That was bad enough, but now Yazov seemed to have convinced his titular CO to join him, and their joint public endorsement of McQueen’s version of what was happening was even worse. If even StateSec officers claimed to believe that Saint-Just was truly the traitor and that McQueen represented the legitimate Committee and its interests, then the steady, ultimately fatal erosion of his position would become inevitable.
They’re driving me to it, he thought almost calmly. They’re not going to leave me any choice. And if I do it…
He closed his eyes for a moment and made himself face the implications of the decision rumbling down upon him with the inexorable power of Juggernaut. It represented what was probably his only hope of crushing McQueen before the balance of power slid too far in her favor. He dared not wait while even more of the regular armed forces stationed here in Nouveau Paris went over to her, and especially not if more of his own StateSec personnel began to follow Yazov’s example.
This thing had to be settled now, before it got completely out of control. In a worst-case scenario, the fighting could drag on for days or weeks, and every hour would increase the odds that still more of the Navy and Marines would throw their allegiance to the Octagon. Even if they didn’t go over to McQueen, other officers might began to get ideas of their own. An ambitious man might very well see an opportunity to carve out a power base of his own while Saint-Just and McQueen were locked in a death grapple which would prevent either of them from dealing with him. And even if that didn’t happen immediately, and even if Saint-Just managed ultimately to suppress McQueen’s rebellion, the damage would still have been done as far as any hope for his own legitimacy was concerned. The longer this dragged out, the more people would be tempted to believe her version of what had happened. Some of that was going to happen whatever he did, but at least a rapid and ruthless resolution might help to minimize the damage.
And what happens when everyone realizes just how far you’re prepared to go, Oscar? Will it frighten them into behaving themselves? Or will they wonder just how much they really have to lose with you in charge?
Oscar Saint-Just stared into the pitiless unknown of the future, and if a man with so much blood already on his hands had dared to believe in God, he would have prayed to be spared what he saw there.
“I may be overly optimistic, Ma’am,” Ivan Bukato said, “but I believe we may just have turned the corner.”
He and McQueen stood side-by-side, gazing into an immense viewscreen that showed a panoramic view of the smoke and wreckage strewn about the Octagon’s approaches. Morning had given way to afternoon. Now afternoon was slowly yielding to a red-tinged and bloody evening lit by the pyres of two more waves of assault shuttles and strike aircraft. They had been blown apart by the defense grid just as efficiently as their predecessors, and General Conflans had cut his way through the confusion to the Octagon with the equivalent of almost a complete Marine regiment.
“I think the timing of Maitland’s announcement may have been decisive,” the admiral went on. He waved one hand at the main plot, where the spaceport now showed a solid, friendly green, then jabbed a finger at another block of green. This one indicated one of the neighboring administrative towers, and it had been the blood red of State Security less than five minutes before. “When an entire SS intervention HQ decides to ‘support the legitimate members of the Committee’ against its own commander, it actually begins to look like we’ll pull this off after all.”
“I’d hesitate to start making any long-term retirement plans just yet,” McQueen said with a wry smile, “but it does look as if the momentum is slipping over to our side. Maybe I should go have another discussion with Fontein.”
“All joking aside, Ma’am, that might not be a bad idea,” Bukato said seriously. “Like you, I expected him to cave in sooner than this, but now that rank and file StateSec people are coming over to us, maybe you could convince him that endorsing your position is the best way to minimize the ultimate bloodshed.”
“You may have a point,” McQueen conceded. “Erasmus and I are never going to feel all warm and fuzzy about each other, but I believe the man is genuinely committed to stability and the minimization of wholesale destruction. And I think he’s hardheaded enough to recognize the inevitable when it looks him right in the eye.”
“I’m afraid I’m a bit more cynical about his ultimate motivations, Ma’am. But it’s beginning to look to me like the tide is coming in, and whatever his commitments may be, I don’t think he wants to drown.”
“You could be right to be cynical. And the bottom line is that it doesn’t matter whether he signs on with us out of principle or out of self-preservation, now does it?”
“No, Ma’am, it doesn’t. Not in the short term, at least.”
“In that case, I think I will go have another little chat with him. Mind the store for me, Ivan.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
* * *
“Get me Citizen General Speer on a maximum security line,” Saint-Just said. His voice was almost as emotionless as it had been at the very beginning, but only almost, and one or two of the taut-faced, anxious officers staffing his HQ glanced at one another.
“Yes, Sir,” his com officer said quickly. “Where would you like to take it?”
“At my desk,” the citizen secretary replied, and his chief of staff quickly gathered up the other officers with his eyes and shooed them all down to the far end of the room.
Saint-Just hardly noticed. He sat square-shouldered behind his desk, and waited while the communications system connected him to the woman who commanded every State Security trooper in the city of Nouveau Paris. It didn’t take very long, but the small handful of seconds seemed endless and yet all too fleeting. Then his com’s display blinked alive with Rachel Speer’s strong-boned face.
The pickup at Speer’s end was adjusted for wide focus. He could see the hustle and bustle of her own staff in the background, and even now, one corner of his mouth tried to quirk into a smile. There was no chance at all that she’d simply forgotten to narrow the field of view. She wanted him to see all of that energetic effort… and to remember it when the time came to assign blame for this unpleasant afternoon.
“Citizen Secretary,” she greeted him. “I’d like to say it was a pleasure to see you, Sir. Under the circumstances, however, I doubt that you’d believe me if I did say it.”
“As ever, Rachel, you remain a mistress of understatement.” Saint-Just’s voice was poison dry, and Speer’s face went instantly blank. There were several different ways his reply could have been taken, and it was obvious that she didn’t much care for most of them.
Saint-Just let her worry about it for a moment, but he didn’t really have time for such minor matters, and he cleared his throat. The small, harsh sound wasn’t loud, but Speer’s eyes narrowed as she heard it.
“The reason I’m screening you,” the citizen secretary said flatly, “is that I’ve decided that we cannot permit this situation to drag out any further. Citizen Colonel Yazov and Citizen General Maitland’s defections were bad enough, but now Citizen Brigadier Azhari has gone over to McQueen, as well… and he appears to have taken his entire HQ with him.”