2075 - Space Corps Central Command Office

Harlow was luckier than he knew.

After those conversations with Moore and Howard, he spent every day in a state of near-panic, from the instant he opened his eyes in the morning to the moment he went to bed at night. Sleep eluded him, though, and the evenings he lay awake staring at the ceiling felt like a mockery. He spent every moment waiting for the inevitable, yet every day it failed to come.

Two weeks passed this way.

He didn’t know why General Lin had failed to act, but according to the reports he’d heard, the man appeared deeply troubled, with far greater concerns occupying his mind. A few days after their confrontation, Lin had booked a trip to one of the bases under his command with very little notice, and remained there for over a week. Harlow wasn’t entirely sure of the purpose of this visit, as Lin didn’t even bother reporting to him anymore, but he was grateful for this temporary reprieve from his presence, at least.

Harlow had been afforded time he didn’t know he had. Every now and then, fate seemed content to grant him the smallest of mercies, and he resolved to make the best of it. Acting on the advice he’d received would’ve been prudent, but it was a desperate option—a last measure reserved for when all others had been exhausted. Instead, he kept his word and began drafting plans, in conjunction with his most trusted staff and senior advisors, to withdraw from some of the more protracted conflicts and negotiate peace agreements as quickly as possible.

In the meantime, neither he nor Victor spent a single moment alone. They had bodyguards now—security personnel stationed outside both their offices and their quarters—who’d been hired from a private firm using funds allocated for the Chief Commander’s discretion. Harlow was also careful never to appear in public without a substantial accompaniment of officers, security staff, and aides. This wasn’t difficult, though, as he kept a very low profile and canceled all but the most essential events on his schedule.

He had a job to do.

And thus, a few weeks after that fateful morning briefing, the Council convened again. There were only eight of them this time; two had resigned and taken advantage of Harlow’s offer of clemency, while two others had made it abundantly clear that while they’d never support any of his initiatives, they also had no intention of stepping down. Their absence was noted, with ensuing penalties to follow, and the meeting proceeded without them.

Harlow had hoped General Lin would remain absent too, but alas, he was there. Neither his expression nor his mannerisms betrayed any hint of his intentions, and he appeared relatively composed as he surveyed them from the opposite side of the table. There was always something cold and analytical about him, but he didn’t say a word, and Harlow did his best to ignore him as he called the meeting to order.

“Victor, state the time and date, please.”

He stood at the head of the table this time, while Victor was seated in his chair, effectively filling his place for him.

“Friday, September 13, 2075, 17:02.”

“Thank you.”

He was about to say more, but Lin spoke first.

“Care to have a seat, Sir?” he asked in that familiar, mocking tone.

Harlow shook his head. “I appreciate your concern, but I don’t mind standing. In fact, I prefer it.”

General Gray frowned. “At the risk of sounding pedantic, I’d like to issue a polite reminder that non-members can’t fill vacant Council seats.”

“Richard, is this really the time to be quibbling over procedure?” General Howard hissed. Harlow glanced at him and noticed that his hand was hovering over his jacket—likely resting on a concealed weapon of some sort.

He shrugged. “There’s not a vacancy, because I’m not absent. Victor’s simply keeping my chair warm and taking my notes, and he’s acting with my permission, so unless you’d like to file a formal complaint, I’ll hear nothing further about it.”

General Gray offered no rebuttal, and once Harlow was satisfied the matter had been put to rest, he turned his attention back to the Council and began pacing around the table.

“As all of you know,” he began, “several years ago, a group of Eastern Regional’s top commanders drafted a plan to bring long-term stability to the region, with the goal of restoring self-governance to local leadership. It was scrapped when tensions escalated there, and it’s obviously based on outdated information, but their ideas were sound, so for the past few weeks the task force I created has been re-visiting it. We’ve come up with a revised version based on current intel, and you’ve all read the draft—or at least, you should’ve—because I sent a copy to each of your offices.”

He paused to catch his breath, then continued pacing. “I think we all agree that Eastern has been the source of our messiest involvements so far—an expensive hassle that poses significant risk, but offers few rewards. I see little to be gained by staying. Withdrawal would allow us to allocate our resources more effectively and focus our efforts elsewhere.”

General Petrov shrugged. “That won’t end the war, though.”

“No, but it’s a start. We’ve got to get out of there.”

General Everett, who’d been observing them from across the table, took a deep breath and sat up straighter. “My staff and I read the proposal, just as you asked, but I’d like to go on record stating that in my opinion, this is a flawed vision. That’s a very resource-rich region, and it’s all but guaranteed to be the site of future conflicts. Not only that, but we stand to gain a significant advantage if we manage to hold it. You’d be throwing away a tremendous amount of potential.”

His posture was confident, but his tone betrayed a hint of nervousness, and Harlow shrugged in reply. “At what point do we admit a venture has never been successful, and never will be? When do we call it a failure and cut our losses? Because, in my opinion, we crossed that threshold years ago—long before I assumed office. I know this will be an unpopular decision, which is why it wasn’t done sooner, but I don’t care.”

General Conrad smirked. “On that note, making a concession of this nature would be beyond embarrassing, don’t you think? This will be viewed as little more than a retreat—running away like a wounded dog with your tail tucked between your legs, and I say ‘you’ because I won’t claim responsibility for it. You can sign that document, but I’m not putting my name to it.”

Harlow sighed. “If you’re so attached to Eastern, General Conrad, then go fight for it from somewhere besides the comfort of your office. I’ll issue you a weapon and book your flight, if you truly care so much. In fact, I can have it ready by tomorrow.”

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Conrad scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m no field commander.”

“Clearly,” Harlow replied. “However, if this conflict continues much longer, you will be. If you’ve got such a vested interest in keeping it going, then I’ll be sending you out there to personally supervise operations, and you’ll be on base just like the rest of them—sleeping in the same accommodations, eating the same rations, meeting the same physical standards, and being subject to the same risk. Is that what you want? Because if it’s good enough for them, it’s good enough for you.”

Conrad was silent at this, and Harlow slid the stack of paper toward him. “Sign it.”

Conrad hesitated, then took a pen and did as he was told. However, General Gray frowned as he looked on.

“Conrad may be an imbecile, but he’s not entirely wrong.”

Howard smiled. “I disagree—with the last part, that is.”

Harlow shot a sharp glance in their direction. “Howard, don’t speak out of turn. And General Gray, explain yourself.”

General Gray shrugged. “If we leave, that opens the potential for a power vacuum, and you know the risks that would incur. I’m not overly opposed to this measure—in fact, I agree with most of it—but that’s the part that gives me pause. If we fail to establish a good transitional government, we’ll be back in a few years, and it’ll be worse than when we left.”

“It can’t be much worse than it is now,” Harlow said. “They’ve asked for self-governance, so we should give it to them. I’m tired of cleaning up their messes.”

“Their messes have a habit of becoming our messes, which is why we were there in the first place. Their problems never seem to stay contained within their own borders.”

“I understand that,” Harlow replied, “but they need to find someone else to manage their problems, because we can’t fill that role any longer. We’re stretching ourselves far too thin and wasting our best efforts on a region we had no business entering in the first place. It’s been nothing but a series of colony disputes, supervised mediations, territorial defenses, and border negotiations, and no matter how careful we are, everything we accomplish seems to be undone within a matter of weeks.”

General Howard nodded. “What they really want is a standing army, but they lack the manpower and internal cohesion for it. The best their government—if you can even call it that—can do is arming a warlord here and there in exchange for political favors. Then they’re always shocked when those groups turn those weapons on each other.”

“Precisely,” Harlow said. “They want us to serve as an occupying force, but one that only functions at their convenience. I’m tired of receiving conflicting requests from local leaders looking to undermine each other at our expense. I’m aware we’re leaving them in a worse state than when we entered, but there’s nothing further to be done. If they want militarized backing, they can hire mercenaries.”

General Lin smiled at these words, and Harlow felt that sick feeling rising in the pit of his stomach.

“Why don’t we suggest that to them, then, and begin charging for our continued involvement,” Lin said.

Harlow stared at him. “We’re not a for-profit organization, General Lin—a fact you’re well aware of.”

“Yes, but if they’re going to seek out mercenaries, there’s no reason we can’t fill that role for them. It’s about time we received proper compensation for our efforts. It wouldn’t be difficult; we could restructure and create an entirely new division—”

“I won’t even entertain the idea,” Harlow said, cutting him off. “The answer’s ‘no.’”

“Why? As Everett alluded, you’d be turning down an incredibly lucrative opportunity—more than one, in fact.”

Several of them glanced at Everett, who ducked his head and gave a quick nod.

Lin leaned forward and studied them intently, as if gauging the Council’s reaction. “I’ve been in contact with several potential partners who would be very pleased if we managed to secure their interests in the region. Creating a mercenary arm would be an effective way to do it.”

General Howard inhaled sharply. “Good Lord, you’re not even trying to hide the corruption anymore. Who’s paying you, and how much?”

“I won’t disclose that,” Lin replied. “The only detail that’s relevant to any of you is that they’ve demonstrated willingness to negotiate a partnership, should we become better established there.”

Harlow scowled. “The Global Armed Forces—and by extension, the Space Corps—represents a peacekeeping and exploration force, not private interests. We’re beholden to our member states, not the highest bidder. And since the Eastern regions are not member states, we can’t continue our involvement there.”

“You might just change your mind when you see what’s been offered.” Lin reached inside his jacket and pulled out a folded stack of paper. “While you were drafting that plan, I was working on one of my own.”

He passed it across the table, and Harlow picked it up and began reading. As he scanned the words, his frown deepened.

“I’ll never agree to this, and you know it,” he said as he skimmed the first page. “The more I see, the less I like it.” He flipped through several more sheets, then shook his head and returned them to the table. “I don’t even need to finish reading. What you’re suggesting is a complete deviation from our mission statement, and would require a total restructuring of the ranks as well as rewriting our objectives from scratch. It’s out of the question, and I’d appreciate it if you never brought this up again.” He studied Lin’s face. “I know how you’ll react to that too, so lest you feel like directing your frustration in my direction, please remember that I’m not the only one who takes issue with this. Headquarters would never allow it, and acting on something like that would surely invite their involvement.”

Lin shrugged. “What makes you think I haven’t already consulted them?”

General Howard leaned forward and clasped his hands together. “Prove it. Name a single member of Headquarters staff who’s approved this, because I don’t know of any.”

Lin smirked in his direction. “Do you really think they’d tell you, Chancellor? As if the head of cadet training would need to know?”

Howard stared back. “Regardless of what I need to know or not, I haven’t heard a word.”

General Gray scowled. “For once, I agree with Howard. I’d like to see verification for that claim.”

Lin shrugged. “As I said, the details are confidential, but we’ve got a substantial number of backers. Once I can be assured of the Council’s wider support, I’ll disclose everything you’d like to know, but not a moment sooner. Just be aware that several of my contacts have expressed interest in conducting business there, should we stabilize the region, and they’re willing to offer lucrative partnerships.”

Harlow stared at him. “Even if I supported this measure—which I don’t—it would’ve been prudent to mention it before today, don’t you think?”

“I’m mentioning it now, and it would be in your best interest to listen.”

“Really?” Harlow asked as he slid the stack of paper back across the table. “Because I think it would be in my best interest to politely decline your offer. And as for Headquarters, we’ll see how many of them truly support you when I request an independent audit of your entire chain of command.”

Lin responded with that dark, familiar scowl. Harlow saw rage flicker in his eyes again—a brief contemplation of violence—and for a moment he looked as if he might act upon it.

Lin stood abruptly, leaned forward, and met Harlow’s eyes. Several members of the Council recoiled at this gesture, but Harlow stood firm, and they remained there staring at each other.

But then, with no hesitation whatsoever, Lin reached out and snatched the copy of the peace agreement from General Conrad, who’d already signed his name to it, and as the Council looked on, he tore it in half and let the pieces drift to the table.

“You’ve made an unwise decision,” he said, “and that audit will reveal nothing. So go ahead—if you feel like ordering me out there to be a field commander, I’ll gladly do so, and I’ll conduct this war as I see fit. It’s high time someone did.”

And with that, he turned and stormed from the room.

After a long, uncomfortable silence, Harlow spoke again. “We only need four signatures to put that measure up for Council vote, so we can do it without him.” He motioned in Victor’s direction. “Do you have another copy?”

Victor nodded as he rifled through the folder in his lap and removed a few loose sheets.

Harlow took the new paperwork and placed it in front of General Conrad. “Sign it again,” he said.

Conrad obeyed, and while the rest of them looked on, General Howard let out a resigned sigh and nodded toward the hall. “What do you plan to do about that?” he said quietly. General Gray followed his gaze, then cast a pointed look in Harlow’s direction as if waiting for an answer.

Harlow glanced at the door. “He’ll be dealt with,” he said sharply. “For now, let’s just get this handled. That’s why we’re here. We’ll address one issue at a time.”

“That one’s becoming more pressing by the minute, though.”

Harlow said nothing in reply. He dared not, in the presence of the Council. Instead, he shot Howard a look that fully communicated his thoughts.

His day is coming, it said.

And Howard nodded back ever so slightly.