Clark's Law, page 1
Babylon 5
Clark’S Law
by Jim Mortimore
Based on the series by J. Michael Straczynski
ISBN: 0-440-22229-X
upload : 30.VI.2012
ver 0.99. If you found any errors in text - send fragment with error to me: hungryewok@mail.ru and it’ll be fixed.
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For Tim Keable My last, best hope for a good story. And Trees All alone in the night? Not if I have anything to say about it. And Peter Darvill-Evans. Rebecca Levene. Kerri Sharp and Andy Bodle at Virgin Publishing. For believing that where there’s muck, there’s brass-and sticking to it.
(The brass, that is-not the muck.)
In America, society’s outrage over rising crime is such that few politicians can hope to win an election without declaring support for the death penalty.
From the UK Channel Four television documentary “When the State Kills”.
I against my brother,
I and my brother against our cousin,
I, my brother and our cousin against the neighbours,
All of us against the foreigner.
-Bedouin proverb
*
Prologue
Lies
How could he have known that with those three simple words he became responsible for the almost complete annihilation of the human race?
Earth Alliance President Luis Santiago in his speech to the Senate re Earth-Alien relations and the inception of the Babylon Project, Earthdome, 2249
*
Earth: The First Lie
November 15, 2242
They came out of the immense gulf of space like ghosts, huge ships more art than technology. By comparison the Earth ship DSEV Amundsen was little more than a clutch of battered tin boxes bolted rather haphazardly around a less than optimal frame. The alien ships were one-hundred-percent efficient. They were also utterly beautiful.
To Earthforce Captain Ellasai Ferdinand VI they were also utterly terrifying.
Even now, during the debriefing session in the amphitheaterlike Senate Chamber at Earthdome, as safe as it was possible to be anywhere in the Alliance, Ferdinand shuddered and sweated at the memory of them.
Efficient. Beautiful.
Deadly?
The truth was that as far as that particular facet of the alien ships was concerned, Ferdinand had no more idea than he had of what it might be like to hang glide naked from Olympus Mons. His experience of the alien ships extended no further than his first observation that they were the most efficient and beautiful artifacts he’d ever seen. It extended no further than this because in the first moments that the alien ships had appeared on his early warning systems and changed course, gun ports gaping ominously, to intercept the Amundsen, Ferdinand had ordered his gunnery officer to open fire with the full force of the most advanced weapons that Earthforce currently possessed.
Ferdinand had done something that all of his training and all his many years of experience had taught him he must never, ever do.
He had panicked.
The burst of plasma fire left the nearest alien ship drifting helplessly as Ferdinand spun the Amundsen about and initiated a jump-gate sequence. His last sight of the aliens, as the Amundsen vanished into the murky amber fog of hyperspace, was of the damaged ship erupting into a globe of light that for a brief moment burned as brightly as any sun.
The sight had left him sick and shaken. It had been many years since humanity’s war with the Dilgar, and Ferdinand had only been peripherally involved with the fighting there. He was a man of peace, an explorer; his passion was to expand the limits of human knowledge and experience. He had never killed anyone in his life. The fact that he had made a mistake resulting in the destruction of a ship and the death of its entire crew, was nothing short of terrifying.
Ferdinand had retired to his quarters to consider his actions and had not left them until the Amundsen arrived in Earth orbit, three days later.
Now Ferdinand stood at attention in his dress uniform before a full assembly of the senate that served as both a debriefing panel and a review board.
“They’re called Minbari.” Vice President Santiago was a heavyset man whose worried expression and weary demeanor suggested he carried more than just excess physical weight. His voice was soft, yet in the stillness of the Senate Chamber it carried to every one of the hundred representatives of the nations of Earth and of the colonies. “We’ve received information about them from the Centauri Ambassador.” Despite humanity’s early fears that contact with a technologically advanced alien species would be damaging, the Centauri had proven to be no threat to humankind. They had instead become a regular source of information and technology. “The fleet consisted of nine vessels. One was destroyed and several more disabled in the blast. The Minbari are a religious/warrior culture. The leader of their ruling council was aboard the ship that was destroyed.”
Now Ferdinand understood why Santiago looked so worried. Downright scared would have been a better way of describing his expression. Ferdinand himself was beginning to feel more than a little fear as he scanned the rows of faces before him, from President Jarrold on Santiago’s left, through the full complement of representatives to the records clerk sitting before the huge semicircular Narn bloodwood table which was the focal point of the Senate Chamber. With one exception the faces were expressionless. Only Santiago showed his feelings. Ferdinand had a sense of great machinery in motion, big wheels grinding exceedingly small. He swallowed hard. He was lying before these wheels in more senses than just one. One slip and it was his career that would be ground exceedingly small-perhaps even his life. Could starting a war be considered treason? The penalty for that was mindwipe-and that was if he was lucky. If not…
Ferdinand said nothing, merely licked a drop of sweat from his upper lip. For moment silence seemed the most appropriate response.
The President stood. In the sunlight from the curved windows, her plain features were lit with dramatic harshness. When she spoke, her voice was as familiar to Ferdinand as that of his own mother. A rich contralto, the voice resonated in the council chamber. Ferdinand wondered that even with the new influx of alien technology, the broadcast system did not yet exist that could fully reproduce all the subtle nuances of that voice.
Santiago nodded. The Councillors remained silent. Only the soft pad of the court clerk working his terminal broke the silence.
The President spoke again. “What have our friends the Centauri told us of the Minbari?”
Santiago pursed his lips. “They are ancient. Powerful. Rich in culture and industry. Apparently they have never been known to bluff.”
The President smiled then. “At the gaming table?”
“At anything, Madam President.”
“I see. Including war?”
“That was the inference, ma’am, yes.”
Another silence. The smile faded. Ferdinand felt the President’s gaze on him and had another brief sensation of those big wheels grinding ever closer.
“Captain Ferdinand. You must understand that since the Amundsen’s flight recorder was wiped by the explosion of the Minbari vessel, your testimony and the testimony of your flight crew is our only means of determining the truth of this matter.”
“I do.”
“And it goes without saying that you understand that in this matter-that of the first contact between ourselves and such a powerful culture-the truth is of paramount importance?”
“I do.”
“And that the future peaceful coexistence of two cultures may well rest on this truth?”
“I do.”
“Very well, Captain Ferdinand. We have heard your report in every detail but one. So will you please confirm for the Senate the order in which the exchange of fire between yourselves and the Minbari fleet took place?”
“Madam, I will.” For then and ever after Ferdinand felt his body shake with the truth of the matter. A truth that from then until the day he died only he and a handful of others would ever know. And with a breath of air that would never taste so sweet again, Captain Ellasai Ferdinand VI uttered the lie that would throw two great cultures into a holy war lasting half a decade and bring about the deaths of more than half a million living beings. “They fired first.”
We may never know why the Minbari surrendered. All we can know-and this is of paramount importance-is that to ensure the future of both races we must go forward from this day, not with fear and mistrust but with hope and joy. We must celebrate the differences between us as well as the similarities. We must speak to the future with mature hearts and voices. Because in the end it is the future which will judge us, and it will judge us by our actions here today.
-Earth Alliance President Santiago in a public speech renewing his support for the Babylon Project, shortly before his death following the destruction of Earth Force One near Io, 2258
Hey, Lou. You know, I’m feelin a little rough around the edges; maybe a touch of Mars-throat coming on. If it’s okay with you I’ll take Marge and the kids back to Amazonia Planitia and just sit this one out.
-Vice President Morgan Clark, shortly before the death of President Santiago following the destruction of Earth Force One near Io, 2258. (Attr.)
*
Earth: The Second Lie
October 7, 2258
The Senate Chamber in the central administration building at Earthdome had not changed much with the passing of nearly a generation. The ruddy bloodwood table had faded just a fraction under the onslaught of Earth’s slightly fiercer sunlight, the carpets had been changed a couple of times, both times to an even more somber shade of dark brown, to match the table. Ex-President Luis Santiago’s portrait had been added to the row of such portraits encircling the room.
It was midmorning. President of the Earth Alliance, Morgan Eugene Clark stood alone in the Senate Chamber, waiting for the Senate to assemble. He stood by the curved wall where a shield of glass paralleling the long table allowed an unobstructed view out over the parklands of the city once known as Geneva. The horizon was clearly visible, a line of snow-capped mountains glistening in the sunlight. The sky was the color of ice, a reflection of the most distant peaks. Nearer, the city spread out before him, a gleaming canvas of elegant verticals and efficient horizontals. Italian Portland stone gleamed softly in the sunlight, sweeping arches and Romanesque domes and galleries melding perfectly with shreds of glass and metal from which the daylight splintered in a mad chiaroscuro of light and shadow. And everywhere there was movement. Pedestrian movement. For no vehicles were allowed beneath the atmosphere shield. The reason for this was simple: Though no more beautiful a stone to build with existed than Italian Portland, it was a soft stone, subject to the whim of the weather; the erosion by acid rain brought on by carbon monoxide. With his background in architecture, none better than Clark knew that the whole of Earthdome was merely a symbol, a construct, a badge of office for Earthforce. In the long term the Capital City of the Earth Alliance was as ephemeral as a castle made of clouds.
Certainly if the Battle of the Line had not been successful, the Minbari war fleet would have reduced this city along with every other major population center on or under the Earth’s surface to glimmering puddles of glass slag.
Shuddering at the thought of this beauty laid waste, Clark closed his eyes, allowing the sunlight that entered the Senate Chamber to play across his face. The light brought little warmth to his skin at this latitude, yet for Clark, the light was enough in and of itself. He screwed his eyes tighter, letting his mind seek out another moment of light, this one associated with death. The moment as Earth Force One sparkled like a Christmas tree ornament, its smooth hull dappled with explosions like sunlight upon a woodland pool. The engines detonated, the superstructure melted as the carousel section broke away like a discarded dish, only to be caught in the explosion itself moments later, to vanish in the expanding nimbus of light. There was no hope of escape for anyone aboard, including then-President Luis Santiago. In less time than it took to sip from a glass of wine, Earth Force One was reduced to a mess of loose trash orbiting before the sullen gaze of Io and the man they’d called “the last, best hope of Earth” was dead.
Clark opened his eyes. Now he was the last, best hope of Earth. He was going to make a damned sight better job of it than Luis Santiago had.
But there were going to be problems. He knew that. His ideas were radical. Subtle in their application, but radical. He had counted on a three-year term at least to get things moving-but the public had recovered remarkably quickly from the death of the much-favored Santiago. Less than a year into his term, already Clark was facing minor troubles. Some of the Senate had given voice to the opinion that Clark’s policies were too hard-line, too insular. Clark knew where he stood with these men and women. They lacked his vision. His vision of peace through strength. Peace through unity. Peace through singularity. He wanted to be known as the man who brought lasting peace to the Alliance. He would do absolutely anything to accomplish that end. His drive and ambition were becoming known throughout the political world. Only last week at a reception he had overheard the representative for the Russian Consortium refer to him in a private aside to her husband as possessing the “straightforward, deadly elegance of a shark.” Clark smiled inwardly. The image of a shark with his own somewhat fluffy eyebrows amused him greatly.
But Clark did not allow his amusement to distract him from the purpose of his meeting with the Senate. In the previous six months polls had been conducted; in some outlying areas his popularity seemed to be waning. The projections indicated he might have trouble holding office for a full term. He knew exactly what to do about that; he had historical precedents which dated as far back as Pericles’ expansion and consolidation of the Athenian Empire in the Fifth Century B.C. Changes were coming. Big changes. But like all big things these would be built up to slowly. Give the public a chance to get used to them.
The voting populace hadn’t changed since the days of Pericles. They were sheep; most would follow where he led. The method was simple: Provide sufficient political incentive to begin with and then allow social inertia to take over. Everything else was a downhill run.
That was what he was doing now: providing incentive. And what better incentive than consolidating humanity’s hold over its own birthplace?
Clark nodded to himself. The Earth was running dry; its resources were almost exhausted. It could hardly support its human population, let alone the alien population already in residence in semi-uninhabitable regions such as Africa and India. Eighty-seven percent of all commercial technology and ninety-one percent of all food for the people of Earth now originated on the colony worlds. That was why places like Mars Colony, the settlements in the asteroid belt, the farms of Ganymede, and the ice mines of Europa were fighting tooth and nail for independence-and why it was inconceivable that their independence should ever be granted. Without them Earth was dead. If they gained independence and any sort of fair trade was established-Earth was dead. Earth could not compete in terms of finance or trade goods with any of the four other major alien governments. Earth simply had nothing. Nothing-except its hold over the colonies.
The future which so terrified Clark was one in which the birthplace of humanity became nothing more than a charity case for the wealthy alien governments. He could see it now: Be Kind to Humans Week. It was an unthinkable proposition for a species that currently ranked among the top five in power.
The irony was that although Earthforce was one of the largest Military forces of the five major alien governments, it was also the most costly in terms of equipment and food to maintain. It was a tank without fuel, a nuclear submarine without the means to provide food for its crew. What Clark-and certain others-were coming to realize was that without significant political changes, Earthforce was a short-term item-terminally short-term. And without Earthforce-as it would be without the colonies-Earth was dead.
Pericles had been right. The only way for Earth to live was to kick out the parasites and consolidate. Consolidate and then expand properly. It was going to be a long struggle, and it might well be one he would not see finished. But Clark was prepared to start the process. In truth he could see no other way forward.
His motion to reinstate the death penalty for crimes other than treason was the first step; in moments he would discover how his proposal had fared when voted on by the Senate. In truth he was not too worried about the outcome; a couple of weeks of political horse-trading behind the scenes had allowed Clark to win one or two critical votes in the Senate. And since his proposal did not call for the creation of a new law but merely the reinterpretation of an existing one, it was unlikely to be declared unconstitutional by the Supreme Court. Even if the Senate was hung-a possibility-he knew how the deciding vote would be cast. Either way, the end of the next hour would see the inception of the first of many steps toward his vision of the future.
Clark watched as the Senate filed into the chamber, one by one taking their position along the curved bloodwood table.
When they were in position, Kobold, the Clerk of the Senate, announced their deliberations on Clark’s proposed policy.
Watching them, Clark knew what was coming. He could read it in their faces as a child might read the graphics on a cheap home system. The expressions, the set of bodies, some relaxed, others tense. He could even tell who had voted for or against him.
In the end it would make no difference.
Kobold’s words confirmed his supposition.
Even taking into account his political maneuvering, the Senate was hung, divided evenly, some for his proposal, some against. An even number remained neutral, unwilling to commit either tor or against such an obviously hard-line policy.
Well, that was fine. Very fine indeed. Because as Clerk of the Senate, Kobold had the casting vote.
