Chapter 1

Chapter 1 Draft (05/01/08)

Walking out of High Commissioner Jamil Mobutu’s palatial home, sitting in the middle of the Federation compound that edged one side of the New Texas spaceport, Robert Williams strained to keep his breathing normal and expression level.  It was like this every time he met with Mobutu and getting harder and harder to pretend that he did not resent the subservient position he was forced to maintain whenever in the man’s presence.

Today’s meeting was too much like every other.  Arriving at the appointed time, being forced to stand in the anteroom for five minutes listening to what he could only consider tribal music or just plain noise until the ‘Great Man’ was ready to see him, all the while talking to Mobutu’s ‘secretary’, who was more properly his New Texan mistress, or one of them anyway, and trying not to show distress, was all a part of the continuing game— The one that showed who held  the real power on New Texas, power that came from the point of a gun, the only power and the only game the Terran Federation knew or cared to play.

Checking the time Rob decided to go back to his office in the Parliament Building, an office far more modest than the Commissioner occupied, and catch up on his work for an hour or so before heading to the meeting Walt Davis had set up.  He wanted to go back out to his farm first but the meeting with Mobutu had run long.  His wife would excuse him, she always did, but he couldn’t help but feel guilty.  Felling guilty was an ever greater part of his life.

The meeting with Mobutu was the same as all the rest in another sense as well and could have easily been handled over a data link.  Details concerning required contributions to the general welfare. — A tax by any other name doesn’t change its spots, along with the most recent scheduled arrival dates for the constant flow of immigration ships was the major part of the agenda; but Mobutu couldn’t help but give him advice and philosophical guidance on how to govern a planet and deal with women.  These were two things he found remarkably similar.

“You must screw them both, and screw them again, until they completely understand that you alone determine how easy or hard their situation is, and you then you will have them willing and begging for more!” he said this with a tone of voice somewhere between a laugh and a leer.  The man was a monster!

Mobutu didn’t realize that the real power on New Texas was the ‘Sleeping Giant’ of Webb Enterprises and Davis Mining along with the other smaller manufacturing enterprises. Williams himself just recently learned that the power behind Webb was not the two highly visible son’s, Andrew and Christopher but, the still vibrant and beautiful Linda Webb.  At 56 years old and dealing with the death of her husband, she was the drive behind the economic giant that had been shepherded by the Mickelson’s for so long.

Now as the stagnation imposed by Earth was reaching strangulating levels, here was Walt Davis wanting a private meeting and Rob had a bad feeling that he knew what Walt wanted to talk about.  Crap, New Texas did not even have a Rubicon!  Could be they would start digging one real soon now, and even with all the risk involved Rob found himself looking forwards to the chance, but not without some trepidation.

* * *
Walt Davis took one last pause and swallowed hard before he entered the Lobby of the Planetary Government building.  Walking he hoped what appeared calmly, “Good Morning Ma’am,  Walter Davis to see Prime Minister Williams.  I believe it is a 10:00 AM appointment.”

Robert Williams watched the Security cameras and only wondered what had his old friend so agitated, Walt was clearly upset or confused or whatever!   As the Secretary opened the door he  rose and said, “Sit down, what’s on your mind Walt?”

Strangely Walt said not a word, he just took out of his briefcase a small device which he switched on and sat on the desk.  He starred intently at it until two small green light came on, as they did a small red light which only Bob could see built into his desk popped on.  That light had been installed by his Intelligence Chief Henry Carling.

“Boss, we think someone is making a jammer that can stop even FG surveillance systems.  We have no idea who or how but when this light goes on even the FG is dead.  Because we are tapping their stuff, when we go blind they are blind.”  Suddenly Bob was interested.

Walt looked very nervous and seemed to shrug and commit himself. “Quite frankly Bob what I am here for is to discuss what could be called either treason or common sense, depending on how you look at it.   I will give you the choice of whether you even want to have this conversation!”

Williams locked his fingertips together and stared over them.  “Walt, I think I may have an idea where you are coming from, let’s just say that the front part of this has to be said.  If we decide later that it never happened, then that’s the way it will be.  By the way, what is your little trinket there?”

“Bob, that’s one of the reasons that I wanted to have this chat; where it comes from will come up during this little gabfest.”  Davis leaned back in his chair and took one long deep breath, let it out slowly and began speaking in a slow level tone. “ Let’s establish the one core point and if you don’t agree I’ll just leave.  Earth is sucking out our life’s blood and we need to do something about it.”

“Look Bob at 100 years out we are the oldest Colony there is. In the last 20 years everything has been a one way flow, from us to Earth and they demand more and more every day.  The only thing Earth builds is the Reactionless Drive and we have to build the hull components for them.  Sixty percent of our food goes to Earth at prices they control, even if we have to run short or our prices go to shit.  We have no say and everything is decided by the Oligarchs in the Federal Parliament. Crap, some of those idiots have districts that are only comprised of their family’s. The only time there is a change is when someone gets killed in an accident and then a family member gets elected to their seat. We in the Colonies have no say at all.”

“We are where the English Colonies were in 1772 or the original Texans in 1832; the storm is on the horizon, what are we going to do?”

“Walt, those are not the dates I learned in school!”

“Nope, but they are the dates that someone could have started planning and prevented the mistakes of 1776 or 1835.  If something starts this time in a stumbling stupid manner and fainter heads prevail, it really could wipe out the Human race.  Bob all you have to do is look and listen… for more, it’s coming.  Is it going to be spontaneous and stupid or planned??”

“Walt are you crazy?  There is no way we can fight Earth. We don’t have an Army nor a Navy, what the hell do you want to fight with?”

“Hell Bob I don’t want to fight today. But, look at what we have. Warrick Gates the best Naval Commander old Earth ever produced settled here when Cleaver ran his ass out. He just happens to be running our Oceanographic Research Program.  Stop and think, that fancy computer built into your desk was made by Dyn-Corp computers; which just happens to be a Webb Enterprises corporation, the honcho their just happens to be Andrew Webb.  The flitter you took in from your ranch this morning was built by Mobility Engineering another Webb Enterprises corporation whose boss is Christopher Webb.  I am sure you can get your friend Mr. Carling to back this up but, that Family has been pouring money and effort into this Colony since the current generations Great Grand Daddy was a pup and they did not know it until they got here.  All I have been able to figure out is that it is some Generations long feud with the Redmond’s from back on Earth.

“Who cares, look what it has dropped into our lap.  Look at Warfare as it exists today, broken into three basic sections.  Space, which is currently controlled by the FG due to their possession of the Reactionless Drive.  Orbital Assault, which the FG controls because no one is contesting it.  Ground Combat, which the FG has abandoned except for Police Actions.

“We do have the problem of the Drive but, I think that can be overcome and our Mr. Gates is about the best there is.  Orbital Assault is clearly the baby of Christopher Webb, hell he got fired for being too good.  Ground Combat give me a break, Andy Webb should have been wearing Stars at 26.  Bob, the brains are here to do this right as well as the guts and determination.  Not to mention the potential of a pure scientific base those three and their organizations present!”

“Walt, even if I thought you were right; no resistance or revolt has ever succeeded without outside help  much less some kind of an organization!”

“Bob who says the other 15 Colonies will not help us. As for not succeeding; tell the Texans. I cannot promise you we will not have an Alamo but, I can promise you a San Jacinto or a Yorktown.”

“If we were to trod down this risky path, how long Walt?”

“Twenty years minimum Bob, and we need you to be the Hub. The FG has made your Office pretty symbolic but, we need that symbolism.  The people we need will not talk to anyone or anything less!”

“Why did you have to wander in here and articulate what I have been thinking for several years?  Or should  I say have been fearing?  Dear God but I hate to say it but; get them in here. If we don’t at least talk about it our Grandkids will deserve to curse us.”

Walt leaned over and picked up the small device picked it up and spoke softly, “Webb built this for me, just because I asked.  He did not charge me one damn cent, nor did  he ask what it was for.  He just kind of grinned at me and said ‘See you later I expect’.”

Then he thumbed it off and started speaking.  “So, you going to be able to make it out to my place for the wedding?  Ain’t everyday a Dad gets to give away his firstborn daughter.  I’ll even throw in some fresh steaks!”

“Sure,” Bob laughed, “better stock up on booze though!”

* * *
Only an hour after sunup and it was already hot enough that dust devils were beginning to form in the swirling winds caused by the cooler upland air of the Santa Anna Range sinking to the foothill plains that ran for a hundred miles towards the coast.

Hank Carling was taking this last chance to look at his ranch lands and check up on the cattle before leaving on the morrow for the job that was paying the bills the operation out here didn’t quite cover yet.  Another five years, less if things went well, and he would be able to retire, take his pension funds out, devote all of his time to the ranch, be with his wife in a normal life— and yes, watch the children grow up.

Delta Velorum A and B, the larger and more distant members of the New Texas  five star system, was still below the rim of the mountains towering ten thousand feet above.  This time of year, mid-summer, it would add another 10 or fifteen degrees to the midday temperature.  Hank wanted to be sure that all three of the feed channels he’d sunk all his time and money into were free of obstructions and the watering holes they kept filled would stay that way until the fall rains started the late growth spurt that would make the grasses green again and keep his animals fed till calving time next spring.

Kaybe, (Katherine Bell) Carling,  hit the send button and her twice weekly column containing all the local news and gossip, and this week a recipe for good measure, was on it’s way to the West Pecos Crier, it didn’t pay much but it kept her in contact with most everyone within a hundred miles and with Hank being gone on average more than half the time it helped keep her sane.  That and looking after three children ages four, nine, and twelve.  She was working on a book, a humorous look at a city girl trying to adjust to this kind of a life, and Sam Odell, editor of the Crier said it was good and if she couldn’t sell it anywhere else he’s take it as a series when she was finished.

Tommy, Frank and Jessie were at their terminals now and would be until noon.  School came first, no exceptions but weekends and holidays.  She switched between the three sessions to see how they were doing, decided to give Jessica a little personal help and then work on boosting the content level for Frank, he was finding things too easy and that wouldn’t do.

After lunch they’d all work in the garden and Hank should be back home in time for supper.  His last day home for a while so the meal was going to be special and every bit of it grown and raised right here.

By noon Hank was high enough into the mountains that the temperature was a comfortable 85 degrees.  Clara, his ‘Amma’, a genetically crossed llama/horse combination was drinking her fill from a small pool kept filled by seepage from a near surface fault that  carried snow melt from above and feed the aquifer the foothills rested upon. and taking a break from the hard climb.  Looking to the west he could see the green farmlands bordering the Pecos river heading south for the coast and the New Texas Capital at Port Arthur.

To the southeast he could make out his ranch house and small barn.  In the over three hundred square miles withing his view the only paved road paralleled the river and a few faint tracks could be seen indicating the presence of other ranches on the plain.

High overhead he saw the contrails of an orbital spaceplane and then heard the faint distant crack of  the  sonic boom.  Hank could tell by the direction it came from and the steep decent path that this wasn’t the twice daily flight from Harford on the other side of the continent but the much rarer visit of a ship from orbit heading into the field at Port Arthur.  He’s better get a move on.  He had another hour to climb to the saddle at Eagle Pass where his diversion channel started.

Beyond the pass the mountains continued for two hundred miles before merging with the thousand miles of desert and scrub-lands behind.  On the ride back down he would follow the good track on this side of the pass, the one that followed the Santa Anna and went through old Ezra Pullings’ Blue Creek ranch.  From that point, if he didn’t stop long, another hour and home for dinner.  Afterwards he would review for the meeting scheduled in the Capital the next day.

* * *
Chris heard the thump from the other room and went to see what had hit the floor this time.  With a six year old, four year old and two year old in the house at the same time; we were not dumb enough to have anything breakable down low.  It was also one reason why Chris was so happy to fly to the meeting that Davis wanted, a little peace and quiet would be appreciated.

Becce at least would be able to fly over to Andy’s place after Chad’s lessons were done.  The two sets of kids would wear each other out, so she would get a least one night of peace,  Chad normally the rowdiest would get pounded into the dirt by Mark and Mack and love it.

Calling out to Becce that he was leaving he put the plastic vase back up on the table and walked out to his flitter.  This was his baby, running right on the ragged edge of what the FG would allow and in some places slipping over that line.  FG inspectors were notoriously lazy, not to mention just plain incompetent.

Flitters weren’t exactly top of the line Assault shuttles but, flying anything beat setting a desk.  Andy’s beacon lit up the Nav console.  Time to get the show on the road, maybe we would even find out what this was about.

Andy stared out over the rows of corn and had to laugh at the memory they evoked.  He could still see Mickelson’s face when he asked him, “So where is Grandpa’s corn land?”

Mickelson sputtered and asked, “How do you know he has any?”

“Because Grandpa just like me, was a hills Scots-Irish redneck.  Granted he was a genius at both Science and Business but, he was still a redneck.  He has corn land somewhere and I bet it’s a great place to raise kids.”

We came out here to the plains a thousand miles north of the Pecos river and I was suitably impressed until I saw the 60 acres not planted.  I asked Mickelson what the problem with that area was and the reply stunned me.

“The boss said to leave that area for Jim to build on, guess it’s yours now!”

So now that area sported the big rambling house we live in, a Barn for the horses and ponies and of course a ball field.  Muriel right now had every one inside for the daily lessons, our brood were a handful.  The triplets Mark, Mack and Megan would hit 9 next week, while the twins Abby and Ashley had turned 6 last month.  If I wasn’t the head honcho of the company that built their computer learning systems that rig would have cost a fortune.  Keeping those systems affordable had been Muriel’s one big demand on me.  I didn’t fight too hard, it made damn sense to get kids everywhere damn good educations.

My reverie was broken by the flitter coming in to our hard pad.  My younger brother Chris had offered to fly to this meeting that Walt Davis wanted to have, whatever the crap that was going to be about.

* * *
“And Dad— I checked the course and it looks fine, but why not swing a little wider around the inner transit point?  What if an unscheduled ship comes through when we are at the nearest approach point?”

“Go back to your knitting girl!” Lincoln Ditmars said to his eldest daughter Sally, who was the ships nominal command pilot, in a mock exasperated tone.  Then he said to himself, ‘She acts just like her mother when she tries to look after me,’ and a smile broke out.

“I was flying these things and setting safety margins when you were still in diapers and strapped to the acceleration couch.  I’m getting a little old for high-G travel and we have an appointment with an old friend to attend before the stockholders meeting.”

“That must be why we’re having the annual ‘Let’s beat up on the Managers bash’ on New Texas and not at home for the first time in a decade.  You didn’t say anything about that before we left Tethys.  Why not?  You must be up to something illegal immoral or both.”

“Read the file,” Linc said handing her a data cube.  “Then wipe it and burn it.  You got the illegal part right but the morality is going to depend on how it all turns out and if we go through with it and if not if we are caught.  History is written by the victorious.”

Sally, a puzzled expression showing, took the cube, and leaving the control room went to her compartment and with the ships operational display echoed to the wall screen, slid into her bunk and began to read.  An hour later she was back up front.

“They can’t be serious about this!” she said without preamble.  “Even if we can do everything Davis thinks we can, there is no way we won’t get found out long before we are ready.  And besides that the numbers don’t add up!”

“I think I agree with you Sally, but I owe Walt the chance to explain it in person.  So let’s just wait and see what he has to say.  In the meantime figure out exactly why it can’t work, but spend some time also on how you would do it if the decision indeed goes that way.  In particular start figuring ways to get some of our production off the books in a fashion that the monitors can’t detect.”

“They find everything Dad, or someone sells out and talks.”

“Not everything, or Walt would already be under arrest or worse. We’ll have to solve the security problem one way or another but I am sure Walter must have a good idea of how to manage it or he wouldn’t have called for the meeting in the first place.  We will see.”

* * *
Warrick considered himself lucky to be able to grab a ride with Henry Carling into Travis, he had a ride back on a delivery shuttle from Power-Dyne who were bringing out the power plant for the new sub. This was going to let him leave the flitter with Caitrin so she could get around. Still he was concerned when Carling set down at Gates Oceanography, he still had a deep mistrust of Intelligence types that was going to take a long time to overcome.

“Ready to go Warrick?”

“I think so Mr. Carling.

“Come on Warrick, it’s Henry or Hank. Mr. Carling is my Father.”

“OK, Hank. You just have to understand that after what happened to me I have a built in distrust of anybody even remotely associated with Intelligence. I am trying to work on it but, it’s going to take some time.”

“You have to remember Warrick that I was able to get your file from Earth and I don’t blame you. Believe me when I say that crap like that is not going to happen here. From what I have learned about the people on this planet is quite simple, Honor still lives around here. Anyway where are you going to stay tonight?”

“I have a reservation at Liza Morgan’s place, besides it’s the only place you can get Webb Grand Reserve on a single drink basis. I am a Scotch guy but, I like to try really good Bourbon on occasion. It’s just that there is no way I’m going to spring for the cost of a full bottle. I have no idea how Liza affords to do it.”

“Simple, she gets it for free. In return Linda Webb gets the use of Liza’s private dining rooms at any time, no questions asked. And yes before you ask, she’s the queen spider over at Webb. The boys are sharp and dangerous but, she runs the show!”

To Be Continued

Page Author | Wes November 9th, 2008