Shadow of Freedom

“Besides,” the redhaired president continued, “as near as we can tell, even the Allenbys are still split over whether or not they should be supporting Floyd. All of them hate our guts, but for right now at least a majority of the clan doesn’t seem to feel that going up against us openly is a winning strategy.”

“Because they aren’t all completely crazy after all,” Karaxis grunted. “If they ever come out in the open where we can get at them, we’ll chop them into husky bait!”

“I’m sure that’s a factor in their thinking,” Shuman agreed. “The problem is that they’re so damn bloody-minded. If we step on their toes hard enough, they may just decide they don’t care how ugly things could get. Don’t forget what old Simon was like!”

That reminder seemed to give even Karaxis pause, and the general nodded soberly.

“At least Floyd never got prolong in time,” Shuman continued. “He’s—what? Thirty? Thirty-five?—by now. Give him a few more T-years, and he’s likely to decide this ‘liberation movement’ of his is a game for younger men. Looked at that way, time’s on our side, wouldn’t you say?”

Karaxis gave an unconvinced-looking nod. Shuman suspected the general was thinking about Simon Allenby, Floyd’s grandfather. Old-age hadn’t slowed Simon up noticeably. According to tradition—and Shuman was pretty sure the tradition was correct—Simon Allenby had fought his last duel at the tender age of ninety.

And he’d won.

Handily.

Hadn’t even had to kill his opponent, only crippled him for life.

“Either way, Felicia,” the president said with a shrug, “I couldn’t greenlight that kind of operation right now even if I were completely convinced it was a good idea. Not with that pain-in-the-ass Luther and his other Nixon Foundation buddies here in the system.”

Karaxis’ frown turned into an active glower. Shuman understood perfectly, since she, too, would have liked nothing better than to arrange a creative (and hopefully fatal) accident for Jerome Luther and the rest of the Nixon Foundation team investigating all those ridiculous allegations of human rights violations here in Swallow. She would have gone ahead and authorized the accident without hesitation if Parkman hadn’t warned her that the Nixon Foundation’s expedition was being financed by one of Tallulah’s competitors in hopes of turning up something egregious enough to justify Frontier Security intervention. Tallulah was currently involved in a bidding war to buy OFS off, but until that was resolved, they had to be cautious about creating pretexts Frontier Security could use to mandate régime change…and hand Swallow (and its cash flow) over to someone else. Or, even worse, turn the entire system into a direct OFS protectorate, which would put the bulk of the system economy straight into Frontier Security’s pocket.

“That’s why I said I don’t like it,” Shuman continued. “If we let ourselves be provoked into a large-scale operation in the Cripples, it’s bound to get out and that busybody from Nixon will jump right onto it. I think he genuinely believes his foundation can ‘make a difference’ out here, and if we give him a toehold…”

She let her voice trail off and shrugged, and Karaxis glowered some more.

“All right,” the general said finally. “I understand your reasoning, and I don’t want to upset the apple cart any more than anyone else does. But if these rumors my people are picking up are accurate—if Allenby and the others are genuinely planning to start some kind of active guerrilla campaign—we’re going to have to respond. And when we do, it’s going to escalate. That’s why I’m still convinced it would be better to go in fast and hard now, break as many eggs as we have to to nip this thing in the bud, instead of letting it drag on and turn into something even bigger and messier.”

“I agree there’s a risk of that happening, and I’ve pointed that out to Parkman. His theory is that as long as we restrict ourselves to reactions to the other side’s provocations, we can pass it off as a standard law enforcement response to criminals, not a military campaign against some kind of political resistance organization. To be honest, I think what he’s really hoping is that Luther and those other Nixon pests will get tired and go home before this reaches the messy stage. Once we get them out of here, I’ll be a lot more willing to go ahead and turn you loose. We just need to keep a lid on things for a few more T-months. Maybe a whole T-year.”

“I’m willing to keep a lid on it,” Karaxis said sardonically. “The question is whether or not Allenby is!”

* * *

“What do you reckon the odds really are, Floyd?” Jason MacGruder asked.

“Odds of what?” Floyd Allenby hawked up a gobbet of phlegm and spat it into the campfire. “Whether or not it’s going to snow? Or what the snow bear hunting’s going to be like this year?”

“How ’bout whether or not we’re gonna be alive this time next year?” MacGruder suggested.