A Learning Experience

Chapter Twenty-Six

Near Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

The mansion had been designed to resemble nothing less than a desert tent, as if the occupants still clung to the lives of their ancestors. It was a lie, of course; the occupants enjoyed riches and luxuries the ancient desert clans would have found completely beyond their comprehension, when they weren’t sneering at them. Oil wealth had warped Saudi Arabia’s society out of all recognition; social unrest threatened every time the government tried to reduce benefits to its population, while the unemployed and unemployable young male Saudis had plenty of time to consider both the finer points of Islam and their own royal family’s adherence to those values.

And now those thoughts will become sharper, the Foreign Minister thought, as he climbed out of the car and walked towards the mansion. His bodyguards fanned out around him, watching for trouble. The Pakistanis were loyal as long as they were paid, he knew. But how long could they be paid?

It might not matter, he knew. Part of their contract was an agreement they could stay in Saudi Arabia if necessary, along with their wives and children. Pakistan looked to be on the verge of civil war, even though large chunks of the Taliban leadership had simply been wiped out. But he didn’t care to gamble with his family’s safety — and their grip over the country they ruled as a private fiefdom. It was already shaky enough after the Americans had started to develop new technology.

He gritted his teeth as they reached the doors and stepped inside. The American infidels didn’t fool him, not really. They wanted — they needed — to break the oil monopoly, particularly now their country held an increasing hatred for Saudi Arabia and the Middle East. No matter the vast sums of money spent on shaping political and public opinion in the West, it was becoming increasingly clear that the flood of off-world technology would eventually shatter the monopoly completely. And once that happened…

The Foreign Minister had no illusions about his family’s popularity. They were hated, increasingly so, by the people they claimed to rule. Any step towards democratic government, no matter how slight, ran the risk of becoming disastrous, while they could hardly become more Islamic without risking an eventual takeover by the religious leaders. Hell, it would be damn near impossible to force his family to become more Islamic. Very few of them even bothered to fast on Ramadan, let alone honour the other tenets of Islam.

There was a long pause as the bodyguards met other bodyguards and exchanged glares, then the Foreign Minister stepped past them and into the meeting room. Three other men stood there, one from Bahrain, one from Dubai and one from Iran. He couldn’t help wondering just what was going through the Iranian’s mind. Iran and Saudi Arabia hated each other so thoroughly that, absent the presence of Saddam and later the Americans, they would have gone to war years ago. But the Foreign Minister had no illusions about the military balance of power either. If the Americans stayed out of the war, Iran would almost certainly win within a year.

It was the age-old problem for any Arab ruler, he knew. If they actually trained their men to be competent soldiers, part of a much larger army, they ran the risk of being deposed in a coup. Allah knew there had been hundreds of coup plots over the last fifty years, some of which had come alarmingly close to being launched. But if they kept their militaries weak and divided, commanders fearful to talk to one another because of the risk of being taken for spies, they would lose all military effectiveness. If the Americans hadn’t protected Saudi Arabia for so long…

He pushed the thought aside as he greeted the Iranian, reminding himself firmly to be diplomatic. The Iranian had been invited, after all, as had the other two. All four nations ran the risk of being completely marginalised, thanks to the influx of off-world technology. If they worked together, they might manage to save themselves. And if they didn’t, they were all thoroughly screwed.

Perhaps I should start sending my family out of the country, the Foreign Minister thought, as he sat down on the rug. Getting Saudis and Iranians to work together will be like herding cats and dogs.

There was a pause as serving men appeared from the side doors, carrying trays of coffee, rice and meat, then — once they were gone — the diplomats started to eat. It felt oddly surreal to the Foreign Minister, who would never normally have chatted to an Iranian in such relaxed surroundings, but it was necessary. Leave it to the Americans to be blunt and direct. The Arabs had a different way of looking at the world. But then, he reminded himself, the Iranians were not Arabs. Indeed, they would find the claim they were rather insulting.

“We have a problem,” he said, when the meal was finished and their coffee was replenished. “The new influx of technology threatens us all.”

“It threatens you more than us,” the Iranian pointed out. “Our country is stable.”

Economically speaking, the Foreign Minister thought, he had a point. Iran had a self-reliance that Saudi Arabia would never be able to develop for itself. But if it couldn’t export oil at all, it would still take a major hit in the pocketbook. The long-term results would be devastating.

“There is also the influx of new computer technology,” the Foreign Minister countered. “What is that doing to you?”

The Iranian glowered, then nodded. Saudi Arabia had had its own problems with the new dongles, despite a hasty religious ruling from the clerics that buying and using one was against Islamic Law. Getting that ruling had cost the family dearly, but it seemed to have had little effect. Several dozen dongles had been confiscated by the Security Ministry, while Allah alone knew how many others were drifting through the country, completely undermining the computer firewalls the government used to prevent its citizens from accessing large parts of the internet. Officially, the firewalls were meant to protect innocent minds from pornography, but everyone knew the truth. The firewalls were intended to keep people who might disagree with the government from talking to one another.

But the dongles were almost completely undetectable…

No matter what the security forces did, this particular jinn was out of the bottle and wouldn’t be put back in a hurry. Half of the religious police were illiterate morons whose sole claim to any form of piety was memorising the Qur’an. They probably wouldn’t recognise one of the new dongles if they laid eyes on it, even without some computer genius taking off the plastic covering and installing the transmitter in his computer. It had already happened, in the West… and Middle Eastern computer nerds had far more reason to hide. He would have been very surprised if the same problem wasn’t happening in Iran.

“Not to mention other problems,” the Iranian continued. “Do you realise they sold Israel a working laser system?”

The Foreign Minister nodded. Iran’s long-term plan for war against Israel was a war of a thousand cuts, using primitive rockets and terror attacks launched by Palestinian groups to undermine the Israeli will to resist. The laser system from outer space — it sounded like the title of a bad movie — simply swatted the missiles out of the air, leaving nothing but dust to drift down to the ground. If nothing else, the whole affair exposed just how hypocritical the lunar settlers were. They claimed not to interfere… and yet they protected a country many of their own people regarded as a menace to world peace.

But he had his doubts about the independence of the lunar settlers. The American Government could have stopped them, if it had seen fit, or simply impeded their operations on Earth. Instead, they seemed to be taking a hands-off approach, which suggested something rather more sinister to a conspiracy-minded thinker. The whole lunar settlement was nothing more than a false flag operation on a gigantic scale. Instead of being actually independent, the whole affair was an American plan to change the world, while the American Government escaped all blame.

A devilishly cunning plan, he thought. The President makes changes he desperately needs to make, all the time protesting his innocence. How very clever!

The Bahraini leaned forward. “We have agreed there is a problem,” he said. “But what do we do about it?”

“You should start thinking about running for your lives,” the Iranian sneered. “Your master may not be able to protect you for much longer.”

The Foreign Minister sighed. “We’re here to discuss possible courses of action,” he said. “I don’t think backbiting helps very much, does it?”

“No,” the Iranian said.

The Foreign Minister sighed. Bahrain was effectively under Saudi military occupation, even though few in the West were genuinely aware of it. The Sunnis might run the semi-island, but the vast majority of the population were Shia… and they wanted change. And Iran, he knew, had been quietly fuelling the flames ever since the damned Arab Spring. It caused no shortage of headaches for their enemies, while making it harder for the West to take its normal sanctimonious approach to the problem. After all, the Royal Family of Bahrain were tyrants.

“Most of our normal tools seem to have been disabled,” the Foreign Minister admitted. “I think American public opinion is moving in favour of fusion power.”

He sighed, again. The environmentalist movement had been quietly funded by the Middle East, in the hopes it would prevent any move to energy independence for the West. They’d spread horror stories about nuclear power, coal power and natural gas fracking… and now, with fusion power promising an unlimited supply of completely clean energy, the environmentalists had seized on it as mana from heaven. They might be useful idiots, but they weren’t paid agents. It would be incredibly difficult to convince them that fusion power was just as dangerous as fission power.

And if they see our fingerprints, they will use it to discredit the whole movement, he thought.

The discussion raged backwards and forwards, but nothing was really decided, apart from the agreement that they did have a problem. If the lunar settlers truly were independent, pressuring the American Government would be pointless. And even if they weren’t, the American government was big enough to make it difficult to pressure, particularly — as the Iranian pointed out — as Saudi Arabia’s influence was dropping fast. And there was the very real danger of picking a fight they couldn’t hope to win.

But, if fusion power continued to spread, they were doomed.

The Foreign Minister had no illusions. American oil companies would be hurt, true, but Americans were incredibly adaptable. They would survive. His country, however, would not survive if they couldn’t export vast amounts of oil. About the only other thing they exported in large quantities was Radical Islam and that was very much a two-edged sword. It was possible, he supposed, that the Chinese would want oil…

“The Chinese have their own problems with dongles,” the Iranian said, sardonically. “They may not be able to take your oil.”

The Foreign Minister winced. He’d met several Chinese technicians, men working in Saudi Arabia for princely wages, and they’d been incredibly clever and inventive. He had no doubt that Chinese technicians would be able to use the dongles themselves, even though the Great Firewall of China was far more capable than anything the Arab states had built for themselves. And then the simmering Chinese unrest might come out into the open and start demanding open change.

But that only took them back to the final question. What were they going to do?

“We need to take decisive action,” the Foreign Minister concluded. “And we will need your help.”

Carefully, he outlined the plan they’d devised.

It was a measure of their desperation, he realised afterwards, that no one — not even the Iranian — raised a serious objection. If the current state of affairs continued, they knew, all of their nations were doomed. Iran might end up with a new government, with the previous government purged by victorious rebels, but Saudi Arabia would sink without trace. The mansions and cities they’d built required constant maintenance to keep them in order. If they couldn’t afford to maintain them any longer, they would rapidly start to fall apart. Water supplies would come to an end. And then vast numbers of people would simply die.

“Desperate,” the Iranian said. “Desperate, but necessary.”

No one disagreed.

Washington didn’t seem to have changed much in the two months since the UN debate in New York, Gunter decided. There were a large mob of protesters outside the White House — several different groups, according to the Washington PD — and lobbyists were still making their endless rounds between Congress and their corporate employers. The only big difference, according to his sources, was the addition of a force field generator to protect the White House, even though the President was no longer Terrorist Target Number One. That honour had been taken by Steve Stuart.

He smiled at the thought as he stepped into the lobby of the hotel and waited for security to buzz him through. Senator Cavendish seemed to prefer to use hotels, rather than establish his own home in Washington, although — as he was quite wealthy in his own right — Gunter suspected this worked out in his favour. He had room service at all hours, a discreet place to meet allies and enemies and a reasonable level of security. And, if someone didn’t take a close look at his expenses, it looked more humble than buying a mansion in one of America’s most expensive cities.

“Ah, Mr. Dawlish,” the Senator said, as the maid waved Gunter into the Senator’s suite. It was practically a luxury apartment in its own right. “Would you care for coffee?”

“Yes, please,” Dawlish said. He waited for the Senator to finish pouring two cups of coffee, then took a seat. “I was surprised you called me today.”

“I much prefer reading your work to that of the MSM,” the Senator said. “It’s either endless abuse or crawling, depending on which side you’re on. The bloggers are much more even-handed.”

That, Gunter knew, wasn’t entirely true. Bloggers could have a political slant just as easily as a hired reporter. But when there were no editors, it was easier to see the political slant for what it was and disregard it. And besides, most bloggers certainly tried to be even-handed, even if it didn’t quite work out.

“Thank you,” he said.

“I won’t lie to you,” Cavendish said, as he sat down. “Recent events have quite unsettled the GOP — and the Democrats too. Who knows what will be the end result of all this new technology?”

Gunter smiled. “A better world?”

“Perhaps, or a worse one,” Cavendish said. “What will happen to America if our best and brightest go into space? Would we be losing the talent we need to keep ourselves a First World nation?”

“Perhaps,” Gunter said. “Or perhaps we would be securing our future instead.”

He shrugged. Years ago, he’d read a research paper that asserted that Americans came from hardy stock. The first Americans — or at least the first settlers, seeing the paper didn’t seem to recognise the existence of the Native Americans — had been willing to leave Europe and make a new life in America, even though there had been a very high risk of death. Their descendents had a fire, the author had claimed, that their relatives in Europe lacked. He’d concluded by asserting that America needed an improved immigration policy to ensure that only those with the drive and determination to succeed were invited into the country.

There was no way to know if the author was actually correct, but he’d heard the rumours winging their way through the political mainstream. Young men and women with the drive and determination to succeed were signing up for lunar settlement in vast numbers; the waiting list, he’d heard, already included millions of names. And these men and women wouldn’t just be determined to succeed, they’d also be natural supporters of the GOP. The party was watching its natural voter base threaten to erode.

But it was likely to cause other problems too. What would happen, he asked himself, if he tax burden on the average American citizen continued to rise?

“The transition has to be carefully managed,” Cavendish said. “We must elect a new government that will guide America through the next few years.”

Gunter lifted his eyebrows. “Are you planning to run for President?”

“I think so,” Cavendish said. “But matters are undecided at the moment.”

“Because half of the GOP thinks that most of their representatives in Washington are RINOs,” Gunter said. “Or traitors.”

He sighed. It was another problem, one that bedevilled all political parties. At base, they were political consensuses, compromises between different attitudes and viewpoints that allowed them all to stand under the same banner. But when large parts of the organisation felt betrayed, they tended to make their displeasure felt. Even without Steve Stuart and the alien technology, the GOP would probably have had a few uncomfortable years. But then, it was probably true of the Democrat Party too. Hope and change had simply not materialised.

“I would also like to open up talks with Mr. Stuart directly,” Cavendish added. “His endorsement would be very useful.”

Gunter doubted that Stuart would offer anything of the sort. “I can certainly give him your number,” he said. “But he was pretty alienated from mainstream politics even before he started his own country. He might have nothing to say to you.”

“There’s no harm in asking,” the Senator said. “And besides, I have other plans for the future.”

Sighing inwardly, Gunter settled in for the long haul.