Part 2 (1/2)
They wore uniforms of blue and scarlet, with gleaming b.u.t.tons of gold, badges of the dark rich bronze alloys found on Kennicott, berets made from some reptile that swam in Tanith's seas. Like the Grand Admiral's office, the CoDominium Marines showed the influence of worlds light-years away. ”Sound off!”
The order came through the pickup so loud that it startled the Admiral, and he turned down the volume as the men began to sing.
Lermontov smiled to himself. That song was officially forbidden, and it was certainly not an appropriate choice for the guard mount about to take posts outside the Grand Senate chambers. It was also very nearly the official marching song of the Marines. And that, Admiral Lermontov thought, ought to tell something to any Senator listening.
If Senators ever listened to anything from the military people.
The measured verses came through, slowly, in time with the sinister gliding step of the troops.
”We've left blood in the dirt of twenty-five worlds, we've built roads on a dozen more, and all that we have at the end of our hitch, buys a night with a second-cla.s.s wh.o.r.e.
”The Senate decrees, the Grand Admiral calls, the orders come down from on high, It's 'On Full Kits' and sound 'Board s.h.i.+ps,' We're sending you where you can die.
”The lands that we take, the Senate gives back, rather more often than not, so the more that are killed, the less share the loot, and we won't be back to this spot ”We'll break the hearts of your women and girls, we may break your a.r.s.e as well, Then the Line Marines with their banners unfurled, will follow those banners to h.e.l.l.
”We know the devil, his pomps and his works, Ah yes! we know them well! When we've served out our hitch as Line Marines, we can b.u.g.g.e.r the Senate of h.e.l.l!
”Then we'll drink with our comrades and lay down our packs, we'll rest ten years on the flat of our backs, then it's 'On Full Kits' and 'Out of Your Racks,' you must build a new road through h.e.l.l!
”The Fleet is our country, we sleep with a rifle, no one ever begot a son on his rifle, they pay us in gin and curse when we sin, there's not one that can stand us unless we're down wind, we're shot when we lose and turned out when we win, but we bury our comrades wherever they fall, and there's none that can face us though we've nothing at all.”
The verse ended with a flurry of drums, and Lermontov gently changed the selector back to the turning Earth.
Perhaps, he thought. Perhaps there's hope, but only if we have time.
Can the politicians buy enough time?
II
The honorable John Rogers Grant laid a palm across a winking light on his desk console and it went out, shutting off the security phone to Luna Base. His face held an expression of pleasure and distaste, as it always did when he was through talking with his brother.
I don't think I've ever won an argument with Martin, he thought. Maybe it's because he knows me better than I know myself.
Grant turned toward the Tri-V, where the speaker was in full form. The speech had begun quietly as Harmon's speeches always did, full of resonant tones and appeals to reason. The quiet voice had asked for attention, but now it had grown louder and demanded it.
The background behind him changed as well, so that Harmon stood before the stars and stripes covering the hemisphere, with an American eagle splendid over the capitol.
Harmon was working himself into one of his famous frenzies, and his face was contorted with emot ion.
”Honor? It is a word that Lips...o...b..no longer understands! Whatever he might have been-and my friends, we all know how great he once was-he is no longer one of us! His cronies, the dark little men who whisper to him, have corrupted even as great a man as President Lips...o...b..
”And our nation bleeds! She bleeds from a thousand wounds! People of America, hear me! She bleeds from the running sores of these men and their CoDominium!
”They say that if we leave the CoDominium it will mean war. I pray G.o.d it will not, but if it does, why these are hard times. Many of us will be killed, but we would die as men! Today our friends and allies, the people of Hungary, the people of Rumania, the Czechs, the Slovaks, the Poles, all of them groan under the oppression of their Communist masters. Who keeps them there? We do! Our CoDominium!
”We have become no more than slave masters. Better to die as men.”
”But it will not come to that. The Russians will never fight. They are soft, as soft as we, their government is riddled with the same corruptions as ours. People of America, hear me! People of America, listen!”
Grant spoke softly and the Tri-V turned itself off. A walnut panel slid over the darkened screen, and Grant spoke again.
The desk opened to offer a small bottle of milk. There was nothing he could do for his ulcer despite the advances in medical science. Money was no problem, but there was never time for surgery and weeks with the regeneration stimulators.
He leafed through papers on his desk. Most were reports with bright red security covers, and Grant closed his eyes for a moment. Harmon's speech was important and would probably affect the upcoming elections. The man is getting to be a nuisance, Grant thought.
I should do something about him.
He put the thought aside with a shudder. Harmon had been a friend, once. Lord, what have we come to? He opened the first report.
There had been a riot at the International Federation of Labor convention. Three killed and the smooth plans for the re-election of Matt Brady thrown into confusion.
Grant grimaced again and drank more milk. The Intelligence people had a.s.sured him this one would be easy.
He dug through the reports and found that three of Harvey Bertram's child crusaders were responsible. They'd bugged Brady's suite. The idiot hadn't known better than to make deals in his room. Now Bertram's people had enough evidence of sell-outs to inflame floor sentiment in a dozen conventions.
The report ended with a recommendation that the government drop Brady and concentrate support on MacKnight, who had a good reputation and whose file in the CIA building bulged with information. MacKnight would be easy to control. Grant nodded to himself and scrawled his signature on the action form.
He threw it into the ”Top Secret: Out” tray and watched it vanish. There was no point in wasting time. Then he wondered idly what would happen to Brady. Matt Brady had been a good United Party man; blast Bertram's people anyway.
He took up the next file, but before he could open it his secretary came in. Grant looked up and smiled, glad of his decision to ignore the electronics. Some executives never saw their secretaries for weeks at a time.
”Your appointment, sir,” she said. ”And it's time for your nerve tonic.”
He grunted. ”I'd rather die.” But he let her pour a shot gla.s.s of evil-tasting stuff, and he tossed it off and chased it with milk. Then he glanced at his watch, but that wasn't necessary. Miss Ackridge knew the travel time to every Was.h.i.+ngton office. There'd be no time to start another report, which suited Grant fine.
He let her help him into his black coat and brush off a few silver hairs. He didn't feel sixty-five, but he looked it now. It happened all at once. Five years ago he could pa.s.s for forty. John saw the girl in the mirror behind him and knew that she loved him, but it wouldn't work.
And why the h.e.l.l not? he wondered. It isn't as if you're pining away for Priscilla. By the time she died you were praying it would happen, and we married late to begin with.
So, why the h.e.l.l do you act as if the great love of your life has gone out forever? All you'd have to do is turn around, say five words, and-and what? She wouldn't be the perfect secretary any longer, and secretaries are harder to find than mistresses. Let it alone.
She stood there a moment longer, then moved away. ”Your daughter wants to see you this evening,” she told him. ”She's driving down this afternoon and says it's important.”
”Know why?” Grant asked. Ackridge knew more about Sharon than Grant did.
Possibly a lot more.
”I can guess. I think her young man has asked her.”
John nodded. It wasn't unexpected, but still it hurt. So soon, so soon. They grow so fast when you're an old man. John Jr. was a commander in the CoDominium Navy, soon to be a captain with a s.h.i.+p of his own. Frederick was dead in the same accident as his mother. And now Sharon, the baby, had found another life . .. not that they'd been close since he'd taken this job.
”Run his name through CIA, Flora. I meant to do that months ago. They won't find anything, but we'll need it for the records.”
”Yes, sir. You'd better be on your way now. Your drivers are outside.”
He scooped up his briefcase. ”I won't be back tonight. Have my car sent around to the White House, will you? I'll drive myself home tonight.”