Starhold (11 page)

“This would be a great spot for a picnic,” came the voice of Sanchez from behind him.

It took him a few beats to react, then he simply mumbled, “Yeah, it would” as he rose from his seat on the rock.

“You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s go see who’s at home.”

9: Hunger

Esterkeep

Planet Sarissa

He kissed her softly, with his lips and with his heart. She knew the evening would end like this, but…

The Prime Minister had arrived late as usual. Her schedule was perpetually in a state of ‘late,’ and the only way to catch up was to sleep less each night and start over the next morning. She was in serious need of a holiday, but that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

Renata Darracott stepped out of the limousine, walked up the steps and through the front entrance of Koenig Manor, accompanied by her State Security Bureau bodyguards. At her side as always was the leader of the detail, Security Supervisor Sam “Stormy” Weathers. A ten-year SSB veteran, Weathers excelled in his ability to be inconspicuous while always being within two or three meters of her. He was like a comfortable pair of shoes in that once you broke them in, you didn’t want to part with them. Just last week, the Ministry of Home Affairs had attempted to transfer him to another position, a move quickly vetoed by Darracott. The bureaucrats claimed it was standard procedure to rotate security personnel periodically. They said it prevented bodyguards from being emotionally attached to their subjects, thus losing their objectivity. Her response: “Bullshit” and that was the end of any transfer for Weathers.

Koenig Manor was the residence of Victor Polanco, but it was like her second home. She had certainly put in enough time here for it to be a second home. Until eight months ago, her visits were strictly business, going over the details of governing with the First Consul. As they became romantically involved, the once a week meetings grew to twice a week, sometimes more.

The mansion was built in the same era as most of the capital city. Named for the first governor of the Sarissa colony, Sarah Koenig, it was erected as the official home of the Union leader. For most of Sarissan history, it had been an elected leader, but after the People’s Rebellion twenty months ago, the self-ordained First Consul had taken up residence. It once occurred to Darracott that she should actually be the one living here, seeing that she was technically the head of the government. The Prime Minister’s office and residence was at Wohlford House, a comfortable albeit more modest structure some two kilometers down the street. Darracott knew she couldn’t complain—before the People’s Rebellion, she was an obscure politician from a backwater planet and today, nearly everyone in the Union knew her name. Wohlford House was fine.

As her party passed into the outer foyer, Stormy Weathers and his team vanished to wherever they occupied themselves during her visits to the Manor. She was greeted by the chief of Polanco’s security detachment, Colonel Katsuro Miyazato. Miyazato was a short, stout space force Marine who eternally wore a stone face. On occasion, the Prime Minister called him “Kat,” which no one else dared do. She asked him once in private if he minded the nickname and for the first and only time she saw him flash a wide grin. “I don’t mind, ma’am, as long as my Marines don’t start using it too.” She couldn’t imagine that happening, at least not to his face.

“Good evening, Colonel. How are you?”

“Fine, ma’am. The Admiral asked that you join him upstairs in the Ryouta Room,” replied the impassive colonel.

While the first floor housed offices and function rooms, the second level of Koenig Manor was the residential floor. Colonel Miyazato opened the door to the main sitting room and ushered her inside. By the time she turned to thank him, Miyazato had vanished, off to monitor his security staff.

Victor Polanco was seated on a sofa along with a large man in the uniform of a space force captain. It was Auric Banks, the admiral’s Chief of Staff, who stood upon seeing Darracott enter the room. He was six foot two and built like a house. At public functions, someone always mistook Banks as Polanco’s bodyguard because he just looked like one.

In the center of the room stood a hologram of the Chief of Space Operations, Leonardo Sanchez. Darracott guessed that he was back in his office at the Centroplex, where he seemed to be eternally holed up. She had obviously walked in on a meeting of some sort. Motioning Banks back onto the sofa, she waved to Polanco and the image of Sanchez. “Don’t mind me, I’m just passing through on my way to a cocktail,” she said.

A gray haired man appeared from a side door. Merritt, the chief butler, was a Koenig Manor institution. Even though the gentleman was only in his fifties, he seemed to have arrived with the original furnishings back when the Manor first opened its doors in 2490.

“Good evening, Prime Minister. I understand you’re searching for a cocktail.”

“Merritt, you are correct as always. I’ll have my usual.”

On the sofa, Polanco raised his hand and motioned for Merritt to honor him as well.

“Something for you, Captain? A soft drink or some tea perhaps?” Merritt asked, knowing that Banks did not partake.

“Nothing for me. I’ll be leaving shortly.”

Darracott sat down at the fringes of the room so the men could conclude their conference. She checked her mobile messages and eavesdropped on the last of the meeting.

“I think that about wraps it up,” said Polanco. “Remember, Leo, I expect you to be with us in Boutwell day after tomorrow.”

The shoulders of the hologram slumped. “Really, sir, with respect, I have a lot of work to do. Going out of town to attend a football match would take the entire day and—”

“And you haven’t had a day off in over a year. Consider it an order,” Polanco asserted. “Surely, Central Command can spare you for one day. It will be good for you and you’ll have fun. Remember fun, Leo?”

Sanchez conceded defeat. “Very well, sir. Actually, I grew up a Villanueva fan back on Quijano, not that anyone is giving us much of a chance.”

“You just picked the wrong year to make it to the finals,” chimed in Banks, a well-known Harlee Hammers supporter. “I don’t think your guys can keep up with us this year.”

Admiral Sanchez looked at the big man, putting on a semi-serious face. “Captain, you know better than to be overconfident before a battle, it’s not good military discipline. Who knows, maybe Villanueva will find a striker on their way to Boutwell.”

Polanco glanced at Darracott fidgeting in the corner and tried to wrap things up. “One last thing, Leo, I take it there’s still no word from Task Force Nineteen?”

“None yet, sir. They should be entering the Sol system in about seventy-two standard hours. Even then, it will take three weeks to receive the first reports.”

Banks was gathering his things in order to depart. “And any word from our, um, associates?” he asked Sanchez.

“My contacts tell me things are on schedule. We have no reason to doubt that.”

“Thank you, Leo, we’ll see you day after tomorrow,” Polanco said as he ended the meeting.

Banks said his goodbyes and the First Consul beckoned Darracott to sit with him on the sofa. As she approached, Polanco stood and hugged her. “Rennie, so sorry, that went on too long,” he apologized, then gave her an extended kiss, letting his right hand slide down her back and then some.

“It was worth the wait,” she cooed between kisses. Polanco brushed his hand across her short hair and nibbled at her ear, but all too soon, they heard a throat clearing behind them. Merritt had arrived with the cocktails.

“A bottle of soju for you, sir,” Merritt said as he handed the green bottle to his master, “and your usual, ma’am—one martini with three olives.”

“Merritt, you are a savior.”

“Thank you, ma’am. Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes.”

The butler retreated as they sat down on the sofa to enjoy their drinks. “I’m with Leo—I don’t want to go to the game either,” Darracott remarked, hurriedly going for a second sip.

“Well,” Polanco spoke as he put his arm around her, “I can order Leo to attend, but I can’t make you go.”

“We both know that’s not true. Don’t worry, I’m going, I’m just not enthusiastic about it. No politician in her right mind would turn down a chance to participate in the opening ceremonies of the Pan-Union Cup Final. What, about thirty million ONElink viewers will be watching? Of course, security’s going to have a fit. Stormy’s already whining.”

“Hah! Security,” Polanco grumbled. “If he had his way, Katsuro would lock me in a vault and throw away the combination.”

Darracott turned to Polanco and kissed him on the cheek. “Why don’t you try being nicer to him. Call him Kat—he secretly loves it.”

“Are you insane? You might be able to get away with it, but if I were to call the Colonel ‘Kat,’ I’m afraid you’d need a new First Consul.”

Darracott laughed, almost spilling her martini. They snuggled for a while waiting on dinner. It was the first time she had felt this relaxed since, well, the last time she spent an evening at Koenig Manor.

The chime signaled dinner was ready and they walked next door to an intimate dining room. Chef had outdone herself tonight: pot-roasted gallifowl, carrots, and potatoes with a fresh zavaleaf salad. The premise of these evenings was that the Prime Minister and First Consul were having working dinners, so after some small-talk and a glass of wine, Darracott felt compelled to throw a little work into the meal.

“The questions regarding Earth, the attack on Uritski, the anti-government protests on Arethusa: really, Victor, I feel like we’re just being helplessly pulled along. It seems like the government needs to DO something, to take charge of these things rather than just react.”

“We are doing something about Earth, and the Arethusan protests are minor. They’ll burn themselves out in a few days, a week at the most.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“I’ve spoken with the leaders of the media cartel and they’ve agreed to soft-peddle the protests and brand their leaders as extremists.” Last year, in the first hours after the People’s Rebellion, Admiral Polanco struck a deal with the major corporate media groups. They would paint the Directorate’s picture of current events in return for government cooperation in certain areas. “I’ve also discussed the matter with Governor Layne, and if the protests don’t stop, we have a plan of action.”

“You’ll have to share that plan with your Prime Minister sometime,” she said acerbically. “My people on Arethusa tell me the protesters are well organized. This could go on for a while. Their leaders should be arrested.”

“By ‘your people,’ are you speaking of the SSB?”

Darracott swallowed some more wine. “Yes, and I have some other sources as well. I’ve built up my own personal network over the last twenty months, mostly to keep me up to speed on the political situation of each world.”
Just as well we go here now. He needs to know sooner, rather than later.

Polanco smiled. “And what do ‘your people’ tell you? Anything I should be aware of?”

“Are you patronizing me?” she snapped, sipping again from her glass.

“Before you need a refill, no, I’m not patronizing you. Look, I see that something’s on your mind, so let’s talk. What is it?”

She almost shot back that he didn’t need to keep track of how much wine she was drinking, but then realized that maybe she should slow down. She also saw the expression on his face, which said that he was serious.

“Victor,” she began, switching to water with a tiny mock toast for emphasis, “in the long run, I don’t think the Directorate can survive.”

Polanco took his final bite and reached for his own wine glass. “By the Directorate, you mean my rule.”

“Yes, that’s what I mean.”

“Well, aside from a few disruptions like these sporadic protests on Arethusa, people seem to have taken it in stride,” he said, pushing his plate away.

“True. I have to admit, I was surprised at how little resistance there was when the military seized power. And certainly, that’s because you did an excellent job with things,” she agreed, choosing her words carefully.

“WE—we did a good job. Seriously, Rennie, you’ve been invaluable. You have great political instincts.”

“Then listen to my instincts when I tell you that just below the surface, there’s trouble. Unemployment is inching up again. There’s a lot of discussion on the nets about the Arethusan protests and having elections. Our opponents are becoming bolder.”

As Merritt cleared away the dishes, Polanco suggested they take dessert in the Ryouta Room. They arrived back on the sofa there, enjoying their pinecherry pie and talking politics.

“So if there’s trouble brewing,” asked Polanco, “what do you advise?”

“I think we should bring back the Presidency and have an election.”

Polanco took another bite of his pie and chewed on it. Before he could respond, Darracott continued. “Hear me out on this. Right now, you’re the most popular political figure in the Union. Today you’re popular enough to win an election for Union President, but you may not be as well thought of in another year or two. We should call an election, for say two months from now. The opposition won’t have time to organize effectively and all we have to do is get you elected once. Do you remember how incumbents invariably won re-election under the old system? If you’re elected once, it will legitimize your power and you can win re-election until you decide to retire.”

The Admiral-in-Chief did not look convinced. “It’s the fleet that legitimizes my power. Besides, if we bring back the old system, we’ll be right back to where we were before the Rebellion with bickering political parties and gridlock.”

“I didn’t say bring back the Assembly, just the Presidency. The President would be the leader of an appointed Directorate. In effect, you’d be an elected dictator.”

“But then, I’d have to resign my commission as Admiral.”

“It doesn’t matter. The President would command the military and besides, all the space force flag officers are your people anyway. They’ll support you even without rank insignia on your shoulders. Make Channa Maxon the new Admiral-in-Chief, or Leo Sanchez.”

“What if I lose? Do you propose fixing the elections?”

Darracott shook her head. “No, that’s the beauty of it, we won’t need to. There’s no way anyone could beat you inside a two-month timeframe. Also, the second most popular person in the Union will be endorsing you and campaigning by your side.”