2074 - Space Corps Central Command Office
Harlow’s heart was racing as he took his place inside the Council Chamber.
As expected, the Chief Commander was absent. Instead, the meeting was headed by a pair of co-chairs—General Conrad assumed the role of commander pro tempore, and General Everett, who was the designated liaison for Headquarters, acted as his second-in-command.
This meeting had a markedly different tone than usual. Rather than rote speeches and dry commentary, they all seemed to be on high alert—stiff, reserved, and hesitant to speak.
The co-chairs got the formalities out of the way as quickly as possible, and all the while, Harlow kept glancing at the door. He wasn’t the only one, either; he noticed that the Council seemed to share a common fear of being discovered.
Any loyalty once afforded to Wittenauer seemed to be long gone. When the floor was opened for commentary, not a single person came forward in his defense. After a few moments of silence, they moved on.
Proceedings transpired exactly as they were supposed to, and General Harlow cast his vote alongside his fellow Council members. They reached their verdict in less than half an hour, and for the first time in the Council’s history, the outcome was unanimous.
Chief Commander Johann Wittenauer was to be removed from office, effective immediately.
His reaction, when informed he was no longer chief of staff, was exactly as expected. All protest on his part was little more than piss in the wind, though, as he was escorted out by security. He appealed the decision to Headquarters right away, but they couldn’t have seemed more indifferent, and they sided with the Council after a very short deliberation.
The following day, Space Corps high command received word that they’d been granted permission to appoint a new chief of staff to fill the vacancy. The session to elect a replacement was scheduled several days later, with Wittenauer’s second-in-command assuming the interim role and managing his office in the meantime. The Council was expected to select one of their own to lead them in accordance with their bylaws, so they did. When the time came, they convened again, and the votes were cast anonymously.
Harlow wasn’t sure who to vote for. Those who seemed fit to lead didn’t want to, and those who did were arguably worse than the one they’d just ousted. It was little more than a power grab, he suspected, because all of them appeared to be acting in their own self-interest.
He agonized over that choice for quite some time. He couldn’t make up his mind, even during the session itself, but upon realizing that the rest of the Council had already voted, and they were waiting for him, he hurriedly marked the name of the only candidate he could nominate with a clean conscience.
General Howard.
It was a throwaway vote, cast with full knowledge that Howard was unlikely to win.
Harlow wasn’t in a hurry to know the results because he wasn’t overly impressed with any of the serious contenders for that seat. He’d noticed a change in their behavior toward him recently; General Conrad had even invited him on a private spaceflight where they’d enjoyed a formal dinner high above Earth, set against a backdrop of swirling clouds and setting sun. This was a luxury only reserved for the very wealthy, and even though Conrad never explicitly asked, Harlow knew this was done solely to solicit a vote—a favor he declined to return.
Loyalty that was bought could also be exploited, and he wanted no part of it.
But he knew he’d likely be reporting to Chief Commander Conrad, or Lin, or Gray, or whoever it was in very short order, so he waited for the outcome in a profound state of disinterest.
After the session’s conclusion, he went to bed that night, as the results were being tallied, with nary a care as to what he’d wake up to. And the following morning, on Thursday, November 1, he opened his eyes to see Victor entering his quarters.
Victor was already wide awake, dressed in full uniform, and there was a quickness to his step as he crossed the room and took a seat nearby.
Harlow glanced at the clock, then sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “I assume it’s important, if you’re waking me this early.”
Victor nodded, and although it was subtle, Harlow could’ve sworn he seemed nervous.
“Out with it, then,” he said.
Victor took a deep breath. “The votes have been counted, and the results are in.”
“And?”
Victor handed him an envelope with the Space Corps’ official seal on the outside, which contained the Council’s choice for a new chief commander.
“Open it,” he said.
But something was wrong. Victor was a practiced liar, so it was unlike him to show visible signs of discomfort, but he looked as if he wanted to bolt from the room.
Harlow frowned as he took the envelope and tore it open. “You already know the outcome, don’t you?”
Victor nodded.
“Tell me it’s not Howard,” Harlow sighed. “I voted for him, even though he asked me not to. He’ll be angry . . .”
But his voice trailed off as his gaze landed on the card before him. He sat frozen for a moment, then glanced back up.
“Victor, I’m in no mood for jokes right now.”
“It’s not a joke,” Victor replied. “That seal was unbroken, and nobody tampered with it. Go ahead—call them, if you like. They’ll verify it for you.”
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
Harlow looked down again, because he couldn’t believe what he saw. There, in front of him, was his own name.
“It’s a mistake,” he whispered. He sat up straighter and ran his fingers through his hair, which had developed a heavy smattering of gray that was coalescing into noticeable streaks. And he remained that way for a while, before taking a deep breath and standing up.
“I won’t be calling them,” he said as he tossed the card aside and grabbed his shirt from where it lay folded on the dresser.
“No?” Victor frowned.
“No,” he said as he shrugged it on and began buttoning from the bottom. “I’m going up there right now, in person, to resolve this, because I know I sure as hell didn’t win.”
Victor shrugged. “It seems you did, though.”
Harlow shook his head. “You know that Council; they only pretend to like me when they want something. I didn’t bully or bribe my way there, and I certainly didn’t solicit any votes. I wasn’t taking them out to dinner and treating them to ninety-year-old bottles of wine, like General Conrad.”
“The fact that he had to resort to such measures means he’s desperate.”
“He wouldn’t do it if it didn’t work,” Harlow shrugged as he tucked in his shirt and adjusted his belt. “Nobody in their right mind would vote for me. I wouldn’t even vote for me. It’s an error, and they need to fix it.”
“Of course,” Victor said. His tone indicated he wasn’t convinced, but he looked as if he didn’t want to argue.
Harlow was nearly ready to go, but his heart was racing as fast as his mind. He closed his eyes in an effort to quiet his thoughts, then inhaled deeply, removed his jacket from where it hung nearby, and started toward the door.
Victor stood as if to follow, but Harlow stopped.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.
“I’m going with you,” Victor replied matter-of-factly.
“Why?”
Victor’s reply was silence, but Harlow could see the lie forming in his eyes as he crafted a pretense of some sort, concocting a reason as to why his actions were motivated by anything other than pure self-interest. Harlow was having none of it, though, and felt a flash of anger, accompanied by words he’d rather not say. Normally he resisted such impulses, but today he was in no frame of mind to stop them.
“Because you’re a gossipy bitch, that’s why.”
Victor seemed surprised, but provided no rebuttal. As quickly as that anger had flared, though, it died, and Harlow regretted those words the instant they left his mouth.
“I’m sorry.” He looked away and sighed. “Stress is getting the better of me.”
Victor shrugged. “You said what you mean, for once.”
Harlow spent a moment debating the merits of allowing Victor’s presence, then nodded toward the door.
“Fine,” he said. “Just keep the gossip to yourself. That’s all I ask.”
“You know I’ve never leaked anything,” Victor replied as they entered the hall and made their way toward the elevator.
“Yes, and you’d better not start now.”
They stopped at the end of the corridor and stood there, waiting.
“Why do you keep me around, if you hate me so much?” Victor asked.
“I don’t hate you, Victor; I simply don’t like you.”
Victor shrugged. “Could’ve fooled me.”
They remained there in silence until the elevator arrived, then they stepped inside. Once the doors had closed, Harlow leaned back against the wall and sighed deeply.
“It’s too early for this,” he whispered.
Victor nodded in agreement, and after a momentary pause, Harlow continued.
“I’m going to try to catch the certification committee before they leave, and I’d prefer we be uninterrupted,” he said. “What I’d like you to do is stand in the hall and make sure no one disturbs us while I’m in there. Hopefully it won’t take long to clear this up.”
Victor nodded again, and neither said another word.
When the doors opened, they stepped out and walked the short distance to that room. Harlow went inside to confront the committee, and he’d arrived just in time, because they were preparing to leave after a long night spent verifying results.
Victor waited in the hallway, just as he’d been instructed. He stood outside that door for over an hour, alternating between periods of restless fidgeting and aimless pacing until finally, Harlow re-emerged.
He hadn’t been in a good mood before, but now he was scowling, with his gaze trained on the floor and his hands buried deep in his pockets as he approached.
“Well?” Victor asked.
Harlow shrugged. “They say it’s legitimate. The results were verified twice. I can request an independent audit if I want, but according to them, it’s no mistake.”
“I assume they won’t tell you who voted for you?”
“No. The ballots were anonymous, but I’ve been assured I won by a majority.”
Victor frowned. “What are you going to do, then?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I’m aware of what procedure dictates, but this is a lot to process, and it’s awfully early.”
“You can always decline the nomination,” Victor said.
“I know,” Harlow sighed. “But right now, I think I need some time to myself. I’m starting to get a headache.”
“You’re going back downstairs?”
Harlow nodded. As he looked back up, though, their eyes met, and he saw something there that caught him off guard.
Sympathy.
Victor had sworn he wanted to be better, and Harlow would’ve been a fool to believe it, but in this moment, he could almost take him at his word. There wasn’t even a hint of anger in those eyes, despite the way he’d spoken to him earlier.
He’d almost have preferred that. He would’ve understood it. Instead, his momentary lapse in judgment—the words he’d failed to contain when he lashed out—had been forgiven, and Victor was present as ever, ready to do his job.
There were certain things Harlow would rather not admit to himself, and one of them was that he’d been attracted to Victor for a reason, all those years ago. While Victor’s appearance was striking, there was more to it than that—his loyalty had never been called into question. For all the things that could be said of him, no one could argue he hadn’t cared.
Not until the incident that had ruined everything.
And just as Harlow was struck by all of this, he saw that none of it escaped Victor, either. There was recognition in those eyes.
Victor had always possessed a certain sense of clarity—a deep, intuitive understanding of others. He often used it to his advantage, and he read Harlow so clearly right now, he might as well have known his thoughts. He may have chosen to suppress some of his more manipulative tendencies, but he could still easily hurt him, if he wanted. Harlow always tried to hide the pain and vulnerability, but Victor saw right through it, and he wondered why he even bothered.
The pounding sensation in his head grew stronger, and he decided he’d rather not address such concerns at the moment. But when he opened his mouth, words poured out, unbidden.
“I’m going to need a new aide,” he said. “If I accept the position, that is.”
Victor seemed taken aback at the bluntness of this statement, and Harlow rushed to clarify. “I’ll need someone more accustomed to the senior command environment—preferably an officer.”
“Someone you trust, you mean,” Victor replied.
He missed nothing.
Harlow averted his eyes and shrugged. “I’ve had no complaints about your performance so far. I’ll write a positive review before you transfer out.”
Victor looked away, and after a long pause, spoke quietly. “I’ll go, if you want, but I’d like to remind you that at these levels of command, there’s no safe choice. Whoever you find to take the role is all but guaranteed to be a lying backstabber, and the higher the rank, the worse it seems to be.”
Harlow stared at him. “I’ll never face a betrayal worse than yours.”
These words landed like a heavy weight, and they stood in silence until finally, he turned away and looked at the floor. “Damn it, Victor, I hadn’t planned on having this conversation today.”
“Well, we need to,” Victor replied. “You’re going to have to make a decision soon, because they’re waiting as we speak.”
Harlow frowned, then put on that stoic expression once more.
“I’m not going to think about that right now,” he said tersely. “I’ll address it, but not before I’ve had a chance to consider my options and make an informed, reasonable choice. Now, I’ll be returning to my quarters for a while, so if you could manage my office in the meantime, I’d appreciate it.”
Victor nodded in reply, and that’s exactly what Harlow did. He turned around and walked off, leaving Victor standing there alone, and went to his quarters, where he lay down and stayed until well into the afternoon.