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"Each Indowy has to purchase tools for his trade. If an Indowy steps out of line his `chutee' is called and he becomes bereft of income and an untouchable. There is no social support for such; they either commit suicide or die of starvation. Even their family will not help them from a combination of associated shame, similar to the Japanese Giri and Gimu, and fear of retribution. The Indowy also are the servants of the Galactics and fill all servile and menial positions. That is why they are so common in the videos from Barwhon. Although technically a Tchpth planet, eighty percent of the population is Indowy."
"Solution." The commander stood up and paced to the window. He stood with his hands clasped behind him and thought about his longtime friend Chu Feng, lost due to faulty intelligence from these Darhel bastards. And now this.
"We should look for profit to ourselves for our nation specifically in this, but it will be necessary to develop a concerted front with other countries. We should convey this information to the other agreement parties, then begin using the Darhel's strategy against them. Problems should occur in preparing the expeditionary forces; questions unrelated to the central issues should be raised. Finally, the central issues should be quietly raised and some agreements renegotiated. The soldiers and their governments should be paid at a rate conforming to their scarcity; a private should probably make as much as one of the Tir negotiators, for example. And the Darhel must use their power to induce changes among the Indowy." He consulted his notes and tapped the pen on the papers.
"Although there are few accredited master ship builders, there are a vast number of component makers that can work from specifications. The Indowy must be induced to become component producers for assembly plants to be built in various locations. They will be unwilling—it goes against what could be called their religion—but they must be persuaded or forced.
"Then assembly plants can be built in the Terran System. . . ."
"We don't know that we can hold this planet," pointed out the commander. In the distance a flight of pigeons wheeled through the light blue sky. He wondered if such as they might survive a defeat of the humans, or if only the rats and cockroaches would.
"Not on the planet," corrected the junior officer, pedantically. "In orbit around other planets, Mars for example, or in the asteroid belt. Our current information is that, despite the resources available there, the Posleen do not explore or exploit the spatial regions of the planets they attack. Nor, for some strange reason, do the Galactics. Therefore placing production plants in our system is a limited risk. The Posleen will be virtually certain to overlook them; they have bypassed numerous spatial installations in other Galactic systems.
"To continue, there is sufficient excess capacity among the Indowy craftsmen to produce the necessary components for the war effort, but point-by-point assembly will not work in the time allotted. What we must do is produce a navy that assembles like the American `Liberty' ships of WWII. If we can reach agreement on a few limited designs, components can be made throughout the Federation and shipped to this system. In the meantime we can be constructing assembly plants in various hidden locations in the system. Even if we lose control of the surface, most of our war-production capacity and a sizable gene pool will survive. Maybe enough to retake Earth."
"Funding?" Retaking Earth was not something worth discussing since it meant the loss of China as an extant body. The Middle Kingdom had a culture five thousand years old. The Posleen would destroy it, literally, over his dead body.
"That should be no problem. First, all the orbital facilities can be paid for through Navy funds while being leased on a long term by Terran companies. Special grants were authorized early in the war for Indowy craftsmen to purchase new tools and supplies to produce war goods.
"We, and by that I mean Terra, shall experience technical difficulties in supplying forces until grants for the facilities are made. We use Galactic training systems to train Indowy and humans for work on and in the plants. The Galactics have a multisensory training system that can quickly train perso
"Why would they do all that?" The commander turned back around and pierced the procurement officer with a stare.
"The question of production forced many pieces of the Galactics' puzzle to the surface. Our staff anthropologist now believes that the `home sector' of the Darhel is the one hundred or two hundred planets inward from Earth. All five of the planets currently being assimilated or about to be attacked are Darhel. The others lost over the last hundred fifty years, the `more than seventy planets' they always complain about, are all Indowy colonies, Galactic sweat shops. With the exception of Diess, they were poor and considered unimportant. Now the Posleen are striking at the core worlds of the Federation. Do not let the Darhel fool us again; they are desperate and will pay anything to stop the Posleen.
"And there is one other thing to consider."
"Yes?"
"With humans that are like these Darhel, there is rarely one layer of deception. It is more often a complex web."
* * *
"Brad, what do you think?" The President had his back turned to his advisor, staring out through the green-tinted armored glass windows of the most famous small room in the world.
"Well, Mr. President, I say we go with most of the Chinese plan, but hit a little lighter on the negotiations." The secretary of state consulted his notes. "They want the Darhel to foot the whole bill for planetary defense and I don't think they'll do it. And even if they do, the negotiations will be really drawn out and meanwhile we're not producing zip. I think we can get salaries upped pretty easily and the facility grants but let's not get greedy. With progressive taxes on Federation-paid troops, the expeditionary force troops and the space facility corporations, we'll be much better set financially anyway."
"Finance is Ralph's call, Brad, yours is international negotiations," snapped the President. He had been getting uncomfortable with some of the decisions the secretary of state had been making lately. "And I would like you to keep in mind that you work for the United States, not the Darhel. It's our country we stand to lose, Brad, our planet, our children."
"Yes Mr. President, but if we negotiate too long we stand to lose it also. Let's start at full funding but settle for the production equipment grants and, maybe, full funding for planetary defense equipment. As it is we're looking at some pretty tough terms on the loans for the equipment. It would help out a lot."
"Fine Brad, but that's the minimum. If they don't take it, no expeditionary forces, no technical support for their fleet. We'll fight in our boxer shorts before we'll fight as slaves."
"Yes, Mr. President."
* * *
"I got him to hold at grants for the production facilities and the expeditionary force equipment." The secretary of state carefully did not watch as the Darhel attempted to eat something very much like a carrot. Bits fell to the table and onto the Darhel's fine robes as the razorlike teeth shredded the vegetable into slivers.
"That is good. Those are judicious expenditures. We will not stint in our payment." The wide cat-pupil eyes dilated in an emotion unreadable by the human as six-fingered hands picked bits of vegetation out of the being's throat crest. "But, full funding for local defense . . . far too generous."