Stark considered for a moment. He didn’t like leaving Arcadia uncovered, and even less did he relish the thought of moving the rest of the Directorate’s carefully assembled naval strength from Epsilon Eridani IV. He didn’t see any immediate threat to that system and its precious alien artifact, but he slept better knowing they had a major fleet there.
“Very well.” Stark had made his decision, and he didn’t even go through the motions of pretending the entire Directorate had a say. “I will personally handle the drafting and transmission of Admiral Garret’s order.” He looked down the table at Burke. “Number Seven, please send orders for our task force at Arcadia and the fleet at Epsilon Eridani to set courses for Columbia as soon as possible.” He pulled out his chair and finally sat down. “They are to arrest Admiral Compton and engage any naval units that resist. And they are to provide any and all support that Governor Cooper may request, up to and including nuclear bombardment of any targets he specifies.”
“Yes, Number One.” Burke’s expression was impassive. He wasn’t sure he agreed with the plan, but he was certainly not going to argue with Number One. “I will see to it immediately.”
Stark took a deep breath, exhaling sharply. “I believe that covers naval matters for the moment. Let’s move along.” He looked at the man sitting next to Rodger Burke. “Number Five, please report on the current status of our Directorate infantry program.” Stark already knew, of course, but he had to involve the rest of the Directorate in things…at least a little.
Troy Warren was always uncomfortable in Directorate meetings. The only member of the group who was not a Political Academy graduate, Warren had been a Corporate Magnate, and a very successful one…enough to take him all the way to a Seat on the Directorate. Nevertheless, he still felt like an outsider in a room full of career spies and politicians.
“Yes, Number One. As you are all aware, for the last several years we have expedited our efforts to produce a fighting force comparable to the Marine Corps.” He looked across the table. “Number Four has been extremely helpful in refining our training program, which has speeded our progress immensely.”
Number Four was present, as always, as a holographic projection. Only Stark and Dutton knew that the mysterious secret member of the Directorate was, in fact, General Rafael Samuels, now the commandant of the Marine Corps. The shimmering image nodded appreciatively, but did not speak.
“We currently have 18 battalions fully operational, with another 40 in training.” Warren fidgeted nervously in his seat. He had thought he was ruthless in his corporate days, but he’d never met anyone like Gavin Stark. The truth was, Stark scared the hell out of him. “They are fully powered infantry, armed and equipped almost exactly like Marine assault units.” He forced himself to meet Stark’s withering gaze. “They are well-trained, though not to the full standards of the Marine Corps. None of the units in the formation have any combat experience – you will recall that we elected to liquidate the forces that were repatriated from Carson’s World after the war.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “I would still be hesitant to commit them against Marine formations, at least not without significant numerical superiority.”
“Let me worry about the Marines.” It was a cryptic comment of the type Stark so frequently uttered. Everyone present knew better than to ask for details. “Please prepare the forces for embarkation as soon as possible.” He looked right at Number Five, enjoying the way it made him squirm. “Please get back to me by tonight with a proposed schedule.”
Warren paused for an instant, surprised by Stark’s order. “Yes, Number One.” Then he added, “May I inquire as to your intended deployments?”
“Certainly, Number Five.” Stark’s voice was cold; he didn’t like being asked to explain himself. “I intend to dispatch these units to provide powered-infantry support to our Alliance army units engaged on the most troublesome colony worlds.” He ran his fingers over his ‘pad. “I am sending you a list of proposed deployments. The two worst trouble spots are Columbia and Arcadia. We will be sending a brigade to each.” Two six-battalion brigades represented two-thirds of the available strength. “We will also deploy a single battalion to each of the following worlds: Atlantia, Victoria, Sandoval, Everest, Killian’s World, and Armstrong.” Stark smiled darkly. “It is time this rebellion ends before it spreads even further.”
The meeting dragged on for another three hours as they systematically reviewed the status reports from each rebelling planet. Finally, Stark slid back from the table, his eyes panning up and down the assembly. “I believe that is all of our current business. If no one has anything else?” He waited a few seconds, though he knew no one would say anything – he’d already signaled an end to the meeting. “Very well, we are adjourned.” Then: “Number Five, don’t forget to get me those embarkation schedules. Tonight.”
Warren nodded nervously and scurried out of the room, followed by the rest of the Directorate.
“Are you sure I can’t have anything brought up for you? Tea? Broth?” Stark looked sadly at Dutton as the old man sat uncomfortably in the chair.
“No thank you, Gavin.” Every word, every breath was an effort, but Jack Dutton had lived his long life at the center of things, and there he was resolved to remain until the day he closed his eyes for good. “Perhaps we can just conclude our business swiftly so I can go home and lie down for a while.”
“Of course, my friend.” Then, into the communicator on his desk: “Please come in now.” Stark flipped a switch and a section of the paneled wall slid aside, revealing a door, an entrance to his office that few people knew existed. Rafael Samuels came through the portal…squeezed through was more accurate. Stark motioned toward an empty seat. God, he’s gotten fat, Stark thought. I hope he fits in the chair.
Samuels walked slowly across the room and dropped his bulk into one of Stark’s buttery soft leather chairs. The priceless antique creaked a bit, but it held fast. Rafael Samuels had always been a large man; when he was a young Marine, the armorers had to design a customized suit to fit him. Back then he was tall and enormously strong – he’d been called “The Bull” in his first platoon. In recent years he’d added fat to the list of adjectives used to describe him.
“Hello Rafael, thank you for staying. Soon we will be past the need for you to hide behind that hologram.” Stark gestured toward a heavy crystal decanter on his desk. “May I offer you something? This is a fine Single Malt…you’ll not see its like often.” Samuels nodded appreciatively. “I wanted to discuss the final stages of our plan regarding the Marine Corps, and I felt that was better handled…shall we say…discreetly.” He poured the amber liquid into a cut crystal glass as he spoke, handing it over to Samuels.
“Yes, Number One, I quite agree.” He reached out, taking the drink from Stark. The glass nearly disappeared in his massive hand. “Secrecy is essential, as it has been since we began this business.”
“Please…when we are not in a Directorate meeting, it is Gavin. We are not so formal in these private strategy sessions.” Stark thought he sensed something from Samuels…not regret exactly, but perhaps hesitation, discomfort. That isn’t surprising, he thought…Samuels is about to become the blackest traitor in Marine Corps history. Though that really won’t matter much, since there will no longer be a Marine Corps. He suppressed a self-satisfied grin.
“I must commend you, Rafael, on your farsightedness.” Stark amazed himself sometimes how earnestly full of shit he could be. Samuels needed a little boost now, and Stark was going to tell him whatever he wanted to hear. “The Corps has served its purpose, but it is a dangerously independent organization. That was acceptable when it was a small frontier force, but it is too powerful now to operate without oversight.” He looked at Samuels, and his expression ached with sincerity…all false, of course. “The culture of the Marine Corps is too firmly embedded. It cannot change…we must start over.”