Free Retreat Hell by Christopher Nuttall

the peace and so persistently refused to pass judgement (such measures were forbidden by the social scientists on Earth) that the net result was that all ethnic groups came to loathe the Empire more than their fellows.
    - Professor Leo Caesius.  War in a time of ‘Peace:’ The Empire’s Forgotten Military History.
    “There doesn't seem to be any choice,” Suzanne said.  “We do have a legal obligation to send assistance, if requested.”
    Councillor Gordon Travis glared down at the coffee cup in his hand, silently cursing the timing.  He’d gone so far as to check and recheck the message, half-hoping to find proof that the whole affair had been faked by someone with a vested interest in undermining his position.  But there was nothing ... and besides, he had to admit, Colonel Stalker wasn't the type of person to fake a message just to interfere with the political system he'd designed.  No, the request for help was real.  But the timing was suspicious as hell.
    He had to admit, when his anger cooled to manageable levels, that both Suzanne and the Colonel were right.  An obligation could not be discarded when it became inconvenient, not if the person who had made the obligation wanted to be trusted in future.  Part of him was tempted to insist on discarding the obligation anyway, but it wouldn't have helped his reputation on Avalon or off-world.  The rest of him remembered the lessons of building a successful business and knew that the obligation had to be honoured.  His political opponents wouldn't hesitate to use it against him during the lead up to the next election.
    “Damn it,” he muttered.
    How many other young men, he asked himself, were going to die on Thule?  He’d read the files carefully and noted, like Colonel Stalker, that the situation was likely to get very bloody very quickly.  Hell, it would take roughly two weeks to get the CEF there, assuming that the formation was ready for instant deployment.  And then ... he gritted his teeth, remembering the moment he’d had to tell his daughters that their brother was dead.  The scene would be repeated in countless more homes on Avalon.  What good did it do to send their young men to Thule to die?
    Suzanne kept wittering on, but he ignored her, tuning out her voice with the ease of long practice.  It was a shame that he even needed a political advisor, but he was expected to manage his business as well as serve as a Councillor and someone had to keep tabs on what the other Councillors were doing.  And yet she was far too careful for his tastes, far too focused on getting him into high officer and keeping him there ... and yet he needed her.  He knew, without false modesty, that his first campaign might well have failed without her assistance.
    “The vote will be taken in twenty minutes,” Gordon said, glancing at his watch.  It had been passed down from his father, who had claimed it dated all the way back to the pre-space era on Earth.  Personally, Gordon suspected his father had lied through his teeth, but there was no doubting that the watch came from humanity’s homeworld.  Humanity’s wrecked homeworld, if the rumours were true.  “And I have to vote, one way or the other.”
    He briefly considered abstaining from the vote.  It could be done, he knew, but he would pay a high price for it.  And if the vote was drawn, he would have to get off the fence and cast the deciding vote, one way or the other.  Either way, he would have to pay the price for abstaining without actually abstaining. 
    “Yes, sir,” Suzanne said.  If she was irked at being so blatantly ignored, then interrupted, she didn't show it.  “I believe you should vote in favour of the deployment.”
    Gordon nodded.  Avalon had given its word – and the Commonwealth had taken it.  There was no choice, not if they wanted to maintain interstellar trust.  Maybe the terms could be renegotiated again, later, but not now.  But he hated it.  How many young men