After Earth: A Perfect Beast (11 page)

“However, it is time to remake the world again. The hour of our need has come and gone. A more modest Ranger Corps is required to meet our more modest needs.”

Rostropovich paused and let the words settle like fine incense over the crowd. His most trusted augurs were mixed in with the congregation. They led the murmurs of agreement. What was more, cameras and sound
equipment were carrying his message from building to building, city to city.

True, it was Trey Vander Meer who had unleashed the first salvo at Wilkins and the Rangers. But the Primus had known an opportunity when he saw one, and he would use it to expand his power as far as he could.

After all, the Rangers had had their day. It was high time that Nova Prime embraced a different sort of leadership, one that focused on the spiritual rather than the mundane.

“We still need a force,” he allowed, “to maintain the peace and ensure that the laws of this world are followed. We still need someone to protect the streets, inspect the goods being manufactured, and respond to natural disasters. But for these purposes, the size of the Ranger force is an untenable one.

“A debate has sprung up among the people. Many say that the Rangers should be downsized, made more efficient. While no change has been made as yet, I have listened. I have heard from my augurs and from you, my brothers and sisters in faith.

“I want to move the dialogue forward. That is why I suggest today that Prime Commander Wilkins submit a plan for the reduction of her forces—and the decentralization of the Rangers as an institution. A series of small police forces, one in each community, would still keep us safe. They could respond even more rapidly than the Rangers do today to local threats. Or if necessary, they could work together, brothers in arms, to deal with larger challenges.

“Such a reorganization would also mean that services formerly supplied by the Rangers would be supplied instead by the augury or the Savant’s engineers. However, we would be willing to make that sacrifice.

“Of course, once the Rangers are disbanded, there would be no Prime Commander. Our tripartite form of government would become bipartite. It would be a welcome simplification of what is sometimes an unwieldy process.

“Mind you, I propose this reorganization with no malice toward the Prime Commander. I continue to hold her in the highest regard, as I do all the Rangers. But now is the time to embrace a new way.”

The Primus was gratified to see a sea of heads bobbing in accord with his message. Everything was proceeding as he had hoped.

Watching the Primus’s sermon from her office, Meredith Wilkins bit her lip. Sitting beside her, Bonita Raige looked like a coiled spring.

“The bastard,” Bonita said.

“That’s disrespectful,” said Wilkins. “He’s the spiritual leader of the colony, remember?”

“And he’s a bastard,” Bonita insisted.

Wilkins nodded. “Damned right he is.”

She forced herself to watch the sermon to its unsavory conclusion. As far as she could tell, it was well received—as all Rostropovich’s addresses were received. He was that kind of speaker.

Then came the obligatory press conference on the steps outside the congregation hall. “We are fortunate,” the Primus said to the journalists who had gathered around him, “to have survived Earth’s destruction. Nova Prime has been our redemption—and the Rangers have been God’s instruments in that redemption. For that, we owe them a debt of gratitude.

“However, there is a time to reap and a time to sow, a time when we must take up arms and a time when we must lay them down. While we can never cease being cautious, our safety has been assured. Should we not free our brothers and sisters in the Rangers to do other work that will let us flourish as a colony? Might this not be the time to turn our swords into plowshares?”

Abruptly, Wilkins cut the signal.

“He’s taking it to us,” Bonita noted angrily. “Not only calling for a reduction in the number of Rangers
but the elimination of the Prime Commander from the tripartite agreement. I don’t know who’s the trickier bastard, Vander Meer or the Primus.”

“Vander Meer is just a showman,” Wilkins said. “It’s the Primus I have to watch. His opinion and influence … well, I don’t have to tell you. I hate to say it, but we have to throw him a bone.”

Bonita glanced at her. “You mean reduce our forces?”

“Not yet. But something. Call a meeting of department heads. Tell them I want to hear cost-cutting suggestions. Make it first thing tomorrow.”

Bonita nodded. She didn’t look happy.

But then, Wilkins wasn’t happy, either. The idea of skimping on security went against everything she had ever been taught, everything she believed in. She wished there was another way.

Unfortunately, she didn’t see any.

When Conner was called into Lennon’s office in the command center, all kinds of thoughts went through his head.

First, he thought he was going to be disciplined after all for fighting in the barracks. But if that were the case, Lucas would have been summoned to Lennon’s office as well, and Lennon had sent only for Conner.

Next, it occurred to him that Lennon wanted to apologize for making his response to the fight a personal diatribe. After all, Conner was entitled to his beliefs, and Lennon had reamed him for them. But he rejected that possibility even more quickly than the first. Lennon wasn’t the sort to apologize for anything. Ever.

The third notion that came to mind was that Lennon was going to promote Conner to squad leader for what he had done during the war games. Not because he wanted to but because Wilkins had ordered him to.

In the end, Conner found out that his superior had
none
of those things in mind. “So,” said Lennon when
Conner arrived, “when was the last time you stood satellite duty?”

“I haven’t
ever
stood satellite duty, sir,” Conner said.

Lennon smiled. “Well, Cadet, there’s a first time for everything.” He told Conner when to report and what to expect. “Details on your tablet in case you’ve got any questions. Dismissed.”

It might have been the quickest conversation the command center had ever seen.
Satellite duty
, Conner mused as he walked out of the building.

He was recalling what he had heard about such an assignment when he saw a familiar face waiting for him outside the command center.

“Dad?” he said.

It was a surprise, to say the least. Frank Raige hadn’t visited his son the whole time Conner had been in training. They had gotten together those times when both he and Conner went home on leave but never once when Conner was on duty.

His father couldn’t have shown up at a better time. “Listen to this,” Conner said. “You know what that lowlife Vander Meer’s been saying about—”

“I heard,” said his father.

His response was clipped, abrupt. It brought Conner up short, making him wonder why Frank Raige would react that way.

He thinks I let Vander Meer’s comments go
, Conner decided.
He thinks I looked the other way
. “Don’t worry,” Conner said, “I put Vander Meer in his place. I didn’t let him get away with that garbage.”

“That’s the problem,” said Frank Raige. “You didn’t let him get away with that garbage. Since when are you the official spokesman for the Rangers?”

For a moment, Conner thought his father was kidding. His dad would do that sometimes—pretend to be deadly serious and then break out into the world’s biggest grin. But not this time. Frank Raige’s eyes looked like they had been chiseled from rock.

“I—I’m not,” Conner stammered. “But I couldn’t—”

“But nothing,” his father said. “There’s a chain of command in the Corps. You know that, right? It starts at the top and it works its way down, and it’s been there since long before either of us was born. Some people in that chain, usually the ones with the most experience, are authorized by the Prime Commander to speak on behalf of the Rangers—and others are not. You are one of those who are not.”

Conner felt his throat constrict. He couldn’t remember the last time his dad had spoken to him with an edge in his voice. He was angry; that much was clear. Angry and embarrassed.

The worst part was that Conner didn’t deserve it.

The Rangers would never in a million years make an official response to Vander Meer’s crap. If Conner hadn’t opened his mouth, those people in the plaza would never have heard the other side of the argument: the Rangers’ side. They would have accepted everything Vander Meer coughed up without exception.

Conner started to say so.

But before he could get two words out, his father held up a hand. “The Prime Commander makes that decision, not you. If she wants to say something, that’s her business. And if she doesn’t, that’s her business as well.”

“But Dad,” Conner asked, “how would the Prime Commander even have known what Vander Meer said? She wasn’t there—I was.”

“It’s not your problem,” said his father. “Someone else’s, maybe, but not yours. Your problem is acting like a Ranger, and you’re nowhere near a solution from what I can see. You get into fights in your barracks, you insult your commanding officer, and you mistake yourself for the Prime Commander. You’re part of a family that’s been a credit to the uniform since before we came in sight of this planet.
Act
like it.”

And that was it. There was no room for protest, no room for argument, nothing else that could be taken into account. Conner was supposed to listen to Vander
Meer’s nonsense and remain silent regardless of how untrue it was.

“You read me?” asked Frank Raige, his gaze still hard and unyielding.

Conner did his best to contain his disappointment. “Yes, sir. I read you.”

His father nodded. “Good.”

Then he turned around and walked away. As if they weren’t related, as if they had never even met before.

Conner knew his fellow cadets would be standing around looking at him even though they were pretending not to do so—looking and listening. He didn’t give them anything more to talk about. He just made his way back to the barracks as if nothing had happened.

It hadn’t been easy being a cadet all these months, but at least he had known that his family was behind him, that if push came to shove, they would support him as they always had.
Unconditionally
. Now he had learned otherwise.

To that point, Conner had worshipped his father. It was shocking to hear the object of his worship tell him to shut up and obey orders, even if it wasn’t in so many words.

All right
, Conner thought.
I can do that
. He would shut his mouth and keep it shut.

No matter
what
he saw.

Bonita Raige was tired and miserable when she got home. But she wouldn’t be able to sleep; she was pretty sure of that. She needed to talk, to work out some of the anger that was churning around inside her.

Her husband, Torrance, was sleeping already when she entered their bedroom. Had she been a considerate wife, she would have slipped in beside him as quietly as she could and allowed him to go on sleeping.

Consideration be damned
,
she thought
.

“You awake?” she asked.

“I am now,” he replied. He sat up in a shaft of the moonlight coming in through the skylight. “What’s up?”

Bonita was reminded of how handsome her husband was. Tall, broad-shouldered, brown-eyed, and brown-haired, he was the spitting image of his father, a good-looking man in his own right. Torrance’s brother, Frank, with his craggy features, was a throwback to their grandfather. As far as Bonita was concerned, Torrance had gotten the better of the deal.

Which meant that she had, as well.

“Did you hear the Primus?” she asked.

“I did,” he said.

“And?”

Her husband shrugged. “It’s all politics, Bon. It’ll sort itself out.”

She stared at her husband in disbelief. “Wow, that’s it? Just politics as usual?”

“It’s not?”

“Not to me. It’s the future of the Rangers Rostropovich is talking about. And Vander Meer; I could kill that—”

“Hey,” Torrance said, laying his hand on top of hers, “calm down. We’re all just cogs in the machinery. The Primus, Vander Meer … they think they’re more than that, but they’re not. They’re cogs, too. The machinery … it’s been in place for hundreds of years. The Rangers have done a good job. We’re not going anywhere.”

“How can you be so certain?” Bonita demanded.

“History. You think this is the first time someone’s gone after us? And here we are, still standing. There may be changes, modifications … but the Rangers will endure. So go to sleep, will you?”

His complacency ate away at her. On another occasion, she might have listened to him anyway. But not this time.

She got up and walked into the next room.

“Bon?” he called after her. “Bonita? Where you going?”

“Back to work,” she muttered, and left the house.

Meredith Wilkins paced the conference room as her department heads filed into her office, which had been stocked with additional chairs. Once the last of them settled into a seat, she sat down as well and began.

“Elias,” she said, turning to Hātu
r
i.

Hātu
r
i activated the portable holo display device he had planted in the middle of the room. Suddenly a complex of charts and images of tools, weaponry, and aircraft was floating above the meeting.

“We’ve been criticized for siphoning off too many resources from the colony,” she said. “So as a show of good faith, we’re going to cut our demands to the bone. That’s why I called you all here: to help me decide what we absolutely must have and what we can do without.”

“Well,” said one of her assembled officers, “we can slow down the modernization of the flier fleet. Instead of upgrading every ten years, we can make it every fifteen.”

“Of course,” said another officer, “that will mean revisiting the manufacturing process. If we’re going to wait fifteen years to replace fliers, they need to be built to last twenty.”

Wilkins hated to equip her pilots with anything less than what was the state of the art. Frank Raige wouldn’t be happy.