The Insurrection

It was hard. Catastrophe had followed disaster with monotonous regularity for months, and in his nightmares endless trains of courier drones whizzed towards Sol, packed with tidings of fresh calamity.

What was happening in the Fringe was bad enough, but affairs on Old Terra were little better. The Assembly had been stu

Dieter almost pitied him... but only almost, and his face hardened as he wondered yet again how many others would die before the madness ended.== Yet Taliaferro's death only compounded the Federation's plight. His had been the dominating presence behind the Corporate World bloc for over thirty years, and now that superbly engineered machine was flailing itself to destruction... and threatening to take the Federation with it. The desperate survivors were haunted by guilt they could not admit even to themselves and terrified of

its consequences. The succession battle was the most vicious Dieter had ever seen, yet whoever finally won would inherit only a corpse.

It wouldn't be very much longer before the ground swell of public opinion rolled over the politicos.

Already the first combers were crashing through the Chamber of Worlds; a few more disasters, and it would become impossible for them to cling to power, and-- His communicator chimed, and he reached automatically for the button, eyes narrowing as he recognized the neatly groomed face of Oliver Fuchs, President Zhfs executive secretary.

"Good morning, Mister Dieter," Fuchs said politely. "Would it be convenient pounds r you to meet with the President in his office this evening? At 1800 perhaps?" "Why, of course, Mister Fuchs," Dieter replied slowly, and his thoughts raced. "Ah, might I ask what the President desires?" "I'm sorry, sir, but he wishes to explain that to you himself," Fuchs said with a pleasantly diffident smile.

"I see," Dieter said even more slowly. "Very well, Mister Fuchs. I'll look forward to asking him in person." "Thank you, sir. I'll tell him to expect you," Fuchs said, and the screen blanked.

Dieter sat and stared at it for a long, long'time, and his mind was busy.

Fuchs was waiting in the Anderson House foyer when Dieter arrived at the presidential residence at

17:45. He whisked the visitor into an elevator with the skill of a veteran maitre do' and filled the short ascent with utterly inconsequential small talk, but Dieter noted a strange intensity in the secretary's eyes. Curiosity, or evaluation, perhaps. Whatever it was, it only added to the tension hovering within him.

The elevator deposited them outside Zhfs office, and Fuchs opened the old-fashioned manual doors and stood aside, waving him through, then closed them quietly behind him.

The office was a large room--huge, by I

And they weren't entirely a facade, Dieter reminded himself. Prime ministers came and went, but the president provided the state's stability, and he still represented the popular choice of the majority of the Federation's myriad citizens.

But Dieter had been here before, and his attention was not on the rich carpets and indirect lighting. It was drawn inevitably to the cluster of people sitting around the President's desk. Zhi himself was a small man, shorter even than Dieter, though more sturdily built. He rose as Dieter approached, and his handclasp was firm, but his face bore the stigmata of strain.

"I believe you know most of these people, Mister Dieter,"" he murmured, and Dieter nodded, then bowed slightly to the group, his mind whirring with speculation.

Sky Marshal Lech Witcinski, commander-in-chief of the Terran military, responded with a curt nod, half-raising his burlv body from his chair. His uniform was immaculate, and ('is blunt, hard features showed surprisingly little sign of the tremendous strain focused upon him.

Not so the man seated beside him. David Halev had aged appreciably in the past weeks, but his smile o[ welcome was far warmer than it once had been.

Dieter returned it in kind, then raised an eyebrow at the sharp-eyed man at the Speaker's left. Kevin Sanders, he thought musingly.

Admiral Kevin Sanders, retired, one-time head of the Office of Naval Intelligence.

Now wasn't he an interesting addition to this gathering?

Even seated, Sanders managed to exude a sense of mingled composure and agility, like a lean, gray tomcat, and his amused eyes gleamed as if he could read Dieter's mind. And perhaps he could. Far more esoteric powers had been ascribed to him during his career.

The single person Dieter didn't know wore the space-black and silver of a vice admiral, and he felt a stir of admiration as he looked at her. Long, platinum hair rippled over her shoulders, and her eyes were a deep, almost indigo blue. She was certainly the most attractive flag officer he'd ever seen, he thought wryly, and held out his hand to her.

"Good evening, Admiral hiswas "Krupskaya, Mister Dieter," she said in a soft, clear voice. "Susan Krupskaya." "Enchanted," he murmured, raising her hand briefly to his lips, and her own lips quivered in an amused smile.

"Well, then," Zhi said briskly, reclaiming Dieter's attention and waving him to a chair, "to business." "Of course, Mister President. My time is yours," Dieter said, seating himself, and Zhfs sardonic smile surprised him.

"In more ways than you may suspect, Mister Dieter," he said softly, and Dieter's eyebrows crooked politely.

"I beg your pardon?" he said, but Zhi didn't respond directly. Instead he nodded to David Haley.

"Mister Dieter--Oskar "the Speaker said, "I'm afraid we have you at a bit of a disadvantage. You see, the Minh Government has resigned." Dieter managed to hide his surprise--butarely.

The gow ernment had fallen? Why hadn't he already heard? And how in the Galaxy had they kept the press from finding out? "It won't be a

Him? He was a pariah, repudiated by his own long-time alliesl They couldn't be serious!

"Mister President," he said finally. "I-I don't know what to say. I'm honored, but--was "Indulge me a moment, Mister Dieter," Zhi said quietiy. "Officially, I am not supposed to have opinions in these matters, but, to speak frankly, there are no other choices. You, more than most, are aware that the Minh Government has been totally discredited. Indeed, the situation is worse even than you know, but the critical point--politically speaking--is that anyone else is unacceptable.

To put it bluntly, Simon Taliaferro's associates are all tainted by their support of his policies, yet they remain a very potent force in the Chamber of Worlds. If we are to find an alternative to one of them, it must be someone who can gather support from both the Assembly moder- ates and the public. Someone like you." "But, Mister President! I--was "Oskar," Haley cut back in, "think a moment. You're a Corporate Worlder, yet you openly 6pposed Tagg'iaferro's excesses.

The Corporate World moderates will follow your lea, and so will the Heart World liberals. That gives you a power base, and the Tagg'iaferro crowd can't very well oppose you without refocusing attention on their own mistakes." "And, Mister Dieter," Witcinski put in, "you enjoy the support of the military." Dieter looked at him in astonishment, and the sky marshal shrugged. "I know. That's not supposed to be a factor, but we all know it will be. Your position on the Military Oversight Committee gives you a background knowledge which may be invaluable. And, if I may speak completely candidly, the Fleet views you as a moderate. As prime minister, you would be tremendously reassuring to the bulk of the officer corps." "But," Zhi said warningly, "that same reputation is a two-edged sword. You are a moderate, and we need moderates, but we have a war on our hands. If you accept this office, you'll have to demonstrate that you're a war leader, as well." "And how would I be expected to do that?" Dieter asked, eyes narrowing.