from his voice.  “But the fact remains that the Federation lost our trust.  You will have to work long and hard to regain it.”

Glen followed the party into the vehicle, then took a seat at the back and listened as the vehicle roared to life.  It was no comfortable aircar or hovercraft, merely an old-style automobile that would be childishly simple to repair if it broke down.  The Governor seemed surprised that she hadn't been given a vehicle more appropriate to her station, but Glen doubted there was anything more advanced on Fairfax.  Unless, of course, it was configured for medical emergencies.  Even low-tech worlds made some exceptions to their rules.

“Government House is currently in use by the Republic,” the President said, as the vehicle drove down a long road leading towards Fairfax City.  “We required a centre of government, such as it is, and Government House seemed appropriate.  However, we have taken the liberty of clearing a floor for you and your personnel.  If you require other housing, we will see what we can make available.”

“That is against Federation law,” the Governor said, crossly.  She did have a point, Glen had to admit; Federation installations were effectively federal territory, not planetary.  And she was technically entitled to the entire building as a residence, although it also served as her office.  On the other hand, it was a petty thing to argue about.  “And if I require the whole building?”

“The building is currently in use,” the President countered.  “We do not waste money by building expensive government offices when there is a war on.”

Glen understood, even though it was clear the Governor didn’t.  The Federation, even during the height of the war, had been able to build more than starships and planetary defences.  He shuddered to think how much it had cost his brothers to build the new headquarters for Knight Corporation on Mars, or the installations on Earth.  But Fairfax wouldn't have been able to afford starships
and
government buildings.  He rather approved of the attitude that placed starships ahead of gratifying a politician’s ego.

Nothing more was said until they reached Government House.  Unlike the last such building he'd seen, Fairfax Government House was out on the edge of the city, as if the population preferred to forget that it existed.  A handful of apartment blocks had sprung up nearby, clearly of newer construction than the looming granite mansion, but the building had a sense of isolation that nothing could dispel.  The gates were guarded by soldiers in green combat uniforms, as if they expected to go straight to war.  And they weren't even trying to hide the weapons they carried.

They weren't the only ones, Glen realised, as the gates opened.  Almost everyone in view was carrying a weapon, strapped to their belt or slung over their shoulder.  He hadn't seen so many weapons since the Marines had been preparing for their last combat deployment, when they’d
known
that the Dragons were prepared to throw away hundreds of lives just to kill a single human.  But by then nothing could have altered the outcome of the war.

“It’s the law,” the military officer explained.  There was something about his blunt stiff-necked face that was oddly familiar.  “We believed that the Dragons would invade at any moment, during the worst of the fighting.  They actually landed a few blows on our surface.  So we insisted that everyone old enough had to carry a gun – and fined those who didn’t.  Even now, we still keep the law.  The referendum on keeping it was near-universally in favour.”

Glen looked at the Governor, who didn't seem too pleased.  Earth and most of the Core Worlds had strict laws against private ownership of weapons, believing that the disadvantages of having them in civilian hands outweighed the benefits.  The colonies – and not just those in the Fairfax Cluster – disagreed.  They’d borne the brunt of enemy occupation, after all.  The handful of densely-populated worlds the Dragons had overrun had changed their attitudes very quickly. 

We gave Earthlings basic training when we feared Earth would fall, but we didn't hand out weapons
, Glen thought.  He’d been a baby during those days, too young to be really aware of what was going on, yet his brothers had told him horror stories of the panic that had gripped Earth. 
Maybe that was a wise move
.

The vehicle lurched to a stop.  A small band on the steps began to play a tune as the President helped the Governor out of the car.  It took Glen several moments to realise that it was based around the same theme as the Federation March, but altered to reflect the simple fact that the Fairfax Cluster no longer considered itself part of the union.  The Governor would require tact and diplomacy to woo them back to the Federation.

Wonderful
, the cynic in him thought. 
We’d better start preparing for war
. 

The Governor was practiced at controlling her expression, but Glen could tell that she was growing more and more irritated as she made her way through the reception hall.  Normally, she would take the stand – as if she were a Queen reviewing her Court – and the delegates would come to her.  But the colonials flocked around as if there were no rules or procedures at all ... which there weren't, for them.  The formality the Governor was expecting simply didn't exist in the Fairfax Cluster.

Glen found it somewhat refreshing.  His naval career had spared him from most of the formal corporate functions his brothers were obliged to uphold, but he’d attended enough of them to know that he hated such gatherings.  They were full of people pretending to be happy, all the while either glancing around to prove that they’d arrived or so certain they belonged that nothing could possibly change their minds.  If any of them said anything genuinely heartfelt, they said it by accident. 

He followed the Governor and her staff at a distance, noting with some amusement that Windy was recording everything.  His crew had noticed it too, with the net result that they’d either started playing to the camera or avoiding Windy whenever she appeared.  Sandy had pointed out, rather snidely, that if Windy recorded everything it would take her just as long to review and publish her recordings, but Glen had seen similar PR officials.  They sent their take back to editors, who did the reviewing and publishing for them.  But there was no way to know just how important Windy actually was to the Governor.  Most of her PR staff remained on Earth.

Playing to the real audience
, Glen thought, ruefully.  Earth was where the Governor’s career would be made or broken, no matter what she did in the Fairfax Cluster.  Even disaster could win her a promotion, if disaster could be spun to make her look good – or someone else very bad.  The Navy believed firmly that the Captain was responsible for whatever happened onboard his ship, even if he knew nothing about it, but politics was a whole different world.  Glen couldn't dump the blame onto Sandy, even if it
had
been her fault; the Governor could drop one of her staffers and come out smelling like roses. 

And to think Theodore loves playing politics
, he thought. 
I wonder what that says about him
.

The President guided the Governor into the next room, where a long row of tables waited for them.  It was nowhere near as fancy as the Grand Hotel on Luna; the tables were wooden, the plates were plain china and the knives and forks were steel.  All in all, it lacked even the slightest hint of sophistication.  Glen couldn't help thinking of a naval mess as he took his seat; unsurprisingly, he’d been placed next to a colonial military officer.  The weirdly familiar officer held out a hand and Glen shook it, firmly.  It was easy to tell that the man had real combat experience.

A diplomatic reception on Earth would have had nine courses, broken with interminable speeches from politicians and their guests.  This reception had two courses, Glen gathered, as the first trolley of food was brought into the room.  The colonials had clearly slaughtered the fatted calf for the Governor; each trolley held a whole roasted animal, a sight that would have been quite out of place on Earth.  At least the Governor wasn't a person who refused to eat real meat, he thought, like a growing number of people on Earth. 
That
would have put the cat among the politicians.