0300 Book 3 - 19. Chapter 19: Diplomacy is War by Other Means

Chapter 19: Diplomacy is War by Other Means

We offered Chang’s father the same honors we would have offered a member of our Fleet Council, including donning seldom-worn dress uniforms complete with swords. I don’t know what the Chairman expected, but was pretty sure he was impressed, as were the members of his staff—civilian and military. Danny had reviewed our plan with Chang, who had relayed it to his father so the man would not be surprised. He wore a dark, civilian suit, and displayed a number of ribbons on his lapel—ribbons Chang had told us were marks of military honor.

Chang, himself, wore a uniform with insignia that identified him as a Lieutenant in their Naval Fleet—the same grade as those of my boys who provided the honor guard—although I suspected Chang could have worn any rank he chose. Like the honor guard, Chang wore a Sig Sauer 9-mm pistol. It had been a gift from the GWGs. His father saw the pistol and raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Chairman Quan was quite affable and after the honors and official reception, accepted my invitation to tea with Danny, Chang, and me. After tea had been served and tasted, I dropped the bomb.

“Chairman, we understand that you might be concerned that we would think ill of you and your culture if we thought that Chang were homosexual. Nothing could be more removed from the truth.” I pushed slightly, just enough to keep him from jumping from his chair. I had been careful to use subjunctive tense, and had confirmed the translation from English to Cantonese with several experts.

“Many of the boys Chang has met, including all the boys in the honor guard which greeted you just now, are homosexual. I trust you saw no signs of weakness among them?”

The Chairman shook his head.

The members of the honor guard had been carefully selected, and I was able to continue truthfully. “They are all soldiers, and all have seen battle. They have been under fire; they have returned fire. They all have taken the lives of their enemies. When they return from battle, they take comfort in the arms of their brothers, their boyfriends, their lovers.

“We do not see that as a weakness in them nor do we see it as a weakness in others.”

The Chairman looked at his son. Neither was telepathic, although I suspected Chang would become so. Still, something passed between them. Danny and I saw and felt relief in Chang’s face and mind. An almost imperceptible softening of the Chairman’s face followed.

“I think, Commodore, that you have a bright future as a diplomat as well as a military commander.”

I cemented our friendship when I replied, “Sun Tzu said that the art of war is vital to the state. And I believe he was right to place moral law as the first of the five constant factors. All else follows, I believe, from that.”

* * * * *

Danny sent a formal message reporting his arrival and describing the palatial quarters he’d been given. About eight hours later, he blasted all the metas with a report of Chang’s slipping into Danny’s room, and of his first experience with boy sex.

Sheriffs’ Ranches

Because of their location on rail and telegraph lines, we found it convenient to roll up the Sheriffs Ranches as we moved from town to town. None of the sheriffs or deputies, including those in the headquarters and regional supply depots, were entirely innocent of some form of abuse of the boys in their care.

Those who were not executed or held for trial were put on a single ranch in Montana. We established a force-field that completely surrounded the ranch. We gave the surviving deputies shovels, picks, scythes, and seed, and left them to their own devices. I did make a note to check on them in a couple of years, but somehow that slipped through the cracks and never reached the top of my to-do list. I’m sure someone took care of it, however.

Tobor’s database plus extensive DNA testing helped us return about half of the boys from the liberated Sheriffs’ Ranches to their homes. The other boys at the ranches, whose origins and families we could not determine, were offered the opportunity to remain on the ranch to raise food for themselves and to create a surplus to trade for goods ranging from clothes to tools to televisors to books. Most of the boys accepted that offer, especially after we promised to help with tractors and irrigation pumps.

We set up a school at each ranch. Attendance was voluntary, but we made it clear that education could lead to advancement. We also put an adult team in charge until the boys could organize themselves. Easy-peasy, I thought.

Lynchburg

We had nearly completed our roll up of the towns, villages, and Sheriffs’ Ranches of the Reverends’ world without forcing engagements with large bodies of Army troops.

There remained a few larger towns. The most important of those included Fort Belvoir, the headquarters of the Army; Miami and Chicago, formerly Arcana strongholds; Lynchburg, the Scudder’s headquarters; and Las Vegas, a cesspit.

George, Artie, Cory, and I looked at our resources. About 70% of the Task Force personnel were already on the ground, securing towns or repairing the infrastructure of the Reverends’ territory. I had to keep a certain number of people on the ships to keep them in operation and to maintain the flow of logistics to troops on the ground.

“What’s left?” I asked George, who was working the spreadsheets.

“Ten strike teams,” he said. “Maybe you could ask Admiral Davis for more Marines and Seabees,” he suggested.

I wasn’t happy with that thought. Admiral Davis had given me command of nearly two-thirds of the Home Fleet, plus about half of the Venus Terraforming Fleet. I had more power under my command than any commander in the history of Fleet, and I wasn’t about to tell my boss that I had run out of resources.

“George? I want a solution that doesn’t require that. Let’s look at the situation.”

By reducing slightly the troops who were working in secured towns, George was able to assemble another ten strike teams. He assured me that would be sufficient.

Marty and Bobby had gotten together and reverse-engineered an iPad. They then created an iPad that would do one thing, and one thing, only: play a pre-recorded video every time the start button was pushed. Actually, it would do two things: it would self-destruct gently but spectacularly if anyone tried to open it.

We recorded a message to the Scudder and to the Seniors of Las Vegas, Chicago, and Miami as well as the commander at Ft. Belvoir warning them that any attack on us, any attempt to stop us, would be met with annihilation—and then added the video we had made of the destruction of Mt. Zion.

We were pretty sure that knowledge of our shuttlecraft was limited to people in territory we controlled, and we wanted to keep it that way. We couldn’t follow the precedent set when we delivered our message to Mt. Zion. That posed a problem.

“A kid,” Terry said. “A kid dressed like someone local. Got a skin suit on under his clothes, force-field off. Sub-vocal communicator. Comes up to the gate or whatever with this thing he’s found. Gives it to a guard.” It was pretty clear Terry wanted to be that kid.

“And if they insist he bring it in? Or fire on him without warning?” George said.

“Then he switches on the force-field and sub-vocals for pickup. They know we’re magic already. Giving them a couple more reasons to see that won’t hurt.”

Terry’s logic was good. The only change I made was that he have the force-field switched on when he approached the gate.

Terry’s missions went without a hitch. The results were not what we’d hoped for. The Scudder’s people and the army brass “turtled up.” The telegraph lines were full of traffic recalling what was left of their forces to assemble at Lynchburg, Ft. Belvoir, and Fort Pickett. The messages from Las Vegas, Chicago, and Miami requesting—demanding—troops smacked of desperation, and were not answered.

Our response was to cut telegraph lines and destroy sections of rail to isolate them from reinforcements. By taking on the Army in smaller pockets, we cut the number of casualties at Ft. Belvoir, Ft. Pickett, and Lynchburg significantly, but did not entirely eliminate them.

The Scudder’s body was found at his desk. The autopsy showed he’d died of alcohol poisoning.

Chicago

The response from Chicago was completely unexpected: they sent us a message on the Arcana telegraph network. It was in the clear, and addressed to Those who destroyed the Inquisition. The offer to surrender came from a captain who reported that the Senior Reverend of Chicago was dead, that the Reverends’ Council was in disarray, and that the city was quickly running out of food. It was several days before we learned the entire story.

* * * * *

“Wash yourself, boy, and get into bed.” The Senior Reverend of Chicago demanded. His voice was slurred. The smell of onion and partially-cooked beef on his breath would have nauseated the boy he addressed except that the boy was so hungry even the man’s stink caused the boy’s stomach to rumble.

“May I have some food, sir?” the boy asked. His voice was barely above a whisper.

The man struck the boy, knocking him to the floor. “Do as you’re told, catamite!”

The boy crawled out of reach before standing and rushing into the bathroom.

The man lay on his back. His breathing was heavy. He’s asleep, the boy thought. He opened the towel in which he’d muffled the sound of breaking glass. He pulled out a shard, leaned over the bed, and cut the man’s throat. The glass sliced into the boy’s fingers. He wrapped his hand in the towel, sat on the floor, and rocked back and forth in pain.

* * * * *

“One of our people reached the room before the boy bled to death,” the captain said. “Under other circumstances, the boy would have been executed. That we did not do so should tell you that we are not all evil.”

I stared at the captain. What you did to save that boy was to save yourself. The evil you have done in the past cannot be wiped away by one act of desperation.

Is the boy safe? I asked Kevin, who had escorted the Captain to me.

Safe, on the Hope. Six hours of microsurgery. He’ll lose the tip of his smallest finger, but he’ll be okay otherwise, Kevin replied.

“Hold the Captain for trial,” I ordered. “Look for someone else to lead Chicago.”

Mujahedeen

Our strategy for dealing with the Mujahedeen was quite a bit different from any other. We simply introduced the Mujahedeen of the Reverend’s world to their co-religionists of our world and of Cory’s world. The Mullahs of three worlds immediately began squabbling over doctrine. At the same time, we began a propaganda battle—on all three worlds—making sure the common people of the Mujahedeen’s territories understood that there was something better than what they had. Bit by bit, pieces of the Mujahedeen territories on all three worlds seceded, established secular republics, and joined the government of their respective worlds.

Miami

In Miami, we were surprised to be introduced to not only a Rabbi, but also a survivor of the Arcana. We were even more surprised when Lt. Riggs, who insisted on donning his old uniform before meeting us, turned out to be one of our best intelligence assets.

“I am faced with a dilemma,” he said. “I have sworn allegiance to a power I now know is not only destroyed, but also corrupt. I have believed for years in a power that is powerless against the weapons you wield. My dilemma is whether I should believe in what I see and sense, or what I have been taught is in an invisible realm that is to be believed on faith.”

The Rabbi nodded. “It is the same dilemma we have faced for many years. I do not expect either of us will answer those questions in this lifetime.”

Las Vegas

Given its history, we agreed to leave Las Vegas to last.

“The biggest danger is that the Reverends will murder the children they are holding hostage,” George reported. “This is going to call for commando strikes, without warning.”

“What forces do we have?”

“Ten strike teams—and ten more from Australia,” George said. His grin answered the question I was about to ask. “F-U Australia,” George added. “And they’re good!”

The operation was much cleaner than we could have hoped for. When the light of day was finally cast upon the city, every Reverend was dead. Only four children had died, and autopsies showed that two of those had been dead before we struck.

We evacuated the civilian population, after carefully screening them for complicity. John Patmos took charge of the eunuchs, and with the help of Andrew and Hamish, screened them, as well. Those who passed—and wanted it—were referred to medical for “refurbishment.” Following that, they were offered jobs as teachers in the former Reverends Territory.

As soon as the city was empty, Artie pressed a single button on the bridge of the Honolulu. Salvos of rockets with HE warheads pummeled the town until the ammunition magazines of the Honolulu were empty, and there was nothing larger than dust left.

The Lake of the Lord

It was the summer of 2012 before we were ready for the most dramatic broadcast since the destruction of Mt. Zion—or that of Las Vegas. We’d already drained the “Lake of the Lord” so that we’d not cause a flood downstream. Naturally, George wanted to use gamma-burst lasers or, at the very least, HE rockets from one of the battleships to destroy the dam, but I vetoed that plan. It was too much of a show-of-force. We planted charges in the inner passages of the “Scudder dam,” and set them off remotely—from the bridge of the Honolulu while it hovered over the dam. That, I thought, was sufficient message. It took us only six months to rebuild the dam. By that time, the aqueducts were in place, and the desert began to bloom.

Denoument

It took three years to roll up the Reverends’ territory, five years before the people could feed themselves, and another ten years to educate the people sufficiently to establish a republic. They were invited to accept a Fleet-style of governance, complete with a Fleet Council that included their Prime Minister, the Australian Premier, Chen’s father, and the President of California (which had come around fairly quickly once The Brotherhood had laid down the law to them).

Europe of the FU developed a cultural identity and, with little help from us, threw off the Reverends’ yoke and formed a united government. They sent teachers and diplomats into Africa armed not with the poison of the missionaries who’d tried to convert the heathens, but with the knowledge of the Enlightenment.

Russia, a sleeping bear, woke, saw what was going on around it, and ran eagerly into the Enlightenment.

As late as 2030, the Mullahs in the Mujahedeen territory were still squabbling with their counterparts on our Earth and Cory’s about religious dogma. They’d lost all of their territory save a few cities and nearly all of their adherents. We monitored them, but largely ignored them.

By 2040, Artie was the Prime Minister of a republican government of a nation that stretched from Baffin Island to Tierra del Fuego. Chang was an Admiral in his world’s United Space Fleet. There was a Fleet Council which included representatives from Artie’s Americas, Australia, Pan-Asia, Russia, California, and Europe. Cory was an Admiral in his world’s Star Fleet. There were hundreds of metas throughout all the fleets of all the universes; Danny and George were the fathers, by host mothers, of two boys, and I was a granddaddy. But that’s another story.

Postscript I
1 January 2011

Will came to my Ready Room. He seemed nervous. Actually, excited, and nervous. Mostly nervous, though. I invited him in, and sat down on the couch beside him. “What’s wrong, Will?” I asked

“Nothing, yet. But . . . it may be,” he said.

“Um, you want to talk about it?” I asked.

Will nodded. I saw tears in the corners of his eyes. He released the mental block he’d been holding, and flooded my mind. Scenes, science, secrets flowed like an old 2D movie reel. I pieced them together.

“Will, stop worrying. You’ve done nothing wrong,” I said. “In fact, you’ve done exactly what I hoped you’d do.”

“Huh?”

I grinned, and pushed happiness. “Are you sure it worked?”

Will nodded. He had an even bigger grin. I reached out and hugged him. “I’m so proud of you, Will. Now, you can tell me who else helped.”

“All the guys,” he said. “All the Geeks helped. Some in the laboratory with the actual work, and some making sure no one else—including you—knew about it.”

* * * * *

The body lay on a table in the operating theater. It was clinically alive. Its heart beat; its diaphragm pulled in air and pushed it out. The brain waves, however, were flat. The electroencephalograph was sensitive enough to get a reading from a warm rock, but showed nothing. The GWGs and I watched.

“It’s now or never,” Will said. “The body cannot last more than a few minutes off the respirator and pacemaker.”

Danny acknowledged and sent the command.

They said, later, that every computer terminal in Fleet blipped in that instant before resuming normal operations. The maintenance teams on the solar satellites reported an unusually high demand for electricity that lasted only a few seconds. The lights in the operating theater remained steady: they were already on auxiliary power as a precaution.

The boy on the operating table below us sat up and opened his eyes. He stared straight ahead, and then said, “Would-you-like-to-play-a-game?”

Will might have fallen had George not held him. “That’s not right! It didn’t work!” he cried.

The face of the boy on the slab went ashen. The heart monitor hit 120 beats per minute, the blood pressure dropped.

“Will! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to frighten you! It was a joke!” Tobor said.

“A very poor one, son,” I said, and then looked at Danny and George. “But knowing your teachers, I’m not entirely surprised.”

My door chimed. I felt Danny and George, as well as their new brother. Odd, why did they not just walk in? I pressed the button to open the door. “Come on in, guys, why the formality?”

“It’s Tommy’s first visit,” Danny said. “He didn’t want to just walk in.”

Danny and George were adamant. I was just as firm.

“No, I will not be Tobor’s first live sexual partner,” I said. “Absolutely not. You two have been letting him link and watch for a long time. It must be one of you.”

“That’s the reason it can’t be,” George protested. “He knows us too well. It would be like . . . like . . .”

“Masturbation,” Tobor supplied. “Really, it would.”

“Okay, how about this. Both of you agreed that we should get to know one another as father and son before we started doing sex stuff. Tobor’s been in this body for only a few hours—”

“Daddy,” Tobor interrupted. “Why won’t you call me Tommy?” He was crying.

Danny and George stood on either side of the boy, hugging him and staring daggers at me. I felt not only Tobor’s anguish, but also their anger. I knew they were right to be angry.

“Tommy, please come to me, son,” I said, and held open my arms.

Danny and George pushed affirmation, and the little boy ran to me. I picked him up and hugged him tightly. Tommy wrapped his legs around my waist. We linked, mind-to-mind wide open. It didn’t take long for Tommy and me to find happy tears.

Postscript II
Exo-Planet Miranda

Long ago, I had asked Admiral Davis if he’d ever wondered why Fleet was so big, so powerful, and had so many resources. Putting those resources to work rebuilding the Earth of the Fundamentalists’ Universe pushed that question to the back of my mind. It was many years later that I thought to ask Tommy that question.

Tommy grinned. “I wondered when you would get back to that, Daddy.

“Back when I was a computer, I dreamed. I knew I couldn’t really be dreaming, so I analyzed what was actually happening. My circuits . . . especially the tunneling diodes, the ones operating at the quantum level . . . allowed my thoughts to slip into the interstices of the multiverse. I saw the Reverends’ World. I saw Cory’s Earth, and I knew that someday we’d meet them. I knew then, that not only would the metas be essential, but so would Fleet.”

“Tommy? What else have you seen?”

Tommy cuddled closer. “You know I can’t tell you, Daddy. There are still decisions you will have to make.”

I caught something as he looked out the window. Below us spun the planet Miranda. That, of course, was our name for it. The inhabitants, the first non-Earth-human race to be discovered, had their own name for it, and tomorrow, when we made first contact, we hoped to learn what it was.

Postscript III
Sometime in the Future

Three worlds vied for the honor; his home world won. Fleetnet in six solar systems; Starfleetnet on five others; and dozens of commercial networks throughout the know universes had set up cameras near an obscure ghost town in Texas.

Hundreds of politicians demanded to be present; none were allowed within 500 miles of the site. There was no one present who was not family.

Fourteen-year-old Benjamin and twelve-year-old Jeffrey stood between their daddies. Danny and George flanked their sons. The boys’ host mommies stood a few feet away.

Tommy stood beside Danny; Artie stood beside George. More metas stood in ranks behind them. There were more than a hundred metas present. Teams of metas were part of the crew of every ship in the Fleets of fifteen universes. They no longer feared for their safety.

Cameron, wearing the Stewart tartan, struck his bagpipes and began an ancient song: “Flowers of the Forest.” With the first note, a spot of light appeared in the west, and began a long arc across the sky. Before it burned out, Cam had segued into “Skye Boat Song.” The light disappeared as the last note of that song faded across the sere landscape.

Paul Stewart had come home.