“Well, sir…” Karimi smiled. “It's funny you should mention that. A few large corporations with an interstellar presence have reached out—"
“Absolutely not. The Terran Coalition does not work with megacorps.” Nolan’s face grew warm. A bedrock of Coalition policy was that they did not allow the so-called megacorps to do business with any portion of the government, military, or civil authorities. If it were up to Nolan, they’d be driven out of business. “Not now. Not ever.”
“But, sir, since the Greengold saved a group of their mining vessels—”
“We have principles, do we not?” Nolan asked as he scanned the room. “I’ve been reading my Bible quite a bit these days, ladies and gentlemen. It’s got a lot in it about doing what’s right, even when that’s not convenient. Megacorps exploit most of their employees, turning them into little more than slaves. Look at what happened to Hestia. The native population starves most of the time as punishment from their overlords. It's barbaric.”
“Mr. President, we need all the help we can get,” Karimi replied softly. “We both know that. I’m of the opinion that if Satan were willing to fight the League, I could probably come up with something nice to say about him.”
Nolan shook his head. “No. We do it the right way, or we don’t do it at all. What’s the point otherwise? It’s not enough to survive, folks. We have to keep our ideals and beliefs intact without becoming the very thing we profess to hate. For over a century, it has been the policy of all major political parties that megacorporations go against the core values of our republic. I won’t tear that up for the sake of expediency.”
Saurez set his jaw. “For what it's worth, Mr. President, I greatly admire you for saying that. I’ve seen what the Hestian Business Council and its ilk do regularly to the poor humans subjected to them. To say nothing of aliens.” The general’s face clouded over. “That said, we do need some help on the border.”
“Then we approach the neutral worlds. No megas. End of story.” Nolan crossed his arms. “Anything else for today?”
“The human-controlled planets beyond our frontier continue to distrust us, Mr. President,” Karimi said. “Finding common ground with them or organizing them to fight anything will be difficult.”
Nolan stood. “If it were easy, anyone could do the job, Abdul. For the last time. No deals with megacorps. If one of our ships comes across civilians under attack, they’ll always be empowered to help, but beyond that, we don’t do business with them. Clear?”
Karimi nodded and sucked in a breath sharply. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Thank you for the updates, folks.” Nolan turned on his heel and marched out back toward the Oval Office. We’re only a year into this, and already some want to abandon our principles in the name of political expediency? As the thought roared through his mind, it was met with a rebuttal. Principles are well and good, but what do they matter if the Terran Coalition ceases to exist? The exchange continued to bother Nolan as he went through the day, but he sensed it was only one of many dilemmas he would be forced to face. He hoped in the end, God would give him wisdom to make the right decisions.
26
Freiderwelt Orbit
CSV Zvika Greengold
6 September 2434
With repairs completed, the Greengold was about ready to get underway. Earlier that day, the pirates overloading their brig had been transferred off the ship to a prisoner transport. Tehrani took great pains to ensure they were put into civilian custody with the Coalition Bureau of Investigation, as she didn’t want Grant or CIS ending up with them. While she wished to see every last one of the pirates end up in Lambert’s Lament, she was determined there would be no torture on her watch.
Sitting down on the small couch in her stateroom, Tehrani stretched her neck from one side to the other. We must do things the right way. In all actions we take, before Allah. General Yukimura had sent his congratulations on another successful patrol and a job well done. The Greengold was well on her way to another battle star. That’ll make nine. Yet in the quiet of her cabin, Tehrani’s soul was troubled.
Losses among the embarked air wing continued to exceed twenty percent after every patrol. They had a seemingly a never-ending supply of new pilots, enlisted personnel, and officers to replace the carrier’s losses. And they were all so young. With the war having gone on a year, the draft was finally having an effect. The downside was the legions of new soldiers had little experience. In three months, they’ll be veterans or dead. The cavalier nature of the thought immediately registered. What is happening to me? War, Banu. This is what war does to all of us.
She touched her tablet and noticed it was nearly her allotted timeslot to vidlink her husband, Ibrahim.
A few virtual button presses later, his smiling face filled the device. “Banu! You’re early.”
“By a few minutes,” Tehrani replied, mustering as big a smile as she could. “How are you doing, dear?”
“Oh, you know me. Grading papers and trying to mold young minds.” He chuckled. “Even though I’m convinced the latest generation isn’t interested in being molded. Bah! All this talk of how socialism can be used as a force for good.” He narrowed his eyes. “Even if we could somehow overcome the inherent problem with people who obtain power always wanting more until they’re completely corrupted…”
Tehrani sat mute, her lips pursed.
“You are clearly not in the mood to hear me bloviate tonight, my dear.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m sorry. We only get a few minutes a week, so I try to keep from letting…”
“You don’t have to protect me, dear. I may not be that dashing military officer you might’ve been hoping for twenty years ago, but I
