Picking Up the Pieces

(Martial Law: Book Two)

Christopher G. Nuttall

Cover Blurb

It is two years after the fall of the UN released the planet Svergie from bondage, yet all is not well.  The government is on the verge of breaking apart between competing factions, Communist groups are preparing a mass uprising and the countryside is planning to secede from the rest of the planet.  The tinder is ready; all it needs is for some idiot to light the match…

Captain-General Andrew Nolte and his Legion of the Dispossessed, a band of interstellar mercenaries, have been hired to train a proper army for Svergie, an army that might bind the planet together.  Powerful forces are gathering to oppose the Legion, however, and Andrew has a cause of his own… 

Prologue

From: The Post-UN Era.  Williamson, Mike.  Baen Historical Press, Heinlein, 2555.

As you have seen in preceding chapters, the attempt by the United Nations to secure the Colonies and secure control over the entire Human Sphere was terminated when Fleet – then called the United Nations Peace Force – launched a coup against its superior officers.  The then-Captain John Walker believed that the war was beyond being won and, in fact, was heading rapidly towards mass slaughter on both sides.  Be that as it may – and research on Earth suggests that the UN intended to resort to weapons of mass destruction again – his successful coup against the United Nations broke their power completely.  The Treaty of Unity, rammed down the throats of Colonies and Earth alike, secured peace, at a price.

The UN had held hundreds of worlds in its grip, but now that grip was broken.  Some worlds, like Terra Nova, collapsed into chaos, ironically secured by members of the former United Nations Infantry, who were no longer welcome back home.  Others, like Heinlein, Williamson’s World and New Washington, managed to regain control quickly and even assisted in the reparation of the Infantrymen to other locations.  Some even became citizens of the worlds they had tried to suppress.  

And Fleet had secured control of space.  The remains of the UNPF was still the strongest force operating in space and John Walker dictated peace terms that included a firm guarantee that Fleet would remain supreme, a neutral and disinterested force that would ensure that interstellar war would no longer threaten humanity.  The Fleet was, to all intents and purposes, the ruler of the Human Sphere, although it ruled with a very light hand.  Fleet was denied any major ground combat element and the vast majority of the former UN Infantry was disbanded.  It would never be able to mount a campaign on a planet’s surface.  Indeed, the treaty even allowed the development of space-based defences, everything, but jump-capable warships.

The remainder of the UN Infantry were in an unfortunate position.  Some units returned to Earth and were disbanded.  Others took service with various planetary governments, or were encouraged to settle their own worlds, along with the teeming refugees from Earth.  And some became soldiers for hire.  Five years after Fleet mounted its coup, there were hundreds of mercenary units operating in the Human Sphere.  Some were tiny, composed of only a few hundred men, and some were large enough to qualify as armies in their own right.  The most famous of these was the Legio Exheres, the Legion of the Disinherited.

Chapter One

FLEET PROTOCOLS: The general term for the set of agreements governing the level of Fleet involvement on the surface of a planet.  Fleet is generally restricted to one garrison and no interference in the government of the planet, regardless of the moral standing of the government in question.
-The A-Z of the Human Sphere

“I’m picking up the beacon from the spaceport now,” the pilot called back, from his seat.  “We should be landing in seven minutes.”

I nodded, tensing despite myself.  There was no reason to believe that we were flying into a hostile situation, or an unwelcoming committee waited with SAM missiles capable of shooting down a shuttle, but old habits died hard.  I looked at the threat board, tracking the Fleet destroyer in high orbit and the Julius Caesar in low orbit, and smiled.  The destroyer could have picked us off with its lasers, but Fleet was officially neutral on Svergie.  The planet’s internal affairs were none of Fleet’s concern.

“Stand ready,” I ordered, checking the pistol I wore at my belt.  The other members of the advance party did the same.  The UNPF, which used to make use of my services, disliked people loading weapons in shuttles, but I got to make the rules for my own people and I saw no harm in it.  Besides, it the shuttle was shot down and if my some miracle we survived, I’d prefer to have a weapon in hand.

“Nice countryside,” Sergeant Peter Henderson observed, from his seat.  I nodded.  Svergie was definitely a blessed world, which made all the oncoming war and violence ironic in the extreme.  More human wars have been fought over resources than anything else combined.  “No signs of actual fighting.”

I shrugged.  “The last war never touched here as bad as Heinlein or Terra Nova,” I said, seriously.  I’d reviewed all the files I could find after being hired by the local government, but the UN files were half lies and I wasn't sure I could trust the local files any further.  Fleet would have the most modern files, but they might refuse to share them with someone most of the senior officers would consider a mercenary.  “They only fought an underground war without any serious battles.”

The spaceport came into view as the pilot ghosted us down towards the surface.  It looked fairly typical, but then, most UNPF spaceport facilities looked as if they were designed according to a plan some military bureaucrat had drawn up in a safe office on Old Earth.   It was massive, large enough to hold hundreds of thousands of UN soldiers, administrators and servants, but now it looked almost abandoned.  The UN forces on Svergie had been pulled out months ago and most of them hadn’t been sad to leave.  It had been a hard life on a planet where most of the locals hated them.  I doubted that they had left anything, but a caretaker crew, if that.  The local government might well have taken over the facility.

“We’re being told to land now,” the pilot said.  I tensed again as the shuttle came down and touched down neatly on the ground.  It had been a near-perfect landing, although the jokes revolving around shuttles and landing craft generally focused on a good landing being one that you could walk away from.  Military humour; you had to love it, or go insane.  “Sir…?”

“Power down the shuttle and remain here,” I ordered, as I pulled myself to my feet.  Peter pulled a heavy assault rifle out of the rank and slung it over his shoulder.  I wasn't fooled.  As casual as he looked, he could still have it ready for action in seconds, perhaps less.  “Shall we proceed?”

The scent of the planet, mixed in with the smell of a military base that had been, until recently, operating, struck us as soon as we opened the hatch.  I breathed in hints of flowers and ripe corn in the distance, then recoiled as the smell of burning fuel and even hints of burning flesh touched my nose.  The reports hadn’t been clear, but the spaceport had clearly been targeted by the insurgents several times, using mortars to strike from a distance.  I could see a handful of burned out vehicles in the distance, but otherwise…nobody moved.

“I’ve never seen a base unmanned before,” Peter said, lightly.  I suspected he felt the same unease I felt.  The sense of something badly out of place kept growing.  It had kept me alive in hundreds of engagements and I had learned to listen to it.  “There should be ground crews and soldiers on patrol, spacers down from the starships and entertainers wandering around, officers wasting time and…”

“It’s been abandoned,” Muna Mohammad said, tightly.  She was my supply and logistics officer.  She’d had a strange career in the UNPF before it had rebelled against the UN and renamed itself Fleet, but she came with strong recommendations from John Walker himself.  I’d known John briefly while he’d been a mere First Lieutenant.  “They’ve probably looted the supply dumps as well.”

“Contact,” Peter hissed.  I grabbed for my weapon before realising what he meant and glaring at him.  He looked unmoved.  Peter had been with me for years and he’d forgotten more about the military than I’d ever learned.  He said I was the best UNPF Infantry officer he’d served under, but it wasn’t much of a compliment.  The vast majority of UNPF officers couldn’t have found their butts with both hands and a map.  “Over there…”

I scowled into the distance and saw a dark figure waving to us.  Normally, no one ran at the spaceport unless there was an emergency, but there was no one around to complain about the safety violation.  We double-timed it over to him and stopped right in front of him.  To do him credit, he might have looked more like a computer geek than a soldier, but he didn’t flinch.  He wore the simple black uniform of Fleet, with the golden rank bars of a Commander, although not one in the chain of command.  It had been a while since I’d brushed up on Fleet protocol, so I snapped a salute and wasn't entirely surprised when it was returned.  He wasn't quite sure where he stood either.

“Welcome to Svergie Spaceport,” he said, as he led us into a conference room.  It had air conditioning and a small drinks cabinet on the wall.  I disliked it on sight.  The senior officers on a dozen worlds had gotten together there, drunk freely, and then issued orders that made little sense in the cold light of day.  “I’m Commander (Fleet Intelligence) Daniel Webster.”

“Fleet intelligence,” I mused.  This meeting was starting to look rather unlike a coincidence.  “Captain-General Andrew Nolte of the Legio Exheres, the Legion of the Disinherited.”

He frowned.  “Captain-General?”

“Long story,” I growled.  It wasn't something I wanted to discuss with anyone who wasn't already part of my community.  Fleet tended to take a dim view of mercenary units like us, even though some of them regarded us as a necessary evil.  “This is Peter and Muna.”  I didn’t give their ranks.  “I assume that you have a briefing for us?”

Daniel nodded.  “I’m supposed to…”

“First things first,” I interrupted.  “How much direct support can we hope for from Fleet?”

He frowned.  “Very little,” he said.  “It is imperative that no one sees our hand in this, directly or indirectly.  We can probably send you orbital reconnaissance images from the William Tell, but Captain Price-Jones is one of the Captains less willing to violate the letter of Fleet Regulations.  The Fleet Protocols are in effect.”

A tap on a hidden console brought up a map of the planet.  “Svergie was settled, originally, by a Scandinavian consortium headed by the Swedes,” he said.  “They put up most of the early funds and got the right to name the planet, although the Danes got to name the first real city – New Copenhagen.  Yes, I know; very imaginative.  The original settlement was restricted to people from Scandinavia and was largely a success; immigration picked up as the European Union collapsed into the UN.  The global financial crisis forced the consortium to plead for help from the UN, which allowed the UN to get its hooks into the planet.  Oddly enough, they only insisted on the settlers accepting Icelandic and Irish colonists and...well, it wasn’t a disaster.  The stains blended together neatly.”

I nodded.  The UN had blundered badly from time to time, forcing planets to take in ethnic groups that were fundamentally opposed to the first settlers.  Persia, a planet settled directly from Old Iran on Earth, had been forced to accept a large immigration quota of Sunni Muslims from the Middle East.  The results had not been pleasant.  The largely Shia population of Persia had moved there to get away from the Sunni in the first place.  Svergie had been lucky.

“Disaster struck around fifty years ago when the UN discovered that the planet had vast deposits of various vital minerals,” Daniel continued.  “The locals objected to the UN attempting to assert further authority and rebelled.  The UN fought back with Infantry and moved a few thousand miners onto the planet.  They weren’t popular with the locals and the war got worse.  To add to their woes, the UN was suppressing a rebellion in Indonesia at the same time and dumped several thousand Indonesian women onto the planet, along with their young children.  I think the idea was that they would provide wives for the soldiers and miners.  Some of them did, but others became prostitutes or worse.  By the time Admiral Walker launched his coup, the planet was heading for a nasty crisis, which was barely averted by the UN’s pull-out.  Even so…”

I nodded.  “They wouldn’t have hired us unless they needed us,” I agreed.  Svergie’s Government had offered vast inducements to hire us, which suggested either desperation or stupidity.  I wouldn’t have bet on the latter.  “What’s the current situation like?”

“Unstable,” Daniel admitted.  He paused.  “I’m going to have to lecture, I’m afraid.”  I nodded impatiently.  I have never met an Intelligence officer who didn’t like the sound of his own voice.  “The Government was formed from the underground resistance, which claimed descent from the last legitimate government on the planet, before the UN took over openly.  The President – you’ll meet him this afternoon – was the political head of the resistance and quite popular among the people.  He’s also something of a statesman in his way.  He convinced Fleet to keep the spaceport rather than trust it to any of his own people because…well, it was the cause of the greatest political fight since the UN pulled out.

“The President is the head of the Liberty Party, which used to serve as the core of the resistance,” he continued.  “Now that the war is won and the UN is gone, it’s having something of a crisis of confidence; they used to unite everyone, but now the factions are becoming clearer and political consensus is being lost.  The President couldn’t stop the trend and there are now several other parties competing for the voters.  I don’t think that Liberty will win the next election, which is in six months.

“The Conservatives and Farmers Party is the most reactionary of the parties and basically serves as the mouthpiece for many of the older residents, although they don’t cross the line into open racism.  They’re popular with the farmers, but less popular with the city-dwellers, not least because they want to force the underclass to work or starve.  Fringe groups are even talking about developing a Heinlein-style government here and altering the franchise, or evicting non-Scandinavians from the planet.

“The Progressive Party is pretty much their exact opposite.  They stand for universal franchise and an extension of state welfare benefits to as many people as possible.  They’re popular among the underclass as they’re seen as the people who stand up for their rights, but they’re universally loathed among the upper classes.  Their leadership includes people who were abandoned here by the UN and preach that everyone could have the kind of lifestyle people have on Earth.  Unfortunately, they may be right.”  

I snorted.  The UN had told the Colonists that everyone on Earth lived in a state-run paradise from cradle to grave, a world where everyone was equal and all rights were respected.  It was also complete nonsense.  The UN had created an equal distribution of poverty.

“They’re trying to push through various subsidy bills that would force the farmers to sell at set prices, but they’re being heavily opposed,” Daniel added.  “They’re having more success with education and training programs for young children, many of whom come from the underclass.

“The Communist Party is a more extreme version of the Progressive Party.  They want to have everything owned and operated by the state and set up communal farms and other such nonsense.  They’re smaller than the Progressive Party, but actually more disciplined and they’re training a militia of their own.  I don’t think they can win an election, but if they share it with the Progressive Party…well, they can probably have a major impact on politics.

“And finally there’s the Independence Party,” he concluded.  “They’re not a political party as such; they represent the interior and are seriously considering seceding from the remainder of the planet.  They think that the next government will do whatever it can to limit their rights and tax the planet to death, so they’re plotting resistance and independence.  If the Progressive Party wins the next election, they say, they’ll secede from the government.  If that happens…the planet will either have a civil war or a split government, with all that that implies for their future.  It doesn’t look rosy.”

“No,” I agreed.  I frowned and dropped a name.  “What does John – sorry, Admiral Walker – want from this situation?”

Daniel clicked the display until it became a star chart.  “At the moment, Svergie is simply not very important in the Human Sphere,” he said.  “The planet is actually quite far from Earth and…well, while it is closer to Williamson’s World and New Paris, it’s not close enough to make shipping easier – now.  Fleet’s projections are that interstellar trade will actually increase in this sector over the next twenty years and Svergie will be in line for a share of the benefits, if they have a united government.  Chaos in this sector, on the other hand, will lead to Svergie being isolated or even dampen the development of the entire sector.”

Muna was nodding.  No shipping line in their right mind would have a starship come out of its wormhole in interstellar space.  Modern drives weren’t as prone to burning out as some of the early designs, but it still happened and being stranded in interstellar space would mean certain disaster.  Svergie would definitely benefit from increased interstellar trade, but only if there was a united government in place to deal with the Merchant Guilds and the shipping lines.  Without one, the shipping lines would be able to name their own terms.

“On a different note,” Daniel added, “we believe that the Independence Party has some links with off-world groups.  The Freedom Alliance never went away and they’re currently opposed to what they call Fleet’s hegemony.  They may be linked with the Independence Party, or it might be another government attempting to spread chaos, or even someone working for the shipping lines.  There’s no clear proof yet, but if we find it…”

I nodded.  John Walker hadn’t made many mistakes in his coup, but one of them might come back to haunt him.  He’d dictated terms to governments in a manner that would certainly cause resentment, even hatred.  Fleet was still the strongest military force in known space, but it had limits, not least the lack of any major ground-combat force.  The Marines couldn’t take and hold an entire planet.  He had also agreed to leave internal planetary affairs strictly alone.  Whatever happened on Svergie, Fleet couldn’t be seen to interfere.

“I understand,” I said, without demur.  The planetary government had hired me, not Fleet.  Fleet couldn’t be blamed if something went wrong, although I was still unsure of what the planetary government wanted from me.  I decided to ask.  “Tell me something.  Do you know what they hired us for?”

Daniel shrugged.  “Not directly,” he admitted.  “The general theory held by Fleet’s analysts on the William Tell is that the planetary government wants you to serve as a deterrent to the Independence Party, although a minority opinion says that they want you to take out the Independence Party, or even support the Progressive Party.”

“We do have minds of our own,” Peter protested.

“Hush,” I said.  I couldn’t dispute his logic.  I was even rather insulted that someone would see us as nothing more than guns for hire, even if I wanted them to see us as mercenaries.  “What does Fleet think is going to happen here?”

“The Progressive Party may well win the next election,” Daniel said.  “If that happens, they will probably push ahead with their program…and push the planet into civil war.  The analysts have simulated the war extensively, despite our limited knowledge, and they’ve concluded that the most likely outcome will be absolute chaos.  I doubt that the planet could afford two nations on one continent.  We’ll be looking down from orbit at mass slaughter.”

“Like a dozen other worlds,” Muna said, coldly.  “What makes this one so special?”

“Nothing,” Daniel said.  “Our hands are tied, legally.  We cannot interfere unless one side breaks the Federation Protocols.  Even so, it would be chancy.  The current situation is so unstable that if Svergie were to go under, it might have serious repercussions for Fleet…and the whole Federation.  The best we can do is give you what information we have and hope.”

He smiled, thinly.  “Good luck, sir,” he added.  “You’re going to need it.”

Chapter Two

The Government of Svergie was originally intended to serve as a limited government, but when the UN took control of the planet they turned it into a despotic government that was destroyed shortly after the Fleet Coup.  The replacement was established on a wave of hope.  It didn’t last.
-The Secret History of Svergie

I mulled over what Daniel had told us as we were driven into town by the local trooper, who kept eyeing our weapons with a bemused respect.  I was used to that kind of treatment on Earth – the few times I had been allowed to go armed on the planet’s surface – but Svergie was a frontier world.  It should have had a more robust attitude towards weapons, even ones that looked intimidating as hell.  Even the UN hadn’t been able to come up with a non-threatening assault rifle.

New Copenhagen was an interesting mix of styles.  Some of the buildings looked as if they were built on stilts, although I was at a loss as to why, and others looked as if they were built out of wood.  A massive wooden church dominated one corner and glowered at us as we drove past.  I decided it had to serve a religious function, although I wouldn’t have trusted an entirely wooden building in a modern city if I could avoid it.  Someone with a can of gasoline could have burned it to the ground.  The locals looked to be surprisingly diverse; there were blonde-haired, blue eyed men and women, intermixed with short brown women and paler men.  The latter had to be the results of intermarriage, which seemed to have had a happier result than on some other planets.  It might cause them problems in the future, though; the economic report of the planet’s future was not encouraging.

“This isn’t going to be an easy city to defend,” Peter muttered, low enough so that our driver couldn’t hear.  “I wouldn’t care to defend it with anything less than a full army and even if we did, half the city would burn down around us.  I wonder how much trouble they actually have here.”

I shrugged.  “That’s why they’re paying us,” I reminded him.  As galling as it was to be thought of as nothing more than a mercenary, it did have its advantages.  I didn’t have to pretend to be polite to assholes if I didn’t want to.  “I wouldn’t want to take a tank through these streets if I could avoid it.”

“You could take a tank through the houses,” Peter said, dryly.  I nodded in agreement.  The houses looked surprisingly flimsy compared to a tank.  “The more I look at this place, the more I think that there are unpleasant surprises waiting for us.”

“Look on the bright side,” I said.  “We could be back on Botany.”

The driver took us directly into the centre of the city and, for the first time, I was vaguely impressed.  The governing complex had been built for defence and a few hundred soldiers could have held it easily.  The UN had probably started using the original buildings and then found that they needed to be sealed off and defended, just to keep the bureaucrats from being lynched by the people they were trying to help.  The handful of policemen on duty looked professional enough, but they carried nothing heavier than pistols.  A single platoon could have wiped them out in a quick action.  I just hoped that they had reinforcements ready and waiting somewhere out of sight.

Or maybe they don’t have a real army, I thought, dispassionately.  It boded ill for the future if that were true, but why else would they have hired us?  Mercenaries didn’t come cheap these days, not when there was more work to do than there were mercenary organisations.  The civilians hadn’t looked oppressed, or unhappy, but that might not have meant anything.  I remembered the political briefing and shivered inwardly.  That might be about to change, I decided, as we climbed out of the car and walked into the building.  The planet wouldn’t be peaceful for much longer.

“You’ll have to leave your weapons here,” a guard said.  I shook my head firmly.  I don’t leave my weapons anywhere, not for anything.  “Sir, I…”

“Let him through,” our escort said.  “He’s not going to be going very far.”

The interior of the building was suspiciously ornate, not entirely to my surprise.  The UN bureaucrats loved luxury and good-living, as long as someone else was paying the bill, and they’d shown surprising taste.  It still seemed overdone to my eyes, but everyone says that I have no taste at all.  I can’t think why.  They’d hung a series of portraits on one wall and I took a moment to study them.  They were all of nude girls in interesting poses.

“The Church wants to take those down,” our guide explained, “but this building is living history.  Once the new Council Chamber is built, this place will become a museum.”

“Wise of you,” I said, calmly.  “Whoever fails to learn from history is condemned to repeat it.”

He nodded and showed us into a smaller conference room, although it was nearly identical to the one that Daniel had used.  The UN bureaucrats had probably just copied the design for all of their buildings.  It wasn't as if that had required much imagination.  There were six people in the room; two women and four men, who rose to their feet as I entered.  The President, at least, was obvious.  I’d seen his image on the UN’s files, marked with dire warnings about how dangerous he was.  He could command loyalty, a dangerous trait in someone opposed to the UN.

“Mr President,” I said, and held out a hand.  “Thank you for your initiation.”

“You’re welcome,” the President said.  His voice was surprisingly firm and charismatic.  The UN hadn’t understated the case.  Now that I had a chance to take a good look at him, I could see that he was underweight and probably under heavy stress, but healthy enough.  He also looked relieved to see me.  “I trust that you encountered no problems on your flight here?”

“No, Mr President,” I said, calmly.  If he wanted to make small talk, that was fine by me.  “I imagine that the William Tell will wish to inspect us before we land, but that won’t affect our deployment.”

“Of course, of course,” the President agreed.  “I’m neglecting my manners.  Please take a seat, all of you.”  He waved from person to person.  “Councillor Tindra Elmersson, Liberty Party, Councillor Albin Arvidsson, Conservatives and Farmers Party, Councillor Frida Holmqvist, Progressive Party, Police Chief Arne Johansson and General Lennart Fredriksson, Militia Commander.  We are, to all intents and purposes, the government of the planet, gathered together in this room.”

I winced, but said nothing.  I’d seen nothing to impress me with their security so far and a determined fanatic could have smuggled a bomb inside without any problems.  The two women were both stunningly good looking, but Frida had a nasty scar running down her face.  The Progressive Party representative eyed me in a manner that suggested she didn’t like my face, but I refused to show her any response.  The Police Chief and the General looked more impressive, but the former was beaten down and the latter was coldly furious at something.  Us, perhaps?

The President sat back and looked at me.  “I understand that you brought your entire unit along,” he said.  It wasn't a question.  “We had to be a little vague about why we’d hired you, but rest assured that it won’t get you into hot water with Fleet.  There were…issues involved that made it hard to be frank with you, yet we needed you here as quickly as possible.”

“I understand,” I said, hiding my annoyance.  If we weren’t being paid well for this, I’d have taken my ship and men elsewhere.  I’d had enough of vague orders and politically-correct directives while I’d been in the UNPF.  “I assume that this room is secure…?”

“It is,” the President confirmed.  “We have something of a political crisis on our hands, one that has been developing since the UN pulled back into their bases and allowed us to regain control of the planet.  There are factions within our planet that want to break away from the remainder of the planet and others that want to break down our system completely.  Every faction is arming to the teeth, ah…”

“Call me Andrew,” I suggested.

“And there’s a lot of talk about armed opposition to the government,” the President continued.  “We don’t have much of an army here and the police are unprepared to deal with political agitation.”

“If certain parties would stop trying to impose stupid policies on the farmers and miners,” the Police Chief said, “we would have less agitation.”

“If the farmers would charge prices that the public can afford,” Frida snapped back, “we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

The President held up a hand.  I felt a moment of sympathy for him.  Whatever he wanted from the situation, it was neglected by having to preside over a Council that was divided against itself.  I knew little about how the government worked, but I was already seeing the chaos.  When there were two parties and neither dared back down, the results was a war.  When there were more than two parties…the results were normally chaos.

“As it is, we have no creditable deterrence to groups attempting to secede or take control by force,” the President said.  “We hired you to build an army for us and take control of the spaceport.  If it does come down to civil war, we will need you to lead your people and the soldiers you will have trained against the rebels.”

“I see,” I said.  Securing the spaceport would be easy, unless Fleet decided to object.  Training an army would be simple enough, although I suspected that the various councillors would make it harder.  Leading an offensive…that might be tricky.  “What sort of opposition are we looking at?”

“There has never been a full census of the Mountain Men up north,” the President admitted.  “They had ties to the resistance, of course, but at the end of the war they refused to be disarmed.  They weren’t alone in that, of course.  We do know, however, that they overran two UN FOB installations in the area and took all of the supplies.  They’re heavily armed enough to take the war to us if we give them a chance.”

“Perhaps,” I said unhappily, recalling the map I’d seen before.  If the Mountain Men lived in the mountains, digging them out wasn't going to be easy, yet the mountains were far too close to the mines, Svergie’s only source of outside currency.  If they had taken an intact FOB, they’d have tanks and armoured cars – perhaps even helicopters – and the fuel to operate them.  Crushing them wasn't going to be easy…and then there were the farmers, and the potential for urban insurrection.

“There are other issues,” the President said.  “If you can strengthen the state, it might allow us a chance to work out the political issues without a civil war.  Can you build an army for us?”

I understood what he was saying and what he carefully wasn’t saying.  Daniel had warned that the Communists – who didn’t seem to be represented at the meeting – were building their own armed forces.  The same was probably true of the others.  It wouldn’t take long for one of them to think about a strike at the government and launch a coup.  An intact and loyal army could deter them from trying that, yet they would understand that as well – perhaps better – than I did.  They might move before my troops were on the surface and ready to operate.

“Yes,” I said, wondering what kind of snake pit we’d dropped into.  “We can build you an army.  I assume that you will allow us to handle our own recruiting?”

“Absolutely out of the question,” Frida thundered, furiously.  It did interesting things to her jumper.  “You have to take the people we send you for training.”

“Not everyone who volunteers will be suitable,” Peter put in, from his position.  “We may only accept a hundred out of a thousand volunteers.  The training course is intended to separate the men from the brats and it does that extremely well.”

Frida scowled at him.  I could almost read her thoughts.  If the Progressives had supplied most of the Army, it would be loyal to them, although I doubted it.  Soldiers don’t get to indulge in wishful thinking and the training program was designed to help recruits separate wishful thinking from proper thinking.  A politically-neutral army might be harder to accomplish, but it was what the President needed.  It might even be able to disarm the factions and put an end to the threat of civil war.

“You can open up recruiting booths in the cities,” the President said, firmly, “but you will give all the recruits a firm chance.”

“Of course,” I said.  We always did, after all.  “What other military resources are available?”

All eyes turned to General Fredriksson.  “The Militia is formed largely from former resistance men,” he admitted, slowly.  He looked ashamed, somehow.  “In theory, we have ten thousand ready and willing to serve.  In practice, half of them are permanently unavailable or absent without leave.  What I have left is a light infantry force with only limited training, given by a handful of UN deserters.  It isn’t suitable for anything other than light patrolling and I can’t send it into…political situations.”

He rubbed his bald dome.  “We have a large dump of military supplies that the UN left behind when they pulled out,” he added.  “Some of it got stolen before we managed to secure it all, but the remainder is at your disposal.  It wasn't as if we had a use for tanks and armoured fighting vehicles.  A UN officer offered to raise an armoured regiment for us, but we refused his offer.  It wasn't as if we needed it.”

“I’ll inspect that later,” I said, firmly.  I’d have to make sure that the UN hadn’t left the gear behind because it was useless, or because they’d decided to leave a few unpleasant surprises behind when they left.  If nothing had blown up by now, it probably wouldn’t, but it always paid to be careful.  “How long do we have to prepare the army?”

The President looked around the room.  “The elections are in six months,” he said, grimly.  “We need a deterring force by then.”

“Yes, Mr President,” I said.  I doubted that the force would deter anyone.  I’d have to study the history of the planet myself, but if there were two conflicting ideologies involved – with lots of weapons to boot – we’d probably end up with a war anyway.  If Fleet’s intelligence was accurate, and it normally was, the two sides literally couldn’t get along without each other.  It was going to be the worst kind of war.  “With your permission, then, I will start shipping my people down to the surface.”

Frida smiled.  “And the recruiting?”

“It will start a week from today,” I said, carefully.  I thought we could secure the spaceport and work out the details quicker than that, but it never hurt to have extra time to work with, if we needed it.  I also wanted to study the planet more carefully.  “I trust that that is acceptable?”

“Yes, thank you,” the President said.  For a moment, he looked very tired and old.  “Ask for anything you need and it’ll be sent to you.  We’ll talk later, Andrew.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, standing up and saluting.  “There’s no point in wasting time.”

“Interesting set-up,” Muna said, when we were back in the car.  Peter checked all three of us with a counter-surveillance tool he picked up on Heinlein.  The President and his men were surprisingly trusting.  They hadn’t tried to bug us…unless, of course, they had access to better bugging tech than we had countermeasures.  I doubted that that was possible, but it was well to be careful.  “It’s just like home.”

The edgy flat tone in her voice brought me up short.  I still knew almost nothing about her, but one thing I did know was that she never wanted to go home.  I had a suspicion I knew why, as well; I’d seen her naked once and she was scarred in places that had made me want to hunt down the person who’d done that and cut him into tiny pieces.

“They’re going to tear that poor man apart,” she continued, unaware of my thoughts.  “This coming election will certainly tip off the civil war, whoever wins.  I don’t think coming here was a good idea, boss.”

“Maybe not,” I agreed, and grinned.  “Look on it as a challenge.”

Peter snorted.  “A challenge,” he said.  Muna’s snort was even louder, somehow.  I doubted she saw it quite the same way I did.  “Someone will probably write that on your tombstone.”

I laughed and keyed my wristcom.  “Johan, this is Andrew,” I said.  “You may begin the unloading now.  Contact the William Tell and invite them to send inspectors if they wish, but tell them that we cannot delay to suit them.  If they push it, agree – reluctantly.”

“Yes, sir,” Johan said.  He’d been a former UNPF officer himself and there were times when I suspected that he was a Fleet spy watching us.  How else would we have gotten to keep the Julius Caesar, a former UNPF Infantry transport?  “We’ll commence the unloading now.”

“And tell Ed that I want A Company to land first and secure the spaceport,” I added.  “I want the entire place checked completely before we start training operations.”  I broke the link and smiled at Peter.  “Shall we go earn what we’re being paid?”

Chapter Three

According to UNPF regulations, all spaceports and other service facilities have to be located at least twenty kilometres from any major habitation, for safety concerns.  Officially, they worry about the safety of civilians, but unofficially they worry about preventing insurgents from getting close enough to attack the base.
-The Unblemished Truth; The UN and the Colonies

The spaceport, when we returned, was a hive of activity.  Captain Stalker had landed A Company in three shuttles and ordered the spaceport secured, before we landed anything else.  A team of armed soldiers met us at the entrance and insisted on checking our ID, even though they recognised us.  I’d have disciplined them if they’d done anything else.  The UN’s enemies had proved adroit at using the UN’s weaknesses against it before.  It wouldn’t be long before someone on the planet tried to sneak into the spaceport.

Ed saluted when we finally caught up with him.  “Sir,” he said.  “We have secured the outer limits of the spaceport and are sweeping through the interior buildings.  So far, we’ve located all of the barracks and enough equipment to keep a brigade functioning for years.  We haven’t found any unpleasant surprises so far.”

“Good,” I said.  Back on Heinlein, it had been a persistent worry that the defenders would mine the spaceport with nuclear bombs, detonating them when the invasion force tried to land.  Here, with Fleet controlling the spaceport, I doubted that there would be any real threat, but it was worth checking.  Start as you mean to go on, as my old Sergeant would have said.  “Is there anything else to report?”

“No, sir,” Ed said.  “I believe that Captain Price-Jones intends to have a few words with you, but he’s still on his ship.”

I nodded.  “I’ll speak to him when he lands,” I said.  “Once you’ve swept the spaceport, give orders for the main body of the unit to land.  I think we’re not going to have much time.”

“I know,” Ed said.  “I’d like to borrow B Company for a sweep around the perimeter.  That set of shanty towns is looking rather worrying.”

I nodded and left him to get on with it.  I trusted Ed to ensure that it was done properly, although I wanted a look at the shanty towns myself.  I’d expected to see them, but it was more surprising that they were still there.  The UNPF banned people from living near their installations, but the poor and the destitute always knew that they could sell crappy junk to UN Infantrymen, or even themselves.  The towns were wretched hives of scum and villainy, where a young infantryman could lose his innocence, virginity and his life.  No amount of orders could keep a young man out of the pleasure dens.

A series of sonic booms echoed through the air as the first shuttles came in to land.  We’d obtained several heavy-lift vehicles from a former UN deport and each of them could carry over two hundred soldiers, or several armoured vehicles.  B Company would add itself to Ed’s forces as they completed their deployment, then we’d bring down the trainers and their equipment, followed by the medical and support staff.  We had one advantage over a UN unit of comparable size; every one of us was a fighter, as well as a specialist.  A UN unit might have a thousand men with a hundred actual soldiers.  It was something I’d grown to loathe while on UN service.

I found my office and examined it thoroughly, but found nothing apart from a set of dirty postcards some officer had picked up on deployment.  It always struck me as odd that the UN censored news and routinely rewrote the truth to suit itself, but it never forbade pornographic material, even of the vilest kind.  The pictures I found were tame compared to some of the stuff I’d seen before and I binned them without regret.  Their owner had probably left them behind for his successor to keep.  

My wristcom buzzed before I could do more than settle down into my chair.  “Captain, Captain Price-Jones would like to have a word with you now,” Ed said.  “Where do you want to see him?”

“I’ll come meet him on the landing ground,” I said.  I’d have preferred my new office, but it wasn't ready for visitors – besides, antagonising Captain Price-Jones might cause problems further down the line.  Admiral Walker – John – might have interests here, but Price-Jones wouldn’t know that, would he?  It would be better to meet him on neutral territory.  “Just tell him I’m on my way.”

The landing ground looked almost like a functional base again when I emerged from the buildings.  We’d landed almost all of our shuttles by now and two were even taking off again to return to the transport, after unloading their soldiers and their equipment.  A small Fleet shuttle sat to one corner, painted a drab grey colour that looked faded compared to the colourful paintings on our shuttles, but it still drew my eye like a magnet.  Captain Price-Jones was waiting for me by the shuttle’s ramp.  He didn’t look pleased to be on the ground.

“Captain Nolte,” he said, shortly.  “I am Captain Price-Jones, Fleet Senior Officer in system.”

The interview was brief, formal and edgy, confirming my suspicion that Captain Price-Jones hadn’t been told anything about Fleet’s clandestine interest in the system.  He warned me that the entire mercenary unit would be inspected before it was allowed to land and any discrepancies – such as the presence of forbidden weapons – would result in the confiscation of my ship and probably criminal charges in front of a Fleet court-martial.  I listened carefully and nodded in all the right places, wondering why Captain Price-Jones had been allowed to retain his command.  He didn’t sound like one of the newer breed of Captains, but someone from the old regime.  I was tempted to file a complaint, but in the short term, it wouldn’t matter.  His tiny destroyer was the most powerful ship in the system.

“We’re hired merely to train and support a local army,” I said, when he had run out of dire warnings.  Fleet generally doesn’t approve of mercenaries.  “We’re not here to take over the planet.”

He didn’t see the humour.  “See that you don’t,” he growled, and stomped away with a parting shot.  “Make sure that you get an agreement on ROE before you begin operating with the locals.  I’d hate to have to arrest you for that.”

I nodded as he retreated back inside his shuttle.  It was something we would have to sort out with the President.  Fleet was generally indifferent to what atrocities local governments perpetrated on their citizens, but when it came to interstellar units, such as a mercenary unit, it was a different story.  We had our own codes of conduct – I’d hung men for rape and looting before – but we’d have to sort out ROE with the locals.  It was something I wasn't looking forward to doing.  Civilians don’t have the slightest idea of what a military unit can and cannot do.

“Charming fellow,” Master Sergeant Russell Kelsey observed.  In theory, he was nothing more than a simple soldier, but in practice I would have rated him as a Special, one of the UN’s Special Forces units.  He came from Heinlein and swore blind that his training was typical of Heinlein infantry training, but no one believed him, not least because if they’d all been as good as him, the war on Heinlein’s surface would have cost hundreds of thousands more lives.  It had cost just under two hundred thousand by the time the war ended.  “I take it he’s going to be watching over our shoulder?”

“Probably,” I said, sourly.  It wasn't something I could bring myself to care about – for the very simple reason it wouldn’t matter.  Fleet wouldn’t intervene on either side of a civil war, if one broke out.  We’d just have to be careful not to do anything that Fleet would have to take official notice of.  “Have you seen your facilities?”

“Typical UN crap,” Russell said.  I’d hired him and several others from Heinlein, knowing that their experience against the UN would be useful.  There were times when I doubted the wisdom of that choice, but they were few and far between.  “The people here didn’t even bother to maintain it.”

I nodded.  “I expected that,” I said.  “They had this vast base and only ten people on the ground.  No wonder the good Captain had a bug up his ass about it.”

“A destroyer only has…what?  Forty men?”  Russell asked.  I nodded, tightly.  Captain Price-Jones would have been terrifyingly short of men even before he was forced to assume responsibility for the spaceport as well.  It was ironic – there were a few interstellar freighters that made the stop here – but if the factions had been able to agree on who should operate it, the planet would have been richer.  “He’ll be glad to get them back into space.”

His lips tightened.  “They won’t be,” he added.  “Have you seen the cleaning staff yet?”

“No,” I said, feeling a trickle of alarm running down my spine.  “Do I want to know?”

“There are fifty very good-looking young women here who have been gainfully employed doing the cooking, cleaning and probably certain other services as well for the people working here,” Russell said.  I stared at him.  On Heinlein, employing locals had been asking for trouble.  On Botany, if anything, the problems had been worse.  “They’ve been working here since before the pull-out and…well, they’re not sure what’s going to happen to them.”

“Shit,” I said.  The only good thing about Svergie was that its war hadn’t been as bloody and merciless as several other wars.  The girls would probably be safe enough if they returned to the city, or wherever they’d come from, but it would throw them out of work.  We might well need them later.  “Do they pose a security risk?”

“I doubt it, at least at the moment,” Russell said, confirming my inner thoughts.  “That might change if the planet’s political situation shifts…”

“I know,” I said.  I made a snap decision.  “Very well; tell them we’ll keep them on provided they behave themselves.  They’ll probably find themselves overworked cooking and cleaning for all two thousand of us.  Sex…well, make sure they know that they have a veto over whatever one of us wants them to do.  I won’t tolerate rape or molestation, understand?”

“Of course,” Russell agreed.  “And the new recruits?”

“The girls are off-limits,” I said, firmly.  Basic Training always kept the new recruits celibate for their early training.  The UN had had mixed-sex groups for training, but it had been forbidden to sleep with a fellow trainee.  It was something I actually approved of, although some Drill Sergeants had abused the trust placed in them and molested their charges.  I would have shot any of my trainers who did that.  “Once they’re in uniform and graduated…well, we’ll look at it then.”

“Yes, sir,” Russell said.  “A soldier who won’t fuck won’t fight.”

It was Heinlein’s unofficial motto.  “And a soldier who fucks when he should be fighting won’t be fucking any more,” I countered.  “Get your people on the ground and get ready for the first bunch of trainees.  Hopefully, we should have them here in a week, perhaps less.”

The day wore on slowly.  I watched as the remaining units landed, only to be inspected carefully by Fleet observers before allowing us to move them into their pre-prepared positions.  We were officially rated as an undersized regiment, but in practice we didn’t have anything like the uniformity that would have created a proper fighting regiment.  Half of us were light infantry, although with antitank weapons that made them formidable opponents in built-up areas, while the remainder consisted of a variety of different systems.  We had a small helicopter detachment, several dozen armoured vehicles, and what looked to be the most advanced medical complex on the planet.  It was something else we were going to have to look at, quickly.  What could Svergie produce for itself that we – and their new army – were going to need?

I smiled faintly, thinking of the Government’s reaction if we had to import even basic weapons from other star systems.  Even if Fleet didn’t get involved – and I doubted they would if the weapons didn’t include nukes or biological warfare systems – the cost would be astronomical.  Even very basic UN-standard rifles and their ammunition would be incredibly bulky and very costly.  I’d prefer to buy it on the planet, if possible.  If nothing else, it would give the local economy a boost.

“Captain, this is Ed,” a voice said, suddenly.  “You have a…visitor.”

“Already?”  I asked, puzzled.  I’d expected the local politicians to come trailing out to the base over the next few weeks, not immediately.  “Who is it?”

“A girl called Suki,” Ed said.  His voice suggested that he didn’t believe her.  “She claims to be from the government.”

“I see,” I said.  My puzzlement hadn’t abated.  “Send her in to my office.”

Suki proved to be a strange mixture of Chinese and Swedish.  She was tall, dressed to show off her assets – and they were very impressive – and had a surprisingly oriental face.  I studied her carefully – for tactical purposes, of course – and concluded that she didn’t have any real military experience.  That proved nothing, of course.  Jock and his band of Specials were good at looking like harmless assholes until they hit the enemy as hard as they could.  Suki might be an unarmed combat expert with a degree in killing for fun and profit.

“Good afternoon, sir,” she said, in a voice I could grow to like, under other circumstances.  “I’ve been sent to be your assistant and native guide.”

I fought down several words that came to mind, including what I’d like her to assist me with, and lifted an eyebrow.  “You have been sent to me?”  I asked.  “Who sent you to me?”

“The Government,” she said, flicking her eyelashes at me.  She had perfect soft brown eyes, I couldn’t help noticing.  All in all, she was almost perfect.  “They thought that you would need an assistant and I was in line for a position.”

“Really,” I said, dryly.  If that were true, I’d put myself up for NJP, or perhaps a sparring session with one of the unarmed combat experts.  “Which part of the Government?”

“The President’s office,” Suki explained.  I gave up.  It was clear that she was either genuine, or a very good spy.   Even if she was the former, the odds were good that she’d been sent, at least in part, to report back on my activities.  I couldn’t blame them for being a little paranoid – at the moment, my force was the most powerful force on the planet – but it was just a little insulting.  “I can type, handle most normal clerical work and link you to the most powerful people on the planet.”

I wanted to laugh, thinking hard.  She had to be a spy, witting or unwitting, and that made her dangerous, yet I could use her.  There was something to be said for knowing who the spies were and keeping a quiet eye on her, unless they’d sent her in knowing that she would be noticed and expecting her to distract me from the more…subtle spies.  She was trying to attract me and she might have succeeded – hell, she had succeeded – but I had enough experience to know that she was probably bad news.

“Very good,” I said, finally.  I’d weighed up all the options.  I could have rejected her, but I might not catch the next spy in time.  I didn’t mind them knowing most of what we were doing, but they’d probably take exception to some of our activities.  “Can you shoot?”

“Why, no sir,” Suki said.  She sounded bemused at my suggestion.  “We’re not taught how to shoot in school…”

I almost – not quite – rolled my eyes.  I hadn’t been taught how to shoot in school either, but Russell had…and, overall, Heinlein produced a greater number of marksmen.  They learned to shoot from the moment they could handle a gun and some of their marksmen were just out of this universe.  Suki would be starting late, but she’d have to learn; it would have looked odd if I’d refused her training.

“You’ll have to learn,” I said, firmly.  “It’s a rule; everyone who works for me here has to pass a series of qualifying tests on everything from firearms to basic tactics.  If you’re willing to go through the training and tests, I’ll be happy to have you here.  If not…well, goodbye.”

She flushed, slightly.  “They sent me here to work for you…”

“Yes, they did,” I agreed.  “They sent you knowing that you would have to qualify for the position.”  I was tempted to add that there was more to any job than just waving her breasts under the interviewer’s eyes, but declined.  It would have been cruel and I like to think I’m better than that.  “That’s what you have to do to qualify.  If you can’t hack it, then I’d suggest you left before you got someone injured or killed.”

She glared at me and I half-expected her to storm out in a rage, but then she nodded.  “Very well,” she said, furiously.  Her breasts shook as she quivered.  “I will qualify.”

“Excellent,” I said, with false cheer.  “Report to the Master Sergeant and tell him to issue you a recruit’s uniform, and then report back here.  I’ll have some work for you to do then.”

I smiled inwardly as she left.  One way or another, her employers would get more than they bargained for.  A dose of training would be enough to see what she was actually made of…and it might even make a soldier out of her.  Who knew?

A week later, we began recruiting in earnest.  

Chapter Four

Basic Training (Boot Camp): The process of induction into a military unit used for new recruits.  Basic Training covers the basics; it ensures that the recruits are healthy, teaches them the basics of discipline and firearms and breaks them down and rebuilds them into proper soldiers.  The exact process varies from army to army.
-The UNPF Training Manual

“There are a lot of them,” Peter observed, as we watched the queue.  We’d barely opened the recruiting office and hundreds of volunteers had arrived.  There were so many that I was starting to suspect someone had prepared it in advance.  “We’re not going to be able to train all of them at once, boss.”

I nodded.  We’d set up three offices in New Copenhagen and if all of them were as busy as the main office, we’d have thousands of recruits.  The clerks were working overtime to register them all, fingerprint them and give them a date for presenting themselves at the bus terminal.  We could have asked them to make their own way to the spaceport, and the training grounds we’d prepared near it, but I figured that it would be easier to bus them in.  Besides, it would cut down on the number of scenes outside the spaceport.

“There’s hundreds of them,” Suki said, astonished.  I’d brought her along as native guide…and also because I didn’t want to leave her alone at the spaceport, not yet.  “How many are you going to take?”

“As many as we can,” I said.  “We’ll start with a couple of hundred, more or less, and move on from there. The ones we select to start training today will be the first class, but once we get up to speed we’ll be training thousands of them at a time.  The UN used to train far more at any one time, but they had hundreds of training facilities.  We have one.”

We walked over to one of the clerks and listened as she collected information from the recruit in front of her.  He was a young man in his late teens, his face marked with the traces of acne, and he looked nervous as he recited his address, education details and resistance credentials.  We’d hung a large sign threatening dire punishment to anyone who lied to his or her recruiting officer, but it was amazing how many people had joined the resistance when the UN pulled out.  The prospective recruit looked uneasy when she finally took his fingerprints – the planet had nothing like a full database of its citizens – and I guessed that he had a criminal record of some kind. I didn’t care, as long as it wasn’t rape or murder.  The military machine would grind mild criminal tendencies out of him.

“Report to the bus terminal in a week,” she said, finally.  The recruit nodded, stood up and turned to leave.  “If you don’t show then, don’t bother showing at all.”

Suki gave me an enquiring look.  “Everyone has second thoughts when they join the army,” I explained, softly.  “We try to give them a chance to rethink their decision, if we have time.  If they don’t show up when they’re called, we won’t bother to worry about it; we’ll just note that they won’t be accepted again, should they try to apply at a later date.  After they get to the training base and take the oath, things get a hell of a lot more serious.”

We walked back outside and into the middle of what seemed like a riot.  A crowd of young men and women, mainly women, were protesting our presence, shouting slogans that had been old when the human race had been young.  Some were personally insulting, while others were merely amusing, or silly.  MAKE LOVE, NOT WAR was a popular one, even though it was perfectly possible to do both.  Others attacked the President, or the Council, or even the Mountain Men, blaming them for the unwelcome presence of foreign mercenaries.  I rolled my eyes, relaxing slightly as I realised that the police had the entire scene under their watchful eye, but I felt a prickling in the back of my neck as we walked over to the groundcar.  Someone out there didn’t like us.

“They’re Communists,” Suki said, when I asked her.  “They’re mainly students from the university who think that they’re going to be drafted into a planetary army or some such nonsense.  That’s not going to happen, is it?”

“I doubt it,” I said, although it was possible that the Government might start a draft later.  I don’t like using conscripts myself and few professional militaries disagree with me, although some worlds do make military training mandatory.  I’d prefer to have the Drill Sergeants kicking the shit out of someone who volunteered to be there.  “In any case, what happens after we’re finished and leave is none of our business, is it?”

We watched the protesters for a few more minutes, but nothing much happened.  They were a surprisingly well-ordered group of protesters; I’d been in protest marches that turned to riots on command, attacking people the UN had Officially Classified as Evil.  I decided that they’d probably been carefully primed; they weren’t even hassling the recruits.  That happened on Earth and several other worlds, but not here.

“Interesting,” Peter agreed, when I pointed it out to him. “This is a smaller place than Earth.  It could be that they know their fellow youths…”

“Could be,” I agreed.  I checked my watch and smiled.  “We’ve just got time for lunch and then we’ll have to be back at the spaceport for the induction.”

“Of course,” Suki agreed.  “I know just where to take you, too.”

I’d been curious what kind of local food Svergie produced and it was a pleasant surprise.  Some of the lunch was cold meat, barely touched with herbs or spices, while other dishes were hot and spicy, a legacy of the Indonesian girls.  There didn’t seem to be any prohibition against pork and I ate several small spicy sausages without demur.  The combination was interesting, I decided finally, after a dish of spicy chicken and noodles.  There were definitely some benefits to the UN’s policy of mixing the races.

We felt stuffed afterwards so I allowed Suki to go on ahead while Peter and I jogged in to the spaceport.  I enjoyed the run more than I should, but it was a relief to be somewhere that there was no danger of a hidden sniper, or a sandstorm that would literally strip the flesh from your bones.  I felt surprisingly better after we passed through the gates – this time, there was a local policeman to add to the guards from A Company, eyeing their weapons warily – and double-timed it over to the training ground.  The first bunch of recruits were already spilling out of the buses, looking lost and alone.  That was good.  We’d give them a new family here; fathers in the drill instructors, brothers and sisters in their fellow soldiers.

“It brings back memories,” I muttered to Peter, remembering my first day on the drill field.  The boys and girls facing the drill sergeants were luckier than I’d been, although they probably wouldn’t see it that way.  They were going to be taught by people who knew what they were doing.  My trainers couldn’t have found their butts with both hands.  “I wonder if they’ll break and run…”

The sergeants were imposing order by the simple expedient of shouting orders at volume and pushing recruits into some semblance of a straight line.  It would probably have made some of them cry if the recruits did it like that later, but for the moment it was barely acceptable.  I studied them with interest and was pleased to see that most of them didn’t look too scared.  There’s no point in pointlessly torturing recruits, even though most of them are dumber than rocks.  They need to learn that the torments have a point.

“ATTENTION,” Russell bellowed.  His roar could probably be heard for miles.  “I am Master Sergeant Russell Kelsey, your training supervisor.  You will address me as ‘Sergeant.’  You will not call me ‘sir!’  I actually work for a living.”

He glared at the recruits, measuring them.  “You are the sorriest bunch of recruits I have yet seen on this planet,” he said.  It was perfectly true, although it was also true that they were the best bunch of receipts he had seen.  “You are in this course for one purpose; you are here to become soldiers, the first real soldiers your planet has yet seen.  In twelve weeks, we will break you down and build you up again into soldiers.  Don’t bother crying to your mommy or whining about your pappy; they’re not here and they can’t help you.  You volunteered for this.”

His eyes swept across their ranks.  “You are under military discipline now,” he thundered.  “You can be punished under the Code of Military Justice” – we’d borrowed Heinlein’s code with a few additions and modifications – “and if necessary sentenced to death by field court-martial.  There is no point in whining about lawyers and due process.  You’re in the army now.  In order that you know what you should not do, we will list the offences against military order every day.  You will learn them off by heart.  You will not commit them.  Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” they shouted, a ragged chorus of words.

“What did I tell you about calling me sir?”  Russell demanded.  “All of you; drop and give me twenty push-ups, now!”

I watched as they struggled through them and finally stumbled back into line.  None of them looked cocky now and a few looked downright scared.  That was good too; hopefully, they wouldn’t try to push Russell too far.  I didn’t want to have to condemn any of them for striking a superior officer.  That carried the death sentence under martial law.

“Now,” Russell said, once they’d finished.  “Offences against military order, listed as follows; Insubordination, use of drugs, tobacco and alcohol, possession and/or consumption of food outside designated eating periods, possession of any contraband, failure to perform duties as assigned to you by lawful authority, being absent without leave and, last, but not least, fraternisation.  To repeat; any of those offences will get you a punishment that may range from heavy exercise to being summarily discharged from the army.  You will have those offences read to you every day, along with the definition of each offence.  You will have no excuse for committing any of them!”

He paused long enough to size them up.  “Many of you will have brought drugs, or alcohol, or even food onto this base,” he said, coldly.  “When you are taken to be assigned your uniform and regulation-issue underclothes, get rid of them.  This is your one warning.  You may think that the police wouldn’t charge you with a crime if you are in possession of illegal drugs, but this is the army.  If I catch any of you possessing or using drugs on this base, that person will wish that he had never been born!”

“Each class of recruits needs to be shocked out of their complacency,” I muttered to Suki, who had been watching the proceedings with a faintly stunned look on her face. “They also need to know exactly what they cannot do under any circumstances.  Back on Earth, the recruits often had to be searched and drugs and shit still got into the bases.  Here, we get a little more control.”

Russell was still thundering at his cowed audience.  “Insubordination; wilfully disobeying, insulting, or striking a senior officer.  Absent without leave; leaving the base or your unit without permission, or failing to report back to your unit at the end of a leave period without permission.  Fraternisation; sexual relationships with any of your fellow recruits, or senior officers, or anyone within your military unit.  The remainder should require no explaining.  If they do, you’re in the wrong line of work.”

His gaze swept across them again.  “That building there holds the medical personnel and the outfitters,” he said.  “Form a line and march into the building, two by two!”

I pulled Suki away as, behind us, the recruits started to realise that they were going to get a haircut.  They’d all have their hair trimmed right back to their bones when the barbers were finished with them, leaving them all looking like proper military cadets rather than louts we’d pulled off the streets.  The medical staff would check each and every one of them afterwards and confirm that they were fit for duty.  If they weren’t…well, if they were lucky, they wouldn’t have had their haircut by then.

“You’re not going to have them killed, are you?”  Suki asked.  “Not for…”

“It depends,” I said, vaguely.  “Military discipline has to be maintained in the harshest of conditions.  Just you wait until they get to the spit test.”  She lifted an eyebrow.  “The recruits will line up and spit into each others’ faces.  The ones who learn not to flinch will pass.”

“I didn’t want to know that,” Suki said.  “Why are you so down on… fraternisation?”

“The UN used to allow couples to form among military personnel,” I explained, more openly.  “When those units were attacked, they ended up breaking up as the lovers tried to protect each other at the expense of the rest of the unit.  They also had problems with jealousy and sexual rivalries that tore unit cohesion apart.  There are some planets that bar women from combat altogether, but I’ve always preferred to have a strict law that forbids fraternisation within the ranks.

“I’m sure that those boys and girls will have lovers on the outside and I can’t stop that,” I added.  “I wouldn’t even if I could.  I can stop them from having sex within the unit and I won’t hesitate to bust someone out of the force for doing it.”  I smiled at the vague pun.  “It doesn’t matter who, or why.  I drew the line and if anyone crosses it, they’re out.”

We reached a massive building, guarded by a pair of soldiers from B Company, who checked our IDs before allowing us to enter.  The UN Supply Deport was large enough to take several starships – or so I thought – and utterly packed with supplies.  I couldn’t understand how it had remained untouched until I remembered the Fleet garrison, who had kept it in trust for the planetary government.  The circumstances of the pull-back hadn’t allowed for the return of all the supplies.

Muna emerged from one of the stacks and waved at us.  Her dark face was lit with a sly smile.  “You won’t believe how much stuff they abandoned here,” she said, cheerfully.  I hadn’t seen her in such a good mood for years, but I suppose that being drenched in enough supplies to make her job easier would please even Muna.  “We could operate several divisions on this and never notice the loss.”

I stepped further into the building and wondered if she might be right.  There were spare parts for every vehicle in the UN’s inventory and enough weapons to outfit several fighting units.  I passed a stack of machine guns and paused to examine a set of assault rifles, before studying a pile of gold coins and various stacks of currency.  I couldn’t imagine why the UN General in command of the base had thought he’d need currency from a dozen different worlds.  Perhaps it was the bribes he'd accepted – I never met a UN General who wasn't corrupt – or maybe he’d planned to retire one day.  It didn’t matter anyway.  We would put the money to good use.

“There are several billion rounds of ammunition here and in the other bunkers,” Muna informed me, seriously.  I could believe it.  The UN sent out thousands upon thousands of boxes of ammunition, but there was so much paperwork involved with using it – every round had to be accounted for – that training sergeants tended to avoid using ammunition.  Heinlein had taught us how foolish that was, but it had come too late.  Earth’s civil war was still raging away back on the mother planet.  “If the other supply bases have this much…”

I followed her logic.  “The Mountain Men have enough to fight and win a civil war,” I concluded.  It wasn't a reassuring thought.  The UN’s records of what had actually been in those supply bases were incomplete.  They could have much more, or much less.  “Have you established a distribution network yet?”

Muna nodded.  “I can have it sent anywhere, sir,” she said.  “Where do you want it?”

“Make as much as the trainers need available to them,” I ordered, shortly.  We were not going to repeat the UN’s error and train our people on simulations only.  They’d all have a chance to fire weapons before war broke out.  “Get the Company Commanders to go through the listings and see what they want before we come to any other decisions.  If we can equip a tank regiment…well, why not?”

“I could give you two reasons,” Muna said.  “Would tanks actually do us any good?”

“Maybe,” I said.  If we ended up fighting a war, Landshark and Goliath tanks might be very useful.  “And the other reason?”

“This planet is very short on fuel,” Muna said.  “A petroleum-based industry exists, but it’s very limited.  Unless we find a source of crude oil, we’re going to be permanently hamstrung if we become dependent on the vehicles.”

“Oh joy,” I said.  It was honestly something I hadn’t thought about, but the UN had a long history of limiting the use of oil-drilling equipment on the Colonies, in the name of protecting the environment.  Other worlds used hydrogen-powered vehicles and never felt the lack.  “Get in touch with the local oil concerns and see if you can find us enough, all right?  The last thing we need is to be permanently short of fuel.”

Chapter Five

The Progressive Party claims that, if it were elected into power, it could force the ‘rich’ to help feed and support the poor, although naturally they don’t put it as crudely as that.  Their arguments sound convincing, but in the hindsight of history, it is clear that their programs are the kiss of death to modern economies.  This is not a flaw in the system, but a feature.  It accounts for Earth’s collapse into an interstellar empire.
-The Secret History of Svergie

The first two weeks of training went surprisingly well.  I’d been expecting that we’d have some incidents, but the few we had were swiftly squashed by the Drill Sergeants.  A handful of recruits were rejected for medical conditions, a handful more were reluctantly allowed to quit when they discovered they couldn’t tolerate military life, but on the whole events went surprisingly well.  I watched from a distance – half of running a military unit is knowing when to stand back and give your subordinates their head – as the recruits advanced towards becoming soldiers.

“They’re going to be riflemen,” Peter predicted, one evening.  “They’re not going to become specialists until we can set up training schools for specialists.  There might be a sniper or two among them, but…”

I nodded.  “We’re not interested in building up specialist units yet,” I agreed.  We’d have to hold off on building an armoured force until we’d solved the fuel shortage problem.  I still wasn't sure how that had been allowed to develop in the first place, but knowing the UN someone had paid a vast amount of money to have the planet develop like that.  “We just need an infantry force so far.”

“So far,” Peter said, reminding me about the Mountain Men, and the farmers, and the various political militia groups, and all of the other problems we would face.  The planet might succeed in developing a stable political base, and even an interstellar-level economy, but only if it survived its growing pains.  I assigned officers to monitor the situation and held frequent conferences with Commander Webster.  Fleet’s view of the situation was similar to our own.  The planet was heading towards a very rocky patch.  “So, how many of the recruits came from a particular political faction?”

I had my first inkling of the answer to that question two months after we arrived.  The officer at the gate called my office and informed me that I had a visitor; Councillor Frida Holmqvist.  I wasn’t particularly surprised.  The political parties had been sniffing around our offices in town for weeks and had even tried to send inspectors into the spaceport, although I had deterred that as best as I could.  I could give someone without military experience a completely useless tour and they’d never know what they’d missed, but I didn’t want to know how they would misinterpret what they saw.  Suki’s reactions were interesting enough.

“I see,” I said, when they informed me.  I hadn’t expected the Progressives to make the first move.  I’d been betting on the Conservatives being the first to ask to talk to me privately.  “Please have her shown into my office.”

I’d arranged procedures for handling visitors just after we’d taken over the spaceport.  Frida wouldn’t be allowed to wander off on her own, or bring other people into the inner complex.  I’d have preferred to strip search her, just in case, but the general level of technology on the planet precluded anything that could be smuggled past our defences.  I wasn't pleased about it – they could have purchased something more advanced and dangerous from Heinlein – but there was little choice.  Stripping her naked and carrying out a full search, including a cavity search, would probably have annoyed her.  I didn’t need additional enemies.

Frida looked as beautiful as ever, a real Nordic goddess, her appearance barely marred by her scar.  I found myself studying her as I rose to greet her and made a mental note not to underestimate her.  She had a mind like a steel trap.  She wore a very traditional long skirt and a scarf in her hair, although it didn’t seem to serve any religious purpose.  Her outfit also seemed to diminish her breasts.

“Welcome to Camp Currie,” I said.  We’d put our suggestions for names in a hat and someone – I suspected Russell – had won.  I’d wanted something a great deal more sarcastic.  “How may I be of service?”

Frida smiled, but it didn’t quite touch her eyes.  “You can explain why you rejected the officers we sent you,” she said, firmly.  I tried my best to look as if her words meant nothing to me, but I knew what she was talking about, unfortunately.  I was a little surprised to discover that she was being this blatant about it.  “They all had good careers in the resistance and sound backers.”

“I’m sure they did,” I agreed, calmly.  “I must say, Councillor…”

“You chose to order them to leave your camp,” Frida said, all trace of humour gone.  “Why did you refuse to accept them?”

I took a breath.  “The problems of running an actual army and a resistance group are very different,” I explained, wondering if she would understand.  “The resistance group must operate, if you’ll pardon my metaphor, as fish in the sea of the people.  There is little discipline and no respect for the rules of war.  The leader must operate by personal example and, if he is killed, the group may fall apart.

“An army, by contrast, operates as part of a larger structure,” I added.  “The problems of running an army include maintaining strict discipline, uniformity and strict respect for the rules of war.  The kind of people who specialise in one set of skills may not translate well into the other set.”

I paused.  “And there is another issue.  Back when I was in the UN, the kind of officers who got promoted were the officers who kept up with their paperwork and pleased their superiors, not the warriors who went out and got their hands dirty.  The results tended to have incompetent officers placed in command of units and, if they were lucky, breaking them.  If they were unlucky, they racked up huge death tolls.  I will not commission any officer who hasn’t come up from the ranks and gained actual experience in military operations.  He would merely get a lot of good men killed.”

Frida scowled at me.  “And yet they’re trusted by the government,” she pointed out.  I don’t know how she managed to say that with a straight face.  “What would you do if we chose to commission them anyway?”

“I would refuse them,” I said, flatly.  She looked as if she were about to explode, so I hastened to explain.  “I was hired to build this planet a professional army.  An army that becomes led by paper-pushers and clerks is not a proper army.  The only qualification for advancement that I will accept is experience in combat, or experience in heavy training.”

“They had experience in the resistance,” Frida said, coldly.  “Or doesn’t that count?”

“No,” I said.  “As I said, the problems are different.  Your resistance didn’t even come close to pushing the UN off your planet.  You barely managed to annoy them; they certainly never committed millions of troops to holding you down.  You won your war when Admiral Walker” – my close personal friend, I carefully didn’t add – “took the UN out of commission.  As far as I’m concerned, your resistance men haven’t seen the elephant.”

That wasn't the only problem.  From what little we’d been able to learn, the real resistance men had come from the mountains, where they could fight an underground war against the UN on their own terrain.  The miners had supported them and, from time to time, protected them.  The cities had been too firmly under the UN’s thumb to generate much resistance, although there had been some spectacular attacks.  The Generals in command of the war, however, had known that they were not going to lose it.  They’d only withdrawn when the UN collapsed.

And I was sure that the officers the Government had selected had been selected for their political reliability.  I wouldn’t have put it past Frida to try to stack the deck in favour of people she knew and trusted, delivering the army I’d built into the hands of the Progressives.  It probably wouldn’t work out perfectly – soldiers are not dumb animals, no matter what the UN says – but if they got their hooks in deep enough, it might not matter.  The militia wouldn’t be able to mount a defence.

“I see,” Frida said.  She leaned closer, stroking her chin.  “May we be frank with one another, Andrew?”

The use of my first name only heightened my suspicions, but I smiled.  “Of course, Frida,” I said, with false cheer.  “What do you wish to tell me?”

“The Progressive Party currently holds eight seats in the Council,” Frida said, with the air of a woman making a speech.  “As you are no doubt aware, we will almost certainly win the next election and with it the government.  We want to know where you will stand when we take power.”

I frowned, trying to compose a reply.  “I know little about how your government works,” I said, stalling for time.  “How can you be sure of victory?”

Frida smiled.  “There are twenty-one districts on the planet and each of them elects one councillor,” she explained, with the air of someone who enjoyed lecturing.  She probably told her subordinates the same to keep them working towards their goal.  “There are, therefore, twenty-one seats on the Council.  The President is directly appointed by majority vote and serves as the Head of State.  He also has vast influence over the Council and may, if his party holds most of the seats, rule without effective opposition.”

It sounded oddly primitive for a developed world, but I’d seen worse.  “I see,” I said.  “And you hold eight of those seats?  That’s not a majority.”

“No,” Frida agreed.  “The Liberty Party holds four, the Communists hold one, the Independence Party holds one and the Conservatives hold seven.  In the next election, assuming that the polls are accurate, the Liberty Party will lose at least two of its seats and probably crease to exist as a competitive political party.  The Communists support us if pushed.  The Conservatives have no appeal to those living in the cities.  I suspect that we will wind up with ten to twelve seats; an absolute majority.”

I see,” I said, finally.  “And you want to know where I stand?”

Frida nodded.  “At the moment, you’re training the army,” she said.  “That makes you one of the most powerful people on the planet, unless you piss Fleet off and they send in the Marines to remove you.”

“True,” I agreed, carefully.  My objective was to stabilise the planet, but if Frida was right and the Progressives did win the next election decisively, the planet would very rapidly become unstable.  “If I may be equally frank with you” – she nodded – “my men and I work for the people who pay us.”

“Mercenaries,” Frida said.  She made it sound like a curse.  “And you have no loyalty to anyone?”

“Each other,” I said.  I couldn’t blame her for her opinion of mercenaries.  I didn’t regard most of them very highly myself.  “Oh, we won’t switch sides on you if someone offers us a higher price; our contract specifically precludes that, unless you refuse to pay us.  You have our services as long as you meet your obligations.”

“I see,” Frida said.  Her smile was very cold and calculating.  “And then you would support us if we became the planetary government?”

“As long as you pay us,” I confirmed, untruthfully.  I would have to give some thought to the matter.  The planetary government was unstable, but if one party gained an advantage the other parties would see no choice, but open rebellion.  Civil war would break out and spread rapidly.  “I might add, however, that I do not tolerate political interference with my men.”

“Of course,” Frida said, having filed me away under ‘easily bought.’  “What do you have to say about the complaints from the police department?”

“Complaints?”  I asked, as innocently as I could.  “There have been complaints?”

“Your men have been involved in fights,” Frida said, coldly.  “Those fights have caused considerable damage and injuries to civilians.”

I matched her tone.  “My men, while drinking in bars on leave, have been attacked by street toughs, Communists and protesters,” I said, firmly.  “They have authority to defend themselves if attacked.  So far, I don’t think anyone’s been killed, but everyone who got hurt thoroughly deserved it.”

“And the demands for compensation?”

I looked into her blue eyes.  “They started fights with my men,” I said.  “If they survived the experience, they should count themselves lucky and leave it at that.  I am not in the habit of rewarding people for accidents and injuries caused by their own stupidity.  I note that no one, not even the Communists, have attempted to bring my men up on charges.”

“No,” Frida agreed.  “It was feared that you might react badly.”

“Or that my men might prove themselves innocent?”  I asked.  “Why don’t you send those youths out to work on farms, or something else useful?  There’s plenty of land on this planet for expansion.  They don’t have to swagger around the city all day, mugging civilians and living off the proceeds.”

“We can’t send them out to the farms,” Frida protested.  “They wouldn’t have the slightest idea what to do?”

“Then teach them,” I suggested, knowing that it was useless.  The Progressives drew much of their support from the street gangs – those who depended on government largess – and sending them out to farm would deprive them of some of their strength.  I made a mental note to look into the possibility of opening new farms, but put it aside for the moment.  There would be time enough for that later.

“Besides, the farmers wouldn’t accept them,” Frida added.  “We sent experts to advise the farmers on how to grow their crops and the farmers laughed at them.  They even drove them away with guns!  We can barely take a census, let alone anything else.”

“I’m sure they did,” I murmured.  I’d seen the pattern before, but Earth remained the poster child for the end results of such disastrous policies.  “It worked so well for Earth…”

“It did,” Frida agreed.  “The people there live in a paradise where their every need is catered for by the government.”

I had to bite my cheek to prevent a laugh from bursting out.  The hell of it was that she believed it.  I doubted that anyone on the planet knew about Earth’s real condition, but they’d all seen the UN propaganda broadcasts, with their claims about how Earth was a paradise and how the Colonies could be a paradise too, if they stopped resisting and accepted that the UN knew what was best for them.  Earth had looted most of the Colonies and it hadn’t been enough to keep the planet afloat.  I didn’t want to get involved in Earth’s ongoing civil war, but the death toll had already passed the billion-death mark.

“My position is simple enough,” I said, coldly.  I wasn't going to play games any longer.  “I work for the government, provided it pays me.  I also want a ROE Contract.”

Frida blinked.  “A roe contract?”

“ROE; Rules of Engagement,” I explained.  “At the moment, we have none beyond our standard ROE, which basically prohibit kinetic non-reactive operations.”   I saw her puzzled look and smiled thinly.  “We can respond to attacks, but we cannot launch attacks, or combat operations.  I need a ROE Contract from the Government specifying what we can and cannot do.  Without it…well, Fleet might take an interest in us.”

“I’ll get back to you on that,” Frida said.  I suspected she’d consult her lawyers before she mentioned it to the President, or anyone else.  The Progressives would probably try to draft the contract and then ram it down their throats.  “What happens if you don’t like the contract?”

“I suggest revisions,” I said.  “Look, I’m training an army and officers to run it.  I need to tell them what they can and cannot do, or there will be accidents and disasters, all of which will cost lives.  Are they allowed to burn farms?  Are they allowed to torture suspects?  Are they even allowed to take prisoners?  You need to get me answers to those questions soon, before the first class is ready to be deployed.”

Her expression made her look as if she’d been hit with a bargepole.  “I can send you a recommended version if you like,” I offered.  She nodded gratefully.  “Once you get the Council to sign off on it, we can begin combat operations at any time.”

“There’s no one to fight,” she mumbled, before collecting herself.  “I shall see to it personally.”

“Excellent,” I said.  “Now, was there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

As it happened, the answer was yes.  Frida spent hours listing every possible complaint, which I shot down as calmly as possible.  She probably didn’t realise it, but she was giving me insights into her own mind, and how badly we’d been infiltrated by the political parties.  Why would she have complained about the month the recruits had spent without any outside communications unless she had spies among the recruits?

And she wasn't the last politician to seek my company.  Over the next month, I met with representatives from all of the political parties, even the Communists.  None of them impressed me as much as the President had, but all of them left vaguely disappointed.  I’d been careful to remain openly mercenary.  As long as they thought they could buy my loyalty, we were safe.  I just hoped that that would continue after the election.

Chapter Six

No military man can afford to be a virgin where politics are concerned.  Although most soldiers will claim to distrust politicians and politics, the smart ones understand that wars – all wars – grow out of political causes.  It is therefore wise for the military officer to study local politics carefully.  They may serve as a harbinger of local conflicts.
-Army Manual, Heinlein

One month before the election, I called a Council of War.

“It’s been five months,” I said, as soon as coffee was served and the room checked for bugs.  I was fairly certain that none of the factions on Svergie had a hope of slipping a bug through our detectors, but neglecting precautions tended to lead to disaster.  It was a bad habit to develop.  “In one month, Svergie goes to the polls to elect a new government, at which point we may find ourselves thrown into combat.  We have to be ready.”

My gaze swept the room.  “Russell?”

I smiled as Russell adjusted his uniform before speaking.  Councils of War were common back in the United Nations Peace Force, with every officer trying to cover his ass if the operation went badly wrong – victory has a thousand fathers, but defeat is an orphan, as the saying goes – but much rarer on Heinlein.  Russell would probably have preferred to give a straight report and return to drilling the new recruits, but I needed his input.  It didn’t help that only four of us knew the true purpose of the mission.  I didn’t dare let that slip out into the open.

“We have absorbed nearly six thousand recruits with what I may as well term superhuman efforts and contributions from every department,” Russell said, flatly.  “I have a feeling that we’re stretching ourselves to the limit, but overall I’m fairly pleased with progress – not that I’d tell them that, of course.”  He smiled.  “We graduated the first few classes, branded them as soldiers rather than recruits, and started to give them harder training exercises.  They’ve developed unit pride and cohesion, at least in the exercises, but the real test will come when they go to war.”

He paused, considering his next words.  “We’ve had seven fatal training accidents and thirty-two injuries that range from modest to severe,” he continued.  “This course is wimpy compared to some of the courses I went through back home” – there were some good-natured chuckles; Russell’s original plans for the training would have killed half the recruits – “but it definitely makes men out of them.  The dead recruits were graduated posthumously and we held full funeral ceremonies for them.  Their families insisted on reclaiming the bodies and we saw to it they were given a proper send-off.  The injured were put on light duties if they could handle it; the seriously injured were given medical discharges, although two of them want to continue to serve in any capacity.  I’ve sent them to train as clerks, although one of them will remain permanently wheelchair bound.

“The majority of the recruits have mastered the basic skills and have definitely learned to shoot,” he concluded.  “We’re lucky that this place doesn’t have what is laughably called a martial tradition; we were able to break them of the few bad habits they’d picked up from the videos the UN used to show.  We’ve burned through hundreds of thousands of rounds of ammunition, but I feel that it was a fair price to pay…”

“Speak for yourself,” Muna muttered.

“…For the many benefits of having soldiers who actually know what it’s like to fire a weapon.  We moved from assault rifles and pistols to heavy weapons and antitank systems and hammered those into their heads.  We’re short on SHORAD units, it should be noted, but we trained on portable SAM missiles anyway.  They might be required.  Overall, by Election Day, we should have three to four thousand qualified soldiers ready and waiting.”

I smiled.  “What about local commanders?”

Russell smiled.  “We’ve identified several promising commanders and sergeants within the recruits,” he said.  “In a month, we should have some local lieutenants, maybe even Captains, although that’s really pushing it too fast.  The officers they tried to foster on us are utterly unprepared for the position and need to go through Basic Training before they can be trusted with anything.  I have a feeling that the real local officers will rise from the ranks rather than being imposed on the soldiers from above.”

“Good,” I said.  “Ed?”

“The three Companies are at readiness and we’re rotating through the duty areas and leave,” Ed said, sipping his own coffee.  He was more at ease in the Council than Russell; like me, he’d escaped from the UNPF.  He also had a simpler task.  “It’s annoying to lose people to the demands of the training cadre, but we have enough reserves to cover our current duties.  There have been no attempts to attack the spaceport or Camp Currie, but there have been several attempts to sneak into the secure locations, mainly by local reporters.  I’d have preferred to shoot them, but as you ordered we’ve simply tossed them out stark naked.  It seemed to deter them.”

“Not that much of a hardship in this weather,” I observed, thoughtfully.  It was moving towards high summer and the temperature was rising steadily.  “And what about the bar fights?”

Ed smiled, before remembering that he should look properly regretful.  “The fights are always provoked by local gangs,” he said, confirming what I’d believed.  “My men have given a pretty good impression of themselves and have sent several hundred thugs to the hospital.  It seems that the local police can’t decide if they love us or hate us; one soldier rescued a woman from being raped and beat her attacker into a bloody mass.  The Sergeants have been riding hard on the drinking and have prevented anyone from drinking too much, or using drugs while we’re here.”

I nodded.  It wasn't against regulations to drink, but being unfit for duty was a serious offence and I wouldn’t hesitate to order anyone foolish enough to report for duty drunk to run the gauntlet.  It was something that people decried as barbaric, but discipline had to be maintained.  There had to be both regulation and the demonstrated willingness to punish breaches of the regulations.

“We’re probably going to start losing our edge soon,” he concluded.  “I’d be happier if we had someone to fight.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” I said.  “Muna.  You’re up.”

Muna nodded tightly.  “I’ve been conducting an industrial and economic survey of Svergie,” she said, tapping the map I’d placed on the window with one dark finger.  “The results have been interesting and I’ve placed a full report in the computers, but for now I’ll just give you the highlights.  Svergie is not a modern economy, but roughly at 1985-2020 levels.  That’s not uncommon for a colony world, but there are some odd points.  As I believe I noted earlier, the fuel here is largely oil-based, rather than hydrogen or fusion power cells.  I think, reading between the lines, that the first oil company slipped some UN inspector a pretty hefty bribe; the UN’s figures bare only a passing resemblance to reality.  Overall…

“The factories here can produce tanks, armoured vehicles and helicopters for us,” she continued.  “I doubt that Svergie will be looking at a major arms-exporting industry anytime soon, but they should be able to meet local needs.  The problem lies with the workplace disputes that have been growing more frequent as memories of the occupation start to fade.  Basically, the highly-trained workers want more wages while the unskilled workers want equal pay, while there are very clear limits on just how much the owners can afford to pay.  Svergie has discovered unions, but they haven’t yet learned how to use them.  My best guess is that the situation is going to worsen before it gets better, sir; there’s almost no investment in local industries at all, just because of the political stalemate.  What’s the point of investing when the Progressives or the Communists might take it all away from you?

“We need to encourage them to start prospecting for more oil,” she concluded.  “That’s the single greatest weakness…”

“Neat,” Russell said.  He scowled down at the table.  “What about convincing them to switch to hydrogen?”

“They can’t,” Muna said.  “They can extract hydrogen from seawater or from the gas giant.  They don’t have the infrastructure to do either, nor do they have the technology to develop it quickly.  They’d need to build up their space-based industries in any case, yet they would first need to bootstrap a new space capability; they only have a handful of shuttles, all ex-UN issue.  They’d need to purchase the equipment from off-world and they don’t have much to offer in return.”

I frowned.  “Can’t they ask Fleet for help?”

Muna’s face flickered, just for a second.  “Fleet is unlikely to be able to spare the resources,” she said.  “They’d insist on a fuelling facility that Fleet starships could use, rather than just a simple cloud-scoop.  I doubt that they'd consider it worth their while.  Some of the big interstellar corporations might disagree, but they’d insist on a stiff price tag or even direct control.  Svergie probably wouldn’t be interested.

“More importantly, the oil workers would object, strongly,” she concluded.  “If hydrogen was to be brought into the system, they’d feel the pinch and protest.  It might be hard to convince the Government to accept it when they faced losing so many votes.  The same could be said about too many other parts of the economy.  They’re heading towards a spending crisis, yet any attempt to deter that spending crisis would result in disaster.”

“Neat,” Peter observed.  “Civil war, here we come.”

“Yes, sergeant,” Muna agreed.  “TechnoMage?”

TechnoMage nodded.  He’d come into my service after discovering that his hacking exploits had made his homeworld too hot for him.  He’d once reprogrammed a UN orbital weapon to fire on UN forces on the ground, which had killed over seven hundred soldiers.  I didn’t bear a grudge, but I’d advised him to keep it to himself.  He also served as my chief spy, hence the name.  Even I didn’t know what he was originally called.

“I’ll be brief,” he said.  He’d watched the recordings of my meetings with the politicians.  I should have told them that they were being recorded, but people are normally much more talkative when they think they’re not on the record.  “I may be wrong – polls are not an actual science, no matter what the UN claims – but the Progressive Party is almost certainly going to win the coming election.  It took several weeks to parse out how the system works, but overall the votes going to them will have more…weight than the votes going to the other parties.  That is just as obvious to them as it is to us – perhaps more so – and they’re going to react badly.”

He paused.  “The Communist Party is already talking revolution,” he said, to my surprise.  “They’re officially viewing the Progressives as fellow travellers, but their leadership seems to believe that the Progressives are not…ah, progressive enough for their tastes, or that they’re planning a purge of the Communists after the election.  Their counter-surveillance tech is worse than the UN’s tech, but they’ve been very careful not to say anything too incriminating out loud.  I have a feeling, however, that they’re definitely planning something bad for after the election.

“The same can be said for the farmers and miners,” he continued.  “The irony is that Svergie’s economy is too interdependent, but…”

I held up a hand.  “Explain,” I ordered.  I hadn’t spent long enough studying the local economy, obviously.  “How interdependent are they?”

“I’m going to have to lecture,” TechnoMage explained.  I rolled my eyes.  He loved lecturing us.  No matter what he’d said, I’d never heard a concise briefing from him – ever.  “Svergie can – this is a generalisation, of course – be said to have four sectors; the cities, the industries, the mines and the farms.  The majority of the population lives in the cities and is largely unproductive from an economic point of view.  This is reflected in their voting system, where seventeen of the voting districts are within the cities.  Basically, the cities and the industries co-exist, while buying food from the farms and mined ores from the mines.”

He smiled.  “The cities need the food to survive and they need the ores because it’s about the only thing that Svergie can export,” he said.  “They therefore need them both as cheaply as possible, but the producers are…objecting to their treatment by the government.  This sends unrest down into the industries, which the farms and mines need to produce their equipment, and sparks off more unrest.  The Government isn’t helping by insisting on trying to pass laws that affect the farmers and miners without giving them anything in return, or even listening to their concerns.  There was a law being passed that forbids the use of child labour…”

“I don’t understand,” Peter said.  “What’s wrong…ah.”

“The farmer children are brought up to help with the farm,” TechnoMage confirmed.  “The law would have prohibited the farmers from allowing their children to work on the farm, even in the most minor jobs.  It sounded good, but it was so poorly worded that the farmers ended up refusing to tolerate it.  The Government backed down on that issue, but continued to spout out an endless series of laws and regulations that annoyed and then outraged the farmers.  Worse, they’re driving up farm prices at the same time they need to drive them down…and yet, they cannot force the farmers to lower their prices, now.  In a month…”

I followed his logic.  “They’ll be able to pass whatever laws they want,” I said, sourly.  “I see your point.”

“I don’t get it,” Ed snapped.  “Why can’t they move those bastard street children up to the farms and teach them something about working for a living?”

“They’ve tried on a small scale,” TechnoMage commented.  “It was largely a failure.  The youths who were sent up to the farms were hardly volunteers and didn’t want to be there.  Some deserted almost at once and managed to get back to the cities.  Two stole from their hosts and were arrested and charged with theft.  One raped a farmer’s daughter and was shot by an outraged farmer.  That farmer, by the way, was charged with manslaughter and is currently an outlaw, somewhere up in the mountains.”

He shrugged.  “The program, worst of all, cost the government votes,” he concluded.  “There’s always some damn fool telling the people that they can have something for nothing and…well, it’s an easy thing to believe.”

“Understood,” I said.  I looked down at the map for a long moment.  “And your final conclusion?”

“Svergie is heading for a disaster,” TechnoMage said.  There was no dissent.  “If the Progressives win the election, the farmers and miners will almost certainly revolt, as will the Communists.  If the President attempts to stop them…well, they’d have the votes in Council to remove them.  If the Progressives lose the election, they’ll still have plenty of influence and probably also a violent option of their own.”

“And they see us as mercenaries,” Peter commented, in a vaguely insulted tone.  “Do you think they see us doing their dirty work?”

“As far as they know, we are mercenaries,” I pointed out, dryly.  “TechnoMage, could we rig the election?”

TechnoMage looked uncomfortable.  “Probably not,” he said.  “The voting districts have been carefully studied by all of the major parties.  I doubt we could deliver a convincing result that didn’t give the Progressives a victory.  Even if we prevented them forming a government, they would still be able to ally with the Communists and form an impregnable voting bloc.  We couldn’t give the Conservatives or the Liberty Party a victory without rigging the election in such a way as to ensure that it would be noticed.”

“And we’re not here to rig their elections,” Russell added, firmly.  “The best thing we can do for Svergie is build them the army they need.”

“The one that will be used against the rebels after the election,” TechnoMage commented, dryly.

“We’re not here to judge,” Russell snapped.  “We’re here to do a job.”

“Enough,” I said, before they could start a fight.  “Unless there is any other business, I am declaring this meeting closed.”

Peter, Muna and TechnoMage remained behind after the others had filed out the door.  “We probably couldn’t rig the election anyway,” TechnoMage said, once the door had closed.  “This planet…well, it’s primitive in many ways.  Their computers are junk even compared to the UN’s crappy scrap heaps, so they use humans to record and count the votes.  We’d have to stuff the ballot boxes and it is pretty likely that we’d be caught at it.”

“Oh, my god,” Peter intoned.  “The dead have risen and they’re voting Conservative.”

“Quite,” TechnoMage agreed.  “Sir, unless you want to launch an open assault on the government now, we’re going to have to just…watch and see what happens.”

“I see,” I said, coldly.  Fleet would almost certainly step in if we intervened that openly.  Besides, taking New Copenhagen would be easy, but keeping it would be hard.  “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

I looked over at Muna.  “Work out a plan for investing in their industrial base and see if we can improve it,” I ordered.  “TechnoMage, keep working on penetrating their datanet and see if you can locate anything we can use for leverage.  Peter, you’re with me.  I feel an urge to spar.”

“Yes, sir,” Peter said.

“Remind me of something,” I added.  “Next week, the President is coming here, right?”

“Yes, sir,” Peter said.  “It’s the graduation day for the current lead class.”

“Good,” I said.  “I think I want to have a few words with him after the ceremony.”

Chapter Seven

Graduation Day: The Ceremony in which a recruit class is formally decorated as soldiers and honoured as such, before being assigned to their units and operating base.  It is a time of celebration and yet, even in the heat of the ceremony, discipline is absolute.
-Army Manual, Heinlein

“This is an impressive display,” the President said, as we watched the newly-minted soldiers lining up in front of their trainers.  For once, the drill sergeants weren’t shouting or hazing the recruits, but being as pleased with them as they ever were – acting as if they might just barely survive their first years as soldiers.  “What’s the point of the ceremony?”

I shrugged.  “To remind them that they all sweated blood and struggled to get as far as they have and to convince them that it was all worthwhile,” I said.  “To show them the comradeship of their fellow soldiers and how they’re all part of the same system, even though they’re going to be going to different units.  To reward them for their suffering and promise them further suffering in the future, even though they’ve made it through the hardest part of the training.  To…

“Pick one or all of them, Mr President,” I added.  “With such baubles armies are led.”

“I see,” the President said.  I would have been surprised if he had understood, at least completely.  Civilians rarely understood the need for such ceremonies, either Graduation Day or the more-feared Last Night, where the recruits would be hazed one final time by the graduated soldiers before welcoming them into the ranks.  The training never really stopped, of course; they’d be spending the next few months exercising as soldiers.  “And you got them decent uniforms.”

“Yep,” I said, pleased with myself.  Muna had rounded up a few hundred local seamstresses and hired them to sew the uniforms themselves.  I had considered using the UN uniforms that had been abandoned at the spaceport, but it would probably have been impolitic.  As it was, the simple green uniform was impressive enough for the local civilians; the soldiers who had gone on leave after graduating had been boasting about their conquests.  On Svergie, all the nice girls seemed to love a soldier.  It was a shame that that wasn’t true of Earth.  “They’ll get urban or rural battledress for actual service, of course, but they deserve at least one nice uniform.”

We watched as the Drill Sergeants pinned on rank insignia and a handful of training medals.  Some of the recruits from each class had already been marked out for advancement, but they’d all get at least six months experience in the ranks before they were promoted, unless they had to be promoted into a dead man’s shoes.  It was something we’d borrowed from Heinlein, where every senior officer needed to have experience as a common soldier, not the UN.  The UN had had a habit of promoting the wrong people.

“And finally, the oath,” I said.  “At this point, Mr President, your young men become soldiers.”

He watched, a faint tear in his eye, as the soldiers swore loyalty to the planet’s constitution.  I’d expected more political faction fights over what oath they’d be taking, but surprisingly enough a compromise had been reached fairly quickly.  They wouldn’t be swearing loyalty to any one person, or political party, or even the government, but to the constitution that governed the planet.  Svergie’s constitution had its flaws – it had been designed for the planet before the UN got involved – but it was surprisingly simple.  I’d seen worlds where the constitution occupied several massive volumes and no one believed in it.

“And there they go,” I concluded, as the soldiers headed for the gates.  It wasn't a very orderly procession, but the Drill Sergeants tolerated it on Graduation Day.  “They’ll be out at one of the bases after a week’s leave and they’ll be formed into units.  If all goes according to plan, we should even be able to hold a major exercise within the year.”

“If everything remains peaceful,” the President said.  He looked over at Suki, who was watching the display as well.  She wore a simple unmarked uniform herself; she’d wanted to keep wearing her normal outfit, but I’d forbidden her from wearing it on a military base.  It would have been bad for discipline, even if she did look stunning.  Besides, she also looked good in a uniform.  “Is there a place we can talk alone?”

I nodded and led him away from the parade ground, back towards my office.  Ed and Russell would take care of any last-minute problems, unless civil war broke out almost at once.  I’d quietly kept the defence of the spaceport in the hands of A Company, while B and C Company mentored the new Svergie units, just in case.  It wasn't that I didn’t trust the new units we’d raised and trained, but I did want to keep them away from temptation.  Some of them were almost certainly picked men - by one or more of the parties.

My office hadn’t improved much since I’d occupied it, although I had hung up a large map of the planet and some organisation charts, mainly to distract visitors.  Most of what I needed to know was locked away in my head or in the secure computers – at least, we hoped they were the secure computers.  The planet’s computer industry might have been trapped in the dark ages – they could barely produce something holding a terabyte of data – but we knew that they had purchased some items from off-planet.  If we’d been able to identify what, and who, I would have been a lot happier.

“I’m sorry it isn’t more comfortable,” I said, sincerely.  A military office has no business being comfortable – the UN, naturally, treated its senior officers like kings – but the President really needed a comfortable chair.  He looked older than the last time I’d seen him, as if the stresses of the job were wearing him down, bit by bit.  I wanted to advise bed rest, or even a long holiday, but that simply wasn't an option.

“It’s fine as it is,” the President assured me, but I knew he was lying.  “It’s just been a long day and I’m tired.”

“But not of the day,” I said, pouring him a mug of strong coffee.  It wasn't what I would have normally fed to a President, but UN-issue coffee is good at keeping people awake.  It was probably the one thing the UN got right.  “Are you worried about the election?”

The President nodded.  “The Council is fairly evenly balanced right now,” he said, sipping his coffee and grimacing at the taste.  I half-expected him to refuse to drink more than a few sips, but he carried on gamely.  It was something of an acquired taste, after all.  “After the election, it won’t be balanced at all.  Something is going to break.”

I nodded, without speaking.  I’d studied the Svergie Constitution carefully after TechnoMage had called it to my attention and he was right.  The President – popularly elected by the people – had considerable power, but an absolute majority in the Council could overrule him.  His personal powers were limited; he might control the army – such as it was – but not the police or the courts.  The whole system seemed to have been created for a far smaller population, perhaps even a single city, rather than an entire planet.  I suspected that that was the work of the UN.

“And when it does, our order is going to fall apart,” he continued.  “What will happen then?”

“Civil war,” I said, sipping my own coffee.  It was hard to pretend to be unconcerned and I suspect he saw though the deception.  “The rural areas try to declare independence and the cities try to suppress them.  It won’t be pleasant.”

“It was so much easier when we were fighting the UN,” the President said, rubbing his eyes.  “Everyone was united then.”

“And now the factions are breaking apart,” I said.  “You had unity as long as you had a powerful enemy to revolt against.  Now you have to deal with the fruits of victory.”

The President looked up at me.  “Rotten fruits, rather like the ones the UN tried to get the farmers to sell,” he said.  He saw my blank look and explained.  “Every single fruit had to go through a long supply chain, so by the time they reached the customer they were already going bad.  I think it was meant for health and safety reason.”

I snorted.  “Never mind,” he added.  “Why did you leave the UN anyway?”

“Long story,” I said, willing him to drop it.  I hadn’t left the UN; the UN had left me.  “There are more important things to…”

“Why did you leave the UN?”  He repeated.  “I read your record, but as far as I can tell, it’s one of a honourable soldier.  Or am I missing something?”

I felt a bittersweet pang at his words.  “As I said, it’s a long story,” I said.  “I joined to escape the hellhole Earth had become.  The UNPF seemed the only way out.  They don’t conscript soldiers, Mr President; they don’t have to conscript soldiers.  The living conditions do that for them.  They have more volunteers than they have spaces for them, even when they had millions of men in uniform and hundreds of planets to occupy.  I went through their kind and sensitive training program and learned more about feeding the needy than I did about fighting.  I think I fired about ten rounds in basic training and…

“They sent us into a hellhole called El Puta Dorada, or something like that,” I continued, feeling the bitterness welling up into my voice.  “It should have been easy, or so they told us.  Instead, they dumped ten thousand men right into a swarming horde of the enemy and trapped us under their fire.  Thousands died, yet somehow we survived and escaped – somehow.  When we reached UN lines, I found that the man who’d come up with the scheme had been promoted for innovative thinking, so I killed him.  No one ever worked out that it was me.”

I don’t know why I told him that.  I’d never told anyone else that.  “His replacement was looking for heroes and decided I needed promoting, so I got promoted,” I said.  “I don’t know if he knew all along and it was a reward for his promotion, but they gave me a platoon and told me to do things for them.  I got half my platoon killed on my first mission, but they saw it as a success.  I found myself trying to learn how to lead and maintain an infantry unit in the midst of a war.  By the time that particular campaign ended, I was a Captain and had a whole Company under me

“And I was keen to show what I could do and correct…errors in our training, so we ran through endless drills and burned up more ammunition than all of the other units in the area combined, just drilling.  The paperwork…well, I kept losing the paperwork, so the bureaucrats kept being unhappy with me, but I didn’t care.  Eventually, I found someone to handle it for me while I focused on training and ended up with the best Company in the Infantry.

“And they hated that, so they sent us in on what should have been a suicidal mission,” I concluded.  “We won, somehow, and embarrassed hundreds of Generals who’d declared that the mission was impossible.  They sent us to Heinlein where we held an entire sector against the most bloody-minded group of insurgents in the Human Sphere, which made us even more of an embarrassment.  And then…”

I broke off.  I couldn’t discuss that in front of anyone, even John.  “They decided we needed punishment and dispatched us to Botany,” I concluded.  Hopefully, he wouldn’t see the hole in the story.  “When the UN collapsed, we ended up homeless exiles, so we became a mercenary unit and picked up others in the same boat.  A while later, your messengers found and hired us, saving us from financial catastrophe and disaster.  You know the rest.”

“Thank you,” the President said.  I wondered if he’d believed everything I’d said, or if he harboured doubts.  “Do you regret the UN’s fall?”

I hesitated.  “I used to think that I was part of something greater than myself,” I said, finally.  “Now…I realised fairly early on that all we were was a tool of oppression and most of us just fought for pay anyway.  There were no grand causes, nothing to fire the blood, just money.  It wasn't that hard to make the switch to doing it openly and accepting your money.  Other planets have loyalty and causes worth fighting for, but the UN never had.  It’s hard to believe in a greater cause when you’re wading through the blood of slaughtered children.”

“I understand,” the President said.  He looked weaker by the second.  “I had to order strikes that took out – killed – innocents in the crossfire.  I used to hate myself for it, but I kept telling myself that the ends justified the means and everything we did served a useful and necessary purpose.  And, in the UN, someone hundreds of light years away ended the war without any help from us.  They call me the saviour of the planet and they have great difficulty finding anyone to stand against me for President, but what happens when I die?”

“Good question,” I mused.  The President could, in theory, stand for re-election until he died, but I doubted he would stand for another term if he could avoid it.  The elections might confirm him as President for another five years, but judging from his appearance, he probably wouldn’t live through them all.  If the Progressives gained a decisive advantage in the Council, they might even try to weaken the President’s position still further, or worse, impeach him.  The Communists already hated the President.  They wouldn’t oppose him.  “They might find someone else.”

“I used to tell myself that I could let go and nothing bad would happen,” the President continued.  “Now, I feel as if I don’t dare let go, or the whole planet will come apart.”

“You’re probably right,” I said.  I could be open with him, slightly.  “My people believe that you’re looking at a major collapse within the next few years.”

“I know,” the President said.  “Did they propose any solutions?”

I smiled.  “You’ll have to send the unemployed out to the farms for training under supervision,” I said.  “You’ll need a program of public works to improve the living conditions and the planet’s infrastructure.  You’ll even need to expand the planet’s industry and energy sectors, which is something you desperately need.  Your power shortage keeps you from developing into a properly developed planet.

“It might even get the Conservative and Progressive voting bases to get a good look at each other,” I added.  “They might learn that the other side isn’t composed of monsters, or work-shy layabouts.  It might help head off the coming disaster at the pass.”

“They’d never stand for it,” the President said.  “There’s enough doubts about the army, let alone anything else.  The Progressives would oppose sending people to the fields because it violates their rights; the Conservatives would oppose it because they’d see it as a dreadful mistake.  They might even be right.  The last bunch of people we sent out to the farms…well, only three of them ended up as proper farmers.”

“And you need to do something about the street toughs,” I added.  “At the moment, they’re nothing, but a drain on your resources and a headache for the ordinary citizens.  You should have them all rounded up and dumped in a work camp.”

“The trouble has been down since they started running into your soldiers,” the President said, wryly.  “Of course, the Progressives are protesting that as well.  The common people shouldn’t take the law into their own hands.”

“And so on, and so on,” I agreed.  It seemed to be the only deterrent that had halted the street gangs in their tracks.  The police weren’t allowed to do more than move them on and they often returned when the police left, intimidating the entire neighbourhood.  My soldiers…well, they found the gangs, kicked the shit out of the ones stupid enough to stand and fight, and put the others to flight.  Personally, I’d have rounded them all up and conscripted them, but the old arguments against conscription continued to apply.  “They do need to be taught a lesson.”

“Yes,” the President said.  He changed the subject abruptly, reaching into his briefcase.  “I have something for you.”

He pulled out a small velvet box.  I opened it and saw a pair of golden wings.  “Mr President?”

“That’s the rank badge for a General,” the President said.  “At the moment, according to the Rules of Engagement, you’re not actually a military officer on this world.  You don’t have any legal authority to command our soldiers.”  He nodded towards the box in my hand.  “You do now.”

He held up a hand before I could speak.  “You’re not from here and you understand our problems better than most of the people here,” he admitted.  “Lennart is going to be retiring in the next few weeks – he doesn’t want to serve under a Progressive Government – and I decided to use my authority to promote you into his place.  You may find it useful.”

I stared down at the badge.   “Fleet…”

“Fleet will accept it if we commission you under specific conditions,” the President said.  I suspected – hoped – that he’d consulted with Fleet before giving me the badge.  “We have a month before the election, when everything changes.  By then, I want you to be ready.”

“Mr President?”  I asked.  “What should we be ready for?”

“Anything,” he said.  “Whatever happens…we have to be ready.”