“I never knew— But that’s not reason to have her killed!”
“Might be to him,” Whitlock said. “Just might be, and if she said the wrong things about that Skilly person, there’d be another. But the real reason to kill her is to get at you. If they thought she didn’t like you, thought she was goin’ through with this marriage for politics, she’d be safe enough, they’d purely love to have you in a bad marriage where you’re likely to do something stupid. But the way you two been carryin’ on, like love birds, it’s pretty clear you made up whatever problems you had, and that’s not so good, the way they see it.”
“What the hell is it to them?”
“Come off it, Highness,” Whitlock said. “You got to know, for all practical purposes right now you are the nation. Oh, sure, people love your father, but they think of him as the old king, nice old man, symbol of the nation and all that, but still, he’s the old king. And they trust David to do what’s best if there’s peace, but there ain’t no peace, and they don’t see there’ll be any peace without you make it happen. Now most times maybe it’s best you don’t act like you know all this, but this is a time for some plain talk. Whatever future this experiment in the good society has got, right now it pretty much rests on you.”
Lysander didn’t say anything. Whitlock nodded. “So, we got that straight. Now, about Croser.”
“But— Dr. Whitlock, he’s been careful, there’s no evidence to connect him or his political movement with any of this. No criminal acts.”
“Well, that’s right, and if that’s what you’re waiting for, you’ll never get it,” Whitlock said. “Son, a long time ago a man named Burke said that for evil to win all that’s got to happen is that good men do nothin’. That’s happening here. You’re in a war, and you got to fight it like a war.”
“And if we get like the enemy what’s the point of winning?”
“That’s what King David’s always sayin’,” Whitlock said. “Your father, too, sometimes, not so much now. Lysander, let me tell you something, you couldn’t in a million years be like them even if you was to work at it.” Whitlock studied papers on his desk for a moment. “You better think about it. I’ll go on plannin’ the politics for you, and Pete Owensford will go on fightin’ the enemy for you, good men will go on dyin’ for you, and hell, it may be enough, Prince Lysander, it just may be enough, and maybe you got a point. You’ve got a decent government, and Lord knows I’d hate to see it turn mean, but you better think, Your Highness. Just how many of your people are you willing to see killed just so Citizen Dion Croser can have his legal rights?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
To be a general it is sufficient to pay well, command well, and hang well.
—Sir Ralph Hopton circa 1689
* * *
The discipline enforced by firing squad or pistol is inferior to that accepted, self-imposed discipline which characterizes good soldiers. Regulations designed to keep dull-witted conscripts together on the shoulder-to-shoulder battlefields of the blackpowder era are inappropriate in an age when weapons and tactics demand dispersion on the battlefield, and when the initiative may be more important than blind obedience. In the last analysis fighting spirit centres on the morale of the individual soldier and the small group of comrades with whom he fights.
—John Keegan and Richard Holmes; Soldiers
* * *
If I learned nothing else from war, it taught me the falseness of the belief that wealth, material resources, and industrial genius are the real sources of a nation’s military power. These things are but the stage setting: those who manage them but the stage crew.
The play’s the thing. Finally, every action large or small is decided by what happens there on the line where men take the final chance of life or death. And so in the final and greatest reality, that national strength lies only in the hearts and spirits of men.
—S.L.A. Marshall
* * *
Crofton’s Encyclopedia of the Inhabited Planets
(2nd Edition):
Stora Mine: Mining settlement in the southern foothills of the Kupros Mountains (q.v.), north of Lake Alexander in the Upper Valley section of the Eurotas river, on the planet Sparta (q.v.). The initial CoDominium University survey of Sparta indicated that the eroded volcano later christened Storaberg contained unusual concentrations of metallic ores. Researchers hypothesized that during the original uplift process which produced the Kupros Mountains, a “plug” of freakishly mineral-rich magma was extruded through a fissure. Over time, the rapid erosive forces produced by Sparta’s 1.22 G stripped away the covering of softer rock, exposing the core and depositing alluvial metal deposits extensively in the area. The rock of northern slopes of the mountain contains up to 8% copper, 6% lead, 2% silver and significant quantities of platinum, palladium and thorium group metals; locally higher concentrations are studded through the mass of the mountain and nearby deposits of “ruddle” hematite have iron contents of up to 83%. Exploratory mining began during the period of CoDominium administration and full-scale exploitation commenced with the chartering of Stora Mines Inc. in 2041. Both open-pit and shaft mining is carried on; facilities include a geothermal power plant, smelters and concentration plants, the 215-kilometer electrified railway to Lake Alexander, and miscellaneous support, maintenance and repair industries.
Description: The settlement of Stora Mine lies on an eroded peneplane at the northeastern edge of Storaberg Mt. Built-up areas are largely confined to “ribbon” developments along the valleys of the northeast-southwest tending ridges. The central town is laid out on a grid basis, forming an H surrounding two public squares, and includes a business district, public buildings and the railroad station. Total population (2090) is 27,253, including many temporary workers housed in company barracks. Climate is severe, roughly analogous to northeastern Minnesota or southern Siberia; the longer seasons make this a loose comparison, however. The silt-filled basins and rocky hills of the piedmont zone running down to the lakeshore have been extensively developed to supply the mining labor force and enjoy more moderate temperatures . . .
* * *
There is a semi-facetious classification of officers long familiar to many of the military fraternity. It does credit to the understanding of its unknown originator as well as to his sense of humor. Its lightly sketched implications when further explored and a little amplified approached conclusions that are not so humorous. Using the terms “brilliant,” “energetic,” “stupid,” and “lazy” and applying them to a selected group of people of whom the stupidest and laziest may still be well above the average of brilliance and energy in the general community, a scale for measurement of certain aspects of individual military potential may be constructed. . . .
The Class Four officer we must study diligently, to devise the means of identifying him in, and eliminating him from, the military services. The combination of stupidity and energy is the formula of ambition other than a laudable kind. The ambition generated is too often entirely personal and totally unconcerned with any elements contributing to the general welfare that are not also an occasion of individual preferment . . . Morally courageous he is not, since this quality is all too often incompatible with personal ambition. Given experience, he may be to a degree learned. He may be cautions, crafty, cunning, and is seldom lacking in decisiveness, but he can never be wise, just, loyal, or completely honest. All too often he achieves a personally successful military career. Energetic stupidity, once invested with authority and allowed to accumulate experience, can do a convincing imitation of a hard-driving professional soldier . . .
—Joseph Maxwell Cameron,
The Anatomy of Military Merit
* * *
Winter still lay heavy on the southern slopes of the Kupros Mountains. The dawn was bright but hard, and the cold wind sighed mournfully through the branches of the dark pines and leafless birch-trees. These mountains were not as high as the Drakons; the quick erosion of a heavy-gravity world had scoured them down, although the peaks were still glacier-crowned fangs four thousand meters high. The lower slopes were a wilderness of canyon and gully badland, tumbled boulders larger than houses, rushing torrents and new forests just gaining a foothold amid the shattered granite and volcanic scree.
Skida Thibodeau sat looking thoughtfully down the long slope toward the foothills; Lake Alexander was invisible beyond. Cloud-shadow moved across the huge chaotic landscape, and the young sun tinged the snowdrifts with pink. An orderly handed her a cup of coffee, and she chewed on a ration bar, a leather of fruits and nuts. It was cold enough to make the hairs in her nostrils stick together when she inhaled, but snow might begin to melt by midafternoon; weather turned quickly this time of year in the Upper Valley.