I flash battle schematics to the president’s datascreen, carefully omitting any information that Gifre Zeloc is not authorized to know. He draws an abrupt hissing breath as the general pattern becomes clear to him.
“The Concordiat has been unable to take advantage of the emptied worlds, for the same reasons Melcon has not. The fighting through this region,” I shift the color of affected star systems, to clarify my explanation, “has forced Sector Command to commit most of its military assets to the defense of human space. This leaves a substantial buffer of seventeen newly uninhabited star systems between Jefferson and the nearest Deng- or Melconian-held worlds. Given its position relative to current battle fronts and its location within the Void and the vacant star systems beyond, Jefferson is now, in effect, the most isolated human system anywhere in this sector of space.”
Gifre Zeloc leans back in his chair, staring at the schematics I have transmitted to him for long moments, so long, I begin to wonder if he intends to speak again or if I should simply terminate the transmission. At length, a slow and mystifying smile appears. “Very instructive,” he murmurs. “Yes, very instructive, indeed.”
The smile broadens, indicating a state of mind I find peculiar. Admittedly, I have not known many planetary heads of state, but I know from many sources that command responsibility is a heavy burden. Heavy enough that it prematurely ages office holders, even in times of peace and economic stability. During war or the threat of war — or some other cataclysmic shift that damages a society — the burden can become intolerable. It killed Abraham Lendan, a man who commanded Simon’s deep loyalty, the love of Kafari Khrustinova — one of the most creative warrior minds it has been my pleasure to know — and the respect of an entire world.
It therefore confuses my logic processors that President Zeloc should be so pleased by my VSR. I would have expected a more serious response from the planetary ruler of a system as isolated as Jefferson now is, with outside assistance and resupply unlikely, should any of a number of social, economic, or military disasters befall this world. President Lendan was, by every measure I am capable of using to judge performance and character, a far more capable leader than Gifre Zeloc.
I know serious misgivings as the man who will be directing my defensive efforts leans back in his chair and says, “That’s fine, Bolo, very fine, indeed. I believe I am going to enjoy having you work for me.”
I consider pointing out that Gifre Zeloc works for the Concordiat, serving as their proxy in the defense of a highly isolated corner of human space, and that he therefore works for me, as I am the instrument of the Concordiat’s intentions regarding the defense of this world, but am unsure how to explain this subtle difference. I am still struggling with possible wording when Gifre Zeloc, tapping restless fingertips against the gleaming wood of his desk, issues another complex question.
“Just what is the extent of your on-world monitoring of shifting conditions affecting the stability of this government?”
“Please clarify. I require specific parameters to properly answer your question.”
He considers for a moment, then asks, “What specific data on Jefferson’s internal political and economic activities did you collect for Colonel Khrustinov before I instructed him to shut you down?”
This is the simplest and most direct question he has yet posed. “It will take approximately nine point nine-two hours to present this information to you at a delivery speed suited for the average human’s assimiliation.”
Gifre Zeloc’s eyes widen momentarily, then he smiles again and says, “I’m all ears, Bolo. And I suspect there is literally nothing on my plate that is more important than hearing what you’re about to say.” He picks up a cup from the corner of his desk and sips. “Go ahead, Bolo. I’m listening.”
I begin to speak. As I explain my data collection methods and summarize the data I have collected on Simon’s orders — during which there are significant lapses in my active standby status, creating substantial gaps in my information — Gifre Zeloc’s smile turns to shock, followed by slow, smouldering anger. This is finally superceded by an abrupt, deeply startled grin that appears to indicate delight.
That response sends a vague disquietude skittering through the complex heuristics governing my logic processors and personality gestalt stabilization-analysis circuitry. Simon did not trust the political party which Gifre Zeloc represents. The POPPA coalition’s philosophies and actions are based on an alarmingly high percentage of falsified data. The coalition’s finances and off-world dealings are puzzling. POPPA advocates methods of social engineering proven ineffective on many human worlds, including Terra.
As I am operating with woefully incomplete data, it is imperative that I bring myself up to date, scanning societal trends, economic conditions, and changes in legislative and constitutional law. Perhaps POPPA has discovered a way to translate its ideals of societal and economic parity and universal access to resources into a system that functions more effectively than its ideological predecessors?
I face a massive, multipartite chore, obtaining an accurate VSR that I must then analyze and incorporate into my threat-assessment evaluations and defensive contingency plans. Since I am now essentially locked into active standby mode, with a low likelihood of reversion to inactive status, I will at least have the time this task will require. Provided, of course, that a now-remote enemy does not show renewed interest in this pocket of the Silurian Void.
My list of questions grows by the second, as many of the items that puzzle me spark even more questions, creating a rapid data cascade of pending problems for which I must find answers. I am unsure that answers even exist for some of those questions. I harbor a nagging fear that I possess entirely too limited an understanding of the intricacies of human thought and societal dynamics to understand those answers, in the unlikely event that I actually find them.
I am not comforted by Gifre Zeloc’s next comment, delivered long before I have finished reciting my data analysis efforts. He favors me with an expression that I define as smug satisfaction. “You’re very thorough, Bolo. Yes, indeed, you’re doing a very commendable job. Keep up the good work.” He taps neatly manicured fingertips against the padded armrest of his chair, narrows his eyes slightly as he ponders the things I have said — or perhaps the possible actions he wishes to take, based on my VSR.
He reaches a decision, setting his cup aside as he leans forward and scrawls a few brief notes onto his desktop datagel interface, a micro-thin jotting system integral to the surface of the desk, that translates his handwriting into coded notes. A privacy shield pops up from the desktop, blocking any view of the writing surface, including the video component of his communications datascreen. Not even the room’s security cameras are in a position to see the surface of that datagel.