Valentine's Rising (26 page)

The hill flattened out as they rode to the top, and Valentine got his first view of the foundations of Solon's Residence. The vigorous young scrub forest that had been claiming the hillside lay in windrows up the gentle hill and at the top. A cluster of Quonset huts next to a pond housed the builders. The construction site, situated for a perfect view of the river valley to the west and the distant Ouachitas beyond, dominated a chunky, freshly cleared vista. As they drove closer Valentine got a better view of the future center of Trans-Mississippi power. There were basements, foundations and churned-up earth all around something that looked like it once was a college, or perhaps just a sturdy building that had survived the '22 devastation. A new roof had been put on it, surmounted by a cupola. The “college” formed the base of a great
U
of future buildings, some of which had the floors of the second story built along with the beginnings of walls. Georgian-style arched windows, minus the glass, were in place on the lower levels. It was reminiscent of the old Federal White House, expanded into a palace-sized villa.

The surroundings were just as impressive. The tallest hump of Big Rock Mountain, still forested, dominated the villa's “backyard.”

Solon gathered his entourage at what would be the turnaround of his drive, in front of the new arched doors. Valentine angled his way through the press of officers to see Solon pointing out highlights. “There'll be a Grecian temple on top of the hill, one day. But that's the sort of finishing touch I'm saving until the masons are done with the important work down here. It'll be the finest view in the Trans-Mississippi, one day. Right now I call it the Lookout. I'll hike up there later, if anyone wants to join me.”

He ushered the officers into the central hall. The interior had been gutted and turned into a grand entrance hall, branching off to the right and left to the rest of the villa. The entire back wall was missing, save for a balcony framework and supports for glass.

“This is going to open up on the inner patio. There'll be a pool and a greenhouse but, as you can see, it's just a big hole at the moment. At first I was going to get rid of this building. Old army construction, though the bricks were attractive. They'd turned the basement into some kind of hospital or dormitory. Come down, and see what I've done with it.”

He led the party past a worker, who made haste to clear the way for the officers. “This is the Situation Room. There'll be a conference center and offices, and below, in the subbasement, a communications room and security bunker. The fixtures are in, but it's still missing some equipment.” Solon led them into the conference center, separated by glass walls—complete with drapes for security—but as yet unfurnished.

“Now a brief meeting,” Solon said, as his aides brought up a pair of easels.

 

Because of the lack of chairs, only the generals and colonels were allowed to sit for the meeting, and after it was over Valentine was grateful for the chance to walk again. After three hours of maps, orders, questions and arguments, he needed a break. Solon stopped for a meal, with a promise to answer question individually afterward. Access to the flush toilet was by rank, so Valentine grabbed a paper plate full of sandwiches and went up into the clean air and used the workers' outhouse.

He found an empty sawhorse and leaned against it, watching a bulldozer move earth. The sunshine made him feel even more enervated. He'd keyed himself up for nothing, as it turned out.

Two or three times during the meeting he'd rested his hand on his pistol. It would have been easy to draw it and kill five or six of the assembled senior officers. But as he came to the critical moment, the murder-suicide he'd been thinking about seemed more and more like an empty gesture as the emotionally frozen gears of his mind began turning again. A few deaths would not matter. The Kurians would have a hard time replacing someone as manifestly gifted as Solon, but the rest of the officers were easily switched cogs in the military machine. Or perhaps, when it came down to the sticking point, he lacked the courage to go open-eyed to his death.

Through the series of disasters—like falling dominoes he'd raced to stay ahead of—he'd been caught up in, he found himself in a unique situation. All the mistakes and misfortune had placed him in the enemy headquarters, handing him priceless information on the Quisling plans to finish off Southern Command. And his role in the operation couldn't have been better if he'd written the orders himself. His light infantry was assigned to probe the passes into the western Boston Mountains, looking for a lightly guarded route that he could seize so the rest of Hamm's division could put itself into the heart of what was left of the Free Territory's forces in their mountain redoubts. He could get what Quickwood he had where it was needed most, courtesy of the trucks of the TMCC.

The most tantalizing piece of information wasn't stated explicitly; Valentine had to put it together based on the questions from Quisling commanders from Tennessee, Okalahoma, Kansas and, especially, Texas. Solon was a strange cross between a venture capitalist and a military genius: he'd gotten command of large numbers of Quisling troops from all around the Ozarks, but the terms of the agreements were expiring. He'd made another set of deals, like a debtor trying to extend the due date of a loan for a few more months by promising interest greater than had been paid for the previous two years. He had until the end of summer to put paid to the loan, to conquer the Free Territory, before he lost eighty percent of his men. If he could clean up Southern Command's holdouts this spring and summer, he'd have enough to garrison his Trans-Mississippi with the help of the leaders of his Kurian substates, and send captives and prisoners off to the hungry neighboring Kurians, their bodies paying off his debts.

Valentine even found himself admiring his fellow officers. They asked intelligent questions, wrote notes in their order journals with smooth, elegant hands, and offered imaginative suggestions. There was efficiency, yes, but a certain amount of coldness, too, like greyhounds eager for the release of the rabbit, all eyes on the prize and not a thought for the men in uniform around them. A similar group of Southern Command officers would be more informal; there would be jokes and jibes and a good deal of smoke blowing.

“He's seeing everyone individually next,” Xray-Tango said, breaking into his thoughts. The general gave a pine door-post an experimental rap. Valentine looked at the twitching eye and knew that Xray-Tango had received orders he hadn't liked.

“Did he give you what for about the bridge, General? Or getting the locks rebuilt?”

“No, nothing like that. That'd be sensible. He wants his house finished, so he can transfer his governement out of Fort Scott. The Twenty-three Representatives will be here soon.”

“Twenty-three more Reapers? That won't be pleasant.”

“These aren't so bad. I've seen them, all sitting around the conference table. They're more like zombies than anything; they just sit in their chairs until they need to see, hear and speak for the Higher Up at the other end. He feeds them pig blood, not people. Something about the distance, I dunno, they can't be animated right from so far away, and the ones closer have too much else to do.”

“Then what's the matter, sir? You seem upset.”

“I asked to retire after the big push. I'm feeling my age, Le Sain. Getting sick of making decisions for idiots who had the exact same decision put to them the day before. Then there's the . . . the stuff like the other night. It wears a man down.”

“He turned you down?”

“He said he needed five more years to get the groundwork for New Columbia built. Promised me I could leave then. Bridges, highways, roads, factories, housing; he's even talking about an airport. The Kurians don't like anything bigger than bush planes in the air, but he's got this idea for a Trans-Mississippi air force burning in his brain. I'm just worried that after five more years, they'll want another five before I get my estate, and I've got my reasons for thinking that. You see, Le Sain, he promised me that when Southern Command was finished off, I'd be able to retire. I don't like a man who plays me like a fish. Can't stand people who are more convincing at making promises than keeping them.”

“I'll go get my talking-to,” Valentine said.

“You coming for the party later?”

“What party is that, sir?”

“You've been keeping to yourself lately. We're having a little celebration in the Blue Dome. You been in there yet?”

“No, there was the flood, sir. Since then I've been too busy fitting out.”

“You owe it to yourself to live a little, Le Sain. Young man like you. Come along and have some fun.”

“Odd you should say that, sir. I've told myself that just today. I thought there'd be some fun with this trip.” He hooked a thumb in his gunbelt. “The day's not over yet.”

 

There was only one miserable-looking captain still waiting when an aide shook Valentine awake. Valentine had pretended to snooze as he idled while Solon met with each officer; exhaustion turned his pretense into reality.

“The Consul will see you now,” the aide said. He was ushered into Solon's underground office. The teal walls still smelled faintly of fresh paint. There was an oriental panel on the wall, three pictures, each in its own frame, separate works of art but forming a greater work together. The largest figure was of a warrior carrying a bow. Valentine looked in the corner of the office, where a recurved bow and a quiver of arrows had been placed.

“Colonel Le Sain,” Solon said, looking up from his paperwork. “Our ambitious young newcomer. Please sit down.”

“Thank you, sir,” Valentine said, sitting in the club chair opposite Solon's desk. The Consul had shortened the legs on it, giving Solon a height advantage he didn't have when standing.

“I saw you admiring my bow.”

“It's a handsome one, sir. Beautiful wood.”

“My quiet center. I go away with the bow when I need to think. Or rather, not think, at least consciously. I'll take you out and show you, when we're less pressed by duty. Did you get caught up at the presentation?”

“Yes, sir. It was thorough, I'll give you that. There's only a little mopping up to do south of the Arkansas. North of it, it looks like you've got what's left of the opposition boxed in.”

“They're more like a treed tiger. Properly prodded, they'll jump down. Unpleasant for whoever happens to be under them, but it'll be the end of the tiger.”

“Could be dangerous for whoever goes up the tree to do the prodding, too.”

“You understand your role, then. You wanted your shot at glory; I've granted your wish.”

“They must be pretty hungry by now. Why not wait?” Valentine said.

Consul Solon's hangdog face tightened. “Evidently they'd prepared for years for this eventuality. Food and supplies deep in caves, mines ready in all the critical road junctures. And of course you're aware that our borrowed forces have to return home more or less intact.”

“I caught that, sir.”

“So headlong assault wasn't an option. It's our own fault. We didn't pursue promptly enough when they collapsed. It must have been some civil defense plan, to have so much put away for civilians, even. You know we've captured livestock up in the hills? I was tempted to take back some rings if my generals allowed them to get away with their chickens and sheep. Hopeless incompetence, but then what do you expect of forces that have been doing nothing but glorified police work and putting down uprisings for decades. They're gun-shy.”

“Why not use Grogs?”

“The Grogs have their own concerns. The St. Louis ones only go to war for land; I'm not about to give up an inch of the Trans-Mississippi. Quite the contrary. Once we've got things under control here, we'll expand north. The whole Missouri Valley is crawling with them from St. Louis to Omaha; that'll change.”

“The Higher Ups gave them that land in return for—”

“Don't be stupid, Colonel. That was a deal settled long ago. It wasn't with the Trans-Mississippi Confederation, either. I've spoken to the Twenty-three, and they're in agreement. You're seeing only the planting of a seed that will one day flower in the headwaters of the Mississippi, the Tenesseee, the Missouri, the Arkansas, yes, even the Ohio. That's why I came west, Le Sain. Elbow room. My days of sweating out strategies to control four more counties in Virginia or a town in Maryland are over.”

“You're from the East, sir? I've always wanted to see it.”

“No you don't. It's chaos.”

“So you left? How did you manage that, if you don't mind me asking, sir?”

“You're a kindred spirit, Le Sain,” Solon said, a twinkle coming to his basset-hound eyes. “If you don't like a place, your role in it, you get yourself out. I did the same, did you know that? My father was a senator in the old United States government. He didn't survive '22. I barely remember him. My mother struck up a relationship with a general who'd been useful to the Kurians. His lordship held a few towns around the Potomac in northern Virgina. I got my start as a courier; eventually I was running everything for miles around Harper's Ferry. The Kurians are such children in a way; if you're useful in getting them their candy, you can train them like Pavlov's dogs. I learned the art of politics. There must be generational memory in the land, for the whole area around what used to be the District of Columbia is home to the most backbiting, infighting group of Kurians you can imagine, all holding court in their little monuments around the Mall. A woman named Rudland, I believe she was from New York, organized them into a ‘committee,' to cut down on the blood feuds. I'd help plead my lordship's cases before the committee, and if that didn't work, bribe a powerful member. Then a deal went wrong, and I had to—let's just say I left in a hurry.