Stark was confident Samuels understood his comments. My God, he thought disdainfully, it must be easier in some ways to be such a stupid, simple creature. Rafael Samuels had been going nowhere in the upper levels of the Corps until Stark targeted him for recruitment. But the power and manipulation of Alliance Intelligence went to work, turning Samuels from a supernumerary general shunted off into a dead end posting into one of the primary commanders of the Corps…and ultimately commandant. It took a lot of effort…and two unnatural deaths of senior officers, but Stark had seen it done. Samuels had been a partial participant for much of the ride; Stark had provided friendship and support for quite some time before he made the actual recruitment pitch. It always pays to get them addicted first, and then make the sale, he thought. Gavin Stark was a gifted manipulator with considerable mastery of human psychology.
“You are right, of course, Gavin.” Samuels raised the glass to his lips, taking a sip. “And you are right about this Scotch as well.”
Stark leaned back in his chair, comfortable he had chased away whatever doubts had been nagging at Samuels. “So we are prepared to initiate the final phase of the plan. With your concurrence, I will authorize my operative on Arcadia to execute the first part of the program.” Stark looked Samuels right in the eye as he spoke. Arcadia was the part of the plan he expected to be toughest for Samuels, but the giant Marine didn’t object – he just nodded slowly, signaling his assent.
“Subsequent to the successful execution of step one, you will order direct Marine intervention against the rebellions as a response to events on Arcadia. This will likely cause a fracture in the Corps, with some formations following the orders and others disobeying. We will utilize the confusion to disband the Marine Corps entirely. Without equipment and support, the isolated units will be easy to mop up with our new Directorate troops…after they finish off the rebels.”
Samuels nodded again, but he was still troubled. First, he wasn’t sure how easy it would be to mop up any Marines, no matter how cut off and poorly equipped they were. Frankly, he’d be wary of a cornered squad throwing rocks; whatever you wanted to say about the Corps, its people knew how to fight. And these Marines were going to be pissed.
The finality of the actions they were setting into motion nagged at him. He’d always felt he’d been underappreciated in the Corps, and he hadn’t risen to the level he felt he deserved until his allies at Alliance Intelligence intervened. But to be the man who destroyed the Corps? It was one thing to agree to it, to plot and scheme for years, and quite another to actually do it. He had been bitter and resentful, and Stark had used that to recruit him, but now part of him wished he could escape the path he himself had helped create.
It was too late to go back, though. He’d done too much already, and it was only a matter of time until he was discovered…and that would be an ugly day, one he probably wouldn’t survive. No, he couldn’t go on much longer like this…the Corps had to go, and covering his own tracks became just one more reason. Resigned to the reality of the situation, he tried to put his doubts aside, and he resolved to see things through. Besides, he couldn’t even imagine what fate Stark would dream up for him if he backed out now.
“Rafael, I know this is difficult for you.” Dutton had been quiet up to now, but he decided it was the time for him to intervene. His voice was weak and throaty, but he forced out the words. Samuels was a traitor and a turncoat, but he wasn’t an automaton. Dutton knew Stark never understood regret, probably because he’d never felt it. But Dutton had, and he could see Samuels was struggling, and he needed a little support – or a little manipulation, depending on the viewpoint. “But it must be done, and there is solace in that very necessity.” He paused, then he touched on the thought he knew was on Samuel’s mind: “It is too late to alter the plan anyway, so let us make the best of it.”
Dutton glanced at Stark. They had been allies for years, and friends too. Stark was like a son to Dutton, and the old spy had done everything he could to help his protégé rise to power. He was worried now that Stark would overreach once he was gone. Dutton’s life had been ruled by caution, but Stark was more audacious, more likely to make a bold gamble if it served his purpose. He was a genius and a master psychologist, but he had a failing as well, never truly understanding some of the seemingly irrational points of view caused by conscience. He tended to expect more frigid practicality in people’s decisions than he was likely to get. It was a dangerous blind spot, likely to get him in trouble when Dutton was no longer there to run interference.
Samuels sat quietly, considering Dutton’s words. He knew his doubts were pointless; he was fully committed now anyway. Soon he could retire his hologram and openly join the Directorate. He would be wealthy beyond his wildest imagination and one of the most powerful people in the Alliance. He would command the new Directorate army, of course, and he would forge it in his own image. Perhaps I will pay for this devil’s bargain with my soul, he thought, but at least I got a good deal.
Samuels raised his glass. “To our success.” Stark returned the gesture, draining his glass with a smile. Dutton was not drinking, but he nodded and raised his arm in solidarity.
“Well, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have some work to do.” Samuels’ voice was calm - he was a bit more at peace with what he had to do…or at least he was resigned to it. “The end game begins.”
Stark nodded and rose from his seat. “I’ll walk you out, Rafael.” He moved around the desk, gesturing for Samuels to lead the way, and the two walked through the door into the now-deserted reception area.
Dutton rose to his feet, slowly, painfully. He paused to look out the window, truly absorbing the amazing view he had seen thousands of times but never fully appreciated…until now. It was a feeling, really, and nothing more that told him this was the last time he would see it.
He could hear Stark in the corridor, saying goodbye to Samuels. The two of them had devised the plan together, and Dutton was gratified that it appeared close to success. Now, standing here looking out over the city, he felt something…was it a twinge of remorse? The Corps had done their part for a century to safeguard the Alliance’s interest in space. Did they deserve better than this as a reward? Foolish thoughts, the kind of nonsensical sentimentality he had always despised in people. He tried to push them away, but he couldn’t…not completely. He’d had regrets before, but never about doing what he knew had to be done.
Ethics and morality were not concepts Dutton allowed to interfere with his actions. To him they were constructs, convenient tools useful for crowd control. Dutton had been driven all his long life by expediency, by practicality. His morality was whatever worked, whatever kept things together for another day. His roots were in a different time, when the survival of the Alliance, even of mankind, was still in doubt, the world in ashes from almost a century of war.
He thought he understood the colonists. Indeed, he had a better view into the mindset of those on the frontier than Stark ever could. They valued freedom, they craved self-determination. But they were small societies and, for the most part, wealthy ones, tapping the vast resources of virgin worlds. How would they fare a century from now? A millennium? Would they deal any better with the enormous social problems caused by population growth, poverty, pollution?
Mankind had come within a hair’s breadth of total extinction. Whatever one thought of the Alliance and the other Superpowers, they had pulled humanity back from the brink. They kept the world functioning, rebuilt shattered cities, pushed out into space. The vessels the brave explorers rode to the stars were built in shipyards…shipyards constructed by the Superpowers. If the colonists won their freedom, would they pull back from their own brink when it came?