The Assignment

Hi there— sorry for the long delay in continuing this series, I know tonight’s post is quite overdue. After the last post, as the saying goes “I had me sum thinkin’ do to.”

I started this blog series as a way of presenting a key part of my invented history, the backstory to The Child, that didn’t fit into the structure of a novel. Events too drawn-out and miscellaneous to be the topic of a single cohesive story. I could have just written all the posts in a documentary style, as if they were chapters from some history textbook, but from the start I wanted to present at least some of the history from the point of view of the people I knew participated.

But in doing that, I opened up a large can of worms. Writing that way, these people at once became characters. If this was a novel, I’d have planned them that way from the start but I didn’t; I knew them all just as historical figures who did certain things on certain dates, as listed in certain notebooks. I started to want to talk about parts of their lives that don’t appear in my historical notes, but I had no plan for that.

This finally became a problem after the last entry in this blog, where I described the first meeting of Linda Ryder and Eric Ivanov, in line to vote on the Star City referendum of October 15, 2183. I knew that Eric and Linda would both be involved in some events yet to come, and that they would know each other. I’d never considered when they first met, but figured I might as well start moving them along.

Only after posting the entry did I take a second look at my chronology and realize that this was, in fact, years too early for their first meeting; or at least for anything to come of it. As far as Linda and Eric themselves are concerned, the problem is easily solved. For now, nothing will come of that encounter; some time down the line, when they meet up again, they’ll be able to say “Oh, didn’t we meet that one time?” No harm done. But the question did make me realize that before I took this series any farther, I needed to stop and add to my dry history notes some personal biography design for the people involved— along with some character design of the sort needed for people in a story, rather than just names listed in a chronology.

Anyway, I’m boring you with overlong rambling about what I’ve been up to, and you want to read about the United Colonies. I’ve now done the work, and the history can resume.

The Assignment

November 1, 2183

Blue skies were rare over the Pacific Ocean these days. Today’s break from the perpetual storms allowed the sun to cast sharp-edged shadows beneath the interceptors as they hovered down for their landings. It did nothing to reduce the waves that kept the deck perpetually swaying. The interceptor pilots were used to that, their caution in landing routine and well-practiced. Clear skies here didn’t get rid of the storms just over the horizon.

When Richard Gali was a young pilot, waves large enough to overwhelm the stabilizers of a ship the size of a carrier were the rarity, a warning sign of unusually severe weather somewhere nearby. It was only in the last decade or so that “unusually severe weather” had become the norm.

The growing hazard hadn’t stopped seagoing cargo transport. Too many people needed too much that couldn’t be found on their own continents. And conditions in the air were even more hazardous, preventing air transport from taking over. Even suborbital flights couldn’t get entirely out of the turbulence, and current politics meant transport via true orbital routes was unlikely to take up the slack anytime soon. Passenger travel had largely shifted to longer, but safer, overland routes. But at sea, the cargo ships continued to push through the waves.

And therefore, so did those that preyed on them.

Admiral Gali watched from the carrier’s flag bridge as the interceptors started to offload their prisoners, under heavy guard. His eyes narrowed as he listened, without turning away from the window, as Captain Armstrong reported on the action.

“Our pilots are on their way to debrief with the CAG, and the prisoners are being taken to interrogation by the Master at Arms, so we’ll have the formal report shortly. Meanwhile, it’s pretty obvious what happened. The original mayday described an airborne attack ship. No sign of that when we got there, it was long gone. Our prisoners were a prize crew left to navigate the freighter to port. The killed the freighter’s entire crew. No bodies, they must have dumped those overboard. The prisoners are trying to pretend they are the legitimate crew, but at least two thirds of them will rat out the others in exchange for leniency. With luck they might know where their attack ship was headed next. At the very least they’ll know the port they were to aim for, and that could point onshore authorities toward whoever’s running this pirate outfit.

“Meanwhile we left behind our own crew of twenty-five personnel to navigate the freighter to its legitimate port, and a forensics team to wrap up all the evidence nice and neat for the court.”

“Very good.” Gali turned from the window and faced his subordinate. “Something else we have to discuss, Captain. My office.”

He led the way off the bridge and down the short corridor to the CIC, then through it to the at-sea flag office. “Close the door, Captain,” he ordered as Armstrong followed.

Once the door closed, Gali dropped formality and let himself relax. Ignoring his desk, he sat on the couch along the bulkhead, waving his subordinate to a facing chair. “You’re up for a new assignment, Warren,” he said. “Good news is, it means a promotion to Commander. The bad news is it would take you out of my command and I hate to lose you.”

Warren Armstrong had been Gali’s right-hand man for more than ten years, and was overdue for promotion— though he’d never expressed any desire to leave the Admiral’s command. He kept his expression neutral as he carefully settled into the chair Gali had indicated. “What’s the job, Admiral?”

Gali didn’t answer directly. Instead he asked, “What’s your opinion about the offworld colonies?”

Armstrong hesitated. “I don’t agree with all this popular hatred of them. Blaming them for everything going wrong on Earth, or imagining they’re hoarding wealth or resources. All that ‘sky palaces’ stuff. None of that’s true.”

“You were born offworld.”

“Yes, sir, and so I know there’s no palaces up there. But I don’t have to be an offworlder to know the science doesn’t back up all this blame. It’s the Sun’s fluctuations that caused the ecological collapse. The colonies had nothing to do with it.”

“The President disagrees.”

“Admiral, am I under some kind of suspicion because I was born offworld?”

“You wouldn’t be in line for this assignment if you were under suspicion. But it may be a job you don’t want.”

Again, Armstrong hesitated before answering. “President Monroe is planning military action against the colonies.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Gali said. “The Secretary doesn’t think it will come to that, at least that’s what he says he’s hearing from the Chief of Staff. But it looks like the colonies need a kick in the ass to get them moving on the evacuation. There’s been a slow move of people coming planetside, but it’s not nearly enough to make the President’s deadline of January first for complete evacuation of offworld installations. Star City had this referendum a couple of weeks back on defying the presidential order. It passed with eighty percent of the vote. It had no legal effect, the courts ruled on that right away, but Star City’s governor, some guy called Safreth, has announced his administration will follow it. None of the other colonies held any votes but it seems like popular opinion on all of them are running about the same. Intelligence has been studying the passenger lists and the people coming down are pretty much the twenty percent who didn’t want to go rogue. We’re going to have to send a message to the rest. The hope is it won’t come to a confrontation. Showing the government’s serious may be enough.”

“Admiral, what is the assignment?”

“To take command of all offworld military units. Right now that’s just a token force with no central command. They don’t have the problems with piracy we’ve had on Earth, and for the minor smuggling that does happen they rely on their civilian cops. Military forces up there just man a few surveillance stations relaying information to us, plus perform the occasional ceremonial duty. Orders from the CMO are to beef up the offworld force with two transports full of fresh troops, to be dispersed across the colonies, and they want a senior officer from our task force to take command.”

“Why from our task force?”

Gali didn’t answer. Armstrong filled in the answer himself: “Because we’re the only part of the military that’s seen actual combat in the last century. Someone does expect this could come to force.”

“And if it does, what would be your opinion?”

Armstrong stiffened in his chair, and answered in his most formal tone. “My opinion as a citizen will be expressed next election day. My opinion as an officer in the Unified Military Force is that President Monroe was legally elected and has declared emergency powers which haven’t been vetoed by any continental directorate. I will carry out his lawful orders.”

Gali waved a hand, and deliberately avoided replying with similar formality. “Warren, your loyalty is not in question. Not by me, not for a moment. We’ve known each other too long. I know if I ordered you to take this assignment you’d do it, and execute it perfectly. You’ve been owed a flag command for a long time, and don’t think I’m unaware of the loyalty you’ve shown me in not pursuing one. But I know dusted well the colonies are your home, and the offworlders are your people. I won’t urge you to take this assignment if you don’t want it. If you say no for any reason, personal or political or anything else, then I’ll find someone else and I’ll sell it to the CMO that you are just too valuable to me.” He paused, and allowed himself a slightly smile. “Which is actually true.”

Armstrong frowned and studied his hands, clasped in front of him. “But you think I should take it.”

“I think it would be good for your career. And honestly, I think this crisis will pass before it ever comes to using force. If the colonies don’t back down, President Monroe will find some reason why we can’t take that kind of action. Realistically, it suits his political fortunes better to have them up there as a handy scapegoat. Go up there, rattle the saber as ordered, and a year from now, one way or another, everything will be over. I hate to lose you. But you deserve this bump. And you’re ready for it.”

Silence stretched, while Gali waited patiently for his protégé to make up his mind. Finally, Armstrong stood up and saluted.

“Thank you, Admiral. I accept the assignment.”

TO BE CONTINUED