Attica, Capital of the Terran Alliance
“Today we choose to go to war then?” asked Xenophon, with more than a hint or sarcasm to his voice. His old friend Glaucon tried to respond but was drowned out by the roar of six Thunderbolt fighters. The heavy fighters flew over the city, leaving a trail of vapour and smoke behind them. It was a show of force by the Alliance military, and more than likely a reminder as to which way the public were expected to vote. Xenophon smiled inwardly, lowering his gaze to the people and the exquisite buildings.
“Come on, we have work to do.”
Glaucon glanced at his friend, recognising the keenness to vote. They shared much, but a view on politics wasn’t one of them. He followed Xenophon to the entrance of the main buildings and stopped when they reached the guards. The Prefect of the Inner Ward stood nearby with his symbol of authority, a centuries old glaive. The old-fashioned polearm weapon was a relic from a long bygone era, and one of just a handful remaining. It consisted of a single-edged blade on the end of a pole and was encrusted with precious stones and metals. Two guards stood by in full Alliance military uniforms and cradling standard issue pulse carbines across their chests.
“A bit over the top, isn’t that?” asked Glaucon, not in the slightest concerned at addressing one of the highest official in the city. The Prefect looked at him but said nothing. Glaucon looked back to Xenophon who just smiled and nudged him forward.
“Don’t dawdle, we have business to attend to!” he laughed.
The Ecclesia was packed with citizens of every age and background from across the planet. Some were regular attendants of the assembly, for others it was their very first visit. Either way, it was quite possibly the single most important meeting of the Ecclesia since its founding hundreds of years before. It often reminded Xenophon of an unruly mob with its long arguments and snap decisions. The debate had already finished, and across Attica similar gatherings were taking place. The decisions made today by the citizen body would determine the future of not just the homeworld but also the entire Alliance. Any citizen was allowed to speak or vote, but only those with military service were allowed to participate in the elite and prestigious body known as the Boule. Five hundred citizens were chosen by lot each year to run this important department. The Boule’s primary role was to administer and run day-to-day affairs, but it also presented business to the assembly of the citizens to be voted upon.
Xenophon watched with interest as a number of young men and women he knew well approached the stand. They had all served their required year in the military to receive the honour, an honour that he so far had managed to avoid. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to serve in the military. It was just that he felt no particular calling to serve when the only real threat was from pirates or slavers. The cold war between the two old Terran rivals was always on but had spilled out into open warfare for decades. He liked to think that when the time came, and his people were in peril, he would step up and volunteer. They waited a short moment before an older man, slightly shorter and in his official robes, approached. He took place in the centre of the group and looked down to the crowds of citizens. This was something that happened only on the free worlds of the Alliance. No other empire or organisation could claim this level of democracy or involvement by its citizens in the day-to-day running of the state.
Not that a democracy is the best form of government. This place is more like a cattle market than a place of political discourse, Xenophon considered with great disdain.
Most of the Alliance worlds had adopted various forms of democratic government, but Attica was unique. This was the only world where every single citizen could, and was expected to, play a part. They held public office and voted on everything from tax and spending to foreign affairs and deployment of the armed forces. Unlike most worlds, it was possible to work for a year as a magistrate or official in some capacity, based purely by lot, not merit. It was a system loved by most, but not Xenophon.
A silence spread through the great open building as the old man raised his arms. It was the signal for all those present to take their seats. It took a few seconds. Especially, as many of those present were a good deal older than Xenophon.
“Citizens, the debate before the members of the Boule is over. This has been a long and difficult topic to discuss, and we have sought information, intelligence and expertise at every stage. We cannot deny the public interest in this struggle and have therefore decided it is time for you to vote on the proposed call-up and military action. As citizens of Attica and the Alliance, your votes must now be considered. As is tradition, we have a fifteen-minute recess to give you the opportunity to place your ballots and to double-check the official records and statements. Before you vote, I would like to reiterate the importance of this vote. A decision for war will mean sending your own sons and daughters, even yourselves, into harm’s way. Do not enter into such a decision lightly.”
The first sensible thing I have heard all day, thought Xenophon.
The man sat down, and no sooner did he touch the stonework, the entire place erupted into action. A great chorus of shouting, chattering and general noise echoed through the Ecclesia. The acoustics did nothing but help the spread of sound to every corner of the ancient structure. Xenophon and Glaucon moved away to the side where it was a little quieter. The Assembly building itself was circular in shape and equipped with beautifully detailed columns around the perimeter. The stonework was lavishly carved with great events from the Terrans’ past. Stories, such as the first colonies founded by humanity, took up most of the space. In the centre of the building was a much thicker, larger column that had been erected almost a century before. The two men moved past the column as they made their way to one of the many alcoves that dotted the stone structure. Vertical display panels were placed at discrete points so that citizens could vote in private. Glaucon stopped and gazed at the lighter stonework of the large column. He was of a more bulky shape than Xenophon, a mixture of genetics and a lot of time in the gymnasium. Where Xenophon was the intelligent, calculating and agile young man, Glaucon was the rich liberal, yet ham-fisted and easy to anger.
“Still looks too new, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I think interest in the victory will fade well before the stonework does.”
Glaucon shook his head in disbelief. It was yet another field of history or politics for them to argue about.
“Really? You don’t think the Terran victory against the two invasions by the Median Empire is the seminal moment in our shared histories?”
“Of course it is, but probably not for the reasons you think it is.”
Glaucon sighed, preparing himself for another of his friend’s lectures.
“You see, it is also one of the events that shows us why the Laconian and Alliance colonies have more in common than you might think. Don’t forget, it was the manpower of the Laconian automaton slaves that gave us the edge in heavy infantry. Only their state, one based around war, was able to decisively delay the Empire’s advance and then finish them off at the Plataea. The Alliance could never have stood without help.”
“What? You forget our breaking of the siege? It was the single most important space battle in the history of humanity. It was our ships that smashed imperial warships even though we were outnumbered ten to one. The Laconians are animals. They create nothing, are poorly educated…”
“And yet they could crush us in any equal engagement?” added a defiant Xenophon.
Glaucon shook his head and sighed.
“Watch your tongue in this place. You know what the mood is here, and that kind of talk could get you ostracised.”
Xenophon nodded in agreement.
“In that you are correct. You just have to love the mob.”
They both looked at the numbers around them. Some looked as though they were taking it all very seriously, but a large number of the younger citizens stood out. They wore symbols and logos with a variety of causes, of which one of the most common concerned spreading democracy to those still ruled by dictators.
“Look at them, go on, look. This is the problem with mob rule. They believe their causes are important even though those they will affect may feel otherwise. You’ll remember the last argument we had with them. We were accused of all kinds of crimes unless we agreed with their liberal agenda. These are the people that will determine our fate!”
He lifted his hands and turned on the spot as if pointing out the great horde of people in the Assembly. He did a complete revolution before turning back to Glaucon.
“It is too easy to let them decide to fight or not to fight. Their decisions are based upon short-term thinking and emotion. Logic, history and reason mean nothing to them, just their own selfish agenda. These decisions should be made by those with wisdom and experience that will take all of us into account.”
“I take it you’re voting against the Armada, then?” asked Glaucon, sounding irritated. Xenophon had a look that told him precisely what he thought about it.
“This entire vote is nonsense. We’ve been at war for nearly three decades now, and apart from our allies doing most of the work, what have we achieved? The League is too powerful to allow any successful assault on their worlds, and the Alliance Fleet is too large to allow them to attack us. It’s a stalemate, and that’s why we let our allies fight the war for us, by proxy. If we escalate the war, we change it to one where one side has to win and the other has to lose.”
Glaucon nodded but not quite appreciating the point Xenophon was making against a decision to go to war.
“Exactly, it’s a cowards way of fighting. A yes vote will mobilise all eligible citizens to the Armada. If we take the fight to the Laconians, we can end this war once and for all. A democratic Laconia would be to the benefit of all Terrans.”
“If you think so. We could, of course, lose the fleet and the war in one move. This is nothing more than mob rule dictating state policy. The vote should never have been given to those unable to understand its importance.”
Glaucon shook his head.
“Sometimes I just don’t understand you. You are from a family with long service to the Alliance. Your father fought the Laconians, did he not?”
“And died fighting them, for what? They speak the same language, share most of the same customs. It’s not like we even want their barren homeworld. It is a dull and lifeless place that breeds only the hard and strong. He was forced to fight against friends, even family. Don’t forget that borders and boundaries are just lines on maps. You have family in their territory as well, don’t forget.”
“I wonder why you don’t live there sometimes. You seem to have a greater love for their customs and laws than we have in the Alliance,” muttered Glaucon.
“Well, there are benefits to living there. But don’t forget that as citizens we’d be required to serve in the military. Somehow, I don’t see you as a Laconian heavy infantryman! Come on, we know what will happen here, so let’s vote and get on with something a little more interesting.”
Xenophon moved to the nearest unoccupied display unit. At first glance, it could have been nothing more than a shimmer in front of the stone wall, but it was in fact a fully detailed visual display. He moved his hands in front of his body to operate the touchless interface. It worked by using a mixture of movement and gesture recognition.
“Good day, Xenophon, please enter your citizen ID code,” said the machine in a gentle, female voice.
With a few deft movements, he entered the data and was presented with three options to choose from. The first was to vote for the calling up of the citizen Armada, the second to vote against the proposal, and the third and final option was the abstain choice. He gazed at the three for a few seconds as he ran the idea over in his head.
If we call up the Armada, then all of us, probably me, and most of my friends, will be sent off to fight the Laconians. To what end? The idiots! I’ll never vote for our citizens, my friends or my family to go to war, just so some liberal students can get what they want, he thought angrily.
With a flick of his wrist, he selected the no vote and confirmed his decision. He turned back his waiting friend.
“Okay, your turn, Glaucon. Make sure you select the correct option, want me to do it for you?”
The young man stepped past Xenophon, throwing him a grin as he took up his position in front of the unit. Xenophon looked at the hundreds of citizens, and most were either using the machines or talking with their comrades as they waited. Most would have been proud of what they saw taking place, but Xenophon had nothing but distrust in his mind when it concerned his fellow citizens. They were quick to judge and would praise a man just as quickly as they would condemn him.
“Okay, done. What say you come with me and join my family for a celebratory dinner party? My brother Polemarchus is back, and I’m sure he would like to meet you. Cephalus and his friends will be there if you’re interested. You’ll remember the last time we were all together, when you got into that argument about who was most wise.”
“Yes, I seem to recall you all sided against the Admiral,” answered a slightly bitter Xenophon.
“True. Still, you can’t win them all.”
“Perhaps. Though if you recall, the messengers arrived a week later showing the Admiral was in fact innocent. If the citizen vote hadn’t been so hasty, the Admiral could have heard the apology rather than being sent into exile.”
Glaucon looked to Xenophon and sighed.
“Look, if this vote goes the way you think, then it might be the last time we will all get together, so come on, you know you want to. It sounds good, you coming?”
Xenophon considered the offer for a moment, but shook his head.
“Sorry, I need to get my books ready for next week. I’ve got some big tests coming up as you know.”
“Kratez will be there,” said Glaucon, as if the mere mention of his name would sway him. He had obviously been keeping the man’s name quiet to hold it as a trump card in case Xenophon refused the offer. Xenophon looked surprised.
“Really? I’ve not seen him in months. I thought he was teaching at the Academy.”
“He was, but he has two weeks off for vacation and is spending two days of it with my family. Now, are you going home to look at books, or are you coming to my home for an argument with the smartest man in the Alliance?”
Xenophon looked back at the Ecclesia and then to Glaucon. His friend had a pleading look that he simply couldn’t avoid any longer.
“Okay, I need to drop my stuff off. I will be around in an hour.”
“Excellent, don’t be too late!”
Glaucon moved off along the path, and Xenophon stood silently, hoping, even praying that the vote would be a no. Most citizens didn’t seem that concerned as to which way it would go, but something deep inside him told him the vote would have greater repercussions than anybody could expect. He could only hope.
Xenophon climbed out of the taxicab and handed the driver his identity card. With a light blue flash it confirmed the payment. With a polite goodbye the man closed the door and drove off, leaving him on the pavement. He was stood outside his friend’s house, a lavish home made of local stone and four storeys high. It had been in the hands of Glaucon’s family for six generations and was one of the tallest private homes in the city. Two statues of the ancient human goddess Athene flanked the grand entrance. They were symbols of the state and often present on public buildings. It didn’t surprise Xenophon to see them as Glaucon’s family had a long history of public service. He stepped past them and towards the double doors that led inside. As he approached, a young woman stumbled out. Her clothing was skimpy with her arms, legs and midriff all exposed. Xenophon caught her as she teetered on one foot and sent them both crashing against the statue.
“Are you okay?” he asked with genuine concern.
The inebriated woman tried to stand and almost collapsed again.
“I’m fine. Who…who are you?” she asked and then fell limp in his arms. For a second he panicked, thinking there was a serious problem. Glaucon appeared at the doorway with a glass of wine in one hand and another scantily clad woman draped around his arm.
“Xenophon, you made it…and only two hours late!”
“I, uh, found her outside,” said a slightly embarrassed Xenophon.
“Oh, yeah, she’s one of the dancers. Bring her inside.”
Xenophon stepped through the two thick doors and into the dark, smoky hallway. Several young men and women were leaning and laughing at something. He moved past them, but no one seemed in the slightest concerned at their almost unconscious friend. He finally reached the end of the corridor and the open expanse of the reception area. To Glaucon and his family it was one of many rooms, but to the rest of them it was more like a great hall. Chairs and seating lay about, and almost twenty people smoked, drank or danced away.
“Xenophon!” called out a familiar voice. He helped lower the woman to a reclining chair so she could rest. He then headed to the group of people and the man that had just called his name. As he approached, he recognised the beard and bald head of his old mentor, Kratez.
“Kratez, you are here,” he said with genuine pleasure. He moved up to the old man and pulled him close. In years past, Xenophon had attended many of the old master’s classes and lectures. He had often pushed the young man to question everything. It made neither of them popular, but it had forced Xenophon to think about everything he did, and so he hoped it had made him a better man.
“Of course, I couldn’t miss the vote now could I?” he replied with a smile.
The two sat down in the long reclining seats. A young woman approached with a silver tray upon which sat a decanter and a number of beautifully carved crystal glasses.
“Fortified wine, sir?” she asked them both.
Kratez made a happy sound and grabbed the nearest glass. Xenophon waited until he was done before accepting a glass for himself. She poured the dark red wine until both were satisfied.
“Ah, this is more like it. They’ve been getting quite stingy when it comes to drink at the Academy.”
Xenophon took a measure, moving the liquid about his mouth before swallowing. It had a warm glow as it slid down, instantly calming him. He turned to Glaucon who seemed busy chatting with a group of young people.
“Excellent wine, old chap, thank you.”
Glaucon raised his glass but didn’t turn from his conversation.
“So, Xenophon? Tell me about your studies. I assume you have continued your work on the classics as well as the more philosophical arts.”
“I’ve also delved into work on machine learning,” Xenophon answered, doing his best to impress the old man but without sounding too cocky.
“Good, it is a good idea to keep one’s mind occupied with the myriad of subjects available to us. How about your study of the martial arts, have you been keeping busy?”
Xenophon looked a little embarrassed at the question.
“Well, boy, come on, tell me.”
“The Boule discussed the martial arts academy I was helping to run, and they voted to shut it down.”
“Why?”
Xenophon shrugged.
“We had a few injuries in the hand-to-hand weapons training, a few broken bones with the staffs. Nothing major, but the safety commission became involved and came to the conclusion our training was dangerous, and therefore shouldn’t be allowed.”
Kratez sighed.
“I see, this is perhaps one of the many reasons we suffer when forced to fight our enemies at close quarters.”
“Have you tried to explain this to the Military Academy?”
“Of course, my boy. The trouble is, there is still the opinion that our Navy is all we need to defend the Alliance. Providing no enemy reaches this solid earth, we will be safe,” he explained, as he reached down and tapped the ground. He tried to lift himself back up but groaned at the discomfort. Xenophon helped him back to his seat.
“Thank you,” he said with genuine warmth. “Now, let’s see some of this banned training.”
“Training?” asked Xenophon, now both a little confused and also dulled by the wine.
“Yes, the hand-to-hand training you’re so fond of.”
“Oh, I see.”
Xenophon looked about the room until he found Glaucon with the two young ladies still draped around his arms.
“Glaucon!” he called, but the man was far too preoccupied.
Xenophon stood and moved towards him. As he came closer, he recognised one of the ladies from his classes at the university.
“Aurora?”
She turned and looked up to him. Her pale face looked pallid in the dull light, and her eyes rolled, the obvious consequence of excessive amounts of liquor. Still no reply, so he reached out, turning Glaucon around to face him.
“Easy, Xenophon, can’t you see I’m busy?”
“Kratez would like a demonstration of close combat.”
“Would he now? Well, go and tell him I have other kinds of combat in mind.”
He turned back to the two ladies, but something had caught their interest. Aurora swayed around him and placed one hand across his face.
“Go on, Glaucon. We want to see you fight!” she said with a wide smile.
He leaned forward and planted his lips firmly on hers. She stayed for a few seconds before pulling back.
“Fight first, I want to see you.”
He looked back to Xenophon and then to Aurora.
“Okay, fine, but afterwards we get to do a bit of fighting on our own. Deal?”
He stood up, and Aurora slid back onto her back, rolling sideways as provocatively as she could. He looked at her, waiting for an answer, but she gave the impression she had already forgotten whatever he had just said.
“Uh, sure, baby,” she said with a smile.
Glaucon stepped up to Xenophon. He swayed slightly, but was far below the levels of drunkenness he had seen at other dinner parties. He indicated for Xenophon to follow him, and the two moved to a pair of thick wooden chests. As they moved, the rest of the guests chattered excitedly. It was clear there was about to be some kind of display or demonstration. Glaucon pulled up the lid of the first chest to reveal a mass of training weapons and padding. He looked over his shoulder to Xenophon.
“What did you have in mind?”
Xenophon looked inside and reached in to withdraw a long, slender looking sword. The blade was over a metre long and tapered to a safety tip, so the weapon could be used without causing serious injury. It was a traditional weapon from the violent past of the seventeenth century back on Earth.
“Really? You want to play with rapiers? How about something more manly?”
“Like what?” Xenophon asked.
Glaucon reached in and withdrew a short, broad bladed sword. It was specially designed to match the weight and handling characteristics of an actual sword but safe with both its edge and tip. It looked like metal but was in fact made from advanced polymers for longevity and safety. He held it out with his right hand and twirled it about. Xenophon looked on with a look of almost irritation about his face.
“You finished yet?” he asked sarcastically. “Why don’t we use the bucklers as well?”
Glaucon shrugged and moved to the second chest. He lifted the lid and pulled out a pair of bucklers. Made from hardened plastic, they looked like the original metal designs from which they were based upon. He threw one to Xenophon and placed the second in his left hand. Xenophon reached down and pulled out another of the training swords.
“Come on, show us some skin!” called out one of the women.
Glaucon needed no further encouragement and, in an impressive display of speed, pulled off his jacket and shirt so that he was naked from the waist up. Xenophon watched him with annoyance.
“Really? Any excuse to rip off your shirt.”
“Come on, Xenophon!” called out an unseen voice from the group. “Show us what you’ve got.”
Xenophon refused and stood in the clothes he had arrived in. Taunts and jibes quickly spread about the group, and still he refused. It wasn’t that he was scared of Glaucon; it was just that he knew the man would play to the crowd. That, mixed with the large quantity of alcohol he had consumed, could prove to be a perfect combination of ugliness that might end with one or both of them being seriously injured, until he relented.
“Okay, okay!”
He placed the training weapons on top of the chest and carefully undid his jacket. Glaucon started to pace, but it was obvious to Xenophon he was just playing with the crowd. The two shared many interests, but in terms of character, they were a world apart. Where Xenophon was reserved and intellectual, Glaucon was passionate and extroverted. A cheer rang out as he removed his shirt and placed it next to his jacket. The two men collected their weapons and moved off to the middle of the room. More people arrived from the other room until there must have been over thirty spectators. At least half were inebriated with alcohol. Kratez moved to the two men and stepped between them.
“Okay, gentlemen, give us a clean, honourable demonstration of your skills. How will you decide the victor?”
Glaucon called over to them both, “Last man standing wins.”
Kratez turned to Xenophon and lifted an eyebrow in question. Xenophon wasn’t happy, but he really couldn’t back down at the challenge. He nodded in agreement. Kratez stepped back and looked to the crowd. There was a reasonable amount of space for dancing or even fighting in the middle of the room, but it wasn’t massive. A number of chairs, seats and tables were dotted about. Drinks rested on many surfaces, and the dull light was darkened further by thick smoke.
“Let’s do this!” called out Glaucon.
Kratez stepped back, and the two men moved forward to start their demonstration. They were of a similar height and build with both just under two metres tall. Glaucon was slightly larger built, but both had the bodies of athletic young men who had never faced the hardship of physical labour. Xenophon lowered his sword behind him and to the right, pushing out his buckler in front. Glaucon, on the other hand, moved to an aggressive stand with the blade held up at shoulder height, and his hand protected by the buckler.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this demonstration is of traditional European sword and buckler combat. It is an old fighting form used for hundreds of years. The sword would have been sharp on both edges and along the tip. Note the lack of hand protection, a major weakness of this type of sword. The buckler, or small shield, in the left hand is primarily for protection,” Kratez explained, before being interrupted by the first clash.
Glaucon lurched forward and zigzagged towards Xenophon. As he came into range, he cut down and to his left. The blade passed under his buckler and slid against the rim of Xenophon’s own buckler. He then followed up with a cut back along the same arc of attack but with the back of the sword. His final movement in his initial attack was a quick twist of the wrist. It delivered a deadly horizontal cut that almost connected with Xenophon’s neck. The young man leapt backwards and crashed into a table, sending drinks and glass to the floor.
“Nice try, Glaucon!” laughed Xenophon as he straightened himself up.
Xenophon jumped forward delivering a feint to Glaucon’s chest. As the blade moved in to parry, he lifted his hand and twisted the blade around to cut into his shoulder with the back of the blade. It struck hard, and the impact made Glaucon drop his own sword. The audience cheered lustily at the sight of the blow being struck.
“Are you alright?” asked Xenophon, concerned that he might have hurt his friend.
Glaucon lifted his blade and swung it around, flexing his wrist. He stepped in, saying nothing. Xenophon could sense the hostility and anger in the young man, so moved his sword and buckler forward. He’d been in this situation before, where one fighter had been struck and was keen to retaliate to try and wipe the shame. The attacks came in hard and fast. He was forced to use his buckler and sword to fend off a dozen strikes before taking cover behind one of the many floor-to-ceiling pillars.
“You’re not making much progress are you?” he laughed, more out of nervous surprise at not being hit than from arrogance.
“Funny!” muttered Glaucon, and he rushed forward. Sensing an opportunity, Xenophon ducked low and lifted his buckler up to protect his head. He stabbed forward and directly into the centre of his opponent’s body mass. Glaucon smashed his blade down hard but was deflected by his buckler. The blade struck him just below the sternum and knocked him back almost a metre before he was able to stand upright. If it had been a sharp sword, it would have penetrated through his body and pushed out of his back.
The crowd cheered their approval, and Kratez stepped forward to intercede. The old man may be too frail to engage in the same kind of activity, but he knew full well when a fight was about to move from a friendly exchange to something more serious.
“Screw this, let’s get the real blades out,” said Glaucon loudly. He dropped the weapons on the floor and marched to the case. He reached inside the blackness and pulled out two large metal longswords. The great two-handed swords were a weapon of brutality and skill. Weighing double the weight of the swords they had been using, it was carefully balanced to make it suitable for cutting and thrusting. Contrary to what most people thought, they were wickedly fast and capable of causing serious injuries from but cut and blunt trauma. The sharp cutting demonstrations they had made were useful evidence for the deadly weapons and their use on the battlefield.
“Come on, that’s enough,” said Xenophon, as he did his best to discourage his friend.
“No, you wanted to fight. Let’s show them what we can do.”
He threw the blade to Xenophon and then chased after it, barely giving him a chance to prepare himself. They clashed metal blades together as both cut down from the right. The ding of metal caught the audience by surprise, as it was very unusual to see primitive metal weapons being used in this way. Glaucon lifted his hands and hilt upwards and drove underneath to knee Xenophon in the stomach. The blow was hard and sent him staggering back.
Is he mad? These are just bated blades, and we’re not wearing armour! thought Xenophon.
Glaucon jumped forward and brought his blade down in a powerful vertical cut. Xenophon, still stunned by the strike to his stomach, was barely able to lift his sword in time and took part of the impact into his shoulder blade. His knees buckled, and he dropped to the floor.
“Enough!” shouted Kratez. Glaucon manoeuvred for another cut, and it took three of the spectators to grab him before he realised how wild he was becoming. He stopped and dropped the blade to the floor, stepping to the fallen Xenophon.
“Sorry, buddy, I think I got a bit carried away there.”
Xenophon coughed and lifted up to one knee.
“You’re not kidding,” he said, doing his best to laugh, but the pain in his shoulder was spreading to his chest. Glaucon reached over and helped the young man to his feet. He lifted his hand up high in the air and lifted Xenophon’s as well. The audience roared in approval, and Xenophon wondered through the dripping sweat if it was the bloodlust of watching the fight, or genuine interest that drove them. He suspected the former.
“The result, they’re announcing it now!” called out one of the women towards the rear of the group.
“Everybody quiet, put it up on the displays!” cried Kratez.
Part of the wall flashed with light and then displayed a wide, panoramic view of the Presidential Palace. The building was the most important political structure in the Alliance, and from where supreme authority in both Attica and the entire Empire was controlled. The President herself stepped into view, a powerful woman in her late fifties. She had been a Captain in the early years of the war and won the votes of many of the military community that had served over the years. In the Alliance democracy, however, her role was limited. The real power lay in the permanent members of the Boule; the veterans who presided over official business and decided what would be discussed and what vote would take place. The President was a mere figurehead who represented the Alliance and made long and boring speeches. At least, that was Xenophon’s assessment.
“My fellow citizens. Today is a grave day indeed. As you know, we have been involved with border skirmishes and open battle with the Laconian League for nearly thirty years. Today a vote was cast by every single citizen member of the Alliance to make a decision, possibly the most important one of the century. Until now, our forces have assisted our allied worlds against the oppressive actions of the League. So far, we have avoided a direct confrontation with the Laconians themselves. With the mobilisation of their entire military they have struck our friends, and they have been powerless to hold them back. It is one thing to provide military assistance, and quite another to put the lives of the men and women of the Alliance in harm’s way.
Glaucon pulled Xenophon close to him.
“I told you, the people want it.”
The people are idiots. If we did what they wanted, we’d all be poor and sitting around wondering what went wrong, he said to himself.
“The complete results from all voting stations through Alliance territory are in. I therefore announce the vote is unanimous, and with seventy-two percent voting in favour of the proposal. It is with a heavy heart that I announce the intention for a general call-up by lottery of those of service age, to serve for as long as is necessary to end this war once and for all. As you will all understand, this mass mobilisation is for a single reason. The Armada will assemble and be used directly against the Laconian League. As of five minutes ago, we are at war with the League, and may the Gods save us all.”
Xenophon shook his head at the news. Deep down he knew the public would vote for it, but it still hurt. As a young boy, he had visited with a number of the key Laconian families and had found more similarities than differences in their outlook on life. Just because they refused the so-called enlightened views of the Alliance, they were considered backward primitives.
War with the Laconians? They should be our allies, not our enemies. The fools! Look what they’ve done, he muttered inwardly.
Glaucon and most of the other young people stood up. Some shouted, but most simply cheered. Kratez also stood, but he neither said nor did anything. He had that look he was so familiar with. The one he reserved for when a particularly taxing problem appeared. Xenophon moved over to him, still only half dressed from the fighting display.
“You’re not cheering, either?” he asked.
“Of course not. War has a sweet taste to the young, but as you gain in age and wisdom, it turns bitter. I fought in the border skirmishes with the Laconians. They are born to fight, and no sacrifice is too great for them.”
Xenophon nodded in agreement.
“You think this is a mistake?”
“To go to war with the Laconians? Of course, and how far are we prepared to go? Will we keep fighting when half of the boys and girls sent to fight are dead or badly hurt? The one thing we know about the Laconians is they will not give ground. The harder we press them, the harder they will fight. In all my years, I know of only one occasion where the Laconians surrendered. The potential loss of just three hundred of their warriors was enough for them to come to the table. They may not have many citizens, not like the hordes that we have. The real difference is that one of theirs is worth a hundred Alliance citizens.”
Glaucon stood up on one of the tables. He held one of the many glasses of wine up high and whistled loudly. He found it difficult to balance, and it took three people grabbing at him to keep him stable.
“Everyone! Today is a momentous day. It is the day we finally got off our collective arses and made the decision to wipe out the Laconians, once and for all. They have pushed us at every opportunity, and now they will see what the might of our Armada can do. A toast!”
He lifted his glass up high, and the rest of the audience did the same.
“The Alliance!” he shouted and threw back his glass. The rest of the assembled friends and strangers alike lifted their own glasses.
“The Alliance!” called out the rest as they joined in with his sentiments. Xenophon watched them all with a feeling of despair and dismay.
What are the odds I get called up to fight in this idiotic war? he thought.