Empire & Ecolitan (59 page)

J
IMJOY LOOKED AROUND
the small, squarish room, which he had stopped to see again. Why, he couldn't say. The last time he had been here was after he had told the previous Council to resign. The stone walls of what had once been a lower-level storeroom were damp, exuding a chill. Almost expecting Elias to be manning the command post that had long since been removed, he glanced down at the briefing papers, then folded them in half.

He couldn't read from a prepared text. He just hoped what he had planned would come out right.

With a shrug, he opened the door, carrying the folded papers in his right hand, and stepped out onto the staircase that led upward toward the speakers' foyer outside the main Council chamber. The public foyer was on the other side of the building.

At the top of the stairs waited two guards, dressed in the maroon of the planetary police. The foyer, a good ten meters deep and fifteen wide, was empty except for the three of them.

“Professor Whaler?” asked the taller police officer, a woman.

Jimjoy nodded.

“If you would care to wait—either here or…”

“Here is fine.” Jimjoy sat down in one of the dark-wood armless chairs standing by the closed double doors to the Council chamber. He didn't really know what to do with the briefing papers, so he finally folded them in half again and tucked them into an inside tunic pocket.

“It may be a few minutes.”

He nodded. All deliberative governmental bodies ran late, and even Accord's fledgling Council had apparently succumbed to the virus of rhetorical delay within the first tendays of its founding. He hoped he could keep his own efforts brief.

Both guards kept glancing at him, but whenever he looked in their direction, they were studiously surveying some other part of the speakers' foyer.

After a time, he stood up again and walked over to the largest portrait on the wall, roughly life-sized and full-length, framed in gilded wood and covered with lightly tinted permaglass.

“Ross Beigner deHihns, Chairman of the First Planetary Council of Accord, 3421-3438.”

With the perfect blond hair, blue eyes, straight nose, firm lips, lightly tanned skin, the first Planetary Council Chairman looked just like the young man whose family had purchased a planet on which he could test his ecological ideas. Jimjoy smiled. If his readings between the lines of the histories were correct, that was what had happened. Next to the first Chairman's portrait was the portrait of the third Chairman, an even tighter-lipped and white-haired Ross Beigner deHihns III, 3454-3456.

There was no portrait of the second Chairman. Jimjoy frowned, trying to remember.

Click
.

“Professor Whaler?”

He looked up to see one of the double doors open. Another police guard held the door. “The Council would appreciate having your briefing, ser.”

Jimjoy nodded, stood, and walked through the door—and almost halted.

The spectator gallery was overflowing, as was the media section. The section reserved for delegates had more bodies than there could have been delegates elected in the past two elections.

Jimjoy moistened his lips and forced himself to continue an even pace to the speakers' podium. As he stepped up to the podium itself, he noted that the entire row of pinlights was lit and bright green. He swallowed. Every media outlet possible was here to record what he said, including the Fuard and Halstani outlets.

Instead of shaking his head, he cleared his throat softly and swallowed, then surveyed the galleries, the delegates, and finally the Council.

“Council members, delegates, and honored guests…you have asked the Ecolitan Institute of Accord for a public briefing on the status of the Institute's efforts in supporting and enhancing the efforts of the Council in obtaining true independence from the United Confederation of Independent Worlds.” He paused. “Still…an Empire by any other name is still an Empire.”

A light murmur of amusement rippled from the spectator gallery.

“Our current situation is critical. That is no surprise to any of you. Working together, we have made great steps toward standing alone. The Coordinate of Accord has obtained diplomatic recognition from the Matriarchy of Halston, the Fuardian Conglomerate, and the Independent Principalities of New Avalon. We have signed trade agreements with Halston, and with several of the non-Imperial independent systems.

“In this effort, the Institute has been able to assemble, through salvage, purchase, and construction, a space force equivalent to two Imperial fleets without the largest capital ships….

“To date, Accord forces under the direction of the Institute have taken control of all space and off-planet facilities within the Accord system…. We have also neutralized the Imperial system control stations—military staging points—in all three Arm systems with direct jump access to Accord….

“Our research efforts into biological processes have indicated the possibility that certain biologicals can be used, if necessary, as weapons. While the Institute regrets the necessity, we are prepared to use such weapons to guarantee our survival. We admit that the threat or the limited use of such weapons is blackmail. But the Empire's decision to destroy the entire planet of Sligo was an attempt to blackmail all colony planets into remaining hostages for Imperial plunder….”

Jimjoy tried not to hurry, but still to cover clearly the points he felt needed to be made.

“There is no possibility that the Empire will surrender Accord without at least one attempt to destroy Accord itself. There is no possibility of surrender, unless all leadership and independence are forfeited for the next several generations….”

Even without looking, Jimjoy could sense the stiffening when he declared “no possibility of surrender.” Even the more independent Accord politicians were still politicians, looking for the possibility of compromise.

“In short, ladies and gentlemen, we cannot compromise; we cannot surrender. The Institute believes we can win a military victory sufficient to earn peace, but we cannot buy the peace, nor can we negotiate except through victory. We must earn victory, and no victory can be earned except through blood. Some children will be left without mothers or fathers. Some parents will be left without children.

“The alternative is a reeducation team, slavery for all Accord, and children without futures, without parents, and without hope.

“Regardless of the Council's decision, the Institute will oppose the Empire, holding to the ideals for which it was founded and by which it lives.”

Jimjoy nodded to the Council, knowing his presentation had been too brief, probably too emotional, and not exactly what anyone had wanted to hear. “Thank you, members of the Council, ladies and gentlemen. If you have any questions, I will be happy to answer them to the best of my ability.”

For a long moment there was silence throughout the chamber. Then the murmurs began, first as whispers, then as normal conversation.

Jimjoy stood at the podium, ignoring the Council and trying to gauge the reaction of the spectators and the delegates.

“Professor Whaler,” began Clarenz Hedricht, the newly elected Chairman, “one aspect of your closing remarks troubled me greatly. You said, if I recall correctly, that the Institute will continue to oppose the Empire, regardless of what the Council decided. What if the council decides that the only hope of survival is an agreement of some sort with the United Confederation of Independent Worlds? Would the Institute make that agreement meaningless by continuing to fight?”

Jimjoy caught the nods from some of the new Council members, most of whom he did not know.

“Mr. Chairman, I appreciate your concern that the Institute not undermine the elected role of the Council. First and foremost, however, the Institute believes in freedom and self-determination. Therefore, I can assure you that the Institute will stand behind any Council decision which leads to that freedom for all people in the Coordinate.” Jimjoy wanted to wipe his forehead. Instead, he waited for the follow-up he knew would come.

“Professor, you seem to be indicating that the Council is free to exercise its will only so long as it does not consider what the Institute views as surrender. That may be fine for those of you without families or ties to lands forged through centuries, but such fanaticism may be too high a price for those of us less…idealistic.”

Jimjoy nodded at Hedricht. “The Institute is not composed of soldiers, nor of cast-steel fanatics. Most of the Senior Fellows have families and children. Most have come from generations of Accordans. Some of them have already died in this struggle and left children. Others know they will die. No one wants to wake up in the morning thinking it could happen to them.” He paused, moistened his lips, then continued. “But the Empire—and it is an Empire—will not accept a settlement other than total capitulation. Not unless it is forced to. The Institute must force the Empire to settle on our terms. Nothing else will ensure your survival.”

“Are you saying the Institute will fight, even if we order you not to?”

“Mr. Chairman, the Institute made possible the first totally free elections ever held in this system. Since I am not the Prime Ecolitan, I cannot definitively declare that the Institute would ignore such an unwise request.” He looked squarely at the Chairman. “But from what I know, I think it is fair to say that the vast majority of Ecolitans would reject such a request. And so would most thinking Accordans—”

“Professor!”

Jimjoy ignored the Chairman. “You have asked me the same question three times, and each time you have asked it, it becomes clearer that your interest is not the freedom of those who elected you, but the power of the Council. The Institute is based on ideals, and stands apart from politics. As idealists, we will do what must be done. So long as I stand, no Ecolitan will enter politics. So long as I stand, power will serve principles, rather than principles serving power.” He paused again, then looked at the Chairman and asked in a lower voice, “Are there any questions of
fact?
”

“Professor?” The speaker was a heavy set man at the far right end of the Council table. “Meyter Nagurso, Parundia sector. Can you provide any support for your contention that the Institute can in fact force the Empire to terms?”

“We have so far been able to nullify the Empire's ability to project a fleet into our system. We have regained sufficient trade to offset the Imperial embargo's effect on high-tech micros, and we have developed the fourth largest space force in the area surrounding the Empire. We are currently developing additional weapons and are completing an indepth system defense network. Nothing is certain. But if we can withstand a first Imperial attack, further pressures by other united systems along the Imperial borders are likely to provide a considerable incentive for the Empire to grant us independence without further hostilities. We may be required to demonstrate our ability to carry war to the Empire, and the Institute has developed such a capacity. I will not expand upon that at this time.”

“Thank you.”

“Professor, how long before you expect an armed response by…”

“Ecolitan Whaler, is it true you have built a large fleet of obsolete needleboats…”

Jimjoy answered the remaining questions one by one, providing detail where he wished and avoiding it where possible.

Tap, tap, TAP
.

Finally, Clarenz Hedricht stood at the Council table. “Professor Whaler has been most patient, most unusually candid. The Council appreciates your willingness to brief us, Professor. Thank you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chairman.” Jimjoy stepped down from the podium and walked down the aisle in near silence, wondering as he did so how much damage he had created. He kept his head high, even as he asked himself what else he could have done.

Once outside the chamber, he did not wait for the murmurs or the private condemnations that might occur. Instead, he nodded at the two police officers, and with a polite “Thank you,” left through the lower-level door, heading for the flitter waiting for him on the green.

Jimjoy gave the pilot, Huft Kursman, the signal to light-off the flitter as soon as he crossed the first stone walkway. Kursman responded with a thumbs-up and the whine of the starter.

Jimjoy stretched his steps, but did not run. As he climbed into the copilot's seat, he looked at Kursman. “Lift off as soon as she's ready.”

“Stet, Professor. A little too much truth for them, ser?”

Jimjoy shrugged as he pulled on the helmet. “Didn't stay to find out.”

Thwop…thwop, thwop…thwop, thwop, thwop
…

As the rotors came up to speed, several media types, fax rigs slung over shoulders, hurried around the corner of the stone structure.

With a wry smile hidden behind the dark visor of the helmet, Jimjoy waved to the lenses as the flitter lifted.

“D
ID YOU HAVE
to be quite that blunt?” Meryl's normally composed face was slightly flushed. Whether the additional color came from the viral infection she was fighting off or from anger was another question.

Jimjoy sat down in the chair, taken aback at the intensity of the first words she had addressed to him as he walked into her office. He thought about answering, then shrugged. “What would you have had me say? That a negotiated settlement was possible? That we all will live happily ever after without any sweat, toil, or tears? That every one of us has laid his or her life on the line so that another generation of irresponsible politicians can bargain away the gains bought by those lives?”

He shook his head, then fixed her with his eyes. “I meant what I said. No Ecolitan is going to mess with politics, except over my dead body. The Institute will never bow to the politicians. We made them to serve the people, and they damned well are going to serve the people. Not the other way around.”

This time Meryl sat back. “You feel rather strongly.” Her raspy voice was barely above a whisper.

“I do. I'm not a figurehead. I never will be.” He looked out the window into the high and hazy winter clouds.

“So what do I do when half of those politicians are calling for your head?”

Jimjoy grinned. “Tell them the same thing, except with the finesse that you have. Tell them that the Institute stands for freedom first and foremost, and above partisan politics. We intend to remain that way, thank you. Do you want us to remove our protection of all your children and advise the Empire that Accord no longer has an armed forces?”

Meryl smiled crookedly, then blew her nose. “What if they agree?”

“They won't. They're not stupid. They just want to control the power behind the power. And we can't let them—ever.”

“I wish I had your confidence.”

“Meryl, I don't know how to manipulate people. This morning showed that I don't. But I know power and structures. Trust me on this one.”

She took a sip of water, then whispered back, “Do we have any choice?”

“Not really.”

“I didn't think so. Neither did Thel.” Another sip of water followed.

“Where is she?”

“You're changing the subject. You always do when subjects get unpleasant.”

Jimjoy laughed ruefully. “You're right. But where is she?”

“Visiting Dr. Hyrsa.”

Jimjoy's stomach turned. “Now what?”

“Not for herself. Your comments about deaths and casualties got us thinking. We really need to build up a more dispersed emergency health care system. What happens if the battle of Accord vaporizes the Institute? She went to talk to Erica about that.”

Jimjoy pulled at his chin. Still so many details unresolved, unplanned for, and less and less time remaining.

“You look worried.”

He nodded slowly.

“Well, don't tell anyone. If nothing else, your confidence has been beamed all over the planet. After that performance, the Empire will probably want your head—again.” The acting Deputy Prime Ecolitan coughed twice, then took out another tissue.

“What else is new?”

“They'll take a planet to get it this time.”

Jimjoy's stomach twisted slightly, even though he nodded again. “We'll have to see that they don't get it.” He stood up. “See you later.”

Meryl only nodded in return, transferring her attention back to the screen and its priority lights, still clutching yet another tissue in her left hand.