Breeze had always wondered what true power would feel like. She wasn’t surprised to discover that it included comfortable chairs and delicious food. Lunch had just been cleared away by the silent servants and she watched as tea was poured for herself, then President De Chao Peterson, then Minister of Defense Wesley Taal.
Soft jazz played in the background of the private dining room, adding a touch of class but also obscuring any conversations. Not that there was anyone else in the ornate, wood-lined room, but one could never be too careful.
It was only her first week in Parliament, and Breeze was thrilled at the personal attention she was receiving from all sides. She’d been given a thunderous ovation by the assembled members of Parliament on her first day in the chamber, and the media made quite a spectacle of her assuming her late husband’s seat. Some voices—undoubtedly fed by the Opposition—had offered criticism at her inclusion in the government despite her lack of political experience, but her military service had come out to save her. No one was allowed to criticize a veteran, especially these days.
As she sipped at her tea she realized with satisfaction that the years of bullshit she’d endured in that fanatical organization were finally paying off. She’d survived her time in uniform, and now that base of respectability was hers forever.
Even so, to be invited to a private lunch with the President was unprecedented for a new member. Either the shadow of her husband was long, or the government recognized her true potential. It didn’t matter—she was determined to exploit this opportunity.
Much of the lunch discussion had been about the war, naturally enough. President Peterson had served as a junior officer in the Army decades ago, and Minister Taal had been a ship captain in the Astral Force. Breeze had kept her comments to a minimum while they discussed recent tactical reports from the fronts, but she’d listened carefully to the underlying tones.
Neither man was happy with the progress of the war.
“Charity,” Peterson said, setting down his tea. He was an elderly man, but his stocky frame still moved with power. Faint scars were visible on his scalp through his close-cropped silver hair, and set in his rugged face deep-set eyes held her with absolute confidence. “I apologize that we’ve been nattering on over defense details about which you haven’t been briefed. I’m afraid we’ve put you at a disadvantage.”
“No apologies necessary, sir,” she said. “Like many veterans, I maintain a keen interest in the success of our troops, and I’ve stayed as informed as I can.” She offered an expression of concern. “Despite what the media is crowing, I gather that our resources are being stretched.”
“Very astute of you,” Taal commented. “The government’s position is clear—we cannot back down on any front, else we risk encouraging the rebels to push harder. One tactical retreat by our forces can be exploited by rebel propaganda, blowing it up into a huge victory for their side.”
“It’s about perception,” she said, nodding. “More than anything, we need to break the rebel will.”
“Exactly,” Taal agreed. “And to do so we’ve aspired to have State forces everywhere, at all times, so that the rebels get thumped whenever they so much as move. Unfortunately, this is taking a toll on troops and equipment, which we’re struggling to keep up with.”
“We need decisive action,” Peterson concluded. “A single strike so powerful that it will shock and awe the rebels, and from that position of strength we can call for a cease fire and negotiate their terms of surrender.”
Breeze had rarely seen colonists lose heart in the face of overwhelming Terran military force, but it seemed as if something new was in play. It had to be Chandler and Korolev’s secret plan.
“I think that could be an excellent strategy,” she said, “if it’s done properly. But will it cost too many Terran lives?”
“That’s the beauty of it,” Peterson said. “If it costs any Terran lives, it will be a handful at most. And not only will it crush the rebel spirit—it will neutralize their main benefactor, and leave them headless.”
“This sounds like an ideal plan, sir,” she said. “How can I help?”
“Your last position in the military was as the head of a research project to develop a new weapon called the Dark Bomb.”
“It was.”
“I confess,” Taal interjected, “that the technical aspects of this weapon are beyond my own expertise, and I’m cautious to place all my trust in my admirals for so important a mission. Given how familiar you are with the Dark Bomb, you would be the perfect person to take charge of this project and make certain it’s handled effectively.”
“I appreciate the minister’s honesty in this,” Peterson added, “and I’m very glad that we have such an obvious alternative. Charity, I’m offering you the post of Deputy Minister of Defense, with your first responsibility being the political oversight of this critical mission.”
Deputy Minister? With an advisory seat in the President’s cabinet, a full staff, and a genuine public profile? And all because of the stupid Dark Bomb. At that moment, Breeze saw her whole career come together, and she struggled to keep her smile to a modest line.
“I’m honored, sir,” she said. “Thank you.”
“We have a chance to end the war, with a victory for Terra,” Peterson said. “I’m pleased to know that you’re with us.”
Taal told her when and where she’d be introduced to her team, and be briefed on the mission specifics, but most of the details flew past her. Her assistant would get her to where she needed to go, she knew, and this was just too sweet a moment not to savor.
As lunch ended and she said her goodbyes to the President and Minister, she did wonder idly what the Dark Bomb had to do with the mission. No doubt the briefing would fill her in, so she pushed it from her mind. For now she was due in Parliament.
* * *
It was probably the last time she’d be stuck up on the “back benches” of the circular Chamber of Parliament. As a junior member of the government she was just one in the sea of faces stretching back from the central floor of the Chamber.
The ministers all sat down in the first few rows, and the senior members of the other parties did likewise, in order to have easy access to the speaking floor. Most members of Parliament never got the chance to make a formal speech, and were restricted to hooting their support and cat-calling their opponents from above. No outside observers were allowed into this room, but every word and action was captured as part of the official record.
How much of that record was released to the people, Breeze knew, was decided mainly by a consensus of the party leaders, although occasionally one party would break ranks and leak damaging facts to the media. Such actions invariably yielded repercussions, though, and Breeze watched with interest the high-stakes game of cat-and-mouse played out between the parties.
Her party, the Progressives, was part of the coalition of five political groups that together controlled enough votes to effectively be the government. President Peterson was elected independently, and did not sit in the Chamber of Parliament, but his political alignment was very similar to that of the government, and Vijay had told her that relations between these two arms of the State were very good.
Across the chamber sat the representatives from the parties who were not part of the ruling coalition. The largest of these, the Federalists, was run by Christopher Sheridan and therefore held the honorary title of Official Opposition. Anyone among the three hundred members of Parliament was theoretically allowed to question the government, but in practice it was usually the party leaders, led by the leader of the Opposition. For someone who wasn’t actually a part of the functioning government, Sheridan had secured himself about as high-profile a position as possible. His protests against government policy were largely ineffective, however, since the ruling coalition held a majority of seats, and could out-vote any dissenters.
The coalition itself was where the real machinations occurred, as members of the five parties jockeyed among themselves for the plum positions. Minister of Defense Taal was also a Progressive, and Breeze’s promotion most likely was an effort to consolidate his position. Whoever controlled the military, she knew, had a real advantage over any rivals—arguably as much as the Minister of Police and even the Minister of Internal Security.
The amount of power in this chamber sent a thrill through her, and she looked down the rows to try to guess where, as deputy minister, she would be seated for the next session.
The day’s business began with a series of questions from Sheridan, who stepped out onto the central speaking floor and challenged the government on different topics of rule. The first was on the matter of a series of riots that had been tarnishing the otherwise productive mining camps in southern Mercury. After a scathing series of responses by the Minister of Police, Sheridan switched targets and addressed Minister Taal. Breeze leaned forward with new interest.
“Mr. Minister,” Sheridan said with a dramatic sigh, “when is this government going to admit that its current military policy of over-extension across the colonies is costly, not only to the State’s finances, but also to the lives of our troops?” The far side of the Chamber echoed with applause and desk thumps from the Opposition members.
Taal rose to his feet, straightened his suit and stepped out onto the floor.
“Mr. Sheridan,” he said with a great show of weariness, “this government is well aware that the war against the rebels has been costly, but our actions have been entirely contained within pure necessity. If you don’t like the extent of the battle front, I urge you to pose your complaint to the rebel leaders in all ten colonies.”
Laughter and applause erupted from the government members.
“Mr. Minister, as my party has been saying for some time, there are more effective ways to defeat the rebels than meeting them face-to-face in battle, wherever they appear.” Sheridan stood his ground. “You stretch our forces too thin, sir, and in so doing you unnecessarily endanger our military men and women.”
“I assure you, sir, that as a veteran myself I am pained by the loss of every soldier, trooper or crewman. However, I understand perfectly the realities and sacrifices of war, and I know that our military men and women understand them, as well.”
“I’m not questioning the reality of sacrifice, but rather the methods employed by this government to wage the war.”
“Stop beating this dead horse!” one of the government backbenchers cried out.
“I would far rather,” Sheridan declared over the growing hubbub, “beat this dead horse into a pulp than see a single unnecessary dead soldier.” An appreciative roar washed over the Chamber from the opposition members. Sheridan basked in it for a long moment, then turned expectant eyes across the central floor to Taal.
“I await your answer, Mr. Minister.”
Taal signaled for quiet, and the chamber slowly calmed.
“Security requirements forbid me from speaking openly about military strategies in this honorable venue, but I invite the leader of the Opposition to join me for a private discussion on this matter.”
Applause broke out on all sides. Breeze joined in, nodding her appreciation. It was an excellent end to the drama—the government had conceded nothing, but the Opposition could claim to have been heard. Both sides could count the exchange as a victory.
Several other opposition party leaders had a chance to fire questions at a minister, and Breeze watched the show with an amused respect. Every politician here was a master orator, and the chorus of supportive members made for quite a spectacle. In the end, the people would feel as if their representatives were working hard to serve them, and that all opinions were welcome within Parliament.
When the show was over, of course, the government would go right back to doing whatever it wanted.
The question period ended, and it was announced that in twenty minutes a senior civil servant was being summoned before Parliament. This caused a rumble of interest, and Breeze noticed that her desk console lit up with a series of files that provided information relating to the summons. The recent famine in Scandinavia had been caused primarily by the mismanagement of food supplies. The civil servant being summoned, one Deputy Director Laura Robblee, had been responsible for the fiasco.
Vijay had sometimes told her about these “summons” to Parliament. They hadn’t been a common event, but had become prevalent this past year. If something truly catastrophic had occurred, for which Parliament risked criticism from the people, a summons ensured that the individual responsible was brought to the Chamber to answer for their actions. Breeze couldn’t help but notice the predatory excitement coming from the members around her.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, down on the central floor, a pair of armed guards emerged from a side entrance, escorting a middle-aged woman in a sensible pantsuit and leading her to a semicircular podium which had risen out of the floor. She was directed to stand at the podium, and one of the guards explained how the controls worked. Breeze assumed that the files displayed on her own desktop were the same as those Ms. Robblee would have access to.
The Minister of Health took the floor and addressed the entire chamber. He described the terrible tragedy that had befallen the citizens of Scandinavia, referencing hundreds who died from starvation in the frigid northern winter. Thousands more had fallen ill from malnutrition. He then took a moment to remind Parliament of the outstanding record of the Terran food distribution program, and how billions of people across the entire system were kept well-fed every day.
He highlighted a spreadsheet from the notes which showed regular food shipments to Scandinavia in the months leading up to the tragedy. Then finally, he showed the dramatic drop in food quantities that began just as the worst weather in a decade had slammed across northern Europe.
“As deputy director of food distribution for Europe,” he said, facing Robblee, “are you responsible for making certain the citizens of Scandinavia are supplied with enough food to maintain their health?”
“I am.” Her voice was very quiet, but amplifiers ensured that her words were heard throughout the chamber.
“Then how did you let this tragedy occur?”
She cleared her throat, then sipped at the provided water.
“I did everything I could to avoid it, but the winter storm grounded our skycraft, and our land transports had to fight their way through impassable conditions.”
“Yet surely winter storms are a common enough event in your area of responsibility, that you can plan in advance for them. Did you know that this storm was coming?”
“Yes, but the severity caught us by surprise.”
“Weather can still surprise us,” the minister replied, with a side nod to his colleague from Environment, “despite our best efforts.” The Minister of Environment nodded politely amid muffled chuckles around him.
“But that doesn’t excuse any lack of preparedness on our part,” Health continued. “Deputy Director, what steps did you take to prepare for this storm?”
“We followed the standing orders of my department,” she responded, then listed a series of steps that had been taken. Breeze had to admire Robblee. She was clearly frightened, but she kept her voice steady and answered the barrage of questions without hesitation. She knew her job, clearly, and wasn’t just some sacrificial suit thrown out by her department.
The Minister of Health finished his examination, and the picture that had been painted was one of a competent civil division overwhelmed by circumstances. A tragedy had occurred, yes, but only in spite of the best efforts of the State. As a member of the Sol party, he then ceded the floor to one of his government colleagues.
Breeze watched as a representative from her own Progressives rose and began questioning Robblee. A summons was unusual in that each party was free to take its own stance on the matter—there was no requirement to vote as a coalition. As a result, eleven different members rose in turn to have at the deputy director. Questions increasingly became an interrogation, and Robblee began to visibly quail under the assault. Details from her history as a civil servant were dragged up, and at one point the leader of the fringe People’s Party brought her nearly to tears.
Among the assembly, the members began to mutter, sometimes even jeering as Robblee struggled to find answers to the questions being hurled at her. Finally, the Minister of Health took the floor once again.
“Members of Parliament,” he called out, “you have heard the evidence and have taken the measure of this servant of the State. It is now time to vote on how we will conclude this summons.”
On her desk, Breeze saw the screen clear itself of all other files and present to her a list of choices. She was free to vote for execution, imprisonment, work service, warning or pardon. She considered. Robblee didn’t seem to be an incompetent, and she clearly wasn’t any sort of political threat. Breeze voted for work service.
Her vote was tallied with the rest of those in the Progressive party, and they would announce a unanimous decision based on the majority. It took less than a minute for all votes to be cast and then Minister Taal, as the senior Progressive, stood.
“The Progressive Party,” he announced, “votes for execution.”
Breeze was shocked.
The Minister of Health then rose to present his party’s vote.
“The Sol Party votes for execution.”
One after the other, representatives from the ruling coalition voted for execution. Sheridan’s Federalists and one other opposition party voted for imprisonment, but the majority in Parliament was clear.
Deputy Director Laura Robblee was led away to be killed.
Amid the animated chatter around her as the session of Parliament closed, Breeze sat back in her chair and surveyed the room anew. This game she’d joined, she now realized, wasn’t just for high stakes. It was for the highest stakes. All power in Terra was focused into this Chamber and these three hundred citizens—many of whom had been playing the game already for years, if not decades.
In order to succeed, she was going to need all her skills.
Smiling suddenly, she welcomed the new resolve that settled over her. Every other member was now either her potential ally—for as long as they were useful to her—or her enemy.