Dawn (25 page)

“Nothing like that. The thought only occurred to me just now. Still, there’s nothing wrong with examining all kinds of possibilities.”

It’s offensive that those whose minds and spirits are so utterly corrupt can do as they please with power they don’t even deserve,
thought the ruler of Phezzan. Still, there was a need for the political systems of the empire and alliance to continue in their present forms for now. At least until the day that the true aims of Phezzan, which neither the empire nor the alliance could fathom, were achieved.

The Decision Room had no windows and was surrounded on all four sides by thick walls and other rooms. These included the Anti Room, for communicating with people outside the alliance; the Chart Room, where reports and other materials were compiled; the Intelligence Room, for data processing; and the Operations Room, from which the mechanism of the alliance was controlled. In addition, these were surrounded on the outside by the security guards’ antechamber, which formed a doughnut shape around all of them.

Is this what you call the seat of open government?
thought João Lebello, chairman of the Finance Committee, as he took his seat at a round table seven meters in diameter. This was not something he’d only just started thinking; every time he passed through all the infrared rays in the corridor to enter the Decision Room, that question preoccupied his thoughts.

That day, during the meeting of August 6, SE 796, one of the topics being taken up was the question of whether or not to approve or deny a troop-dispatch proposal that had been submitted by the military. This plan, to use occupied Iserlohn Fortress as a bridgehead for invading the empire, had been handed to the council in person by a group of young, high-ranking officers. To Lebello, this reeked of extremism.

The meeting began, and Lebello staked out a strong position against expansion of the war.

“It’s a strange way to put it, but up to this very day, the Galactic Empire and our alliance have continued the war just barely within the range that our finances will tolerate. However …”

Survivor annuities for the families of soldiers killed in the Battle of Astarte alone were going to require a yearly outlay of ten billion dinars. If the flames of war were to spread further, neither the nation’s finances nor the economy supporting them would be able to avoid fiscal collapse. Never mind that they were engaging in deficit spending even now.

Ironically, even Yang had contributed to the financial woes. At Iserlohn, he had taken five million prisoners of war, and just keeping them fed was turning out to be a considerable undertaking.

“To shore up our finances, we have the same two choices we’ve always had: increase the issue of bonds or raise taxes. There’s no other way.”

“What about increasing the amount of paper money?” asked the vice chairman.

“Without the finances to back it? Several years down the line, we’d be trading it by weight instead of the amounts written on the bills. Personally, I have no desire to be remembered as the infamous financier who didn’t have a plan and ushered in an age of hyperinflation.”

“But unless we win the war, we can never be sure we have tomorrow, let alone years down the line.”

“Then in that case, we should put an end to the war itself.”

Lebello spoke those words in a powerful voice, and the room fell dead silent.

“Thanks to the strategy of one Admiral Yang, we now have Iserlohn. The empire has lost its forward base for invading the alliance. Don’t you think this is an excellent opportunity to conclude a peace treaty with them on favorable terms?”

“But this is a just war against absolute monarchy. We mustn’t inherit the stars together with the likes of them. Do you seriously think we can just stop just because it isn’t economical?”

Several people launched back with arguments of their own.

A just war?
João Lebello, chairman of the Finance Committee for the government of the Free Planets Alliance, crossed his arms, dissatisfied.

Oceans of bloodshed, national bankruptcy, impoverished masses. If sacrifices such as these were essential to realizing justice, then Justice looked like a greedy god indeed, tirelessly demanding one sacrificial victim after another.

“Let’s recess for a little while …” he heard the Chairman say in a voice devoid of all luster.

This time, it was Huang Rui—who as Human Resources Committee chair had administrative responsibilities involving education, employment, labor issues, and social security—who was taking a hard line. He was also in the antideployment camp.

“As Human Resources Committee chair, I must say—”

Huang was a small man, but he had a loud voice. With his ruddy complexion and his short but nimble-looking arms and legs, he gave the impression of a man who had energy to spare.

“To begin with, I can’t help feeling uneasy about the present situation: there are too many talented people who end up being used by the military when they should be used to help grow the economy and improve our society. It’s also troubling that the investments we make toward education and job training keep getting reduced. As evidence of laborers’ declining skill levels, I’d like to point out that the number of workplace accidents has increased by 30 percent over the last six-month period. In a transport-convoy accident that happened in the Lumbini system, over four hundred lives and fifty tons of metallic radium were lost. It’s plausible that shortened training periods for civilian astronauts had a lot to do with that. Moreover, astronauts are being overworked due to personnel shortages.”

He had a clear and brisk way of speaking.

“On this point, I have a proposal: of the technicians presently being forced to work for the military, I’d like to see four million of the transport and communications personnel returned to civilian life. At a minimum.”

Huang’s gaze swept across his fellow councillors, coming to a rest on the face of Defense Committee Chairman Trünicht. His eyebrows twitched as he responded.

“Please don’t make unreasonable demands. If we released that many from rear service work, the whole organization of the military would collapse like a house of cards.”

“So the Defense Committee chairman says, but at the rate we’re going, our society and economy will collapse before the military does. Do you know the current average age of an operator working in the capital’s Lifestyle Supply Distribution Center?”

“… No.”

“Forty-two.”

“That doesn’t sound like an unusual figure to me …”

Huang pounded the table forcefully.

“Because it’s an illusion created by the real numbers! As many as 80 percent of them are either twenty and under or seventy and over. Average them, and you certainly do get forty-two, but in reality there is no backbone of experienced technicians in their thirties and forties. Throughout all the machinery of our society, there’s an ongoing weakening of the software that makes it run. I hope I can impress on all of our wise councillors just how terrifying a thing that is …”

Huang closed his mouth and looked around at everyone once again. Aside from Lebello, there was no one who met that gaze head-on. One had his eyes turned down, another casually averted his gaze, yet another looked up at the high ceiling.

Lebello took over for Huang.

“In short, now is the time to let the people rest and rebuild their strength. With Iserlohn Fortress now in our hands, the alliance should be able to put a stop to the empire’s invasions of its territory. And this situation should hold for the medium term. And that being the case, what possible need is there to willingly launch an attack from our side?”

Lebello made his appeal with fervor.

“To drive our citizens to even greater sacrifices than they’ve already made is to abandon even the basic principles of democracy. They cannot bear the burden.”

Voices of refutation rose up, starting with Intelligence Traffic Committee Chair Cornelia Windsor, the only woman among the councillors. She had just been sworn in a week ago.

“There’s no need to pander to the egotism of citizens who make no effort at understanding our great and noble purpose. And what great enterprise has ever succeeded without sacrifice?”

“Madam Windsor, the people are beginning to wonder if these sacrifices might be too great.” Lebello said this to counter an argument that came straight from a textbook, but his words had no effect.

“No matter how great the sacrifice—even if it were to mean death for every one of our citizens—we have something that we must do.”

“Th-that’s no longer a political argument.” Lebello had raised his voice without realizing it.

Casually ignoring him, Madam Windsor turned toward the attendees and in a strong voice that carried well through the chamber, began imparting her opinions.

“We have a noble duty. A duty to bring down the Galactic Empire and rescue all humanity from its oppression. How can you say we’re walking in the path of righteousness if we, intoxicated with cheap humanitarianism, forget that great purpose altogether?”

In her early forties, she was an attractive woman—graceful, with an intellectual sort of beauty—and in her voice there was a musical ring. That alone raised the danger Lebello sensed in her to another level. Was cheap heroism not clutching at her own ankles?

Just as Lebello was about to make another counterpoint, Chairman Sunford, who had remained silent till now, spoke up for the first time.

“Um … I have some materials here. Could everyone look at your terminal?”

Everyone was a little surprised, and for a moment all eyes focused on the chairman—he was oft said to cast “a thin shadow”—before turning to their terminals as instructed.

“This is the general public’s approval rating for this council. It definitely isn’t good.”

The value displayed—31.9 percent—was not far off from what the attendees expected. Not so many days had passed since Madam Windsor’s predecessor had fallen in a disgraceful bribery case, and as Lebello and Huang had pointed out, societal and economic stagnation was a very serious issue.

“And on the other hand, here is our disapproval rating.”

There were sighs at the value: 56.2 percent. It was not unexpected, but the disappointment was unavoidable.

Observing the reactions of all present, the chairman continued. “At this rate, it’s doubtful we can win in the elections early next year. I can see us being caught between the pacifist faction and the strongest hard-liners, and falling short of a majority. However …”

The chairman lowered his voice. Though it was hard to say whether this was intentional or not, it was greatly effective in drawing in the attention of his listeners.

“I’ve had the computer run some numbers, and it’s almost certain that if we can secure an epoch-making victory over the empire within the next one hundred days, our approval rating will rise 15 percent at minimum.”

There was a soft stir of voices in the room.

“Let’s take a vote on the military’s proposal,” said Madam Windsor. After a few seconds, several voices were raised in agreement. Everyone was thinking about keeping their committee chairmanships versus returning to the opposition in the event of electoral losses, and it was only during this interval that there was silence.

“Wait a minute.”

Lebello had half risen from his seat. Despite the fact that he was under a sunlamp, his cheeks were pale like an old man’s.

“We have no such right. To launch a needless invasion just to maintain political power … no such right has been given to us …”

His voice trembled and cracked.

“My, you say such pretty things.”

Madam Windsor’s cold, brilliant laughter rang out. Lebello was at a loss for words as he looked on, stunned at the sight of policy makers about to pollute the spirit of democratic government with their own bloody hands.

From his seat some distance away, Huang was looking at the anguished figure of Lebello.

“I’m begging you, please don’t lose your temper,” he whispered, and stretched a thick finger toward the voting button.

Six in favor, three opposed, two abstaining. A two-thirds majority of valid votes cast was required for approval, and the yes votes had that number; it had just been decided to invade imperial territory.

However, the results of the vote shocked the councillors—not because the mobilization had passed but because one of the three votes against it had been cast by Defense Committee Chairman Trünicht.

The other two votes, cast by Finance Committee Chairman Lebello and Human Resources Committee Chair Huang, had been expected. But wasn’t Trünicht acknowledged by all as a hard-line hawk?

“I’m a patriot. But that doesn’t mean I stand for going to war in every case. I want you all to remember that I was against this mobilization.”

That was the answer he gave to those who questioned him.

The very same day, Joint Operational Headquarters officially rejected the letter of resignation that Rear Admiral Yang Wen-li had submitted, issuing instead his letter of appointment to the rank of vice admiral.

Marshal Sitolet’s response when Yang had submitted his letter of resignation had not been a terribly creative one. Yang, however, hadn’t exactly expected him to take the letter in one hand while with a flourish of the other handing him his retirement allowance and pension card, so he gave him the friendliest nod he could manage.