Heart of Steel: Book II of the Jonathan Pavel Series (12 page)

“So what brings you here Garrett? Could it be that someone back home has finally read one of my reports and decided to send me the extra intelligence assets I requested months ago?”

Garrett blinked and tilted his head. “I have no information on that. I am here on unrelated business, though it appears there may be a link between what I am chasing and what is going on here.”

“Oh, and what are you chasing?” Traq asked

“That’s classified,” Garrett replied.

Traq bristled a bit at that. “I have code-word clearance Colonel.”

“Garrett, and you are not cleared for this.”

“Now see here...” Traq began, but Garrett held up his hand.

“Ambassador you can make a fuss, you can protest, you can write as many official letters as you like, but I will not tell you because if I did I would need to kill you afterward, and that would be a poor allocation of the Republic’s resources.”

The way Garrett said it without the slightest inflection of humor or good nature, caused Traq to take a step back.

Garrett seemed not to notice. “You are needed here, to get the League involved in the war. A conflict without Leauge support will seriously impact the military's ability to defeat the Colonials.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to get the League Parliament to go along with enforcing their treaty obligations? Normally, I could reason with them, but everyday Francisco and his Nationalist wing grows stronger.”

“The Nationalists won't be a problem Ambassador. Just get the Speaker to call for the vote when it's time.”

“Again, how do you expect...”

Garrett held out a folder, which Traq took. After reading,  Traq’s eyes widened in shock.

“Good Christ man do you know what this is?!” Traq asked.

“I certainly do. Special Branch makes a point of keeping an eye on potential threats to the Republic's interest. Although, we could have avoided this if you amoebas in the Foreign Office had just let us manipulate the poll result.”

Traq ignored the swipe. It was Republic policy not to meddle in the elections of any of its allies or clients. Though that rule was often bent as far as it could go.

Looking down at the information before him, Traq cringed as he handed it back to the Colonel.
“What is it you intend to do with this information, Garrett? Blackmail? People will know.”

“They will and they won't, because it will be close. How many votes do you need to swing it your way six?”

“After today, probably eight,” Min said flatly.

Garrett shrugged, “So it will pass narrowly. Of course there will be outrage. There will be accusations of bribery, collusion, and such, but we’ll manage and one by one the targeted MPs will drop out of the public eye. They will resign to spend time with their families or for medical reasons, and we’ll make sure their replacements are more in line with our way of thinking.”

“This will backfire,” Traq said. “Francisco will kick up such a fuss that it will all come out.”

Garrett’s expression became very smug.

“I doubt it, Mr. Francisco is a politician and any politician values power. If it came out that as a student he dabbled with radical left wing politics, well I don't think he’d survive it.”

“So that’s your plan? Blackmail a few for their votes and hold what you have over the others to keep them quiet.”

“Well relatively quiet. There will be hearings of course, and we’ll make sure there are appropriate fall guys. We are already setting up a dummy cartel, which will “buy” the pro-war votes because they wanted to win a lucrative arms contract.”

“You can’t seriously believe this will work Colonel?”

“Why not? It has worked before.”

“And it has failed, and I am telling you this time it will fail. Francisco and the rest of his ilk are hypocrites, but don't let his bluster fool you. The man is smart, and what's worse he believes his own rhetoric. He will find a way to turn this against us.”

“Irrelevant,” Garrett said simply. “Our mission is to deliver the League's basing rights, auxiliary forces, and economic heft for the war effort.”

“If there is a war,” Traq said.

“The courier ship is flying to Charlemagne as we speak Ambassador. Do you have any doubt what the answer will be when it returns?”

Traq hung his head, “No.”

He was quiet for a minute and then extended his hand.

“Okay Garrett we’ll do it your way, but when this goes pear shaped remember that I warned you.”

“Agreed,” the man said flatly handing the ambassador the blackmail file back.    

Chapter VI

Solaria  System, Near Zhong’s Orbit, Solarian Republic                           

On Board RSNS
Leaf Hopper
and RSNS
Sound of Fury

October 15th 843 AE

Jonathan sat in the dimness of his cabin on board the tender ship that was carrying him toward his new command. It had been two weeks since the Premier’s ultimatum, but the rhetoric hadn't been toned down. If anything, it had been raised. Everyday the news packets the tender downloaded off the system info-net carried images of marches in the Colonial Confederacy, people out in force calling for war. The Colonial Government had also enacted new internal security laws. Several peace proponents were now under arrest. The Colonial media was also growing more and more antagonistic. Jonathan had even seen a segment, originally aired on
Information Vital National
a well known right wing broadcasting station in the Confederacy, then re-aired on
The National News Service
in the Republic, which covered him. The Colonial piece had some Doctor of Psychology outlining how Jonathan was obviously capable of launching a nuclear strike on civilians, because of some unnamed childhood trauma. The NNS piece had used this as an example of how Colonial propaganda was getting out of control. Jonathan had been largely indifferent to the whole thing. Personally, he was a proponent of launching every so called journalist into the nearest star, but that wasn't his decision to make. Stuck on the
Leaf Hopper
for two weeks, though, Jonathan had a good deal of time to think. The propaganda piece reminded him of the conversation he’d had with his friends the day after Will’s wedding. It was a tragedy how people would exploit the natural human desire for a simple narrative to manipulate people without them even knowing it.  
 

Lying in his bunk, Jonathan finished up his correspondence. Even though his assignment was to a secure part of space, he wanted to finish his letters in case the war interrupted communication. He finished one letter to his brother Jaroed, another to his mother, and two to his sister that he would file with the rest in his draft folder. He hadn't heard from Julia in years, and had no idea how to reach her, but still he wrote letters for her. They had been close, all three of them. Once, as close as brothers and sister could be, but time had caused them to drift apart. Jonathan and Jaroed still saw each other and talked frequently, but while Jonathan had chosen a life among the stars, Jaroed had settled into a life of domestic bliss with a wife, kids, a lovely home and a respectable job as a police officer. Julia had gone far afield, and it was only the fact that her Spacer Union dues were paid that let her next of kin know she was alive. Jonathan finished his letter to her, and put it in the same file he always did - ‘In Case I Die’. If Jonathan was ever reported KIA, the file would automatically be sent to his brother and Jonathan knew Jaroed would find a way to get it to Julia. Thinking for a moment, Jonathan took the other letter he’d written and looked over it. It was to Bethany and it was a sappy, irritating mess. Despite their enjoyable entanglement, Jonathan still wasn't sure if there was anything more than an animal lust between them. Bethany had seemed to let her guard down with him, and give him a peek at the real person beneath the drug snorting, party girl caricature she insisted on showing the world. Then again, Jonathan very much doubted there could ever be anything deeper between them than friendship. They were just too far apart. Jonathan took the letter to Bethany and put it in his trash folder. Closing the holo screen of his memo pad, he stretched out on his bunk and lay looking at the cabin ceiling. Despite only being 29 years of age, growing closer to thirty with his birthday on January 12th, Jonathan felt far more aware of his mortality than he had before. The wounds he'd sustained from
Titan’s
battle had been serious, far more serious than he let his family or friends know, and he felt deeper scars that ran along his soul. His actions on the
Valiant
hadn't affected him like this, maybe because deep down he knew there had been no choice, and his actions had saved more lives than it cost. New Helsinki though, he could have run and it might have saved some of the lives of the crew. Although, it certainly would have meant a long and costly engagement, and possibly start a war. That war, though, looked to start anyway. Reflecting on his melancholia, Jonathan decided the best thing to do was to pray. Jonathan's father had been raised Catholic, but had abandoned organized religion not long after his home world Hera was obliterated in nuclear fire. Jonathan's mother had grown up a Unitarian, but had little use for the faith. Jonathan's brother had converted to Hinduism to please his wife. Jonathan, for his part, had found solace in the Church of the Stellanauta, a widely practiced but often unseen religion that appealed to the niche market of spacers. The religion had few rules, and even fewer ceremonies. They never held services of any kind, and their codex was widely open to interpretation. At their core, however, was that each man needed to find his own way to the divine, and then he alone could kneel in his presence. Jonathan had visited the Stellanauta chapel in Levelflats not long before William’s wedding. He said his prayer, and as was tradition acquired a small iron coin bearing the likeness of Tu the ancient Maori God of War. He carried that coin with him as a talisman to ask favor from the supreme deity in his undertaking. Now, Jonathan knelt on the floor of his small cabin within the tendership, and placed that coin next to the other he carried with him always.  The one that he had taken from the temple upon being given command of
Titan,
which bore the visage of the Archangel Michael. The tender ship's CO, a surly little Petty Officer, had informed his passenger that they’d be making their rendezvous with RSNS
Sound of Fury
within six hours to deliver their precious cargo of mail, water, and one new commanding officer. Plenty of time then for the one small thing Jonathan had to do. Lighting a candle and placing it beside the coins, Jonathan removed his jacket and cap and all vestiges of rank, title and honors. He then got down on his knees before the candle and prayed.

“To you Alpha and Omega, Creator and Destroyer. To you by whichever name you wish to be called. I kneel on this day to ask the forgiveness of those who I have led to their death.” Jonathan closed his eyes as the faces came to him. Daimion Krishna his old communications officer, a bright and efficient young man, who had his whole career in front of him. Marcus Halman, a jumped up little shit, but still someone’s son, and all the other good men and women who had died screaming in agony, or in the very silence of the great black void. Jonathan felt each of their deaths in his heart like the nick of a razor blade. In front of others, he postured and pretended and said all the right things. He comforted the widows, and told small boys their dads had died heros. In private, they haunted him. Within his breast, Jonathan felt those scars over his heart pull open and ooze pain onto his soul. Jonathan steeled himself and continued the prayer,

“Our lives are like a flame. We will burn with the intensity of a star or the meekness of a candle, and then when all is said and done we will fade.” Jonathan blew out the candle,“And only the memory of our warmth will remain upon this place. We will go to meet the ferryman, and cross the distant void through starlight and darkness. Where angels fear to go, we will walk to the ever distant shores and rest among the honored dead of this time and all time.”

Jonathan placed his forehead upon the floor, “Though many of us are never to lie in an earthen grave, we ask that you grant us rest among the oblivion of the stars. For those who have died, and those who are about to die and for my own soul now and upon the hour of my death I pray.” Jonathan lit the candle again, and watched as it burned its blue flame. Old school candles were forbidden on ships of course. It was never a good idea to introduce an oxygen consuming, carbon creating, flammable object to a sealed environment. Rather, Stellanautas like Jonathan, as well as other religious groups, used  Oxygene candles for their ceremonies. For Stellanauta the Oxygene candle had the unique status of being a standard issue item for any spacer survivor pack. The cool, burning flame consumed carbon dioxide and emitted oxygen, which made it far more practical aboard starships. Jonathan watched the flame slowly burn down. Inside he felt a calm come over him, he closed his eyes and breathed. The scars over his heart slowly grew shut again. The poem Jonathan's mother had often recited floated into the back of his mind once more.