Hero of the Rebellion (2nd Class)
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The truth of the matter, as everybody now knows, was that the Expansionists had been building a fleet of interstellar ships, far out in the Oort cloud, and that all the able-bodied people and every bit of equipment which could be spared had been directed to the new fleet. Lim's database was a distraction, to keep us thinking that we were winning the war in the Belt, even at a tremendous cost in lives for both sides. "So, you might have reported the sorry state of people and equipment on the Marie Rose, and perhaps we would have gone looking for the missing resources?" I asked, "Perhaps even searched beyond the asteroids?" "Yes, of course," he replied. "Anyway, a few weeks after that, when everybody on earth had realised just what the blue stars were - fusion power plasma engines are not easy to hide - and belatedly understood the huge trick which had been played on us all by Sandra Lim and her Expansionist colleagues, a medal was delivered to my home." "The Hero of the Rebellion medal?" I demanded. "Yep." He pulled a flat wooden box from some inner pocket and opened the inlayed and polished lid. Nestling inside the pink silk lining was a gold-coloured circular medal, inscribed with characters in Cyrillic I could not read, with a supporting ribbon in yellow and red stripes. I was fascinated. "Now, remember," he went on, taking the medal from its case and holding it to his chest, "As an intelligence officer, my home address was not easy to find. An apartment in a pleasant but unassuming block was rented for me under an assumed name, paid for out of Aquarium funds. This is one of the perks of the job, you might say. Still, there was a package right outside my door, containing the medal and a printed citation signed, apparently, by Sandra Lim and applauding me for 'upholding the success of the Rebellion', or something like it." He handed me the medal. It was heavier than I expected; the disk might actually have been made of gold. It turned it over in my hands; the inscription was deeply incised and the ribbon material stiff and unyielding. "So somebody knew who you were?" I asked. "Yes. I suspect it was one of the many bosses," he answered, "I've no idea which one, and they all blur in my memory anyway." I thought for a moment. "So, the war could have gone very differently? If you had decided to report your observations?" "Well, yes," he agreed, "Although not necessarily better from our point of view." I was confused. "What do you mean?" "We would have been forced to fight much further out, out beyond the orbit of Pluto, in a vastly bigger volume, where our ships would have been very far from support or backup, and the Expansionists would have the home advantage. Such a military action would have been very expensive. It might well have failed to stop the construction of those interstellar ships, at least all of them, and we might still be fighting the war even now. Which would have made paupers of us all. Or, we would have been forced to disengage, retreat, which would have been a propaganda nightmare, as it would look very much like a defeat." He took the medal from my hands and returned it to the little box, closing the lid with a snap. "So, we are better off, I believe," he went on, "Having been able to declare a victory and move on to a post-war rebuilding phase. Which had made life more comfortable for almost everybody, and we're rid of those pesky Expansionists forever, even if it was not quite in the way we once imagined. He picked up the last shot glass and drained it in a gulp, then collected the little box and stowed it away in his clothing. "Anyway, I must be on my way," he said, “Thank you for your company this evening." He stepped, surprisingly steadily, from the bar stool and set off across the bar. "Hey! What's your name?" I shouted. I got no answer. By the time I made it to the hotel lobby, having signed the bar tab, of course, he had disappeared. I never saw the big Russian again. Sometimes I wonder if I imagined the whole thing; some kind of alcohol-induced hallucination. On the other hand, I had been left with the bar tab, which probably suggested that something from my memory was true enough. It made quite a dent in my credit card bill, well beyond anything I could expect my company expense account to cover. Still, his story had the authentic ring of truth to it. Perhaps he was right: the war had ended with both sides getting what they wanted. The Expansionists got to use all the asteroids and iceballs they wanted, and we got to start on the mammoth task to repairing the previous centuries ravaging of planet Earth without the distraction of a war in space. Win-win, maybe. Perhaps he really was a Hero.
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Part 4
