“I’m pretty sure that’s included in my job description, yes,” Romanov deadpanned. “What do you need?”
“Mingle with the Marines,” Damien told him. “Storm has been on station for almost two years. We’ve been cycling the crew and the Marine contingent for leave and regular promotions, but the units have been here.
“I want your assessment of…” He tried to find the best way to phrase it. “Where their loyalties lie, Denis. I don’t think things are that rough with the Council, but if our envoy is feeling threatened, I’m not prepared to write it off as nerves yet, either.”
“And you want to know that the Marines on hand will back her up,” the Guard commander summarized. “I can do that, my lord.”
“I trust your judgment, Denis,” Damien told his bodyguard. “But I need that assessment.”
“First job is keeping you safe,” Romanov reminded him. “Second job is helping you do yours. We’ll poke around, but most of us are staying right here.”
“You know your job better than I do,” the Lord Regent said. “But I don’t expect to be stormed by a company of rogue Marines today. I’m concerned about what those Marines might do—or not do—if the Council were to kidnap our envoy.”
“Ears to the ground, sir,” Romanov promised. “Now go do the diplomatting. Somebody’s got to—and better you than me!”
The conversation hadn’t been long enough to cause any noticeable delay. Kiera and Velasquez had just acquired drinks from an automated side bar and took seats at the small table set up for this meeting.
“My schedule says we’re meeting with the Committee on Constitutional Balances in a little under two hours,” Damien noted as he took a coffee for himself. It smelled acceptable, at least, if far from the standard he preferred.
“That’s the group that generally refuses to talk to me,” Velasquez said grimly. “The rules defining the balance of power between Mage-King and Council.”
“Wait, you’re our representative in the drafting of the Constitution, and you’re not even talking about what powers rest with the Mage-King versus the legislatures?” Damien asked.
Not least, the last set of notes he had from Desmond suggested that the Council, in its current form, was going to be dissolved and replaced by a dual-house system of elected representatives.
“My focus has been on the financing structures and the inter-member relationships sections of the document,” she admitted. “I have a staff of four, Lord Regent, and I’m negotiating with over a hundred Councilors. They’ve split things up into committees on various components to make it easier, but the truth is that this was an intentional division of labor between His Majesty and myself.
“The Council just doubled down by scheduling the meetings of the Committee on Constitutional Balances at times I could not attend initially, and then declaring that they’d only discuss their proposals with Desmond.”
“Which means that we have no input on those proposals, only a veto,” Damien concluded.
“Unfortunately, yes,” she confirmed.
Damien glanced over at Kiera, who subtly nodded to him. She was thinking what he was thinking.
“That won’t be acceptable going forward,” he told her. “We’ll expand your staff as rapidly as we can, but you need to be sitting in on those meetings. We’ll start with the one this afternoon,” he concluded with a smile.
“Of course, my lord,” Velasquez allowed. “That may be convenient, as I understand today’s meeting is mostly to bring the two of you up to speed on where the proposals for the legislature and judiciary currently are.”
“Good.” Damien paused thoughtfully. “Now, to your comment earlier. You implied that you don’t feel safe on Council Station.”
“The only armed personnel on the Station are Council Lictors,” Velasquez told him. “That’s fine in theory, but recently I swear I’m being followed…by Lictors. They’re theoretically just cops, but…”
Damien exchanged a glance with Kiera.
The Lictors were more than cops, really. They were responsible for the security of the Council and Council Station. They’d staffed the defenses before those defenses had proven obsolete. While the attack had cost them lives and reputation alike, they were still granted a monopoly on weapons on the station by long tradition.
“I’ll see what I can arrange,” Damien promised. “Now is not the time to toss aside more of the Council’s privileges.” He took a sip of his coffee while he thought things through, then smiled.
“An unarmed Marine Corps Combat Mage, however, should more than suffice to guarantee your safety,” he concluded. The rules said nothing about Mages, after all, and that was the usual compromise with the Royal Guard when the Mage-King had come aboard.
Not to mention that any Hand present on the station could dismantle the entire strength of the Lictors if given a few minutes’ warning. The ban on armed Martian personnel was a gesture, not an actual guarantee of safety.
Not least right now, when a fifty-megaton battleship orbited barely fifty thousand kilometers from the station.
“That should help,” Velasquez agreed. “Thank you, my lord, Your Majesty.”
“More to the point of today, though, I’d like you to brief us on where we’re at with the parts of the Constitution you have been handling,” Damien told her. “What’s most critical?”
“The most important part to all of this is the funding arrangement,” she answered instantly. “We’re pretty much locked in on that. All of the prior bilateral funding agreements will be phased out over five years and replaced by a new, Protectorate-wide income tax levied as a percentage of the system’s gross domestic product.
“The Constitution leaves the exact final form of the tax up to the local government, but the expectation is…”
17
“Councilor Granger, it’s good to see you again,” Damien greeted the Tau Cetan Councilor again. Granger was the head of the Committee on Constitutional Balances. Eight other Councilors made up the rest of the Committee, each taking their seats around Granger on their side of a wide table.
On the other side, there was Kiera, Damien, Velasquez and two of Velasquez’s staffers taking minutes.
“Lord Regent.” Granger gestured at Velasquez. “I believe there has been a mistake here. The Envoy is not part of these particular discussions.”
“That has now changed,” Damien said calmly. “Envoy Velasquez has our full confidence and will now be attending all major Committee meetings of the Constitutional Convention.”
“We can’t arrange the entire Convention around the schedule of one woman,” Granger objected.
“Then you will not have the Mountain’s assent on the document you produce and will have to start again,” Damien told the Councilor calmly. “This isn’t negotiable, Suresh.”
“We are not here to be bullied,” another Councilor interjected. Damien recognized the redheaded woman with the pale skin as Gol Abbasi, the representative for the Eridani System—technically the Epsilon Eridani System, but the first word was usually dropped. Another Core System, which brought an interesting point to mind.
There were eleven Core World Systems represented in the Council. Eleven among one hundred Councilors—and four of those eleven Councilors were on this committee.
“It is not practical for Kiera Alexander or myself to be here as often as Desmond the Third was,” Damien replied. “I must also remind you that we are not Desmond, either. While we will honor his agreements and discussions around the document we are attempting to draft, we are not necessarily going to approach that drafting the same way.
“Velasquez speaks for Mars. I can make that more formal, if you wish,” he told them. Velasquez was a diplomat, not a Voice. She did not formally and metaphorically speak with the voice of the Mage-Queen in the same way someone carrying a Warrant or a Hand did.
“That will not be necessary,” the Councilor for Sherwood interjected, Angus Neil turning a concerned glance on his compatriots. “We
would rather this not become a combative process.”
“Of course, of course,” Granger conceded. “We are all familiar with each other here, I believe? Do you have any concerns you or Her Majesty wish raised before we begin, my lord?”
Damien smiled.
“I think we’ve already addressed my one request and concern,” he told them. “Otherwise, perhaps you could explain just what the ‘Committee on Constitutional Balances’ is responsible for?”
“It is a meaningless mouthful, isn’t it?” Granger conceded. “From our perspective, Lord Regent, this committee is probably doing the most important work involved in drafting the Constitution.
“That Desmond the Third was working directly with us showed that he shared that opinion,” the Tau Ceti Councilor continued.
“This Committee is responsible for laying out the proposals of the division of power between the legislative, executive and judicial branches of the government of the reformed Protectorate—and for establishing the framework for the legislative and judicial branches.”
Granger’s smile seemed unusually fake to Damien at that.
“We are forced to presume that the structure of the executive branch, the Mage-King—Mage-Queen now—and their Hands and Voices, will not change.”
“I see,” Damien noted noncommittally. That lined up with the notes he had from Desmond, though those notes had also included several complete and agreed-on proposals to cover most of that structure.
“We are currently drafting the final proposals on judicial appointment as well as the structure of the legislature,” Angus Neil interjected. “There are several competing discussions around that point, which we hope to have resolved before we present a proposal for Her Majesty’s review and assent.”
Damien had to almost physically bite his tongue to stay silent. Something wasn’t right here.
The legislative structure had been approved by Desmond. Damien had seen the summary files himself. It was possible that he’d misread what Desmond had sent him or misjudged where they were in the process.
So, he remained silent and noncommittal.
“The current proposals around the legislature revolve around a similar structure to the current council, with senior representatives appointed by the planetary governors and a body of junior legislators elected by the general populace,” Granger told Damien.
“We’re still sorting out the exact structure of power between the senior and junior legislators, of course, which ties into the process around judicial appointments.
“To date, the interstellar judiciary has been very much the province of the Mage-King with no restriction or limitation,” he noted. “It behooves us to recognize that the Mage-Queen’s predecessors have leaned heavily on the planetary judiciaries as a source of both candidates and recommendations and that this informal advice-and-appointment structure has worked for over two hundred years.
“Most of the proposals we are currently going through call for the Mage-Queen to retain her current position of choosing the Star Court judges and the Supreme Court judges. It seems reasonable, however, for the new legislature to have approval of the justices who will speak to interstellar law. Currently, we are leaning towards that being primarily or entirely in the hands of the elected junior representatives.”
Damien was still remaining silent. All of that was mostly in line with what he knew Desmond had agreed to, but the proposal Desmond had agreed to put the power of assent in the hands of the senior legislature—a legislature that most definitely did not have anyone appointed by their Governors but also a legislature that was assigned one representative per planet as a shield against the Core Worlds’ greater population.
One of Desmond’s key concerns had been making sure that the MidWorlds and Fringe didn’t get squeezed out by the fact that half the Protectorate’s population was in the Core Worlds. The structure Granger was describing failed to meet that standard…and the proposals Damien thought his King had agreed to did.
As Granger passed the floor to the Councilor for Eridani to start talking about the power of the purse, the Lord Regent realized he needed to go over Desmond’s notes in detail. It was possible he’d missed something and the proposals hadn’t been agreed to.
But it was looking like the Council was using Desmond’s death to try to reset entire swathes of the negotiations.
18
“Okay, Damien, spill,” Kiera ordered once they were back in the secured conference center. “Your poker face isn’t bad, but you learned it from my father. I know that mask.”
Damien bowed his head to her as he crossed to the autobar. “Give me a moment,” he asked.
The machine poured a coffee. Damien then studied the side bar for several moments before using magic to lift the bottles and add a hefty dollop of first cream and then rum to the drink. He wouldn’t do that to good coffee, but while the Navy’s coffee was drinkable, it wasn’t good by the standards of the coffee he preferred.
Normally, he at least pretended to hold a cup in his hand, using magic to provide the grip his barely moving digits couldn’t. At that moment, he didn’t bother. He used magic to lift the cup to his lips, the focus of using power helping to clear his mind and stabilize his thoughts.
“My lord?” Velasquez finally asked.
“You weren’t being briefed on Desmond’s negotiations with that Committee,” Damien replied after another sip of the doctored coffee. “I’m not certain why he agreed to that, but that was his choice to make.
“Fascinatingly, I was being briefed,” he continued. “Or, at least, copied on the updates he was giving Des. My own absence from Mars meant my true briefings were few and far between, so I’m restricted to recordings and diary entries.”
“But you knew what he was talking with them about?” the envoy asked.
“Exactly. I thought I knew what proposals had been agreed to between him and the Committee on a number of items.” He shook his head. “Most notably, I am certain that a proposal had been written by the Committee and both reviewed and approved by Desmond the Third with regards to the structure of the new legislature.”
“Oh.” Velasquez sounded more tired than surprised.
“I’m guessing one that doesn’t involve the Governors continuing to handpick their reps,” Kiera said calmly. “That was one of the things Dad wanted to throw in the trash can of history. We can’t force the Governors to stand for election, but we can tell them they need to send us elected officials.”
“The only thing that was really left for discussion around the structure of the legislature was who held final responsibility for the new agency we’d have to build to support the elections,” Damien told her.
“The proposal I saw was for a bicameral legislature: a Martian Parliament of one thousand elected Members, allocated at a minimum of one per planet, and then one per hundred million citizens after that, combined with a Senate of one Senator per system.”
He grimaced. He was remembering it better as he thought about it, and the more he thought about it, the more he was certain Desmond had signed off on that proposal as final.
“Election terms—two years and ten years—and term limits had been included, the judicial appointment review was with the Senate and the power of purse was with the Parliament.
“I don’t know if it’s a perfect system, but its one that makes sense and tries to balance the Core Worlds against the rest of the Protectorate, as well as balancing an entirely elected legislature against the power of the Mage-Queen of Mars.”
“And that balance is necessary,” the Mage-Queen in question stated firmly. “We cannot continue to rely on our ability to produce moral and upstanding monarchs worthy of the trust the Charter placed in them.”
“The intent wasn’t for them to be worthy of that trust,” Damien pointed out. “The intent was for Desmond the First to get the rest of humanity to sit down and listen to him and his descendants.
“We’re past that point now, and the system needs some refinin
g to avoid it becoming the unilateral dictatorship that Desmond the First ran it as. His was a mostly benevolent dictatorship, but let’s not be blind to the fact that your father and grandfather both softened the structure of power they inherited.
“The Charter sets up a constitutional monarchy, yes, but inside those limits the Mage-Kings were absolute rulers,” he concluded. “Everything else was by choice. And your father chose to formalize that.”
“We have to,” she repeated. “What purpose is our Protectorate if we do not protect people? Even from ourselves.”
“Thank you,” he murmured. “We need to go back over all of Desmond’s notes and briefings. I think we can safely assume that anything where Velasquez has been actively involved won’t have changed, but I think the Committees might be assuming that our side will have lost continuity where Desmond was in charge.”
“That raises some very uncomfortable questions, my lord, Your Majesty,” Velasquez said quietly. “If they’re taking advantage of his death…did they present proposals they knew he’d accept that they didn’t expect to have to honor?”
The room was silent for a long time, and Damien took several long gulps of his rum and coffee before using magic to set the cup aside.
“You think they knew he was going to die?” he asked.
“It doesn’t make sense, though,” she replied. “It was an accident, yes? I haven’t heard anything else!”
“Neither have I, yet,” Damien allowed. “But this isn’t helping the paranoid itch between my shoulder blades. I want to say that I can trust Granger, that I can trust Neil or Ayodele or the others. At the least, I want to say I can trust the damn Loyalists not to have murdered the King they aimed to support.”
“If they were hoping to take advantage of the confusion of my father’s death, they must fail,” Kiera said grimly. “Were we supposed to see any proposals today?”
“A couple of freshly finalized ones are supposed to be presented this evening,” Velasquez told her. “I sat on the committees for them. I mean, we’re talking tariff rights and the role of the Hands in interstellar disputes. Most of this was pretty cut and dried from the beginning—the Council wanted to transfer certain powers from the Hands to the courts, and His Majesty was never going to let that happen.”
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