Chapter 7
They have established a foothold in our nation, and I do not believe we will ever remain as we once were.
– Quote attributed to Senator (Later Imperator) Marcus Jackson.
“Mrs. Lisa Kitazaki, was it?” A soldier jotted down notes. “I’m Lieutenant Michael Hatsfield, and we’d like to work out a deal with you.
“Aye, y’all got the right folk,” the woman replied. “What can we do ya for?”
“We’d like to negotiate a contract for grain and cattle,” the Lieutenant smiled.
“I’d love to have the business, but as you can tell,” the woman gestured towards the fields and small herd of cattle she possessed. “I ain’t able to do much more than feed what I got. If this drought continues, we’re liable to fall short on taxes this year.”
“We can assist with that,” Hatsfield replied. “We have stores of fertilizer and can dig deep enough to ensure you have the water to sustain your crops. We need someone more familiar with the soil and area to start farming. We’d do it ourselves, but we’ll have to take the time to set up our base. I’m among a few people negotiating with various local farms and farmers as we speak.”
Lisa paused in thought and looked out over her dying fields. She didn’t have the energy to care for everything, not since Scott had died last year, and her children were just old enough to help with a few farm chores, not everything.
“If you can find me some help, I’ll treat you right and ensure you’ve all the food y’all need.”
“I’ve got a contract right here, ma’am,” the Lieutenant pulled a single sheet of paper from a briefcase. “We tried to keep things as simple as we could.”
“If you can keep to yer bargains, then you’ve just made a friend of me and mine for generations,” Lisa pushed her hand out and shook the man’s hand. “Now, let me go dig a pen outta my purse somewhere.”
“Why would we cave to their demands?” Senator Arnold Pevenmeyer growled as his gold-edged purple tunic glittered in the artificial light. “What do we gain from submitting to another nation?”
“Our lives,” Senator Marcus Jackson replied. “And our nation surviving another day. Rome itself did not fall in a day. But if we make the wrong move here, we might.”
“And you would have us bend the knee? You are craven, a coward!”
“I am no coward,” Marcus stated firmly. “I have served our Republic through all of my years. First as a part of the Legion, then as a citizen, and finally, as a Senator. But I can see the future, and I know history. If we do not change, we will be eradicated. No nation survives without change. Why should ours be any different? We will change even if we do not do as this UNSC has demanded. They have established a foothold in our nation, and I do not believe we will ever remain as we once were.”
Several sitting senators nodded in agreement while the ones that sided with Pavenmeyer scoffed angrily.
“Enough!” an old man stood up. “We have heard this debate at length. Now we will vote and see what may become of our nation.”
The Senators each filled out the ballots and slid them into a wooden box in the room’s center, and the Imperator sat in his chair close by.
“Have all cast their votes?” Gaius O’Reilly asked.
“All but those who abstained,” the old man answered.
“Then I shall count, and we shall see what our course may be.”
“Captain, all Herons have deployed the Firebases,” Serina informed Cutter as he stepped onto the bridge and adjusted his hat. “Seabees are constructing the outer perimeter now, and the selected officers are negotiating with local farmers and ranchers.”
“Good to hear, Serina,” Cutter took a seat. “Start rotating shifts for R&R below once we finish offloading supplies. Then, pull us back up into high orbit. We’re going to have to start working on repairs. We’ll send out a Condor or two to scout the local asteroid belts. We might need the resources for the repairs.”
“Spinning up Condors,” Serina replied. “Shifting subroutines to assist human resources with shift rotations now. Anything else, Captain?”
“Any word from our ‘friends’ in the government?”
“Nothing yet, Captain. There is quite a bit of chatter, but it’s all about our people and the negotiations with farmers.”
“Keep me posted,” the Captain retrieved a datapad and began doing the work that all soldiers hated paperwork.
–
–
“McHenry! Who taught you how to wire a goddamned electrical panel?”
“My father?” a confused Seabee replied. “What seems to be the problem, Chief?”
“Come here and take a look at this.”
The Seaman shrugged and ensured everything was correctly labeled before closing what he was working on and following the noncom.
“Do you see the problem here?” The Chief opened the panel, revealing the neat wires and labels all in their proper place.
“No, Chief, everything looks how it’s supposed to.”
“Proper code says that each wire is to be color-coded and labeled.”
“That’s what I did?” McHenry asked.
“Seaman, all of these wires are gray and black. This one,” the Chief’s hand lingered on a clearly labeled wire. “Is supposed to be yellow. Instead, it’s the same gray as the green and orange.”
The noncom sighed.
“It’s some of the best-damned wirings I’ve ever seen, son. But you didn’t do it up to code.”
“Sorry, Chief,” McHenry stammered. “I’m colorblind. Got them a bit mixed up.”
“I’ve got two options here,” Chief Petty Officer Martin Hererra took off his cloth cap and ran his fingers through his gray hair. “I can pull you off of electrical work and into something else. Or, I can get you a Seaman Apprentice to sort out the color issue. Both options will take time because even if the work’s impeccable, I’ve got to follow the regs on this for the other poor chaps who’ll have to work on it. So, if you’re willing to accept some help, I can have someone with you when you rip this out and redo it. And I’d hate to lose you to the metalworkers.”
“Do we really gotta tear it all out, Chief? I mean, I labeled it properly.”
“We color code it for a reason,” the Chief explained. “Labels can wear off, but as long as you can identify the proper colors, you can figure things out.”
McHenry sighed as he looked at the panel and the other three he’d wired up that day.
“Find me the apprentice,” he stated. “Might as well get this done now.”
“Good man,” The Chief grinned. “I’ll find someone who can keep up with your work ethic.”
“Thanks, Chief. Sorry, I fucked it up.”
“If you’d been an asshole about it, I’d have just made you rip it all out and spend the whole night rewiring them,” Chief Hererra shrugged. “Good Seabees are all around. I don’t mind losing an electrician if he’s arrogant. Now get to work. Remember to knock it off at hour ten. The Captain’s strict about shift rotations.”
“Aye Chief!”
The electrician sighed and began working and pulling the wiring out, a heavy sigh leaving his lips as he grabbed a cigar from a cargo pocket.
“Fucking colorblind ass,” he cussed himself out. “I knew something was off.”
But still, the work had to be finished, and if he made a mistake, it was his responsibility to deal with the consequences, for better or worse.
Author’s Note: The Electrical wiring thing is based on a true story from a Seabee friend I made. The only difference is that the buddy didn’t get an assistant to help sort out the colors. He just got shifted to guard duty.
