Patriotic Treason

Chapter Forty

“This meeting will now come to order,” I said, as calmly as I could. “Please could I have your attention?”

There was little fear of losing it, I reflected, as their eyes followed me. I’d hoped to have a relatively small conference, but I’d forgotten how many different factions there were in the Human Sphere. There were over five hundred actual delegates in the chamber, with an equivalent number of observers, reporters and other representatives. I’d planned to hold it onboard the Percival Harriman — our only battleship — but we’d been forced to move down to Unity. It wasn’t an auspicious beginning.

It had taken nearly a year to set up the conference, a year where I’d wondered if I’d lose control as quickly as I’d taken it. My UNPF — I’d decided that we’d simply be ‘Fleet’ in future, rather than any more Peace Force nonsense — faction was larger than all the others, but some elements of the old regime had tried to fight rather than submit, or even accept my offer of future service. We’d had to chase several starships into the Beyond, or catch and destroy others, and that still left the problem of cleaning up the Infantry. Some worlds had allowed the Infantry to disengage gracefully, others had continued the war right up until the conference itself…and God alone knew what we were doing to do about Terra Nova. Was it possible that that mess would ever be sorted out?

In the end, I’d imposed an uneasy peace, but I doubted that it would last forever. The power of the UN had been broken, but there were other factions that would make their own bids for power, now that the oppressor had been defeated. There were resistance forces that saw us as merely the continuation of the UN’s oppression and radical fanatics determined to punish Earth for centuries of oppression. The UN had kept the lid on hundreds of racial and religious conflicts — I remembered Muna with a wave of bitter regret — and now that lid was coming off. Fleet Intelligence — I’d given that to one of the handful of people I trusted completely — was predicting that at least fifty-two worlds would see outbreaks of civil war by the end of the following year. The UN’s baleful legacy would be felt for years to come.

“I am not a diplomat,” I said, into the silence, “so I trust that you will understand if I disperse with the usual formalities. I have read accounts of conferences that went on for years without producing any real result, but I see no reason why we cannot have the basis of a peace agreement within a week, perhaps less. I understand that many of you have grievances you wish to air, or demands you wish to make, but we are here to discuss the future of the Human Sphere. More mundane issues can wait.”

I paused and took a sip of water. “This is the situation as I understand it,” I continued. “I — we — control the vast majority of the former United Nations Peace Force. We control the starships, the Marines and the supply bases, including the productive centres in the Solar System. We may not control the Infantry — either the ones who have accepted reparation to Earth or have decided to go to Terra Nova or other worlds — but we possess overwhelming military superiority. Is there anyone here who would dispute that?”

There was a long silence. Heinlein’s starships had returned in glory, but even though they were more advanced than our best, they would be heavily outnumbered. I’d already decided that Annihilator and Bombardment would be broken up or converted into supply vessels as soon as possible, but even without the monitors Fleet — my Fleet — could turn any or all of the human worlds into radioactive ash. I wasn’t blind to the implications. They’d be scared of me and start a new arms race. In the end, we’d just have another war.

“No?” I asked, finally. No one had bothered to disagree. “Good. I intend, therefore, to set out the basics here for a peace agreement and future status quo for the Human Sphere that should be acceptable, if not particularly palatable, to all of you. I understand, as I said, that most of you will wish to deal with other matters, but I believe that our priority lies in ending the war and preventing another from starting. I am not interested in the political or ideological disagreements that we have fought over in the past. I am interested in preventing the extermination of the human race.

“The UN has been crippled,” I continued. “The vast majority of the occupation forces have been withdrawn from the planets they attempted to garrison, or have moved to remote locations to await pickup. The war is over. Local governments may assume control of local affairs as they please. I do not intend to intervene.”

A rustle ran through the atmosphere, but no one stood up to object. I didn’t blame them. Earth’s ongoing collapse — food riots in the north, barbarity rising in the south — had made the news on all of the colonies. I’d given orders that anyone who had been a member of the Political Class was to be refused departure from Earth, but even so there were tens of thousands trying to flee as the chaos grew worse. Heinlein and Williamson’s World had been producing hundreds of extra colonist-carrier starships for our use, but even so, it would be impossible to reduce Earth’s population pressure before the final collapse. The best guess Fleet Intelligence had produced was that two-thirds of the total population would be dead within ten years. The Colonies were taking in as many as they could — unlike the UN, we weren’t trying to force them to accept new colonists — but it would never be enough. How could it be?

I remembered my final interview with Muna, a week after we’d secured control of Earth’s orbitals. She’d been harsh with me, despite our success, and refused to take a position in the new Fleet. I’d reluctantly let her go to Luna Base and find her own place, if that was what she chose. I doubted she’d go back to Earth. Her former people were among those trying to loot others for food and supplies they no longer had. The UN had used orbital strikes to keep them in line, as a last resort, but without them the Infantry had to get their hands dirty. The war was going to be very bad.

“I do not, however, propose to allow star systems to develop their own interstellar fleets,” I said, calmly. “I believe that if we allowed such a development, it would not be long before we were at war again, with perhaps far greater casualties as other worlds wouldn’t be trying to occupy and loot the colonies. I therefore propose the following. We — the Fleet — will assume an oversight role preventing interstellar war. There will be no independent Jump-Capable military starships. Fleet will, to all intents and purposes, be the neutral arbiter in disputes between star systems. We have no ambitions of our own.”

I’d worked out the idea from studying Heinlein’s files. Military governments never worked for very long, because the strains of trying to govern a population with military methods always tore them apart. I had no intention of losing what we’d built or creating a monster even worse than the UN, so I’d decided that local governments would have complete power over local affairs. The Fleet would only become involved if third parties — such as visitors from another star system — were threatened.

“I have prepared a treaty to this effect,” I concluded. It would have been transmitted to their terminals as soon as I completed my speech. “I would like to invite you, now, to ask questions and address matters we haven’t covered here.”

It was nearly seven minutes before the Heinlein delegate rose to speak. “I will be as diplomatic as you were,” he said, shortly. “What you propose is that we remain naked before you for the foreseeable future. Why should we accept those terms? Why should we trust that you will remain forever benevolent?”

There were actually several answers I could give to that, but I bit down on the obvious one. “Fleet will not develop any form of ground-combat force beyond the Marines,” I said. It would actually take us years to build a competent one anyway, if we had chosen to try. “Frankly, there’s little that we would want from the Colonies that would be worth the effort of taking it. If we mined asteroids instead, we’d get all the resources we needed to supply and maintain the fleet.

“However, there is a stronger reason,” I added. “We will be recruiting from all of the human worlds, not just Earth. Your citizens would be welcome in Fleet and make it harder for us to bully you, should we choose to do so later.”

I smiled at their reaction. The UNPF had only recruited from Earth. It hadn’t even recruited people from the asteroids, even though they had come with skills the UNPF had desperately needed. The idea had been simple enough — people from Earth didn’t often think kindly of the Colonies — and it had worked. If I reversed that policy, which I fully intended to do, it would prevent Fleet developing into a bully.

“I accept your terms,” the delegate from Edo said, in a faintly Japanese-accented voice. “I wish, however, to discuss another matter. My planet was occupied by UN Infantry for the last seventy years and they wrecked great devastation on my world. I wish to know when the UN will be forced to pay reparations for the damage they inflicted.”

Bastard, I thought. The Senior Chief had bet me ten credits that someone would raise the issue of reparations. I would have been more annoyed about it if the credit was worth anything these days. I’d have to give some thought to building an interstellar system that worked on something more complex than barter.

“That is a complex issue,” I said, carefully. “The problem is that the UN is currently incapable of paying any reparations to anyone. Earth’s growing…problems will certainly impede recovery for at least the next hundred years, perhaps much longer, and indeed the UN itself may not survive.”

“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” someone muttered, at the rear.

“I understand your position,” I concluded, “but we cannot force them to pay reparations that they literally cannot pay.”

The delegate didn’t accept that. “Earth is the richest system in the Human Sphere,” he snapped, angrily. “Are they incapable of paying anything for the damage they’ve inflicted?”

“The solar system has broken up into a morass of political entities,” I said, carefully. “I doubt that there is any point in extorting money from the asteroids, or Mars, and Earth’s currency is effectively worthless these days. As I said, I doubt that they will be able to pay anything at the moment. Earth’s only export is people.”

The argument raged backwards and forwards for nearly an hour. As I’d expected, this was nearly the breaking point of the conference…and, if I hadn’t held ultimate military power, it would have been the breaking point of the conference. They wanted Earth to pay, somehow, for what it had done, yet Earth had nothing to give. I ended up intervening when several planets started talking about sending troops to Earth to extract payment… there was, after all, little to take. Someone even proposed hitting the asteroids or Mars, but I nixed that idea quickly. They hadn’t been compliant in the UN’s crimes.

“We can put that issue aside for the moment,” I said, finally. It would probably never be solved. “Are there any other issues?”

“War crimes,” the Heinlein delegate said, firmly. “We want those UN personnel guilty of war crimes extradited to face courts on Heinlein.”

“Now hang on a moment,” the Earth delegate said. He’d just sat and watched with a smile while the Colonists argued over reparations. I could appreciate his feelings. Nothing, but anti-UN feeling bound the colonies together. If they fell out over this, the UN might have a chance to recover in peace. “I have a long list of complaints about war crimes by your people against ours.”

He accessed his terminal and began to recite a formidable list. “Attacking under cover of a white flag,” he said. “Shooting surrendered prisoners out of hand. Use of illegal chemical and biological weapons against UN Infantrymen. Failure to wear a uniform while on combat operations. Attacks on unarmed supporting personnel…”

“If you hadn’t invaded our planet,” the Heinlein delegate snapped, “we would not have to use such methods.”

“They remain war crimes,” the Earth delegate said, amused. “Do you claim that you are immune from the charges you wish to bring against us?”

He smiled at me. “Do you intend to enforce the laws against us both, or just Earth?”

I thought fast. This was an issue that I needed to settle, somehow, but who was guilty? Almost anything could be counted as a war crime under UN Regulations, yet they were right; Heinlein had committed acts just as bad. It was a nightmare. The definition of a war crime itself was vague.

“That, too, is an issue that will be handled later,” I said. “We will set up a tribunal to try war criminals after we define a war crime, but yes, we will insist that it be applied equally to all sides.”

“And yet you punished some by sending them to Botany,” the Earth delegate pressed. “Why did you do that?”

“They were mainly clearly guilty,” I said, remembering the Political Officers and other oxygen thieves. I’d had them all shipped to Botany, where Andrew was now running the planet, although that wouldn’t last. There was little economic sense in a prison world and I rather suspected that we would discontinue it soon enough. “The remainder of suspect war criminals will be addressed later.”

I looked around the chamber. “You have to make a decision,” I said, finally. “Will you accept our terms, or not?”

I hadn’t given them much of a choice and they knew it. There was some haggling, mainly about what kind of defences each planet would be allowed to have, and what rights Fleet commanders would have over local defence units, but they’d known that they needed to accept my terms or I might make them harsher. They’d play along, try and see how many recruits they could give me, and hope that they could moderate my behaviour in time. I had never wanted to be Emperor of the Human Sphere, but I was, in all, but name.

“They agreed, then?” Kitty asked, when I finally joined her and the Senior Chief in her cabin. It felt odd to be wearing an Admiral’s uniform — and I’d had to accept that I’d never command again — but there was little choice. Young as I was, I had to look impressive to the delegates, or they wouldn’t take me seriously. “We have our agreements?”

I nodded, looking up at the holographic image of the Human Sphere orbiting above my head. We’d have the bases and facilities we needed to transform the remainder of the UNPF into a completely different organisation — we might even cause peace to break out, which would be ironic! I’d written most of the Fleet Protocols myself in hopes of preventing any further involvement in planetary affairs, but we’d certainly permit most of the other conflicts to burn themselves out. It wasn’t pleasant, but if we intervened we’d need an army, and then we’d grow into the habit, and then…

We’d be the UN, again.

“We have what we wanted,” I said, remembering the dead and dying on Heinlein. Once I’d set Fleet up, I privately resolved to submit myself to a Heinlein court to stand trial for my deeds. I’d started repairing the damage the UN had caused, but I couldn’t repair my soul. “The rest…”

I shrugged and looked over at the Senior Chief. “Tell me something,” I said. It was something that had been bothering me over the last few months. “Who really founded the Brotherhood?”

The Senior Chief smiled thinly, but his voice was serious. “Does it matter now?”

“I think so,” I said, slowly. I had learned to dislike mysteries in my time. They tended to lead to unpleasant surprises. “That’s the one puzzle that I was never able to solve. I met others from the Brotherhood, but no one seemed to be in control.”

“No one ever was,” the Senior Chief said. “It wasn’t designed to be anything other than a way to share information that hadn’t been…tainted by the UN. It even kept people from identifying most of the other members, just to keep the rest of them safe. And, with that in mind, who do you think founded it?”

“The Captain,” I said, slowly. It had to be Captain Harriman. Who else would have wanted to create something that could be used to share information, but not overthrow the United Nations? The thought reminded me of one of my new Captains. Captain Hatchet was old, but I had no doubt that she’d make a superb commanding officer. I just hoped she’d agree to take on the Academy in a few years, wherever that ended up. We couldn’t keep training Cadets on the Moon. “Did he know…?”

“I don’t know,” the Senior Chief admitted, “but I think he would be proud of you.”