“Regardless of the cost?” the leather-faced woman asked.
Enya shook her head slowly. “No. But at least we can find out the price before we pay in blood, perhaps needlessly.”
“And you think these Marines may help us?” Ian Mallory, a direct descendent of the original Mallory, said. He held his position solely through due democratic process in his ward and through his own abilities, not by his name. Longest surviving member on the Committee, he served as its leader.
“All of you heard earlier what Milan told us of Wittmann’s horror at what happened to the mountain today, at what the Marines did to it,” she said. Milan was the Mayor’s servant and a Mallory spy. “Whoever these Marines are, whatever they came to Erlang for, it was not to be solely for Belisle’s pleasure. Will they help us? I do not know. But I am willing to wager my life that it is worth the risk to find out. And if my way does not succeed, no other alternatives are closed away from you.”
Ian Mallory nodded, his gray beard slowly bobbing against his barrel chest. He was a strong man, and proud, but held out little hope for a successful armed rebellion of his people against Belisle’s Territorial Army. It had been tried before, and failed. As then, many Mallorys would be slaughtered, and Erlang would still remain under Ranier control. More than that, his people would be driven inextricably from their roots, from their heritage of honest work for an honest wage, the helping hand of a neighbor, a government that said “yes” to its people, not “no.” He hoped beyond hope for a settlement that would restore his people to their rightful place in an environment of forgiveness and of looking to the future, where perhaps Raniers and Mallorys could someday simply call themselves Erlangers. But it was a difficult road. The past held so much bad blood, but his heart grew weary from the burden of hate that it bore. His wizened eyes sought out the gaze of his friends, his people.
“The time has come for talk to end,” he said. “Does anyone have anything else to say on this matter, over what has already been spoken?”
No one did. Unlike many committees convened over the ages, the Mallorys did not have the luxury of talking and not acting. Every meeting ended in a vote and action.
“Then it is time to have a show of hands. All in favor of letting Enya speak to the Marines on our behalf, raise your hand.” Roughly two-thirds of those present, some after a moment’s hesitation, raised their hand above their head. “All those against?” The remainder raised their hands. There were no abstentions in a Mallory Committee vote. The right was too precious to waste.
“And what if she fails?”
Ian frowned. It was an unpalatable prospect, but an all-too realistic one. “If that happens, we’ll have no choice but to destroy the mines and fight the Raniers and the Marines face to face.” And die, he thought grimly.
Twenty-Nine
“Captain,” Zevon said from the dim red glow of the command post, “a personal message just came in for you from Tenth Fleet. I thought you might want to see it.”
“Thank you, Alfonso,” Reza said, instantly awakening from a restless sleep. He was not tired, particularly, except that dealing with the unfathomable intricacies of human politics drained him terribly. He would never become accustomed to a dark art that was unutterably alien to him and the ways of his people. His other people, he chided himself.
Reza took the proffered electronic notepad from Zevon, who immediately turned away and left him in privacy, closing the curtain of thick canvas between Reza’s personal area and the company HQ.
Keying in his personal code, Reza was rewarded with Tenth Fleet’s emblem and a video message. It was from Jodi.
“Hi, Reza,” she said warmly, her face as beautiful as ever. It had been over three years now since he had last seen her or Nicole in the flesh. “I know I only wrote you last week, and you probably get sick of me sending these things all the time.” Reza smiled. While the two of them had religiously exchanged letters every two weeks for years, only half of them ever got through. Looking at the date, he saw that this message had been posted three months ago. Electronic miracles, indeed, he thought sourly. “But I had some news for you, and I’m afraid it isn’t good.” Reza could see a veil of sadness fall over her face. “Father Hernandez died two days ago in Rome, here on Earth. I guess he was on another one of his trips between Rutan and the Vatican to tie things up with the Church again when his heart finally gave out. From what Monsignor Ryakin said – he called me this morning – Father Hernandez died in his sleep.” She paused as she brushed away a tear. “I know you won’t be able to come to the funeral or anything – it’ll probably be long since over by the time you even get this – so I ordered some flowers for the ceremony in your name. I hope that’s okay with you.”
Of course it is, my friend, he thought sadly. He had liked Father Hernandez a great deal, and often thought how good it would have been to spend more time with him. But that was not part of Reza’s Way. He only hoped that Hernandez had found whatever it was in life that he had been searching for, and that his God would look after his soul as Reza wished the Empress might, but could not, after he himself died.
“Well, now that I’ve got you depressed, I can at least say that there’s some good news. Tony and Nicole are doing great. Big surprise, huh? Nicole’s in charge of one of the training squadrons at the Red Flag range now (I’m her exec), and it seems that Tony’s been making quite a splash as a member of the Council. Seems like he hasn’t forgotten to be a Marine, anyway, the way he gives some of those candy-ass senators a good tongue-lashing.
“Anyway,” Jodi went on, her recorded image taking on a smile that was radiant despite her evident sadness at the changes time had brought, “all three of us will be going to Father’s funeral, along with some of the others in your old welcoming committee. Even that stupid Rabat bitch loosened up enough to say she was going. Probably some kind of publicity stunt, I suppose.
“So, I guess that’s it for now.” Her piercing blue eyes turned serious. “Please, Reza, take good care of yourself. Tony says he’s going to write you soon, too. And Nicole… well, Nicole seems to know when to write, so she’ll do it when it’s time. Tell Eustus I said hello, and Nicole promises to send him some more chocolate from Paris next month. I miss you, Reza. All my love to you.” She blew a kiss at him. “Bye until next time.”
The transmission ended.
Reza sat in the dark, alone with his thoughts. He wondered what would happen to him when all his friends were gone. Because he was so different from the others of his chosen kind, it was very difficult to make even friendly acquaintances, let alone meet someone with whom he could share a deeper relationship. Most of those in his graduating class at Quantico toward whom he had felt any kinship had either died or received medical discharges. Those to whom he was closest – except for Nicole and Jodi – were here with him, and had miraculously survived the perils they had faced over the years. But that could not last forever; they were stunning aberrations beside the Red Legion’s massive casualty statistics.
A sudden surge in the activity beyond the canvas drew him away from his melancholy reverie.
“Captain,” Hawthorne, his executive officer said, pulling the makeshift door aside with one tree-trunk sized arm. “Sir, you’d better come check this out. We’ve got a visitor at the perimeter.”