A Desert Called Peace Part 16

Then, too, this could be exciting and I'm b.l.o.o.d.y bored. bored.

"Computer?" Robinson demanded of the Earth-tech model sitting atop his desk.

"Yes, High Admiral."

"Create a file. Label it...mmm..."Pax 2511". Restrict it to my voice only, both additions and access."

"Done, High Admiral."

Robinson paused, organizing his thoughts.

"Computer, add to the file all that is known to us about the Terra Novan World League and the Tauran Union. In particular I want profiles of all the major players. Then I want you to find whatever is known about the Salafi Ikhwan. Get me everything available on the subjects of guerilla warfare and terrorism. Lastly, for now, I want an economic a.n.a.lysis of the Federated States of Columbia, Terra Nova. Emphasis is on vulnerabilities. After you are done, erase all traces of your search, except for what remains in the file, Pax 2511. Work."

"Working, High Admiral."

UEPF Spirit of Peace, 28 May, 2511 "Mustafa hasn't the slightest idea of what he's about," said Robinson aloud in the privacy of his quarters. His eyes had grown a bit tired from reading the material he had had collected and which was on display on the Novan-built viewsceen mounted on the wall. He looked away, resting them on a painting he had kept for himself out of the recently auctioned Vatican collection.

"He really thinks this G.o.d of his which does not and cannot exist will do all the heavy thinking and lifting. He really believes that if he and his followers will only sacrifice and fight, then everything else will work out by divine will. Do I really really want to entrust the future of my fleet, my planet and my cla.s.s to a lunatic like that? I think not," the High Admiral scoffed. want to entrust the future of my fleet, my planet and my cla.s.s to a lunatic like that? I think not," the High Admiral scoffed.

For over a month Robinson had been studying the problem. In that month he had come no nearer to a solution than he had been when he had last visited Atlantis Base. The FSC, with its three hundred million people, its industry and economy that dominated the planet, its matchless armed forces, was simply too tough to break under the limited attacks Mustafa had in mind. Add in that it was quite capable, albeit at a terrible cost, of swatting the Peace Fleet from s.p.a.ce and...

"Not a chance," Robinson said to himself. "And not a chance I will give him the nukes to make his attacks more effective. Simple a.n.a.lysis would tell the Feds where they had come from; they've already got plenty of material to compare them to from the remains of the two cities we leveled in their Great Global War. And they would would retaliate; there's no question about that. They couldn't then, with no way to loft a warhead into s.p.a.ce, but now they could and they would. retaliate; there's no question about that. They couldn't then, with no way to loft a warhead into s.p.a.ce, but now they could and they would.

"Tough problem."

He stood and began to pace.

"Should I have the bio people transfer some form of disease to Mustafa? No...no, I don't think so. There are some things that even I I can't contemplate doing. Bio war is one of them." can't contemplate doing. Bio war is one of them."

Robinson turned his eyes back to his view screen and continued reading.

29 May, 2511 The conference room had been paneled in rare, iridescent Terra Novan silverwood by one of Robinson's predecessors. It lent the room a warmth that was sadly lacking in most of the s.h.i.+p's areas. The table was likewise from below, as were the chairs that now held some nine members of Robinson's staff.

There'd been nothing for it but to bring some of his staff in for some small parts. Not that Robinson had told them anything important or ever intended to; far from it. But there were questions he didn't have time to answer and which the computer was simply unable to bring the required creativity of thought to bear upon. He needed human help.

"First question," Robinson began. "What can we consider to be progressive forces and organizations on Terra Nova?"

"a.s.suming by 'progressive' you mean the kind of forces which brought peace to Earth and prominence to our ancestors," answered his sociology officer, Lieutenant Commander Khan, a very white and blond atheist who happened to have one prominent and progressive ancestor from old Pakistan, "then the answer is fairly simple. Progressive forces include the supranationals like the World League and the Tauran Union, the entertainment industry, the news industry, the humanitarian industry, the legal industry especially that part of it devoted to international law and those elements of the economy, like Oak Tree Computing, that are detached from any given nation state and benefit from the global economy the Terra Novans have developed in the last ten or twelve years."

"Humanitarian industry industry?" queried Robinson.

"It's an industry like any other," answered Khan, evenly. "What they manufacture is guilt and good feelings. The good feelings they sell at a high premium to those who need to feel good about themselves. They're no different from a company that makes cold remedies, except they are dealing with the relief of guilty emotions rather than sniffles. That, and that those who manufacture cold remedies are not also in the business of making colds."

"I'd always thought of those as existing to do good," the High Admiral objected.

Khan, the realist, smiled. "They manage to do pretty well well by doing good, Admiral. And it is highly questionable whether they do any real good, at least of the kinds they claim and probably even think they do. Do they feed the hungry? Surely. And they will keep feeding the hungry, as long as the hungry look pitiable enough to collect money for doing so. But the net result of feeding the hungry tends to be the destruction of local agriculture which ensures a continuing supply of the hungry, a continuing supply of poster children, and a continuing supply of donations to a.s.suage guilt. by doing good, Admiral. And it is highly questionable whether they do any real good, at least of the kinds they claim and probably even think they do. Do they feed the hungry? Surely. And they will keep feeding the hungry, as long as the hungry look pitiable enough to collect money for doing so. But the net result of feeding the hungry tends to be the destruction of local agriculture which ensures a continuing supply of the hungry, a continuing supply of poster children, and a continuing supply of donations to a.s.suage guilt.

"Then, too," Khan continued, "they can afford to pay for the best local housing wherever they go, and that drives the price of local housing beyond the reach of all but a very few locals. Do they educate people? Indeed they do, and thereby ensure that the most capable people get enough education to leave the place of their birth and go where the money and living are better. Alternatively, they will tend to hire highly educated people in these undeveloped h.e.l.lholes they inflict themselves upon and use them for highly skilled work...like driving around and translating for the humanitarian aid workers. Oh, yeah, that's that's value added." value added."

The fleet's Druidic chaplain interjected, "I remind you, Ms. Khan, that it was precisely those kind of groups that helped our ancestors bring Earth to peace and stability at last."

"The admiral asked me for a.n.a.lysis, Your Wisdom," answered Khan, respectfully. Atheist or not one had to respect the power of Earth's official clergy of which the druids were a part. "I make no moral judgments. What I have told him is is the effective operating method of the local international humanitarian aid community, as it was for our own planet's. They are a plague to whatever place they visit, but they are equally a boon to the cause of international progressivism." the effective operating method of the local international humanitarian aid community, as it was for our own planet's. They are a plague to whatever place they visit, but they are equally a boon to the cause of international progressivism."

"What Sosh has said is true, Admiral," added the staff communications officer. "But it could not be true unless the news media and entertainment industries of which she spoke were willing to accentuate the positive and cover up the negative."

Khan nodded her head in agreement.

Robinson tapped his fingers against his face, thinking. "How long," he asked, "before the Novans can achieve interstellar travel?"

Estimates ranged wildly from "Fifty years" to "Centuries."

Engineering disagreed. "Twenty years, Admiral. Possibly as few as fifteen."

That was a shock. was a shock.

"Explain that estimate," the High Admiral ordered.

"The state of their technology right now is about where Earth was in the early 21st century. But that's only in general. They're already ahead of where we were in some areas the Federated States of Columbia is, in any case because a), they know a lot more of what is possible than our ancestors did and b) the FSC has been fanatical about s.p.a.ce research ever since your predecessor nuked two of their cities." century. But that's only in general. They're already ahead of where we were in some areas the Federated States of Columbia is, in any case because a), they know a lot more of what is possible than our ancestors did and b) the FSC has been fanatical about s.p.a.ce research ever since your predecessor nuked two of their cities."

"That doesn't mean they will will though," Ms. Khan objected. It really was a frightening thought, the barbarians of Terra Nova loose in s.p.a.ce. though," Ms. Khan objected. It really was a frightening thought, the barbarians of Terra Nova loose in s.p.a.ce.

"No," engineering agreed. "But they could and that that is what the High Admiral asked." is what the High Admiral asked."

"Could we prevent them from doing so short of war?" Robinson asked.

"No." Everyone agreed. "No."

Khan added, "Though the kind of war might make a difference."

Atlantis Base, Earth Year 14 June, 2511 They met in Robinson's ash.o.r.e quarters, a s.p.a.cious house set apart from all other buildings by a high wall and broad, green lawn. Lit naturally by tall, narrow windows, the apartment was furnished in the best of Earth and Novan styles, kept spotless by a crew of dimwitted proles. The tables were gleaming wood; the couches and chairs supple leather. Thick rugs covered the porcelain tiles of the floors and rare art hung on the walls.

"We cannot be directly involved, Mustafa. Understand that much from the beginning. We can guide you, help you, partially fund you and give you a certain amount of intelligence. But we will will not get directly involved under any circ.u.mstances." not get directly involved under any circ.u.mstances."

Barely, Mustafa restrained the urge to p.r.o.nounce UE's High Admiral a "coward." Then again, the Salafi doubted that the word would have meant much to the High Admiral. Mustafa was certain that the idea of cowardice had left the UE lexicon every bit as completely as had the concept of courage. Besides, coward or not, the man was an infidel, an atheist, and that was, in Mustafa's opinion, infinitely worse.

"Money?" Mustafa sneered. "I have money. Intelligence? Allah will provide victory to us or not, as he wills, without your "intelligence." I am wasting my time here."

"Not so fast, son of the desert." Robinson was really thinking son of a b.i.t.c.h son of a b.i.t.c.h but that would have been impolitic to say. "Our aid means more to you than you imagine." but that would have been impolitic to say. "Our aid means more to you than you imagine."

In one of those little quirks of fate that sometimes happen, the Fleet Chaplain, Druid though he was, had proven of more value than all the rest of Robinson's other counselors. The Druid, at least, understood Islam, though it could hardly be said he approved of it.

"Allah will provide," Robinson echoed. "Allah will provide your weapons, then? Or will you have to find them yourself? Allah will make the Federated States complacent, or will you have to be clever on your own behalf and in His cause? How do you know, Mustafa, that Allah did not provide me? me? Or do you question that all things, to include me, come to pa.s.s only through his favor? I am shocked, Or do you question that all things, to include me, come to pa.s.s only through his favor? I am shocked, shocked shocked, that you think to spurn the gift He has provided."

Robinson keyed the intercom on the table at which he and Mustafa spoke. "Bring my car around for my guest. My business here is concluded."

"Wait," the Salafi said, holding up a hand. "Perhaps I was hasty. We may yet be able to do business together."

Atlantis Base, 19 June, 2511 Unni Wiglan was thrilled, thrilled thrilled, that the High Admiral had invited her, personally, to return to Atlantis Base for consultations. The prestige alone was invaluable. And the comfort of being in the one place on Terra Nova which gave proof that her values were true? Priceless.

She'd shown the High Admiral her grat.i.tude, too, in a number of ways.

Better, the High Admiral had shown himself to be a man of both caring and culture. He'd been nothing but questions and concern about the very things Unni herself cared about: improving the low regard in which the World League was held, limiting the anarchic and archaic "sovereign" rights of Terra Nova's two hundred and twelve nation-states, the plight of the people of Filistia, groaning under the heel of Zion, among other worthy causes. She'd been especially pleased when the High Admiral had dismissed Zion's claims with the words, "b.l.o.o.d.y Jews."

United Earth had had no more Jews; they'd all been either killed or sent off world to the colony the Arab League had given them to entice them away. no more Jews; they'd all been either killed or sent off world to the colony the Arab League had given them to entice them away.

And then there was the great concern the High Admiral had shown for the Terra Novan natural environment. He'd himself noted that in the last two hundred years Terra Nova's mean temperature had increased a staggering .3 degrees Celsius. "It just can't go on, my dear Unni. Why, in a thousand years the planet will become uninhabitable. And did you know, my people say you may already have reached the tipping point; that, or you soon will. There's no time to waste."

Here, finally finally, was a representative from Earth who understood, who cared. For the first time in her life, Unni Wiglan thought there might be some hope for peace for her planet.

UEPF Spirit of Peace, Earth Date 28 June, 2513 "Computer, view screen on," Robinson ordered. Immediately the computer turned on the wall-mounted Kurosawa. "Find me the news, Federated States. Make it the Global News Network."

"...and it's a bright and sunny day here in First Landing, Hudson," the announcer said. "Not a cloud in the sky and...What the fu...? Oh, dear G.o.d...there's been a terrible accident at the Terra Nova Trade Organization."

Robinson winced as the view switched from the studio to a tall tower, standing alone but with other, similar ones in the background.. The tower had a gaping hole near the base from which smoke poured out. He winced again when another airs.h.i.+p slammed into a second building and then again when a third skysc.r.a.per was. .h.i.t. Both of those shots were seen distantly, as the second and third towers were across the city.

He didn't really feel it, though, until the camera on site focused on people beginning to jump from the upper stories to avoid burning to death. s.h.i.+vering, he remembered back to the smoke-filled cabin of the shuttle, to the face of the crew chief suffocating in the faulty EV suit.

"Poor people," he whispered. "But what am I to do? Wait until you're strong enough that it becomes my my people jumping from burning buildings? I'm sorry for you; truly I am. But it was necessary." people jumping from burning buildings? I'm sorry for you; truly I am. But it was necessary."

"I hope, I really do, that no more, or not much more, will be necessary."

Interlude

31 January, 2050, Turtle Bay, New York, New York, United States of America, Earth The speech was televised. Moreover, it was watched with keen interest in certain quarters.

Margot Tebaf had prepared long and hard for the occasion. The best speechwriters available to her had taken her thoughts hers and Dominique's, who had quickly become rather more than a casual fling and turned them into s.h.i.+ning prose, a beacon to light the dark night and turn it to day.

Margot's speech was, from the progressive point of view, exactly on point. Perhaps many, even most, viewers thought it full of pious plat.i.tudes, inanities and wishful thinking. She and they simply didn't share the same concepts, even the same vocabulary. In that sense it was a failure, but a predictable one. Moreover, those people really didn't matter. In the more important sense, for people who did share the same world view and did matter the news media, the European Parliament, the various humanitarian aid and human rights activist organizations around the world (of which there were hundreds of thousands, large and small), and the increasingly hereditary bureaucrats at the United Nations the speech was a resounding success.

They could read the code phrases put into the speech by Margot's speechwriters. could read the code phrases put into the speech by Margot's speechwriters. They They knew that "increased political stability" was a nicer way of saying "deportation of troublemakers." knew that "increased political stability" was a nicer way of saying "deportation of troublemakers." They They knew that "fair distribution of human talent" meant "keep the highly talented from emigrating out of their own h.e.l.lholes to the United States." knew that "fair distribution of human talent" meant "keep the highly talented from emigrating out of their own h.e.l.lholes to the United States."

Moreover, the insightful among the viewers saw something that Margot grasped, if at all, only in embryonic form. If they could cut off the flow of immigrants to the United States, and make this new world the only permissible outlet for people who simply didn't care for transnational governance, that would be good. But what would be infinitely better would be the effect of moving those same people out out of their home countries in even greater numbers than the United States had ever been willing to accept. For each one that left, say, Europe weakened the resistance to supranational and transglobal governance while each weakening of resistance led to more supranational and transglobal governance. This, in turn, led to more people wanting to leave which, if allowed, would still of their home countries in even greater numbers than the United States had ever been willing to accept. For each one that left, say, Europe weakened the resistance to supranational and transglobal governance while each weakening of resistance led to more supranational and transglobal governance. This, in turn, led to more people wanting to leave which, if allowed, would still further further weaken resistance to transglobal governance. weaken resistance to transglobal governance.

It was, the viewers saw, a perfect solution, an elegant elegant solution. Moreover, it did not have the distressing side effect of increasing resistance, and providing an unfortunate counter-example, within the United States. To one another they said, "What's not to like?" solution. Moreover, it did not have the distressing side effect of increasing resistance, and providing an unfortunate counter-example, within the United States. To one another they said, "What's not to like?"

And so the consensus grew for it was a consensus, not a conspiracy this new world is the solution to our problems here on Earth. this new world is the solution to our problems here on Earth.

Chapter Ten.

Among other evils which being unarmed brings you, it causes you to be despised.-Machiavelli, The Prince The Prince

Casa Linda, 29/9/459 AC If one picture was worth one thousand words, how many words were saved by half a dozen, in living color? The pictures fronted a newspaper that lay unopened upon the desk. There was no need to open it. That front page said everything necessary with its display of dismembered arms and legs, broken bleeding children, and people burned and blasted almost beyond recognition.

They have given me what I asked for, thought an inexpressibly saddened Patricio Carrera. But I will not thank them for it. I wish they had not. But I will not thank them for it. I wish they had not.

His eyes wandered down again, down to a picture of a little girl. This one, at least was alive. b.l.o.o.d.y, she was; covered in blood from head to foot. In the picture her skin showed through only at the twin tear tracks on her cheeks. The little girl was standing perfectly well. She was quite unhurt.

The baby's mother, however, was a ghastly, exsanguinated ruin torn and b.l.o.o.d.y meat lying on the street before her.

Though Carrera was saddened, an element of celebration charged the air of Casa Linda. Men pa.s.sing in the hallways of the house spontaneously lifted their hands to 'high five' as they pa.s.sed. The Boss can do it now! We're going to war! The Boss can do it now! We're going to war! Daugher and Bowman b.u.t.ted heads, literally and for the sheer violent joy of the thing, every time they pa.s.sed in a hall. Daugher and Bowman b.u.t.ted heads, literally and for the sheer violent joy of the thing, every time they pa.s.sed in a hall.

Carrera, himself, was rather more restrained. He had a plan. He had all the diagrams. He had tables of manning and equipment, pay scales, grade requirements, training schedules...

And I have guilt. guilt. Is it my fault, my doing, that these people were attacked? Or would it have happened eventually, anyway? I suppose I'll never know. Is it my fault, my doing, that these people were attacked? Or would it have happened eventually, anyway? I suppose I'll never know.

Lourdes interrupted his thoughts with a cup of coffee. She pretended not to notice as he quickly wiped a forming tear from his own eye. "What happens now, Patricio?"

"I don't know, not for sure. I don't yet have the authority. I don't have the money; I don't have the equipment, I don't have the men. I don't have the land to train on. I don't have the uniforms, the ammunition, the barracks...even tents we lack. All I have is a plan and control of some some money, with more on the way....that, and a few connections." money, with more on the way....that, and a few connections."

Lourdes glanced down at the newspaper then back to her boss. "But you and General Parilla have an appointment with the Acting President in just three days, Patricio. Isn't that about getting all those things?"

"Yes. But Parilla and I both have our doubts about how easy it will be. Even after this," he said as his hand gestured towards the paper.

"I have faith in you, Patricio. You will get what you need."

He sighed. Maybe the girl was right. "Lourdes...you're a reasonable girl, as reasonable as anyone in the country. Do you believe we...Balboa should go to war over this?"

Lourdes' eyes flashed pure Castilian fire, glowing hot with rage and hate. This fire would have been commonplace during the Reconquista Reconquista, the centuries-long drive to rid Spain of the hated Moslem. On Cortez's march to Tenocht.i.tlan to conquer the Mexica a similar flame had lit the eyes of his conquistadors. Aboard the s.h.i.+ps of the Holy League the night before the b.l.o.o.d.y naval battle at Lepanto, Don John's sailors' and marines' eyes had shone so. It was the very fire that had once made Spain 'the nation with the b.l.o.o.d.y footprint.'

"Oh, very much, yes. Yes, yes, yes yes." Her foot stamped. "You must make them pay pay for this!" for this!"

Carrera nodded, satisfied. A hand reached out for a cigarette. "Lourdes, would you get Professor Ruiz on the phone for me? Then call Parilla's secretary and see when he will be available."

Saint Nicholasberg, Volga, 30/9/459 AC Smoke curled up from half a dozen vile Volgan cigarettes to gather and congeal along the ceiling and walls of the room. A small buffet and that was not not vile at all sat pillaged on a table near the room's only door. Inside, men no longer young argued over their state's future. vile at all sat pillaged on a table near the room's only door. Inside, men no longer young argued over their state's future.