Any successful politico had to be a fusion of all three at some level, he suspected, and especially the ego-polishing bit. A shy and retiring wallflower was unlikely to embrace the bare-knuckled scrum of politics, after all. Unfortunately, the vast majority of Solarian politicians tended towards the model of the Mandarins and fell into the first of his categories. There was some of that in Barregos, too; Robin knew that. Yet if wealth and privilege were what he truly desired, he could have acquired both in prodigious quantities during his time here in Maya, and he hadn’t. So, yes, he almost certainly was “up to something,” and Robin privately expected tonight’s news conference to be…illuminating, to say the least. But the bottom line was that at the end of the day, he trusted Oravil Barregos.
And because he did, he wasn’t about to help anyone in Old Chicago crap on him, whatever it was he had in mind.
He lifted his glass in silent toast to the sector governor and smiled as he remembered something one of his own mentors had said to him long, long ago.
“The real trick to slanting a story,” she’d told him, “is less the way you record it than what you choose to record—or not—in the first place.” She’d smiled over her beer mug and reached for another pretzel. “Leave out the right things, and you can make Buddha or Jesus sound like Attila the Hun without ever misquoting him once!”
So, maybe I’m making Attila sound like Buddha by following the same policy, he thought now. I suppose it’s possible. But I’ll take my chances with Barregos. A man has to do something worthwhile in his career!
* * *
“Good evening,” David Willoughby, Governor Barregos’s chief information officer and public spokesman, said briskly. “Thank you for joining us tonight.”
The news conference—which was going to be rather less of a “conference” than anyone outside the administration suspected—was being recorded for later broadcast throughout the entire star system, and he knew the various talking heads were waiting in their studios to interpret whatever he was about to say. For that matter, most of them were probably quietly—or not so quietly—fuming over the fact that they’d been given no pre-broadcast transcript. That was sufficiently unusual that it should have given all of them a clue something out of the ordinary was afoot, Willoughby reflected. And given the current galactic situation, “out of the ordinary” meant rather more than it did in more normal times.
Despite that, there were only three newsies actually in the studio, trying to stay out of the way of the technical crew as Willoughby faced the smart wall configured into dozens of individual windows, most occupied by someone attending electronically. The vast majority of reporters had stopped physically attending news conferences even before humankind left the Sol System for the stars, and tonight even two or three of the windows were blank, un-tenanted. Willoughby noted who those windows were assigned to and hid a smile as he contemplated them. This was one scoop they were going to be sorry they’d missed.
“I’ll get straight to the point,” he told his audience—physical and virtual alike. “As all of us know, the galaxy at large has been in what we might charitably call ‘disarray’ of late. Here in our isolated corner, we’ve seen very little of it, despite our proximity to both the Republic of Haven and, courtesy of the Hennessey and Terra Haute termini, the Star Empire of Manticore, as well. Our relative quiet has been a vast blessing, and our local affairs—and economy—are in excellent shape, despite the problems the Federal Government is facing. Maintaining that quiet, however, has recently become…significantly more difficult, shall we say. In fact, it’s become much more difficult than the man or woman-in-the-street has realized.”
Willoughby’s expression was composed but somber, and Christopher Robin frowned as he leaned forward in his chair, fingers flickering across his virtual keyboard to jot notes and bookmark video clips. He knew Willoughby well. They’d had a quiet dinner and drinks less than two weeks ago at MacAlton’s, one of the capital’s better restaurants and brewery bars. The other man hadn’t even hinted at any significant stories at the time, and he wondered if David had even realized one was coming. With some politicians’ spokespeople, that might have suggested a put-up job, a fabricated news item, to Robin, but that wasn’t Barregos’s style. Besides, Robin didn’t think that was David’s official somber face, the one he donned when the situation went to what the two of them jokingly called Shitcon One. Nor was it the one he used for Shitcon Two or even Shitcon Three. Those were all canned expressions, ready to be trotted out when needed. This looked…genuine. His voice might be calm, his tone even, but there was a tension in its depths and something that might have been excitement flickered in the backs of his eyes.
“The sector government became aware of some of the threats to the sector’s security some time ago, even before the regrettable incident at New Tuscany precipitated the present tension between the League and Manticore and its ‘Grand Alliance’ with Grayson and the Republic of Haven. Certain steps were put into motion at that time to protect against those potential threats to our citizens’ lives and property. Very recently, however, Governor Barregos, Lieutenant Governor Brosnan, Admiral Roszak, Brigadier Allfrey, and Director of Sector Intelligence Wise have become aware of a new, more insidious, and potentially far more dangerous threat to the entire Maya Sector and even our neighboring sovereign star systems.”
Robin’s eyes narrowed, and he glanced at Lochen. She was tipped back in her chair, keyboard deployed across her lap in her favorite relaxed note-taking posture, but there was nothing relaxed about her eyes, and he gave a mental nod of approval. His protégée’s instincts had obviously picked up on Willoughby’s body language.
“It’s time all of our citizens were made aware of that threat,” the press spokesman said. “And to do that—”
He took a half-step back from the podium in front of the cameras, and waved one hand in a gesture which combined respect and introduction.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “the Honorable Oravil Barregos, Governor of the Maya Sector.”
Laura Lochen’s chair came upright and she swallowed a muffled oath. None of the handouts had even hinted Barregos would be present in person. It wasn’t totally unprecedented for him to meet the press in an unscripted environment, but during all his time in the Maya governorship, he’d held less than two dozen mass news conferences, and his individual one-on-one interviews were always booked well in advance. Why was he—?
“Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen,” Barregos said briskly. “I realize my presence was unexpected, but I think you’ll soon understand the reason for it. As David’s already informed you, tonight’s briefing will be broadcast system-wide in one hour. My purpose in inviting you to attend while it’s recorded is to give you the opportunity to prepare your own commentaries and coverage before that happens. Please be aware that I am also invoking the Official Secrets Act, however. What I’m about to say is not to be leaked, with or without attribution, until it’s officially released for broadcast. Please believe that any violations of that restriction will be punished to the full extent of the law, should they occur.”
He looked into the camera, his round face and usually deceptively gentle expression stern, and Robin nodded to himself. The OSA gave the government carte blanche to classify anything it wanted to and forbid anyone from reporting on it, and the penalties were draconian. No one violated it, especially out here in the Protectorates. He found it interesting that the despotic, neo-barbarian Manties’ outdated and oppressive monarchial government had far less authority to dictate to the press. No one had ever been able to explain to him why it didn’t when the Solarian League, that noble defender of all that was right, good, and free, did.
“I have a statement and an announcement to make,” Barregos continued, after giving his audience time to digest his warning. “I will entertain no questions tonight, but we are arranging a press conference here at the Governor’s Residence for tomorrow morning. It will be an ‘old-school’ physical conference. I wi
ll take questions only from reporters actually in the room, and private citizens will be admitted to it on a first-come, first-served basis, up to the limit of available seating. Those citizens will also be permitted to ask questions of their own. That conference will be carried live throughout the Maya System and transmitted as expeditiously as possible to every other system in the Sector. It will also be communicated to Old Chicago and the Federal Government.”
A news conference would be “communicated” to the Federal government? Robin blinked. Why in God’s name—?
Barregos adjusted the display projected above the podium, deliberately allowing the silence to hum for several seconds. It was obvious that was why he’d done it, since once he finished adjusting it, he never looked once at the text only he could have seen.
“Beginning well over a T-year ago,” he began, “in light of the increasing uncertainty of the interstellar situation—first with the resumption and intensification of the war between the Star Empire of Manticoran and the Republic of Haven, then with the attack by ‘parties unknown’ upon the Manticore Binary System, and finally with the high state of tension and actual violence between the ‘Grand Alliance’ and the Solarian League Navy—Admiral Roszak proposed, and I authorized, certain steps to safeguard our sector as much as possible out of our own resources. It seemed only prudent to us to develop that capability, given our distance from the Core Worlds and the likelihood that the Navy would find itself fully committed—even overcommitted—in distant areas of the Verge and Fringe and be unable to respond as rapidly or as strongly as it no doubt would have preferred to do. The wisdom of our decision has, I think, been clearly demonstrated. Because of it, last October, we were able to successfully defend our neighbor and ally, the Kingdom of Torch, against an Eridani Edict violation which would have resulted in millions of casualties without the intervention of our valiant naval forces under Admiral Roszak’s command.”
He looked into the camera levelly, meeting the eyes of his entire audience.
“Their losses were heavy, far heavier than any of us expected or have found easy to live with. Nonetheless, without the measures we’d already taken, Torch would be a cinder today. And, as I said, that, alone, would constitute a full and total justification for those measures. But it would now appear they were even more justified than we previously believed.”
Robin caught his lower lip between his teeth. It was an old habit—the way he kept himself from whistling in surprise. He’d expected something significant, but the way this seemed headed…
“About six T-months ago,” Barregos continued in that same, level voice, “our intelligence agencies became aware of certain clandestine meetings between individuals in some of our sector’s neighboring star systems and an unidentified outside power. Those…surreptitious contacts included Kondratii, Cossack, Meroa, and Cimbri. In no case had the contacts been with the systems’ governments, however.”
Robin’s eyes narrowed. Each of those star systems, while nominally independent, was the effective property of one of OFS’s favorite transnationals, courtesy of its own local kleptocracy, with Frontier Security looming helpfully in the background.
And there was plenty of unhappiness among their citizens because of their debt-peonage status.
“At the time,” the governor said, “we had no insight into what those contacts might have been about, aside from the fact that they appeared to be directed at what one might reasonably describe, with or without characterizing the reasons for their motivation, as discontented elements. That struck us as ominous against the backdrop of tensions spreading across the Verge and Fringe in general. As a consequence, we redoubled our own vigilance here in in the Sector and further accelerated the other measures we’d already put into place, but we found no evidence that the outside power in question had attempted to contact or influence any of our own citizens.
“Then, just over three T-months ago, that changed.”
He paused, allowing his audience time to stiffen in speculation, then continued levelly.
“We here in Shuttlesport—I personally, in my office at the Residence—were contacted, very quietly, by someone who introduced himself as a representative of the Star Empire of Manticore. This individual had sought a meeting with me to propose what amounted to a declaration—or perhaps the proper noun would be a reassertion—of the Maya Sector’s independence. A decision to evict the Office of Frontier Security, Frontier Fleet, the Gendarmerie, all the organs of the Solarian League, from the Sector and to renounce our agreed fee payments to the League for services rendered.”
“Oh…my…God,” Lochen murmured, eyes wide in disbelief, and Robin shook his head. Technically, as Barregos’s use of the word “reassertion” suggested, the Maya Sector was an independent association of star systems which had voluntarily accepted a central Solarian administration, managed by Frontier Security under the SLN’s protection, to “better regulate” their commerce with one another and with the galaxy at large. And so—technically—the sector’s member systems were free to withdraw from that administrative network at any time they chose.
Just like every member system of the Solarian League was legally free to secede from the League whenever it chose. Until, that was, someoone actually tried to do it.
“I did not agree to his proposal,” Barregos said into the singing silence. “Nor did I reject it, however. It seemed wise to me to determine exactly what Manticore had in mind, since it’s difficult to craft a response or a counter strategy without knowing what one is up against. So, I continued my discussions with Mister Ellingsen—that was the name under which he’d introduced himself to me—and involved Admiral Roszak, as well, as my military representative and expert. In fact, I wanted Admiral Roszak, whose intelligence and opinions I deeply respect, to have the opportunity to evaluate both Ellingsen’s offer and Manticore’s potential motives.
“In the course of those further conversations, Mister Ellingsen made it clear that it was the Star Empire which had been in contact with our interstellar neighbors. Moreover, he frankly acknowledged that Queen Elizabeth’s government believed a declaration of Mayan independence—which they felt the Federal Government would see as a hostile act, especially given the steadily worsening tensions between Old Chicago and Landing—would force the Solarian League Navy to disperse its available starships, thus weakening its ability to attack—or defend itself against—the Grand Alliance. Although he was careful not to say so in so many words, it was evident from what he didn’t say that the Star Empire’s contacts with other star systems extended far beyond the Maya Sector. In effect, he was inviting us to participate in a grand strategic maneuver designed to provoke unrest, resistance, and outright rebellion throughout the Protectorates and among those Verge systems with the closest relations with the League, and the Star Empire was prepared to offer financial assistance, weapons, and naval support to anyone who would produce those things.”
He shook his head, his expression even more serious than it had been.
“Needless to say, such a strategy had much to recommend itself from a Manticoran perspective. And let us be fair. Despite our own experiences here in Maya, there are many places in the Fringe, and not a few in the Verge, where armed rebellion against intolerable local conditions would be totally justifiable.”
“Holy shit!” Lochen muttered. An OFS governor had just agreed that actual violent rebellion against League-sponsored local governments, or even Frontier Security itself, might be justified? When a copy of this got back to Old Chicago—
“Obviously, the citizens of Maya don’t face such stark circumstances,” Barregos went on. “It would, however, have been remiss of me as Maya’s Governor not to learn all I could about Manticoran and Allied intentions and how they might affect my sector and the citizens for whose security and well-being I am responsible. So I continued my discussions with Mister Ellingsen, and he went so far as to invite Admiral Roszak to specify how many squadrons of ships-of-the-wall we would require to guarantee ou
r security when we declared our independence and our solidarity with the Alliance. The Star Empire was, in short, prepared to dispatch an entire battle fleet, equipped with its latest and most modern weapons, to support us against the SLN.”
Robin realized he’d stopped breathing and reminded himself to inhale.
“That was…an interesting offer,” Barregos said with massive understatement, “not to mention a clear indication of how serious Queen Elizabeth was about this venture. On that same visit, Mister Ellingsen brought me a personal recorded message from Sir Anthony Langtry, the Manticoran Foreign Secretary, thanking me for my willingness to listen to Mister Ellingsen and reiterating the Star Kingdom’s firm promise of military support. There could have been no clearer proof that the offer was genuine, real, and sincere.”
He paused to take a carefully timed sip of water, then put the glass back down and shrugged ever so slightly.
“Under the circumstances, I was surprised but not really astounded when another Manticoran officer arrived clandestinely in Shuttlesport. I was somewhat taken aback by her seniority, however.” For the first time, he smiled. It was a remarkably cold, thin smile. “One does not normally expect to see the Second Space Lord of the Royal Manticoran Navy, the commanding officer of Manticoran naval intelligence, in a Solarian sector governor’s office.”