Chapter Ten

Blood and Wine

It was a little after ten at night, and Ernst Knuckleton’s blinkered eyes were straining in the lamp light to stay open. His fingers numbly punched out a few more hundred words. Then he could stop.

The words were bullshit. Arbitrary. A reflection on the journey and the first day of the occupation. That word was forbidden, mind. It was an ‘expedition’, which, Knuckleton could admit, was much less loaded.

‘You look tired, Ernst,’ Commander Vitor Tovey called from the end of the room. It was a long and narrow office. The walls were a sterile white, with tiled lights pounding them in glare and headaches.

‘I am,’ Knuckleton said quietly.

‘Please, I’d be a poor commanding officer if I had you working like a firebug.’

‘Thank you, Sir.’

‘Dine with me, Ernst. We can discuss a little of a lot.’ Tovey stood from his high-backed chair at his desk and began to walk towards Knuckleton, who occupied a modest corner of the room. Tovey was a weasel of a man, thin-faced with angular features. Grey hair was gelled back to reveal a widow’s peak. ‘Truth be told… I was eager to make your acquaintance, Ernst.’

‘You… were?’ Knuckleton’s wrinkled brow furrowed. He hastily raked a hand through his streaks of greying hair.

‘As Director of the General Archive, I’m sure you have more than a few secrets to spill. It’s a position of great renown.’ Tovey sat at a conference table that ran the length of the room, gestured Knuckleton do the same.

Knuckleton did not complain. He closed his glassed laptop and made himself comfortable.

‘I suppose it is,’ he replied eventually.

Two uniforms then walked in and placed a piping hot plate of cultured meat and vegetables in front of each of them.

‘Eat,’ commanded Tovey.

Again, Knuckleton did not complain.

‘They call you a scientific expert,’ Tovey continued.

‘They do?’

‘I suppose that is an affectionate way of saying you know very little about a lot. The Director of the General Archive would have to have a rich background in science, politics, anthropology.’

Knuckleton swallowed a meat ball. ‘You flatter me, Commander. But yes. Truth be told, my time at the Archive was understated.’

The General Archive was the Confederacy’s greatest repository of knowledge, of science, of culture, of history. It was a pyramid of glass and mental that kissed the Atlan sky. As its Director, Knuckleton had been privy to a great deal. For the most part, it was best unspoken.

‘In what did you specialise?’

Knuckleton paused. ‘Special Acquisitions, Sir. Fourteen years, before Deputy, then Director.’

‘Special Acquisitions: such a sinister name, isn’t it? What was your most interesting oversight?’

‘I should think you know that already, Sir. But the recovery of the Asachi casket from San Rios. To study an as-yet unknown life form, an intelligent one at that. It was remarkable. I oversaw its study, for a period. Even communicated with it. The progress we made there was our proudest work. Before the Asachi was… forcibly requisitioned by the Armed Intelligence Services, under the orders of Undersecretary Harnoon. Three weeks later, I was forcibly promoted to Deputy, out of Special Acquisitions, and most of my staff were handsomely compensated for their resignations.’

‘Is that so?’ But Tovey did not sound surprised.

‘The Asachi was pursuing an individual of untold importance, called Erobo. Pardon my cynicism, Commander. But you know as well as I do, I’m not here as a scientific expert. I’m here as an Erobo expert. Erobo is our ultimate objective, is he not?’

Tovey looked unflustered. ‘You may think that. Why did you leave the Archive? If I may pry?’

‘I could not in good faith work for an institution dedicated to the freedom of information, of public knowledge, under the thumb of the Armed Intelligence Services. I’m sure you understand.’

‘I understand completely.’ Tovey smiled. ‘Your mind is sharp as I was told, a pity you let yourself suffer Old Central. I’ve not had the displeasure to visit it myself.’

Knuckleton smiled falsely. ‘It is beautiful, in its way. It’s home. Tell me, Sir, Undersecretary Harnoon no longer works for the Ministry of Defence, does he?’

It was Tovey’s turn to smile. ‘I believe not,’ he said through a sip of wine. ‘Undersecretary to the Minister of Colonial Affairs now.’

‘Who was this mission’s greatest proponent. Trey Hollobach. I understand he’s considering a leadership challenge and an Earth colony is on his manifesto.’

‘Possibly.’

‘And I’ve read Hollobach’s campaign is funded heavily by PACs. Ilott Aerospace mainly, pro-war lobbyists who, chance would have it, have contracts with the AIS and the Ministry of the Defence. It all just seems a little… convenient, you could say.’

Tovey’s smile ripened. ‘Chance would have it. I couldn’t possibly comment, Ernst. We are at war with the idea of being at war. The Feng-Hal encroach further daily. Erobo may provide an advantage. He may not. Sometimes, Ernst, a spade is just a spade. All missions have multiple objectives. This is nothing new.’

‘Why is the Armed Intelligence Services so interested in Erobo?’

Tovey said nothing. He stared through brazen eyes, ran a finger through his slickly-gelled hair.

‘I’ll change topic them.’ Knuckleton said. ‘The indigenous I can spy in that pen from my window. They one of your objectives?’

Stolen story; please report.

The Commander sighed deeply. ‘They were recovered from the… unfortunate destruction of their town. They were spared.’

‘And their use now?’

‘They would educate us on their affairs.’

‘You don’t need to cage them for that.’

‘War is an amoral game, Ernst.’

‘I hope I’m not overstepping, Sir, to point out we are not yet at war, least of all with the indigenous. Don’t forget this is their home more than it ever will be ours.’

‘We’ll enlist their help in matters of Colony Two, and other uses,’ Tovey said darkly.

Knuckleton raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s interesting phrasing for slavery.’

‘It’s not indefinite.’ For the first time, Tovey looked weakened, but he did not challenge Knuckleton on his tone, even as he overstepped. ‘How would you enlist their help willingly?’

‘Talk to them, comfort them, provide what they need, and fairly compensate them for their time. Show them you’re people.’ Knuckleton sipped his own wine for the first time. It sent a comforting shiver through him.

At this, Tovey rose sharply, whisked himself to the window and watched the pen Knuckleton mentioned. ‘I would do what I could.’

‘But?’

‘The indigenous present a potent threat to the integrity of the mission.’

‘You do your thing, let them do theirs. They don’t need to get in the way.’

‘It’s not just Erobo. There’s a… PR angle to consider as well. We need to deal with them, one way or another, carefully. My hands are tied by the scale of the mission. A return to Earth is a good opiate for those in the Colonies. Trodden on as they are by Atlas.’ Tovey laughed and swigged his wine.

‘But then if Hollobach wants an Earth colony, you’ll have to make friends with the indigenous at some point.’

‘Hence my headache.’ At his words, Tovey rubbed his brow and returned to his seat. ‘This was originally a prison. How badly would the Confederacy react really if we subjugated the locals? You could even spin it as for their own good. Paint ourselves as missionaries.’ Tovey laughed again, loudly and hollow. ‘That is my Deputy’s opinion.’

Knuckleton tilted his head. ‘I don’t believe I’ve—’

‘You haven’t met her, Kina Li. Puppy on a leash, that one.’

‘How so?’

‘A dogmatist of the Confederacy. Fiercely opinionated. Strident. Pro-war too. Let’s say, she is vulnerable to her worst impulses. Wasn’t always that way.’ Briefly, Tovey looked captivated by a memory.

‘Are you, Sir? Pro-war?’

‘I like to think I believe in mankind a little more than that. As a military, our role should be to prevent conflict, not to enforce it.’

‘Li disagrees?’

‘She didn’t have the smoothest upbringing.’ Tovey sighed. ‘So she has an eye for the worst in people. Think her preferred solution to this mess is chain all the locals up, so they can’t make things messy.’

Knuckleton cocked his head. ‘Isn’t that messy in itself. If word got out that the indigenous were held captive.’

‘What’s more desirable? That, or an insurgency where they risk derailing the mission? With greater bloodshed? You see? My hands are tied in every which way.’ Tovey groaned and strained his back.

‘You’re considering it? Subjugating the locals?’

‘All points of view under consideration.’

‘A very diplomatic answer, Sir.’

Tovey then laughed loudly and deeply. ‘It’s almost heroic when you think about it. Here we are as pioneers. For the first time in near a thousand years, the Confederacy on planet Earth.’ He laughed again at the look on Knuckleton’s face. ‘Don’t think me deluded, I know there is no romanticism in what we do. It’s just bloody work. It’s all it ever is.’

‘I… see, Sir.’

‘Call me Vitor, for the love of God. I feel like you’re my lapdog having you leashed up in here. But they don’t trust you, you see.’

Knuckleton raised an eyebrow. ‘They?’

‘The Armed Intelligence Services. They’re the ones who requested you. As you rightly surmised, this is their mission. Partly. I suppose that makes me their lapdog.’

‘Do you ever know what became of the Asachi casket?’ Knuckleton asked, curious as to the subtleties of their mission.

‘Why? You miss it?’ Tovey laughed dryly.

‘Just curious.’

‘Hell if I know. Since Harnoon took the AIS over, they operated with unrestricted authority. The Oversight Committee shut down about the same time. Harnoon said pencil pushing was the ally of the Feng-Hal. Bureaucracy breeds inaction, he said. Colourful character.’

‘Did you ever meet him?’

‘Once. A handshake. He was too busy for anything more. But, as we are speaking candidly, you would be right to think he’s a slippery man.’ Tovey chuckled and it tapered into a cough. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, and his eyes sank in the shadows of black rings.

‘You should rest, Vitor.’ Knuckleton decided to take Tovey at his word, calling him by his first name. It made him easier to ply. To sculpt to his needs. It made him a friend. A confidant. He carried information that could keep Knuckleton alive or buy his favour with those who wanted to hurt him. The closer to Tovey he got, the safer he became. Knuckleton would make himself indispensable to the mission.

Tovey sighed deeply. ‘Is it that obvious? Been here a day and I’m already putting out a thousand fires. I have a Prime Minister who could resign any day, the Minister for Colonial Affairs, the Minister for Defence, the Quarter General, the Chief of the Armed Intelligence Services, the Chair of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and four Undersecretaries wanting to co-opt and micromanage every aspect of this mission.’

‘And how do you deal with that?’ Knuckleton said playfully.

‘I don’t answer the phone.’

Knuckleton laughed, said, ‘Pour yourself another one, Vitor. You’ve earned it,’ and he pushed Tovey the bottle of 3329 Iscariot wine across the table.

‘You like it?’

‘I prefer a mulled red,’ mused Knuckleton. ‘When I left the Archive, a colleague brought me the most exquisite bottle from this little island called Pache on Fhitellios, I think it was. I could never bring myself to finish it. Occupies a place of pride on my shelf. I would never say no to a good Iscariot though.’

‘I suppose we could all do with drinking a little after the past few weeks. Long that they were.’

‘As you say, Vitor.’ Knuckleton raised his glass to the Commander. This game was about survival, by any means.

The pair of them then jolted. The door knocked and their gazes shifted.

‘Enter!’ called Tovey. At once, the sterile white door slid noiselessly open and a khaki-clad soldier entered, adorning a prisoner on either arm, or whatever the term of choice was for Tovey. Their clothes were smitten by ash and dust and their faces had foul stares. Knuckleton watched, fascinated.

‘Indigenous?’ he said to Tovey.

‘Hmm.’ The Commander slipped back into his military mould in a blink. ‘Explain yourself,’ he said to the soldier. He was a thin fellow, seemed to sink into his cargo pants. His wiry arms pushed the locals forward.

‘An altercation, Sir,’ the subordinate wheezed, ‘in the pens. Then the taller one attempted to escape when we split them up.’

Knuckleton watched Tovey wince. That word- ‘escape’- it implied incarceration, subjugation, a violation of the locals’ rights, which was true of course, but beside the point. Tovey was fussy on the semantics. There was a word harsher than guest but kinder than prisoner for these particular locals that as yet escaped Tovey.

Residents, perhaps, thought Knuckleton. Visitors. Informants. One of them would become the politic-speak of choice.

‘Any casualties?’ Tovey said after a long pause.

‘None, Sir.’

‘Then return that one to their accommodation.’ He pointed at the shorter of them, a portly man, with a crippled hand. The soldier shepherded the local to a colleague at the door who closed it behind him. Tovey then looked over the taller, the one who had tried to escape.

‘If this one wants to leave,’ he said, ‘let him. Escort him beyond the perimeter. Have no one follow him. He’s free to go.’

‘Sir?’

‘If he doesn’t come back, it will put the fear of God into the rest of them.’

‘As you wish, Sir.’

The soldier stamped his heel and whisked the prisoner away. It stared back at Tovey through deep, black eyes.

‘You see what I mean?’ Tovey said as the door closed a second time, taking another swig of the Iscariot. ‘I would much rather I could leave the bloody locals be and not have to deal with them at all. Nuisances much as anything. They’re a political problem, not a military one.’

‘Is that why they chose you for this mission, Vitor?’ said Knuckleton. ‘Because you’re a political man?’

‘I’m no one’s lackey if that’s what you’re suggesting.’ He slumped back to his chair. ‘I’m trusted to make reasonable judgements, whatever that means. Can only hope the others don’t get similar ideas. We need the local knowledge.’

‘The other who?’

‘The other assets.’

Knuckleton smiled. So, that was what Tovey had decided to call them. It was a finely poised situation, he had to admit. The Confederacy could not afford to be seen as aggressors against the indigenous, lest wind of it got back to Atlas. The danger came if the Cons were provoked. What if the locals fired the first shot, took the first life?

Well, mused Knuckleton, all hell would break loose. And nothing in the world would suit him more.