"What the hell's wrong with me?" I demanded.
"Just take it easy, young fellow." He had a white coat, thick glasses, and a brown beard with white hairs in it.
"Who the hell are you?"
"That's Dr. Cechi," Kathryn told me.
"Well, why won't he tell me what's wrong with me?"
"He doesn't want to worry you."
"Worry me? Do you think not knowing gives peace of mind? Tell me."
"All right," Cechi said. "Nothing permanent. Understand that first. Nothing permanent, although it's going to take a while to fix you up. We almost lost you a couple of times, you know. Multiple perforations of the gut, two broken vertebrae, compound fracture of the left femur, and assorted scrapes, punctures, bruises, abrasions, and contusions. Not to mention almost complete exsanguination when they brought you in. It's nothing we can't fix, but you're going to be here a while, Captain." He was holding my arm, and I felt pressure there, a hypo-spray. "You just go to sleep and we'll tell you the rest tomorrow."
"But-" Whatever I was going to say never got out. I sank back, but it wasn't into the well. It was just sleep, and I could tell the difference.
The next time I awoke, Falkenberg was there. He grinned at me.
I grinned back. "Hi, Captain."
"Major. You're the captain."
"Uh? Run that past-"
"Just brevet promotions, but Harrington thinks they'll stick."
"We must have won."
"Oh, yeah." He sat where I could see him. His eyes looked pale blue in that light. "Lieutenant Ardwain took the Rockpile, but he said it was all your doing."
"Lieutenant Ardwain. Lot of promotions out of this," I said.
"Some. The Association no longer exists as an organized military force. Your girl's friends are in control. Wan Loo is the acting president, or supervisor, or whatever they call him. Governor Swale's not too happy about it, but officially he has to be. He didn't like endorsing Harrington's report, either, but he had no choice."
"But he's a lousy traitor. Why's he still governor?"
"Act your age, Captain." There wasn't any humor in Falkenberg's voice now. "We have no proof. I know the story, if you'd like to hear it. In fact, you'd better. You're popular enough with the Fleet, but there'll be elements of the Grand Senate that'll hate your guts."
"Tell me."
"Swale has always been part of the Bronson faction," Falkenberg said. "The Bronson family is big in Dover Mineral Development Inc. Seems there's more to this place than either American Express or Kennicott ever knew. Dover found out and tried to buy mineral rights. The holy Joes wouldn't sell-especially the farmers like Wan Loo and Seeton. They don't want industrial development here, and it was obvious to Swale that they wouldn't sell any mining rights to Dover. Swale's policy has been to help groups like the Association in return for their signatures on mining rights contracts. If enough of those outfits are recognized as legitimate local governments, there won't be any trouble over the contracts. You can probably figure out the rest."
"Maybe it's my head," I told him, "but I can't. What the devil did he let us into the valley for, then? Why did he go down there at all?"
"Just because they signed over some mining rights didn't make them his slaves. They were trying to jack up the grain prices. If the Harmony merchants complained loud enough, Swale wouldn't be governor here, and what use would he be to Dover then? He had to put some pressure on them-enough to make them sell, not so much that they'd be thrown out."
"Only we threw them out," I said.
"Only we threw them out. This time. Don't imagine that it's over."
"It has to be over," I said. "He couldn't pull that again."
"Probably he won't. Bronson hasn't much use for failures. I expect Governor Swale will shortly be on his way to a post as First Secretary on a mining asteroid. There'll be another governor, and if he's not a Bronson client, he'll be someone else's. I'm not supposed to depress you. You've got a decision to make. I've been assigned to a regular Line Regiment as adjutant. The 42nd. It's on Kennicott. Tough duty. Probably a lot of fighting, good opportunities, regular troops. I've got room on the staff. Want to come along? They tell me you'll be fit to move by the time the next ship gets here."
"I'll think about it."
"Do that. You've got a good career ahead of you. Now you're the youngest captain in the Fleet. Couldn't swing the Military Star, but you'll get another medal."
"I'll think about it. I have to talk with Kathryn-"
He shrugged. "Certainly, Captain." He grinned and went out.
Captain. Captains may marry, Majors should marry, Colonels must marry-
But that was soldier talk, and I wasn't sure I was a soldier. Strange, I thought. Everyone says I am. I've done well, and I have a great career, and it all seems like a fit of madness. Corporal Brady won't be playing his trumpet any longer because of me. Dangier, wounded but alive, until he volunteered to be an artillery spotter. And all the others, Levine and Lieberman and recruit-no, Private-Dietz, and the rest, dead and blended together in my memory until I can't remember where they died or what for, only that I killed them.
But we won. It was a glorious victory. That was enough for Falkenberg. He had done his job and done it well. Was it enough for me? Would it be in the future?
When I was up and around, I couldn't avoid meeting Governor Swale. Irina was nursing Louis Bonneyman. Louis was worse off than I was. Sometimes they can grow you a new leg, but it takes time, and it's painful. Irina saw him every day, and when I could leave the hospital she insisted that I come to the palace. It was inevitable that I would meet the Governor.
"I hope you're proud of yourself," Swale said. "Everyone else is."
"Hugo, that's not fair," Irina protested.
"Not fair?" Swale said. "How isn't it fair?"
"I did the job I was paid to do, sir," I said.
"Yes. You did, indeed-and thereby made it impossible for me to do mine. Sit down, Captain Slater. Your Major Falkenberg has told you plenty of stories about me. Now let me tell you my side of it."
"There's no need, Governor," I said.
"No, there isn't. Are you afraid to find out just what you've done?"
"No. I've helped throw out a gang of convicts who pretended to be a government. And I'm proud enough of that."
"Are you? Have you been to the Allan Valley lately, Captain? Of course you haven't. And I doubt Kathryn Malcolm has told you what's happening there-how Wan Loo and Harry Seeton and a religious fanatic named Brother Dornan have established commissions of deacons to inquire into the morals and loyalties of everyone in the valley; how anyone they find deficient is turned off the land to make room for their own people. No, I don't suppose she told you any of that."
"I don't believe you."
"Don't you? Ask Miss Malcolm. Or would you believe Irina? She knows it's true."
I looked to Irina. The pain in her eyes was enough. She didn't have to speak.
"I was governor of the whole planet, Slater. Not just Harmony, not just the Jordan and Allan valleys, but all of the planet. Only they gave me responsibilities and no authority, and no means to govern. What am I supposed to do with the convicts, Slater? They ship them here by the thousands, but they give me nothing to feed them with. You've seen them. How are they supposed to live?"
"They can work-"
"At what? As farmhands on ranches of five hundred hectares? The best land on the planet, doled out as huge ranches with half the land not worked because there's no fertilizer, no irrigation, not even decent drainage systems. They sure as hell can't work in our nonexistent industries. Don't you see that Arrarat must industrialize? It doesn't matter what Allan Valley farmers want, or what the other holy Joes want. It's industrialize or face famine, and, by God, there'll be no famines while I can do something about them."