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leadership.
    “People of the Karver Republic!” he shouted, triumphant.
    Gutless politicians turned toward him in surprise. One of his first acts would be to sweep aside this ‘assembly’, whose chief purpose was to kowtow to the Tyurin capital whilst bickering amongst themselves about how to allocate their dribble of discretionary spending. His hatred burned at the thought of it.
    The media section, previously almost asleep, sprang to life. Across the planet, across the system, soon across the entire Republic, his glorious ascent was brought to his people's attention.
    Retired Field Marshall Whitehead was speaking from the higher platform about some pathetic domestic nonsense as Forge arrived at the central podium and squared up to the assembly. He knew that having the respected Whitehead defer to him would only bolster his credibility. He eyed the Field Marshall over his shoulder as the assembly fell silent. It wouldn’t be long before Whitehead and the other collaborators were swept aside. He smiled magnanimously.
    “Please give way, Field Marshall.”
    Whitehead looked down at him, taking in Forge’s uniform and the men around him. In a moment that denied fate, unbelievably, inconceivably , Whitehead shook his head.
    “No.”
    Forge’s thoughts raced as the media covered the situation live. He couldn’t shoot Whitehead – that would doom his populist insurrection before it started. His guards should hustle Whitehead away. He was sure that the imbeciles already would have, if Whitehead had been anyone other than the most venerated war hero of the Karver Republic.
    Before Forge could have Whitehead's microphone silenced, the old Field Marshall, standing above him and looking down on him , addressed the assembly.
    “I am willing to fight for peace. Nothing will end war unless the people themselves refuse to go to war. The absolute pacifist is a bad citizen. Times come when force must be used to uphold justice, right and ideals.”
    Forge blinked in astonishment. Whitehead was making the case. For peace . The house watched Whitehead, transfixed by the old warhorse the way they should have been transfixed by him .
    "War is an ugly thing but it is not the ugliest of things. The wretch who has nothing for which he will fight, nothing which is more important to him than his own personal safety, is much worse. He has no chance of being free unless he is made so by the exertions of better men than himself."
    Forge couldn’t believe it. His mind was a swirling tempest. His military units wouldn’t act until he began his speech. He was losing the initiative. Whitehead stood tall.
    “So I would ask you now to stand and clap, and be counted amongst those willing to fight for peace, and against General Forge.”
    Whitehead gave a solitary hand clap. Its echo sallied forth, lonely and lost, into the giant chamber. Forge lifted his chin and glared out, defying anyone else to challenge him.
    Whitehead clapped again. Forge stood resolute, imposing his will on the rabble before him. Everything hung in the balance.
    Whitehead clapped for a third time. The assembly sat mute. The flicker of a disdainful smile appeared at the corner of Forge’s mouth. He cast to the head of his honor guard.
    > Take him away.
    Someone clapped.
    Forge watched with disbelief as one of the gutless politicians stood. He froze as the moment of his impending demise stretched timelessly before him.
    Three more politicians stood. The clap became a spatter, then a stamp, then a broadside. Forge’s support crumbled then, as Edwin Karver sensed the mood and joined the peaceful protest, it plummeted. Forge felt the dagger of failure plunge into his gut. Karver had turned against him. It was a disaster.
    The power of each clap shook the chamber to its foundations. Forge could feel the force of the assembly’s collective rejection through his boots. He was trapped. He didn't have any choice. Utterly humiliated, he walked out .
    Each salvo of claps whipped at