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Page 24
Prior to the war, the transit time for an MR from one world to another would have been nearly as long as for a ship. The same lengthy normal space transits were imposed on MRs, sending them out five days before they were permitted to make their first jump into Q-space, leaving three-day intervals between Q-space transits, and emerging three days out from the destination. As in the case of naval vessels, the war had severely shortened the intervals for MRs, if not to the ninety seconds that a ship might now take between jumps. Still, the one-way time between worlds rarely dropped below twelve hours and often exceeded eighteen.
“And there’s nothing we can do to speed the process along,” Ian observed. He had spent the hour since breakfast pacing. “All we can do is wait.”
“Always a large part of the duties of a diplomat, Ian. Patience is not so much a virtue as a necessity. Familiarity with one of the meditative disciplines can help.”
“Is that how you manage, sir?”
“Part of my earliest training. A member of the royal family has to get used to this sort of thing even before he starts formal schooling. Anytime a royal is in public, his every word and gesture are examined with a microscope and dissected by the gossipmongers. Even in the nursery, patience was one of the first lessons I had.”
“I’ve noticed the fishbowl effect myself, sir, ever since I signed on as your aide. Antonia has even suggested I wear a disguise when we go out together to avoid people staring and pointing fingers. I don’t think she could get used to it in a thousand years.”
“I suppose you have to be born to it to grow any degree of immunity at all, and even then it is rarely as complete as one would like.”
“It could make a hermit out of an ant.”
William laughed. “I’ll have to remember that one, Ian. Henry will enjoy it immensely.”
“This waiting would be easier if we had some inkling what’s going on, why Ramirez wants new instructions after hearing what his government had to say about … the other thing. You’d think they would have told him of any changes in policy.”
“My guess—and it is no more than a guess—is that partof the message that Ramirez received was ‘Tell them that you need time to send us an MR and receive a reply before you can continue the negotiations.’ A stalling tactic, something to give his government time to decide how they will react to the latest events. And they might have word by now of friend Spencer’s activities and so forth.”
“In other words, we might wait for a considerable time.”
“Perhaps. Or not. There is no way one can know until the wait ends. There is another possibility you might reflect on. Depending on what message the Honorable Yoshi Ramirez receives from his government, it is quite possible—perhaps even likely—that we shall be forced to request a further delay while we seek new instructions from His Majesty’s Government.”
“I have already reflected on that, at some length,” Ian said, not quite with a sigh. “It could go back and forth like that for ages.”
He came to a stop at one of the windows that faced the long courtyard. Somewhere over there, the Federation delegates were staying, and no doubt doing their own waiting. Ian wondered what might be going through their minds, how they were handling the wait. It must be worse for them, knowing about the defeat their forces got on Shepard, he thought. One of their core worlds, part of the heart of the Federation. It would be as if we had let them take Coventry or Lorenzo and keep them.
Ian blinked a couple of times, then turned his back to the window. “I think I’m just beginning to see what it might mean,” he said. William turned his head and looked up. He had been reading from his complink, no doubt the day’s news as provided by the Dirigent communications system.
“Yes?”
“I thought, ‘What if it had been Coventry or Lorenzo?’ “
The prince nodded slowly. “Quite. But I think we should not carry this discussion any farther.”
Ian nodded and turned to look out the window again.
They’re not going to simply surrender and concede everything we want, he thought We wouldn’t have conceded any of their core demands, even without the news about Shepard. They might try to delay the talks until they’ve had a chance to retake it More fighting, more dying. Like many career naval and military officers, Ian hated the idea of war, especially since he had firsthand experience of combat. Be prepared, but hope it never comes. If it does come, do everything you can to bring it to a suitable conclusion as rapidly as possible. His knowledge of war had deepened his loathing for it.
“You know, sir, I can’t help but think that I might do more good for the Commonwealth if I were still in command of a ship on active duty.” Ian turned and took a couple of steps in the direction of Prince William. “I feel guilty being away from it, away from what I’ve spent my entire adult life training for.”
“I know how you feel, Ian.” William set his complink aside. “You probably wouldn’t credit it if I told you how many times I have asked His Majesty to let me return to active duty. My little junket with you and Admiral Truscott is the closest he has permitted me to get to that, for various reasons that I understand even though I have argued against them at length. Our circumstances are not quite the same, but they are similar. If it is any consolation, you are a great help to me. You keep my mind working. You recall things I might forget You give me an invaluable second perspective. And I expect that what you see and hear here will provide equally invaluable to the CSF. Even if this war might be in its final stages, there is still the future to think about. We’ll need trained minds to help transfer the lessons we’ve learned.”
“When this war ends, people will be so tired of the fighting and the expense that they won’t even want to think about the CSF and the army for a generation,” Ian said. “They’ll say, ‘Put the money where it will do some good for a change.’ “
“Some will, but it is a matter of making certain thatwiser counsels prevail. That too will be up to those of us, such as you and I, who have been there and seen what can happen.”
“You take everything in stride, don’t you, sir?”
“One tries. It’s bags better than battering one’s skull against a wall until it’s bloody every time that the universe does not cooperate by fulfilling one’s dreams and wishes. After all, the universe is rarely so accommodating.”
Prince William was not nearly as patient as he appeared, but the show was the important thing. He hid his impatience, and gave his mind free rein, letting it visit the possibilities from every angle he could imagine. Most of the scenarios were so far removed from being realistic that the game—as he viewed it—was generally relaxing. It was also helpful as a preparatory exercise. Nothing he might hear was as likely to surprise him if he had considered far more outrageous versions.
He involved himself with the minutiae of everything he did during the wait. His mind was able to grab any detail and work it The techniques of self-distraction came easily to him. Life at court had been excellent training for this sort of task. For a time that morning, watching Ian was amusing, diversionary. When it became more annoying than distracting, the prince merely retired to his room. He showered and changed clothes, then came out ready for lunch.
During the afternoon, William occupied himself with an essay on the art of waiting, writing in quick spurts, then going back to revise. He fancied himself as a rather proficient essayist, even if few of his essays were ever read by another human being. “Waiting” was a frequent topic of his literary musings.
The later the afternoon became, the more intently William focused on what he was doing, shutting out all possible distractions, even from within his own mind. It worked exceptionally well. He was totally surprised when Ian came to remind him that dinner would be served inforty-five minutes. William always wanted that much time to prepare for a meal.
He leaned back and stretched, as if he were waking from restful slumber instead of just relaxing after more than four hours of concentrated mental activity.
“I’ll make the calls, sir. Are you set on those two, or should I find others if one or both can’t make it?”
William shrugged. “I’d prefer those two, I think, but I would like a couple of rubbers even if they can’t make it. But if you do get them, you might also ask them to share dinner with us, if they haven’t already made other plans. A little company should help us both keep from fretting about other things.”
“You don’t seem to be having much trouble, sir.”
The prince merely smiled.
The commanding officer of a regiment in the DMC could never consider himself completely off duty, even in garrison. With five thousand-plus men under his command, something could always go wrong that would require his attention—even if only for the few seconds necessary to make a decision or refer the question to the proper staff officer. And the colonels were always linked to headquarters and various staff departments, radios always set to receive any call.
Edmund Tritesse and Joseph Marinetto did not lug around bulky combat helmets. The radio gear they used in garrison hung inconspicuously from their belts under the dress tunics they wore when they came to Prince William’s suite for the card game that evening. Small studs that appeared to be part of the decoration of the standing collars on the tunics could be lifted off and fitted as earphones. The microphones were attached to the knots in the officers’ ties and rested against their throats.
The units were no secret. Marinetto had been quite free about showing Ian his. “The higher one goes in the DMC,”he had said at the time, “the tighter the leash one must wear. I have a comm unit either on my person or within reach at all times.”
“I suppose it’s not much different in any organization in our line of country,” Ian had replied. “Perhaps the DMC carries it a bit farther than the CSF. Even when I had command of a battlecruiser, there were times when I might be more than arm’s length from a complink. But there was always a duty officer who knew how to reach me within seconds.”
Colonel Tritesse joined Ian and Prince William for dinner. Colonel Marinetto arrived after the meal. The four of them played a half dozen rubbers of bridge. There was no switching of partners between rubbers. Ian and the prince took on the two Dirigenters. The colonels held their own. The scores were fairly even, going with the break of the cards rather than with any serious breaches in play.
Bridge was one pastime that could almost always keep Ian’s mind from wandering to other concerns. He took pride in his game even though it had been years since he had enjoyed the leisure to be able to compete in the frequent duplicate bridge tournaments held on Buckingham, both within the CSF and in civilian venues. By the end of the first rubber, Ian had almost managed to forget the frustrations of waiting to hear what new instructions the Federation delegation might receive before the next plenary session in the peace talks.
Both sides were vulnerable in the sixth rubber. It was near midnight. There was a light haze of smoke in the room from the Dirigentan cigars that both colonels had puffed on incessantly since the start of the session. Ian and the prince had each accepted one cigar, and had made do. Neither was accustomed to the tobacco habit, though both had had an occasional smoke before. It was not common on Buckingham. The four men were also into their second bottle of brandy.
Ian dealt and opened one spade. Tritesse doubled. Prince
William passed. Marinetto bid three hearts. That was all the colonels needed. They had a part score of 30. Ian did not blink as he bid three spades. With his hand, it was a dangerous overbid without any encouragement from his partner. But Tritesse immediately bid four hearts and that was the final contract.
Ian led the ace and king of spades. When Prince William showed a singleton spade, Ian cashed the ace of diamonds, then led a low spade to let his partner trump it. When William led back the king of diamonds and Marinetto followed suit, Ian relaxed. The contract was defeated.
Tritesse, dummy for the hand, slid his chair away from the table, then stood and turned away. It was not disgust at seeing his partner go down, but a call that had come in. He was back in place before the final trick of the hand. The colonels ended up down two tricks. Tritesse waited until the last trick was collected before he spoke.
“A message was relayed to me from Space Traffic Control,” he said as he offered the cards for a cut. “The MR that the Secretary of State has been waiting for has arrived. The message chip is being collected now. Secretary Ramirez will have it shortly after breakfast.”
The hand Tritesse dealt was the last of the evening. The colonels had a small slam in no trump but only bid the two no trump they needed for game and rubber.
“I believe it is time we bid you good night, Your Highness,” Tritesse said after the score had been tallied. “His Excellency the Secretary of State might be prepared for a meeting after he reads whatever instructions his government have sent him.”
“One can only hope,” William said, also rising. “I want to thank you both for an excellent evening. Perhaps one day I shall be able to offer you the hospitality of my home on Buckingham.”
“God willing,” Tritesse said with a nod. “It would give me great pleasure, sir.”“I wish we could find out what the message is before morning,” Ian said after the colonels had left. “The good guys in the adventure vids always seem to manage.”
• • •
William laughed. “Fantasy is often more satisfying than reality. Adventure vids. You’re exposing your secrets.”
“Can’t have a diet of just Shakespeare and Chaucer, sir.”
“Well, we shall simply have to wait until Ramirez is ready to tell us what their new position is, if there is a new position. There is always the chance that his instructions are merely to continue stalling because their government need additional time to decide how to respond.”
Ian shook his head. “I think I’ll need a patch to get to sleep tonight.”
“If you can’t drop off straightaway, you should,” William said, the humor leaving his voice. “If we do have a plenary session tomorrow, you’ll want a clear head for it.”
There was no morning session, but there was one after lunch. The General presided, as he had at the first meeting.
“I understand that His Excellency the Secretary of State for the Confederation of Human Worlds has a statement that he would like to make at this time,” General Partifinay said after a round of ritual greetings. “If you have no objection, Your Highness?”
“No objection, sir,” Prince William said quickly. “We are most anxious to hear His Excellency’s statement.”
Yoshi Ramirez stood slowly. “My government has instructed me to say the following: ‘There can be no agreement concerning any end of hostilities between the Confederation of Human Worlds and the worlds of the illegal coalition calling itself the Second Commonwealth without the return of any worlds that may have been captured during hostilities.’ “Ramirez looked up from the script he had read, nodded to the General, and sat back down.
Partifinay looked toward Prince William. “Do you wish to respond to that statement now, Your Highness, or would you prefer to consult with your government first?”
William stood. “I would appreciate a slight clarification, sir. Does the Confederation of Human Worlds agree that such repatriation must be reciprocal? Will they be bound by that condition as well?”
“That is how I interpret the instruction,” Ramirez said without waiting for the General to put it to him.
“The Second Commonwealth certainly has no objection to such a stipulation,” Prince William said before he sat. “If fact, we welcome it, so long as it is fully bilateral.”
Alvonz Partifinay was silent for a time, looking first at one side and then at the other. Then he cleared his throat and took a drink of water.
“Gentlemen, might I infer that we have arrived—in theory, at least—at a basis for peace b
etween your two governments? That basis being a return to the status quo ante bellum?”
William and Ramirez stared at each other. Then Ramirez switched his gaze to the General and stood again. “My government is prepared to agree to an immediate truce and the mutual cessation of all hostilities, providing that its demand for a return of any captured worlds or portions thereof is agreed to.”
“Your Highness?” Partifinay turned toward William.
The prince stood. “That is certainly acceptable to the government of the Second Commonwealth. And, as soon as a final agreement can be signed, we shall communicate that to our government and to the commanders-in-chief of our various military forces. Due to the complexities of the situation, it will probably be advisable to agree on a specific date and time for the general cease-fire, allowing time for each side to communicate with all forces that might be in a combat situation.”
Ramirez had remained on his feet. He nodded. “That is acceptable to the Confederation of Human Worlds.”
Partifinay also stood. At that, so did the rest of the people in the meeting hall.
“I will have my staff prepare the documents immediately,” the General said. “I expect that they will be ready for your perusal within the hour. If the terms are acceptable as drafted, it should be possible to set the time for the formal end to the fighting no later than forty-eight hours following the signing of the documents by the respective plenipotentiaries. Gentlemen, you have done a good job of work. I thank you all for your diligent efforts to achieve an honorable peace. Once the fighting has stopped, your governments are welcome to return here to continue talks aiming at a permanent solution to your remaining differences. Once each side has had time to examine the truce documents, and providing that they are acceptable to both sides, I would suggest that we return here for the formal signing.”