5 - Dozier

Dozier

The system of Eres boasted of one sun, one habitable planet, and six others made so through terraforming. The engineers were instructed to make the Eres II through VI as close to Eres Prime as possible but distinctly lesser. There were certain dogmatic expectations that came from living in a system name after the god they believed was responsible for the entirety of the universe. Eres created Eres Prime according to His designs, so who were the scientists to think they could improve on such?

Along with the singular planning of the planets, there was an abundance of nations, cities, and structures named after the All-Knowing, Benevolent Eres. For example, the Citadel of Eres was the largest building in Eres Major, which was the capital city of Eres Principal, which itself was the largest continent on Eres Prime. It was joked that the most difficult job in Eres fell to the poor bastard tasked with finding new and clever ways of interjecting their God into a building name.

The Citadel of Eres was naturally the ideal location for the Grand Realignment. The theologians had long ago ceded their power to the religion of commerce, and Dozier’s gambit was the opening ceremony to a new era of prosperity.

And not just for Eres. Dozier was adamant that the day would highlight the potential wealth for all involved (and, of course, a not-so subtle warning to those still few on the fence). Given the decades of malnourishment, following the opening ceremonies would be a banquet. Dozier had insisted on signature dishes from the associated systems. The banquet hall was lined with Jhoddan meat pies, Alegorn goulash, grains from the fields of Rhomalax, wild Bern that had been slow cooked in its own blood for days until the meat was tender, greens from all corners of the galaxy. Even Bellzator, a hardened ice backwater that toiled under the shadows of gas giants, brought their lone delicacy – a thick mildew scraped off the walls in the lower depths of Pagos, their lone planet’s sole city, and sautéed with fiery spices.

Watching the servants busy themselves with the array of food, each platter demanding its own unique set of methods to maintain freshness, Dozier marveled at the amount of S’inghah the Bellzatorian faction brought. Pagos had to be lousy with mildew, a thought that made Dozier’s nose twitch and skin crawl. He knew once the Grand Realignment was set in motion, he would have to make good faith visits to all the systems. Bellzator was the one he dreaded the most. Dozier cared little for the cold and less for underground cities. And one with a seemingly rampant, edible fungus? No thank you.

Dozier spied Minister Freeman, leader of Eres Prime, and waved him over. The Minister, dressed in his most formal and regal attire, was busy preening and glad-handing with whomever was in reach. He had supported Dozier’s gambit from the beginning but, as a simple political calculus, kept quiet until it looked like the gamble would pay off. And now he was doing his best to convince the galaxy he was as important as Dozier. He was a jackass, but appearances were everything today, so he was also a necessary one.

“Minister,” he said, shaking hands, “my thanks for your presence.” A nonsense greeting but there was an audience around them. Formality reigned supreme in the land of the diplomats.

Freeman smiled in response. He knew the score just as well as Dozier. “I would be derelict in my duties to have missed this. You’ve done well for yourself, Senator, and for all of Eres.”

“The day is not over, Minister. There is always the opportunity for my – our – work to unravel. You’ve heard the speeches. There are still grievances to address.” A group of delegates from Farron passed by. One shook his head at Dozier and Freeman. That Farron asked for little and got much in return made the slight that much more egregious. Whitman was right - once a hand was extended in wanting, it rarely pulled back. There was always a need for more, more, more.

“With respect to our galactic partners, they are small compared to the overall complexities. And yet I have full faith that you and your team will resolve them in a manner that’s satisfactory to both the aggrieved and to Eres.” There it was. Freeman’s mantra: Eres’ needs come first. Always.

“I would not sacrifice so much for our home worlds for the sake of these complaints. The Grand Realignment is great because of its purpose, not because of its members.” That was a favored line from Dozier’s opening remarks, but one he had been advised to cut. It was a bit too on the nose and more than likely to aggravate the easily aggravated, of which there were still many. But Dozier was proud of its poetry and didn’t want it to go to waste, even if it was used solely on this preening, self-interested fool.

“True words, my friend, but ones best spoken quietly. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link,” he continued, speaking louder as another group of delegates passed by the two, “and today we’ve forged a chain most unbreakable.” With that, he walked over to the table and began serving himself, starting with that noxious goop.

Ever the politician, Dozier thought. He could almost hear the gears ticking in Freeman’s head, calculating words and tone, measuring each delegate in terms of self-interest. If he judged, it was on the obviousness of Freeman’s actions. After all, Dozier had done the same in the past and leveraged those skills in the present. But Freeman preened with the subtlety of a lonely child demanding praise from its parents. It was embarrassing to witness and it was embarrassing for Eres. Freeman was the best the system had to offer?

For now, at least. The court of public opinion had not yet offered judgement. As the Grand Realignment moved forward, it would make sense that the architect of a new era of prosperity be called to lead Eres.  Dozier would answer the call graciously.

####

The opening ceremonies may have been perfunctory and a display of excess, but they served as a poignant reminder of what was lost when the Empire crumbled. There was a mix of the exotic (the Ry’Gee delegation had somehow decided that a “traditional fertility jousting competition” was the right move and Dozier wondered when he would be able to close his eyes and not see that violent mashup of sexual horrors) and the familiar (most of the other systems leaned towards choreographed dances or parading what was left of their military) to the various performances. The underlying theme was “We may be different as cultures, but we are not so unlike as a people.”

And yet, there were outstanding issues. Every system had a list of wants and needs, but it was impossible to acquiesce to them all. Concessions had to be made. Jhodda was particularly hard hit by the loss of trade routes. They were eager to join the Grand Realignment, almost comically, desperately so, but not without significant aid. What was the worth of the Grand Realignment, they argued, if those in power were unwilling to lift the less fortunate? The Jhoddans had seen the new construction on Eres, the towers gleaming in the sky, the sure signs of progress and wealth. They knew the past and the present were at an inflection point. And they expected more than what was realistic.

Dozier took a sampling of the more appealing food. Had the banquet preceded the final negotiations, Dozier thought, Jhodda’s demands might have been better received. Their meat pies were divine. It was a shame there were so few of them. Jhodda had over farmed their natural resources. It must have been a challenge for them to the minimum needed for today.

And had the delegates gotten a whiff of S’inghah, Bellzator may not have been allowed in the room. Having simmered for hours, the dish at the far end of the table was threatening to overpower everything else in the room. It was a powerful funk. Dozier caught the eye of the server manning that section. He motioned discretely at her. Do something about that. They would be scrubbing the stink of flavored mildew from the walls for weeks. The server got the message and adjusted the air filtration.

“It’s a bit much in smell and taste but it grows on you. Eventually.” Dozier turned to face Lattish Belforth, the lead Bellzatorian delegate. She had a plate piled high with the stuff. Dozier forced himself not to wince. The stench was so pungent; it was as if it had assumed a physical form.

“Of course, the problem is once you acquire a taste for it, not much else can match the flavor.” She motioned to Dozier’s plate of more conventional foodstuffs. “There’s a lot there to admire but not much to enjoy.”

“If today has taught us anything,” Dozier countered, “it’s that we all have something unique to offer.”

Belforth laughed. “You’ve got a gift, that’s for sure. Flowers must grow every time you speak.”

Dozier bridled at the insult but kept quiet. After all their initial hedging and demands, Bellzator had joined the coalition with little fuss. But until the day was over, nothing was truly settled. He wasn’t going to risk Belforth screwing everything up at the last minute because he took offense to her churlish comments.

“I grew up in the shadow of war,” he said. “I was surrounded by dead ends until I discovered my gift for speech.” Unknowing, he lapsed into regional colloquialism. “It’s done right by me.”

“It certainly has. I may be younger than you, but my parents lived through the same. We all have come from the same place. The tragedy of the Dzengharian Empire made orphans of us all. It’s time we all came home. To your health.”

“And to yours,” he replied. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I am. It’s been so long since I’ve been outside of Bellzator. I had almost forgotten what natural warmth was like.” Like the rest of her delegation, she was dressed in layers of light fabric of various blues. Pagos had one season, and it was cold, unrelentingly so.

Dozier laughed. “To me, it’s almost chilly. You don’t want to know how many hours of debate there were over what was the right temperature for the room.”

“Let me guess – what you settled on pleases exactly no one.”

“Close. I think one of my assistants thinks this is the ideal.”

“That doesn’t bode well for your Grand Alignment, no? If one cannot find a solution for the ideal temperature, how do you expect one to reform an empire?”

Belforth was smiling, but Dozier wasn’t sure if she was kidding or not. The stink of her food wasn’t helping matters either. It retriggered his hangover. The meat pie he had so recently enjoyed was now sitting heavy in his gut.

“Nobody here is talking empires,” he countered. “There are enough systems that insist on maintaining their sovereignty, despite the hardships the loss of the empire had inflicted upon them. The Grand Realignment has no intention of changing that. In fact, I feel that runs counter to what we’re trying to achieve. What the Grand Realignment stands for is an end to the mistrust of the past fifty years. Eres and the other founding members have shown what is capable, but without the rest of the systems, we’re meeting only a fraction of our potential.”

“So an empire of commerce.”

“An empire where there’s no consolidation of power isn’t much of an empire? We all benefit from the Grand Realignment.”

“Some more than others,” Belforth noted.

“For now, certainly. I won’t deny that Eres and the other founding members are in a better place than Bellzator and the like. All this was possible only because of our work.”

“You do realize that there’s a concern that Eres is positioning itself as the new hub of the galaxy. That by your design, this is indeed an empire of commerce and that we will again be at the mercy of a foreign government.”

“There’s always the risk of corruption. The Dzengharian Empire proved as much. The rebellion that followed as well. That is why we rely on vigilance. And trust. We are responsible for each other’s destinies. Eres is as reliant on Bellzator as Bellzator is on Eres.”

Belforth handed her plate to a passing servant and put her hand on Dozier’s shoulder. “I’m not surprised so much of your plan is based on faith. Even after all these years, that remains the guiding principle of Eres. ‘We walk in the footsteps of the greater god,’ no?”

Again with the passive-aggressive insults. “Without the teachings of Eres, I doubt we would be having this conversation. I take pride in my beliefs. And aren’t we all walking in the footsteps of the greater good?” That should shut her up, Dozier thought.

It did not. “We have our gods on Pagos, but a long time ago I considered them morality tales to be told to recalcitrant children at bedtime. When you live in a hollowed-out rock, it’s better to believe in each other than invisible people who live amongst the stars. I suppose that’s why there was the rebellion. Did the architects of the Great Uprising ever see Dzengharia? What were the local magistrates serving the Emperor but inarticulate, incompetent priests, failing to convince the masses that there was a single person out there with their best interests at heart?”

“Bellzator thrived under the Empire. You were amongst the greatest beneficiaries. Without this support, life has been hardscrabble for your people. I’ve read the stories about the dismantling of the ring stations. You’re cannibalizing your own future to save the present.”

She laughed. “’You’re cannibalizing your own future to save the present.’ Oh my, that’s delightful. You really do have a gift. I don’t disagree that we were in a much stronger position under the Empire. But that didn’t rely on faith. What the Empire provided for us was in proportion to what we did for them. There was, pardon the pun, empirical evidence. What does Eres Himself benefit from all this? Is He pleased that every other building bears his name? Will Eres take its spoils from the Grand Realignment and build even more monuments? Or will you proselytize the far reaches of the galaxy, terraforming everything to your god’s liking?”

“After the half century of darkness, the galaxy could use some faith. But rest assured, Eres has no intention of trading your gods for ours, no matter how heretical we may find them. What we want – what I want – is a galaxy united through open markets, rebuilding together.” His head was again throbbing, his stomach was unsettled, and he resorted to recycling lines from his speech again. Not even good ones, either.

Bellforth must have senses as much, or maybe she felt like she had needled him enough. “Bradford, this was the best debate I’ve had in a long time. Conversations like this give me hope for the future. Truly, I admire your faith in your work and you should be proud of what you’ve accomplished. Along with the flowers that grow in your wake.”

With that, she left Dozier.

####

Dozier adjourned to the bathroom to wash his face and apply a meditab. The talk with Belforth had left him disjointed and uneasy, and the sudden resurgence of the hangover added a sour taste in his mouth. The meditab did its job, though, and his headache again receded. He made a note to discretely use Nutritabs throughout the rest of the day. Their lack of flavor would work to his benefit. They would deter any naseau. He rinsed his mouth and reminded himself that real whiskey packed a hell of a stronger punch than the synthetic variety he had grown accustomed to.

Another thing he would have to abstain from, he thought. Not that he intended to drink to excess tonight – that would be a disastrous look for not only him but all of Eres – but there would be toasts. Glasses would be raised. He could manage with sparkling ale, he supposed. And, he thought as he quietly belched, a wide distance from Bellzatorian cuisine.

Dozier rejoined the main ballroom, mingling amidst the delegates and offering the same measured responses in conversation. He spied Belforth from across the room. He noticed that she had tucked a flower behind one ear. She caught him looking at her and touched the flower, smiling mischievously. He wasn’t sure if she was flirting with him or just poking fun. It had to be the latter, he thought. She was at least twenty years younger and while at 64 he was still – barely – considered middle aged, he was showing his years. If she had any physical desire for a man with thinning hair, weak eyes, and hunched shoulders, it had to come with caveats. Although if she thought that bedding him would give Bellzator leverage, she was less of a diplomat than he assumed. At this point, there was little he could do by himself that would impact the outcome of the deliberations. Not without drawing attention to himself. And that was the sort of corruption he was steadfast against.

No, she was simply toying with him, with his pride. That much she made clear. Dozier resolved to keep himself in check. The Grand Realignment was born of ambition, but personal humility would sustain its life.

His comm pinged. It was the head of security.

“Sir, you need to come to the command center.”

“What is it,” he asked.

“It’s better to discuss in person. We’re seeing a number of people getting sick. Very sick.”

Dozier thought of the rank Bellzator dish. “If it’s food poisoning, summon a doctor and keep it discrete,” he said. Belforth was weaving her way through the crowd towards him.  His guts clenched and he broke out in a cold sweat. Did he catch it too? And was the crowd actually so thick that Belforth had to weave? At second glance, it seemed more like she was walking a direct line towards him.

“Sir, we’ve done that. Again, it’s better that you come here.”

“Fine,” he sighed. “On my way.”

He nodded at Belforth and held his hands up. “Apologies, but I’m needed elsewhere at the moment.”

She responded with a wry grin. “Are we already out of alignment?”

Another rumbling from his guts. What did he eat? “Nothing of the sort,” he said with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Whether the hangover, the food poisoning, or just the stress of the day crushing down on him – or all three, he thought – Dozier felt inadequate and disarmed, incapable of even basic etiquette. “Despite the extravagance, this is still very much another workday for me.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re not looking well,” Belforth said, grasping his arm. “Do you need a meditab?”

“I, uh,” he paused to focus on the sudden clenching of his stomach, “took one already. Please, you must excuse me.”

Brusquely, he stepped back, shaking off her grip. Whatever the root cause, that action was the tipping point. The room went blurry, and Dozier collapsed to the floor, twitching.