Better to Beg Forgiveness (21 page)

But I won't lie to you. There are dangers here. The local guards of the Palace and elsewhere are drugged out, worthless, malnourished, and undeveloped scum. Crappy diet, poor social lives, no education. They can stop bullets, that's about it.

Then there's the Army . . . I am so glad I got out when I did, and I absolutely agree that the Colony needs to pull its troops out of the UN Joint Forces as soon as fucking possible. I know old-timers always bitch about how things are going downhill, but it's worse here.

The UN troops have good gear, and know technically how to use it, though they don't get much practice before arriving, apparently. No one wants to waste that valuable equipment for training, so they accept losses in combat. Equipment losses. That's the kind of leadership they have.

Worse . . . some commanders are following every order to the letter, including conflicting orders. BuState can give orders to MilBu. Yup, it's insane. So there are troops struggling with 70 kilos of gear, even in this gravity that's a bitch. Others are shrugging their shoulders and leaving it to the NCOs to deal with . . . but those NCOs come out of this same system. Some of them literally don't know how to request nonorganic transport. If it's not attached to them, they're helpless. They don't know how to use their assets.

And the troops . . . yeah, they have great technical training, but most of them are rebellious teenage punks from game clubs, or gangs. They weren't given any real discipline in basic. I watched a formation yesterday—they have formations constantly, in case anyone deserts in this dump? Maybe worried about AWOL and sex, which is forbidden. I don't know. All I know is, they don't trust the troops because they can't. As a senior sergeant, I wielded more authority than most CAPTAINS do in the UNJF. So they had a formation, and while calling roll, these kids were playing with game sets, computers, jawing, milling about. They can't stand still in formation and no one bothers to discipline them.

If the locals weren't the worst shit in space, these kids would be dying in job lots.

Sorry, I didn't mean to delve into politics. I know you never liked international relations in service, and don't as a civilian either. But that's what I'm dealing with. The "elite" forces are about as good as I and my buddies. Yeah, we're good. I don't feel we're abnormal. Certainly I wasn't in service. But now . . . 

Hey, I'm fine and should be. Got good people around me, low threats, and lots of support. And the Army can always act as bullet traps.

Tell the kids I love them. I got the pictures and they're just still so cute. I sleep with that picture in my pocket to keep me warm.

Love you,

Jason finished, and looked up from his fliptop as Bishwanath entered the room.

"May I help you, sir?" he asked at once. Bishwanath's presence was probably unofficial but he kept a hand on his pistol and checked the location of his carbine. That was automatic, even though it was clear at once there was no threat. He wasn't keen on being a part-time servant. On the other hand, it was far safer than EP and he was getting paid the same either way. There was no harm in being nice, he figured. The man was decent.

"No trouble, Agent Vaughn," Bishwanath said as he closed the door quietly. "Forgive me. I can't sleep and I hate being by myself. Do you mind if I watch viddy in here?" He was dressed in a robe and silk pajamas with elaborate embroidery, and wore leather slippers that could serve as shoes.

"Not at all," Jason said. He couldn't expect any privacy in here anyway, and it was easier to guard the President up close. He jotted down the time in the incident log on the now scarred coffee table. "Principal entered common room. Unofficial." He saved and minimized.

"Is there actually anything worth watching on?" he asked. The President hadn't spoken any commands to the unit.

Bishwanath replied, "It's not so much watching anything I have in mind. It's watching . . . 
anything
. Is that clear in English?" He was pacing slowly.

"I think so, sir," Jason said. Yeah, the man was lonely. He'd cut himself off from his own clan to maintain the perception of distance and neutrality. He couldn't trust any other clan. There were no other parties in politics awake at this hour . . . what could the man do after work? And he hadn't ever intended to have this much power.

"Sir, if you want to talk or run a net sim, just say so."

"Thank you, Agent Vaughn. I appreciate the offer. Though right now, I was thinking of a more cerebral pursuit which is hard to find."

"Reading a paper book? Logic problems?" Sometimes the man was too polite. That was better than the rude bastards they got at times, but still aggravating in its way.

"No, not quite like that. I wonder, Agent Vaughn," Bishwanath said, squinting slightly, "if you know how to play chess?"

Jason squinted in return and leaned back in his seat. "I doubt I'm in your ranking, sir, but I'll give it a try."

Bishwanath smiled, nodded, and walked over to a cabinet. That one had been filled on their arrival. Only a few items, but one of them . . . 

The chess set he brought over was very elegant. Inlaid dark wood, possibly ebony, and light, burnished material, probably bone, were surrounded by a laminate of light and dark woods and set on a plain wooden base. He set it down, lifted it off a latched insert, and placed it in the exact middle of the table.

The pieces underneath were hand carved and had gold and silver wire pressed in. There were extra pieces, and it looked as if one could play several different variations with the same set. Jason lifted a king. It was near ten centimeters tall, a handful.

"Nice set," he commented.

"My grandfather's," Bishwanath replied. "He also like Persian chess and chaturanga."

"I can see."

"I try not to think about my family," the President said shyly.

"I'm writing a letter to mine," Jason said, tapping his computer. "Words on a page as well as the audio messages I send seem to add a level."

"Yes," Bishwanath agreed. "I write as I can. I did just now, in fact. I generally have little time, and my wife is not enjoying Earth. My children are grown and north of here."

Conversation tapered off to chess. Bishwanath was good, but clearly had his mind elsewhere. He built elaborate strategies but lost pieces from oversight, a forest for the trees issue, if Jason had to guess. Not being able to plan so far ahead, Jason used a strategy of clustering all his capital pieces and tromping across the board like a Roman legion, letting them support each other in a tight knot.

Meantime, Bishwanath muttered, occasionally talking.

"It's aggravating dealing with masses of people, all of whom expect that I will cut them some kind of favor. We had a deal once before. Their side supported some petty squabble. They have spongewood, which may be the only useful material export. They have an agreement with a chief of my clan." He sighed.

"I suppose the last one comes close to legit," Jason observed. He needed to open up his formation a little. They were crowding each other's lines of attack.

In a moment, Bishwanath was chuckling warmly.

"Mister Vaughn," he said, "
every
clan on this planet has some agreement with some chief of every clan. That's how business is done. Think of the corporate and union ties on Earth. This is like that."

"Sort of like winning the lottery and finding all the relatives you never knew you had?" he offered.

"Exactly like that. Exactly. All of them angry that I won't make favors."

"What problems are you having, if I can ask?"

"I can speak of some," Bishwanath nodded. "My own people expect position among the government. I am expected to guarantee this as a matter of course. Whether or not they are qualified for any position is irrelevant. They are entitled and I owe them, because we are kinsmen. What of their inability to do the job? I should hire a subordinate to do that, doing all the work, for less power, prestige and money, and have the 'government' pay for it."

"Mm hmmm." There wasn't much to say. Bishwanath understood the problem. Jason understood the problem. The idiots couldn't, wouldn't, and weren't here.

"Other factions, of course, expect the opposite, to show that I do not play favorites. All expect handouts for their groups, again paid by some mythical government that has bottomless pockets from some source of revenue not in existence. The only relevant source of income in this nation was black market percentages. That is now gone. If we can come to some agreement with our two neighbors, we can exploit the asteroids. They are far enough outsystem to make them easy to transport. Of course, that requires a stable nation here first."

"Bootstrapping," Jason commented. "Check."

"Blast you and your unconventional strategy," Bishwanath said. A moment later, both of them lacked queens. "Or is that a strategy?"

"It is," Jason admitted. "Though it's for lower grade players, most of whom don't play well without a queen—they rely on it. So by swapping I force a more tactical game I can play better."

"Astute," Bishwanath admitted.

A few minutes and several moves later he said, "I thought you were also offering that as a gaming metaphor for something I should do in politics. But if you are, I cannot see what it is I am to do."

Jason laughed, heartily but softly. "No, sir. No ulterior motive. I have opinions on politics, but if I had any aptitude or real interest, I'd work for BuState at the very least, not as a mercenary bodyguard."

"Ah, BuState," Bishwanath said.

"Aggravating?"

Bishwanath seemed evasive. Finally, he said, "How well do you get along with Mister deWitt?"

"Well enough," Jason offered. "I think he's former military. Honest, straight shooter in a nest of snakes. Decent guy, but stuck in a job with starry-eyed idiots."

"Yes, I agree." Bishwanath moved a piece and sighed. "Check. Apart from him, they all know what's best for me, and can quote historical examples. When I point out that every such example is a nation that either survived on charity from some major power, or fell into endless civil war, like Indonesia in the twenty-first, or Liberia or Iraq before they were absorbed, they get rude, as if they're doing me some favor."

He breathed deeply, obviously angry, and said, "
I
am doing
them
the favor. They have a list of wants and needs to be accomplished. I am willing to give them at least half of what they ask for. Instead my goals for my country are ignored, or worse, treated with smug contempt."

This was how well the man played chess when exhausted, angry, and focused elsewhere, Jason thought. He could see his defeat in about four moves. Bishwanath wasn't even looking at the board, really. He was giving his attention to Jason and the conversation.

That attention was a distraction. Strong personality. Still, while the game was a challenge, hearing his host and employer out, as well as shamelessly gathering that intel, was more important. He blocked the attack with a pawn and spoke.

"I've never liked the hubris, I guess it's called, that these guys show. If they're so smart, why are they bureaucrats and not leaders? Washington, Franklin, both Elizabeths, William, Carl Gustav, Caesar, Mao, Pitt, Ghandi, Shaka . . . whether heads of state or statesmen, we recall them and their works. No one remembers a SecState or a Deputy Chief of Economic Development Counseling or whatever."

"And yet every one of them believes himself or herself to be my superior," Bishwanath said, holding a rook and gesturing. "Even deWitt. He is informative and educated, but he does make assumptions on how I will deal with an issue. In his case, he's been here long enough to have some picture. Usually, he's not far off, but he presumes to proceed. I can't blame him; it was like that until I was brought in a few weeks ago. In some ways he has more experience than I do. But I am the President. I am not the warrior you or your comrades are, but I have fought. I am no Marcus Tani, no Simon Bolivar, no Winston Churchill. I seek to run a nation that has somewhat less resources and assets than Atlanta or San Diego, but I do seek to run it, and I have experience with these people and this planet. These . . . desk-sitters . . . would tell me how to do the job, with nothing to support their theories than older theories." He placed the rook down carefully and said, "Checkmate."

It had taken two moves. Wow. The man was cagey.

"I'm not sure what I can offer, sir," Jason said. "I'm just a mechanically inclined grunt who got lucky. A high-gravity environment lets me keep fit, and I've done executive protection because it was available and I was good at it. I have opinions, as I said. I can't offer any useful insights."

Bishwanath was carefully putting the chess set away.

"I appreciate being able to vent to an outsider," he said. "And I wish the other nonexpert outsiders shared your modesty. We must play again sometime."

"Certainly, sir. I or Bart are awake most nights, and Elke plays, too. She's likely better at problem solving."

"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you."

"Supply run," Jason said the next morning. Alex was at the morning chitchat, leaving him in charge.

"Where are you going?" Aramis asked from his computer. He had a list of sundries and luxuries he could use filled.

"Someone is going on post."

"Someone?" he asked to confirm. "Hell, send me."

"I also," Bart said. He'd been watching the wall and doing push-ups from boredom. The local dialect had to be even harder for him, not being a first language speaker of English.

"Military Exchange and then some stuff from Operations Store. I have a purchase order number and a corporate card. We're allowed two hundred each discretionary, after that it comes out of our pay. Got the list for team goods. Everyone scrawl down what you need."

"Suits," Aramis agreed, grinning.

Elke looked over. She was hunched up in a chair almost cuddling her screen. "I have a few things." She scrawled hastily and handed over a note page. Her printing looked like that of a machine. Very precise, very fast. Made sense, if she handled explosives.