Scattered Suns - Kevin J. Anderson [73]
Near the end of the line of portraits, Basil paused to look at Maureen Fitzpatrick. The Battleaxe. She had been quite stunning in her day and had used her charm and seductive wiles to catapult herself to the highest levels of success. Most of the men left in her wake had failed to understand her genuine power and charisma. Basil had always admired former Chairman Fitzpatrick. She was older than he by two decades, but if times had been different, he suspected they might have made quite a pair. She was still alive, though long retired and presumably content with her wealth.
Meanwhile, he had problems to deal with. Every example of human unreliability seemed like another nail in humanity’s coffin.
Basil’s vision took on a much sharper focus, as if the problem of AWOL pilots had crystallized around a different issue. He kept his voice low, musing angrily, “It’s just a symptom of our race’s failings. The same thing has happened everywhere I turn. Is it my concern that our scout pilots are too 'nervous' to do their own jobs? Do I care that green priests are no longer 'interested' in serving aboard our ships? That our King has a habit of challenging my decisions, and that his replacement is a brat whose test scores are barely higher than an amoeba’s because he refuses to take his training seriously? Selfish, shortsighted people—all of them! If they can’t be counted on to meet their own responsibilities, then how is humanity to survive this crisis?”
The General heaved a long disappointed sigh, commiserating with Basil. “Unfortunately, Mr. Chairman, it’s human nature. People insist on making their own decisions, even bad ones. And when facing a problem that affects us all, they demonstrate how egocentric they can be.”
Basil scowled, annoyed at himself for allowing his raw emotions to show. “I have come to the conclusion that the niceties of freedom and independence are valid only in times of peace and prosperity. For years now, we’ve faced an emergency that is not about petty politics, nationalities, or religion—one that threatens our very existence. Everyone has got to pull together. We must act with one mind, one strong fist. Scattered loyalties and diverse interests only dilute the effort we make. They weaken us all. How can I allow that?”
“You can’t, Mr. Chairman. That much is clear. They are traitors, plain and simple. We didn’t ask them to do us a favor. Those AWOL pilots were part of the EDF and, as such, are bound by our rules and regulations. They can’t just be allowed to run away when they feel bored or jittery.”
“It’s so difficult to get competent help nowadays,” Basil said sardonically. “That’s been the litany of people in power since the dawn of history. You rely on people because of their skills, and more often than not they let you down.”
“We just can’t afford that, Mr. Chairman.” Lanyan laced his fingers together as if to keep from making a fist and pounding on the table. “There are too many threads unraveling. We’ve got to stop them where we can. We need to stop other pilots from leaving.”
Basil glanced at his wrist chronometer and sighed. “Do you want me to send babysitters along with the pilots who haven’t deserted yet? Should we launch a full-scale pursuit of the missing ships? Perhaps we’ll find the pilots relaxing on a tropical beach, sipping fruit drinks.” He rounded on the General. “Is that genuinely your highest priority right now?”
Lanyan was in high dudgeon. “Mr. Chairman, I remind you of long-standing military law. Desertion during time of war is an offense punishable by death. These pilots don’t believe there’ll be any consequences—and so far there haven’t been any. We need to get serious, scare them all the way down to the bone marrow by making an example of somebody, and then offer amnesty to the rest. That way we get most of our pilots back, and nobody will dare do it again.”
As he looked at the wall of his predecessors,