Cassandra Kresnov 04: 23 Years on Fire by Joel Shepherd Page B
Authors: Joel Shepherd
Tags: Science-Fiction
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the things that needed to happen for Callay to become the central Federation world, but smacked of an erosion of sovereignty to Callayans unaccustomed to such things.
Portions of the Fleet had practically declared war on Callay five years ago, and were only defeated in what historians now called either the first, second or third Federation civil war, depending on which writing of history you preferred. Now the Fleet had control of spaceplanes, and Fleet Marines wandered Tanushan bars, occasionally causing trouble as hard-drinking Marines sometimes could. And then the GIs had begun turning up. One GI was an interesting curiosity. Two, when Rhian had joined Sandy, was tolerable. But now it was fifty and climbing. The religious radicals who hated GIs had faded but not disappeared, and now raised their voices once more. The Federation loyalists, who’d fervently hated the League precisely because of GIs, were also unhappy, as were all the biotech conservatives. And a lot of ordinary Callayans, who may or may not have come to accept the presence of Cassandra Kresnov, now worried that while one or two GIs might be an acceptable risk, fifty could be stretching their luck. And where would it end? Even Sandy didn’t know the answer to that.
Vikram Singh had been Neiland’s Education Minister, until Neiland’s numbers had begun to slip badly on accumulated concerns. He’d taken power in a typically craven fit of backstabbing, and now promised a hard line against the overreach of new Federal agencies, promising to defend Callayan independence against all comers, be they Federation or League. To Sandy’s astonishment, she now found herself associated by many with both. Well, the first was true, at least.
“Let’s launch a coup!” a soldier shouted, flat on his back and chafing to see his family again. “Fuck it, we just knocked off one planetary government, let’s make it two!” Loud cheers from the troops.
“Hey!” Vanessa yelled. “None of that! Not even in jest, I’m serious!” They quietened. “If someone heard that, God forbid in the media, we’d be fucked!”
Silence settled. Vanessa checked her internal visual for the time.
“Half an hour,” she muttered. “How long do you think they’ll keep us?”
“Vikram’s just trying to show who’s in charge,” Sandy said calmly, arm behind her head, using the rucksack for a pillow. “Could be another half an hour, could be five hours. Either way, he made us wait, we only moved when he wanted. He makes his point, he wins.”
There was an election coming up, too, due in three months. President Singh had to justify his faction’s betrayal and removal of Neiland, who though unpopular at the time, had still won two previous elections and led Callay through some truly tumultuous times.
“I don’t like him winning.” Vanessa got up. “Let’s go.”
“Balaji won’t let us leave,” Sandy reminded her from the ground.
“Balaji won’t let us leave by air,” Vanessa corrected. “If we take the highway from here, we’ll be home in ninety minutes.”
Sandy smiled, and also got up. “We’ll catch shit for skipping his customs inspection.”
“Do you give a shit?” Sandy shook her head. “I don’t give a shit. Better that than him winning. Now, transport for two hundred. Any ideas?”
A network scan showed them a number of charter companies in the area, running bus tours for tourists, as the countryside was quite beautiful. Vanessa called a human operator, and managed to wrangle up four busses over the next couple of hours, at a reasonable fee on Federal credit. Various suits scrambled to stop the troops as they walked to a gate, and were cheerfully ignored. Vanessa was right. Balaji airport could only stop them from leaving by air, and Vanessa herself had security access to get through the gate.
The busses arrived shortly, capacity of sixty each, and everyone piled in. Once on the regional highway, speed accelerated to 150 kph, through valleys
Portions of the Fleet had practically declared war on Callay five years ago, and were only defeated in what historians now called either the first, second or third Federation civil war, depending on which writing of history you preferred. Now the Fleet had control of spaceplanes, and Fleet Marines wandered Tanushan bars, occasionally causing trouble as hard-drinking Marines sometimes could. And then the GIs had begun turning up. One GI was an interesting curiosity. Two, when Rhian had joined Sandy, was tolerable. But now it was fifty and climbing. The religious radicals who hated GIs had faded but not disappeared, and now raised their voices once more. The Federation loyalists, who’d fervently hated the League precisely because of GIs, were also unhappy, as were all the biotech conservatives. And a lot of ordinary Callayans, who may or may not have come to accept the presence of Cassandra Kresnov, now worried that while one or two GIs might be an acceptable risk, fifty could be stretching their luck. And where would it end? Even Sandy didn’t know the answer to that.
Vikram Singh had been Neiland’s Education Minister, until Neiland’s numbers had begun to slip badly on accumulated concerns. He’d taken power in a typically craven fit of backstabbing, and now promised a hard line against the overreach of new Federal agencies, promising to defend Callayan independence against all comers, be they Federation or League. To Sandy’s astonishment, she now found herself associated by many with both. Well, the first was true, at least.
“Let’s launch a coup!” a soldier shouted, flat on his back and chafing to see his family again. “Fuck it, we just knocked off one planetary government, let’s make it two!” Loud cheers from the troops.
“Hey!” Vanessa yelled. “None of that! Not even in jest, I’m serious!” They quietened. “If someone heard that, God forbid in the media, we’d be fucked!”
Silence settled. Vanessa checked her internal visual for the time.
“Half an hour,” she muttered. “How long do you think they’ll keep us?”
“Vikram’s just trying to show who’s in charge,” Sandy said calmly, arm behind her head, using the rucksack for a pillow. “Could be another half an hour, could be five hours. Either way, he made us wait, we only moved when he wanted. He makes his point, he wins.”
There was an election coming up, too, due in three months. President Singh had to justify his faction’s betrayal and removal of Neiland, who though unpopular at the time, had still won two previous elections and led Callay through some truly tumultuous times.
“I don’t like him winning.” Vanessa got up. “Let’s go.”
“Balaji won’t let us leave,” Sandy reminded her from the ground.
“Balaji won’t let us leave by air,” Vanessa corrected. “If we take the highway from here, we’ll be home in ninety minutes.”
Sandy smiled, and also got up. “We’ll catch shit for skipping his customs inspection.”
“Do you give a shit?” Sandy shook her head. “I don’t give a shit. Better that than him winning. Now, transport for two hundred. Any ideas?”
A network scan showed them a number of charter companies in the area, running bus tours for tourists, as the countryside was quite beautiful. Vanessa called a human operator, and managed to wrangle up four busses over the next couple of hours, at a reasonable fee on Federal credit. Various suits scrambled to stop the troops as they walked to a gate, and were cheerfully ignored. Vanessa was right. Balaji airport could only stop them from leaving by air, and Vanessa herself had security access to get through the gate.
The busses arrived shortly, capacity of sixty each, and everyone piled in. Once on the regional highway, speed accelerated to 150 kph, through valleys
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