Christopher Nuttall - A Learning Experience

“So we seem to have a major problem,” the President observed. He looked over at the fourth man in the room. “Colonel? What can you tell us about Mr. Stuart?”

Jürgen turned to look at Colonel Craig Henderson. He was a short black man, with hair cropped close to his skull, wearing a Marine uniform. From what Jürgen had heard, he’d been at Camp Pendleton when he’d been urgently summoned to Washington. It must have been alarming, Jürgen knew. What sort of offence called for a chewing out from the President personally, rather than his senior officers. But he’d been briefed and hadn’t said a word since.

The Colonel cleared his throat. “Steve…”

He swallowed, then started again. “I knew Steve when we were both going through Basic Training,” he said. “He is tough, determined and often very blunt. His family has a long tradition of military service and the honour code that goes with it. When he was sent out to war, he did as well as anyone and better than most. He might have been as fearful on the battlefield as I was, during my first engagement, but he sucked it up and kept going. By the time he was promoted, he looked certain to be a lifer in the Corps.”

There was a pause. “And then came Afghanistan.

“It’s hard to explain to a civilian, but I will do my best. The military code, Mr. President, can be summed up as you fighting for your buddies, rather than your country. You have to be able to rely, completely, on your buddies… and, in a modern army, that can be far more than just your platoon. On deployment, you have to rely on air support, intelligence officers and the logistics officers in the rear to keep going. And you also have to trust that your political leaders won’t simply abandon you when it becomes embarrassing.

“Steve and his men were caught in a Taliban ambush, Mr. President,” Henderson said. “They needed fire support to get out of it, so Steve called for help. Instead of immediate assistance, they were told that the ROE prevented either long-range guns or air support from engaging the enemy. Steve was practically begging for assistance that wouldn’t, not couldn’t, come. In the end, he managed to lead his men out of the trap, leaving four bodies behind. We never recovered one of them. Steve retired soon afterwards and went back to the ranch.”

The President leaned forward. “So… what’s your impression of him now?”

“I have no idea where he got his hands on advanced technology,” Henderson said. “And I have no idea if it is really him calling the shots. But if it is, I think we may be in some trouble. You would have someone with a good reason — several good reasons — to resent the federal government allied with technology that could do real damage. Steve’s attitude, the attitude of his whole family, is that of someone who wants to be left alone. You didn’t leave them alone.”

Dorsey was spurred to respond. “They were flouting laws,” he snapped. “And…”

“And you sent more helicopters than we often had in Afghanistan to storm their ranch,” Henderson snapped back. “Tell me something, sir . What would you have said if Steve and his family had been accidentally killed by your people?”

“I would have demanded a full investigation,” Dorsey said, weakly.

“And would that investigation,” Henderson demanded, “actually have ensured that someone was punished?”

He took a breath. “Over the last five decades, there have been a whole string of incidents where people have been harassed, arrested, injured or even killed by federal law enforcement agencies, often on very flimsy grounds,” he added. “And how many of those feds have been punished for it?”

The President slapped the table. “Enough,” he said. His gaze moved to Dorsey, then to the DHS Director. “I shall expect your resignations… no, you’re both fired. And if you leak, I’ll personally see to it that you spend the rest of your lives in jail.”

He looked back at Henderson. “Mr. Stuart has offered to speak with us,” he said. “Do you feel we should talk?”

“Talk, yes,” Henderson said. “But I would advise against trying to threaten him.”

“Then we won’t,” the President said. He looked over at his National Security Advisor. “You were at the meeting where the raid was ordered, weren’t you?”

The man paled, but nodded.

“Then consider yourself on probation,” the President said. There was a pleasant tone to his voice that in no way masked the ice underneath. “And if this turns into a political disaster, I’ll want your head on a platter too.”

He paused. “And what, so far, has leaked out?”

Houseman was the only one to speak. “So far, nothing apart from rumours,” he said. “Several bloggers in the town posted notes about naked federal troopers, but most of them seem to believe that it was a practical joke rather than anything more serious. We’re pushing that forward online, helping to bury the truth under a mountain of bullshit. However, there may well be international trouble. The Russians may believe that we were testing an advanced weapon and demand answers.”

The President winced. “Then we make the call and talk to Mr. Stuart sooner, if possible,” he said, firmly. “I’ll go, personally, even if the Secret Service objects. We need to know just what we’re dealing with before we make any long-term plans.”

Jürgen nodded in agreement. Clearly, the President had more steel in him than he’d suspected. And balls too, if he was going to meet Mr. Stuart in person. Jürgen would have liked to be a fly on the wall at that meeting.

Kevin smiled to himself as he listened to the President. Dorsey had no idea that he and his men had carried nanotech bugs with them back to the White House, or that one of those bugs — now hidden on the ceiling — was monitoring the conversation in the White House. And yet, despite his amusement, Kevin was terrified. The sheer potential of the technology was staggering and horrific. Given enough time, the entire world could be monitored endlessly by computers. There would no longer be any privacy at all.

He looked up as Steve entered, the hatch hissing closed behind him.

“We need to talk,” Kevin said, before his older brother could say a word. “Sit.”

Steve sat, his face twisting. Kevin didn’t give him any time to muster a response.

“Tell me,” he said. “Just what were you thinking when you humiliated them so badly?”

Steve’s eyes flashed. “I was thinking they deserved a little humiliation!”

“And you might be right,” Kevin conceded. “But you just committed something that is arguably an act of war. You can hardly declare the ranch to be the embassy of a foreign power and then expect them to recognise it when they have never even heard of us!”

He went on before Steve could say a word. “You have just terrified everyone in Washington,” he snapped. “Scared people do stupid things! We need them to stay out of the way, at the very least, not work to find ways to impede our plans for the defence of Earth! And what will happen to our small community if it does come down to a shooting war? Do you expect everyone to go along with it?

“Yes, you terrorised a bunch of DHS cowboys and rightly so, but what happens when they send Marines or Army Rangers or SEALS? How many of our friends will side against their country? Or would we have a mutiny on our hands at the worst possible moment?”

Steve glared at him. It was the look, Kevin remembered, that reminded him strongly of their father, before the old man had passed away. The look that said, quite clearly, that his children were crossing the line and heading towards disaster. But the old man had never had the sort of power that sat, now, at Steve’s fingertips.