“We want to build the tools of a self-sustaining world and get along without the CoDominium until we can rejoin the human race as equals!” Budreau caught himself and frowned. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to make a speech. Have a seat, won’t you?”
“Thank you.” Falkenberg sat in a heavy leather chair and looked around the room. The furnishings were ornate, and the office decor had cost a fortune to bring from Earth; but most of it was tasteless—spectacular rather than elegant. The Colonial Office did that sort of thing a lot, and Falkenberg wondered which Grand Senator owned the firm that supplied office furnishings. “What does the opposition want?”
“I suppose you really do need to know all this.” Budreau frowned and his mustache twitched nervously. He made an effort to relax, and John thought the President had probably been an impressive man once. “The Freedom Party’s slogan is ‘Service to the People.’ Service to them means consumer goods now. They want strip mining. That’s got the miners’ support, you can bet. The FP will rape this planet to buy goods from other systems, and to hell with how they’re paid for. Runaway inflation will be only one of the problems they’ll create.”
“They sound ambitious.”
“Yes. They even want to introduce internal combustion engine economy. God knows how, there’s no support technology here, but there’s oil. We’d have to buy all that from off planet, there’s no heavy industry here to make engines even if the ecology could absorb them, but that doesn’t matter to the FP. They promise cars for everyone. Instant modernization. More food, robotic factories, entertainment . . . in short, paradise and right now.”
“Do they mean it, or is that just slogans?”
“I think most of them mean it,” Budreau answered. “It’s hard to believe, but I think they do.”
“Where do they say they’ll get the money?”
“Soaking the rich, as if there were enough wealthy people here to matter. Total confiscation of everything everyone owns wouldn’t pay for all they promise. Those people have no idea of the realities of our situation, and their leaders are ready to blame anything that’s wrong on the Progressive Party, CoDominium administrators, anything but admit that what they promise just isn’t possible. Some of the Party leaders may know better, but they don’t admit it if they do.”
“I take it that program has gathered support.”
“Of course it has,” Budreau fumed. “And every BuRelock ship brings thousands more ready to vote the FP line.”
Budreau got up from his desk and went to a cabinet on the opposite wall. He took out a bottle of brandy and three glasses and poured, handing them to Calvin and Falkenberg. Then he ignored the sergeant but waited for Falkenberg to lift his glass.
“Cheers.” Budreau drained the glass at one gulp. “Some of the oldest families on Hadley have joined the damned Freedom Party. They’re worried about the taxes I’ve proposed! The FP won’t leave them anything at all, but they still join the opposition in hopes of making deals. You don’t look surprised.”
“No, sir. It’s a story as old as history, and a military man reads history.”
Budreau looked up in surprise. “Really?”
“A smart soldier wants to know the causes of wars. Also how to end them. After all, war is the normal state of affairs, isn’t it? Peace is the name of the ideal we deduce from the fact that there have been interludes between wars.” Before Budreau could answer, Falkenberg said, “No matter. I take it you expect armed resistance immediately after the CD pulls out.”
“I hoped to prevent it. Bradford thought you might be able to do something, and I’m gifted at the art of persuasion.” The President sighed. “But it seems hopeless. They don’t want to compromise. They think they can get a total victory.”
“I wouldn’t think they’d have much of a record to run on,” Falkenberg said.
Budreau laughed. “The FP partisans claim credit for driving the CoDominium out, Colonel.”
They laughed together. The CoDominium was leaving because the mines were no longer worth enough to make it pay to govern Hadley. If the mines were as productive as they’d been in the past, no partisans would drive the Marines away.
Budreau nodded as if reading his thoughts. “Well, they have people believing it anyway. There was a campaign of terrorism for years, nothing very serious. It didn’t threaten the mine shipments, or the Marines would have put a stop to it. But they have demoralized the capital police. Out in the bush people administer their own justice, but here in Refuge the FP gangs control a lot of the city.”
Budreau pointed to a stack of papers on one corner of the desk. “Those are resignations from the force. I don’t even know how many police I’ll have left when the CD pulls out.” Budreau’s fist tightened as if he wanted to pound on the desk, but he sat rigidly still. “Pulls out. For years they ran everything, and now they’re leaving us to clean up. I’m President by courtesy of the CoDominium. They put me in office, and now they’re leaving.”
“At least you’re in charge,” Falkenberg said. “The BuRelock people wanted someone else. Bradford talked them out of it.”
“Sure. And it cost us a lot of money. For what? Maybe it would have been better the other way.”
“I thought you said their policies would ruin Hadley.”
“I did say that. I believe it. But the policy issues came after the split, I think.” Budreau was talking to himself as much as to John. “Now they hate us so much they oppose anything we want out of pure spite. And we do the same thing.”
“Sounds like CoDominium politics. Russkis and U.S. in the Grand Senate. Just like home.” There was no humor in the polite laugh that followed.
Budreau opened a desk drawer and took out a parchment. “I’ll keep the agreement, of course. Here’s your commission as commander of the constabulary. But I still think you might be better off taking the next ship out. Hadley’s problems can’t be solved by military consultants.”
Sergeant Major Calvin snorted. The sound was almost inaudible, but Falkenberg knew what he was thinking. Budreau shrank from the bald term “mercenary,” as if “military consultant” were easier on his conscience. John finished his drink and stood.
“Mr. Bradford wants to see you,” Budreau said. “Lieutenant Banners will be outside to show you to his office.”
“Thank you, sir.” Falkenberg strode from the big room. As he closed the door he saw Budreau going back to the liquor cabinet.
* * *
Vice President Ernest Bradford was a small man with a smile that never seemed to fade. He worked at being liked, but it didn’t always work. Still, he had gathered a following of dedicated party workers, and he fancied himself an accomplished politician.
When Banners showed Falkenberg into the office, Bradford smiled even more broadly, but he suggested that Banners should take Calvin on a tour of the Palace guardrooms. Falkenberg nodded and let them go.
The Vice President’s office was starkly functional. The desks and chairs were made of local woods with an indifferent finish, and a solitary rose in a crystal vase provided the only color. Bradford was dressed in the same manner, shapeless clothing bought from a cheap store.
“Thank God you’re here,” Bradford said when the door was closed. “But I’m told you only brought ten men. We can’t do anything with just ten men! You were supposed to bring over a hundred men loyal to us!” He bounced up excitedly from his chair, then sat again. “Can you do something?”
“There were ten men in the Navy ship with me,” Falkenberg said. “When you show me where I’m to train the regiment I’ll find the rest of the mercenaries.”
Bradford gave him a broad wink and beamed. “Then you did bring more! We’ll show them—all of them. We’ll win yet. What did you think of Budreau?”
“He seems sincere enough. Worried, of course. I think I would be in his place.”
Bradford shook his head. “He can’t make up his mind. About anything! He wasn’t so bad before, but lately he’s had to be forced into making every decision. Why did the Colonial Office pick him? I thought you were going to arrange for me to be President. We gave you enough money.”
“One thing at a time,” Falkenberg said. “The Undersecretary couldn’t justify you to the Minister. We can’t get to everyone, you know. It was hard enough for Professor Whitlock to get them to approve Budreau, let alone you. We sweated blood just getting them to let go of having a Freedom Party President.”
Bradford’s head bobbed up and down like a puppet’s. “I knew I could trust you,” he said. His smile was warm, but despite all his efforts to be sincere it did not come through. “You have kept your part of the bargain, anyway. And once the CD is gone—”