by David Weber
Unfortunately, young Hamish had inherited the White Haven temper from his father in all its glory. The First Space Lord’s ability to totally demolish some unfortunate soul with a handful of carefully chosen, icily furious words was famous throughout the service. Hamish had the same gift, and one fine day, when Janacek could no longer hide behind the protective rampart of his superior rank and Article Twenty’s prohibition of actions or language “of an insubordinate nature, tending to undermine the authority of a superior officer,” Hamish Alexander was going to demonstrate that to him in full. Roger only wished he could be a fly on the wall when it happened.
Even more unfortunately, Hamish and Sonja were already equal in rank, which took Article Twenty off the table in her case. Worse, the two of them had known one another since childhood, and Roger was of the opinion that they’d probably had their first fight in a kindergarten sandbox.
Be fair, he scolded himself. The real problem is that he thinks she’s a “panacea merchant.” He’s not the only one, either, and the fact that she can’t tell him what’s really going on in Jonas’ shop isn’t making things any better. Whatever her other failings, she takes her security clearance and its restrictions seriously, God bless her ornery little soul, which forces her to talk in generalities, rather than specifics, in public. Her frustration quotient’s getting bigger, too, now that she sees all those tantalizing possibilities she can’t talk about, which is undermining whatever effort towards tactfulness she might otherwise make. In fact, that’s probably what set this one off, and in some ways I can’t really blame her. But if this keeps up, or gets even worse, a lot of people are going to start sharing Hamish’s opinion, and that really could be a problem farther down the line.
Lieutenant Commander Alexander was already recognized as one of the more capable—and sneakier—tacticians of his generation. Roger wasn’t certain he was going to develop into an equally good strategist, but he had hopes. In addition to one of the most beautiful and glamorous wives in the entire Star Kingdom, Alexander had a scalpel-sharp, analytical brain and a deep and abiding interest in history. It was abundantly clear that he was one of the Queen’s officers who recognized the long-term threat potential of the People’s Republic of Haven, as well, and there were still far fewer of those than Roger could have wished . . . especially on Havinghurst’s staff. He was too well aware of proper military discipline to publically voice his opinions of his nominal boss’s intelligence analyses, however, and fortunately he worked directly for Rear Admiral Trenton Shu at Planning and Development, responsible for analyzing, developing, and disseminating operational and tactical doctrine. That kept him out of Havinghurst’s hair (and vice-versa) on a daily basis and also insulated him and Janacek from one another at least somewhat.
Unfortunately, his very interest in history made him far more conservative than Hemphill where the potential for a true technological “equalizer” was concerned, especially without any access to the sorts of projects Adcock’s small, secretive command was contemplating. It wasn’t that Alexander opposed R&D; it was simply that he felt Hemphill had far too much faith in pie-in-the-sky future super weapons which threatened to prevent concentration on the improvement of existing technologies. He’d pointed out more than once that the best was the worst enemy of good enough, and argued that the Navy had to build innovative tactical and operational doctrines around hardware it knew was attainable if it was going to confront an opponent like the PRH. It couldn’t afford to depend on stumbling across some radical transformation of war-fighting technology which had somehow managed to elude the rest of the galaxy for the past couple of T-centuries; instead (as he’d told Sonja on more than one scathing occasion), the emphasis should be on improvement of known technologies. Pure, speculative R&D had a place in his view, but primary emphasis should be placed on applied research to provide the greatest possible qualitative edge in existing offensive and defensive systems.
The problem, Roger thought, is that we need both of them because both of them are making very valid arguments. Sonja really is too convinced she’s going to come up with a silver bullet if she just throws enough ideas at the bulkhead until one of them sticks. She’s not interested in how we get the best use out of the systems we’ve already got, because she’s so confident she’s going to be able to replace them with something so much better. And Hamish is too stubborn—and smart, and outside the loop of what we’re looking at over here—to pin his hopes on something that may well never materialize. No wonder the two of them are at each other’s throats! But at least he doesn’t think Sonja’s a cretin with delusions of godhood the way he sees Janacek. Or not yet, anyway. I suppose that’s always subject to change if this . . . spirited discussion of theirs goes on long enough.
“So what are you going to do about them?” he asked.
His tone darkened with the question. It was a small thing, but Adcock knew him well and gave him a sudden, sharp look. Roger saw it and shrugged with a crooked smile. There was a reason he’d asked Adcock what he was going to do about it instead of asking what they were going to do about it.
“There’s not much I can do about young Alexander, since he’s not under my command,” Adcock pointed out after a moment. “For that matter, I doubt he and I have even spoken to one another more than three or four times, so I can hardly sit him down and ‘reason’ with him on any personal basis.” He shrugged. “I have talked to Sonja . . . again. And she promises to behave better—hah! What she means is she’ll try to behave better for at least a couple of weeks, but then she’s going to get buried in something and step on somebody’s toes—again—without even realizing she’s done it. And I’m going to try to make the fact that we’re losing Sebastian back to fleet duty an advantage. I’ll have him sit down and ‘counsel’ her—bluntly—before he leaves. Maybe that’ll keep her on the straight and narrow at least long enough for Stovalt to settle in at his desk before he has to separate any fractious children!”
Roger nodded, Commander Gerald Stovalt was Admiral Lomax’s hand-picked successor to Sebastian D’Orville. He was older than D’Orville, although young enough to have received prolong, and Dame Carrie obviously hoped his calmer personality would be an asset as Adcock’s executive officer. Roger didn’t think Hemphill was the only reason Lomax thought a calmer personality might be in order, but she had to be one of the reasons.
And at least Dame Carrie’s not going to have to play hide-the-pea about our shop much longer, he reminded himself, reaching up to scratch Monroe’s ears as the treecat leaned against the side of his neck. With Low Delhi gone at BuShips, Truman retired, and Havinghurst on her way out at ONI, the internal politics are going to be a lot smoother at Admiralty House. Now if only we could convince Parliament to at least open its damned eyes!
Unfortunately, not even the fact that the People’s Republic had acquired two new member star systems in the last half T-year alone, neither of whom had joined remotely voluntarily, seemed capable of getting through to the Star Kingdom’s career politicians. The intelligence reports Roger was seeing on the pacification measures adopted in the Rutgers System were enough to turn a man’s stomach, but that wasn’t enough to awaken Parliament’s sense of urgency. Oh, heavens, no! In his darker moments, he was beginning to wonder if anything could accomplish that miracle.
Well, that’s why we’re a monarchy, Rog, he told himself. I guess it’s going to be up to you to do the waking up, one way or the other. And, he thought more grimly, whatever it takes.
Monroe made a soft, distressed sound in his ear as he picked up the emotions which went with that thought, and Roger stroked the ’cat’s head gently.
“May I ask how your mother is?”
Adcock’s voice was quiet, and Roger looked at him sharply. The captain looked back, then twitched his head in Monroe’s direction.
Of course. Jonas has been around us long enough to read the two of us like a book, hasn’t he?
“Not good,” he admitted in an equally quiet voice. “We’re t
rying to keep it as quiet as we can, but she’s not responding well.” His jaw tightened. “Damn it, Jonas! She’s not even eighty, and we’ve got the best medical establishment in the damned galaxy just through the Junction at Beowulf!”
Adcock nodded silently, and Roger felt a flush of shame. Jonas was fifty-eight already, himself . . . and without prolong he had perhaps another forty years of life left to look forward to.
“I’m sure they are doing their best, Roger,” the other man said after a moment. “Sometimes that isn’t good enough, but it’s still the best they can do.”
“I know, and I shouldn’t complain, either. I know that, too.” Roger summoned a smile which was only slightly off center. “Knowing doesn’t help, sometimes, though.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Adcock agreed. “And from a purely selfish viewpoint, I’m going to really miss you around here.”
“I’m going to miss being around here.”
Roger looked around the small, cluttered office which still housed Adcock’s files and desk and very little else. At least they’d be able to move him and the rest of the shop into better quarters. Too bad Roger wasn’t going to get to make the move with them. Unfortunately . . .
“If I could figure out away to avoid it, I would,” he continued, looking back at Adcock. “But, as Mom’s always said, it comes with the nice house and all the servants.”
“I suppose it does.”
Adcock snorted gently, although the joke wasn’t as funny as it once had been—or as it was going to become in about another three planetary months, for that matter, when he started having to deal with those self-same servants any time he wanted to visit his sister. Still, little though he knew Roger would have enjoyed hearing it, there were upsides from his perspective to Roger’s effective retirement. He hated the fact that it was his mother’s failing health which was forcing the crown prince who’d also become one of the closest friends he’d ever had to take up his full-time political duties so soon, and he hated how much he knew Roger was going to miss active duty. Yet having an experienced naval officer, one who was fully committed to bolstering the Star Kingdom’s defensive posture, effectively running the government from Mount Royal Palace was going to have a salutary effect on the battle Jonas Adcock had been fighting for so long. And on a more personal level—
“And where,” he asked in a deliberately brisker voice, “is that gadabout sister of mine? I thought she was supposed to be dragging you off to lunch?”
“And so she is.” Roger checked his chrono. “I might point out, however, that while she isn’t quite as compulsive about clock-watching as you are, she still has over four full minutes before she’s late. The odds are that she’s—”
The opening door interrupted him, and he turned with a smile as Angelique Adcock and his sister Caitrin came through it.
“You cheated!” Adcock said indignantly, standing to greet the two women and bowing respectfully to Princess Caitrin. “Security told you they were on the way up, didn’t they?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Roger’s innocent expression would have done justice to any lawyer, con man, politician, newsie, or other professional liar. Unfortunately, he couldn’t quite hold it when Monroe plucked the almost invisible earbug out of his right ear and held it up for all to see.
“Traitor!” he told the treecat as Monroe bleeked in amusement, and Angelique hit him on the ’cat-less shoulder.
“You did so cheat,” she told him firmly. “And you promised me all those security people wouldn’t spy on me for you!”
“They didn’t,” he said virtuously, putting his arm around her and kissing her firmly. “They were spying on Caitrin!” He shook his head, brown eyes gleaming at his sister. “They’ve been spying on her for us ever since she discovered boys.”
Angelique laughed, but there was an edge to the laughter, and he hugged her a bit tighter in acknowledgment. She still wasn’t really comfortable with the notion of becoming his queen, given all the monumental changes it would demand of her. She was one of Gryphon’s most respected forestry experts, in constant demand for the forest regeneration and management concerns of the planet’s huge (and hugely profitable) ski resorts, and she was never happier than when she was outdoors doing something in wind and weather. Which was probably a good thing for him, he admitted. He’d always enjoyed sports, but he’d spent far too much of his life in artificial environments since graduating from Saganami Island. Angelique had dragged his sorry butt back out into the open air, though, and he’d shared his rediscovered youthful passion for grav skiing with her, while she’d shown him the joys of forest hikes, camping trips, and whitewater kayaks.
Of course, the two of them couldn’t enjoy those camping trips as much as they might have, given who he was and the intense watchfulness of Palace Security and the Queen’s Own, and Angelique wasn’t quite able to hide her awareness of that, however gamely she tried. And that, he conceded unhappily, was a problem which wasn’t going away. The knowledge that the position of Queen Consort of Manticore was a full-time job that would leave no time or space for the career she’d built and loved was a heavy price to pay, and he knew it. In fact, he hated asking her to pay it almost as much as she did the thought of paying it . . . just as he knew the pervasive presence of her own security detail was part of her discomfort with the entire notion. It underscored the monumental change which would envelop her—and which would never release her, for the remainder of her life—when she married him in one hundred and three days.
“Well, I hope you’ve enjoyed reading their reports, brother mine,” Caitrin told him now. “And I hope you realize Mom was keeping an eye on you, too. Of course, she’d never’ve shared those reports with me. But I always was a better hacker than you, wasn’t I?”
She smiled sweetly, and Roger reached out his other arm to give her a hug, as well. She and Angelique had become fast friends, and he knew he owed a lot of Angelique’s eventual willingness to accept his proposal of marriage to that friendship. Despite the decade-plus difference in their ages—Angelique was actually a T-year older than Roger—Caitrin had been her sponsor, confidante, mentor, and bulwark as she found herself thrust into the very highest levels of Manticoran society. And whether or not Angelique would ever admit it to Roger—or any other member of the human race—she was deeply grateful Caitrin had agreed to delay her own marriage to Edward Henke, the Earl of Gold Peak for over six T-months. The Star Kingdom of Manticore wasn’t accustomed to double weddings in the royal family, but they weren’t unheard of, either, and Roger knew Angelique would take enormous comfort from having Caitrin endure the ordeal right beside her.
Of course, “ordeal” is hardly the right word for how Katie’s going to be feeling about it, Roger thought with a grin.
Palace Security most emphatically did not report to him on his sister’s love life, although he was depressingly well aware that Security knew everything about everyone in the royal family, including who was sleeping with whom. On the other hand, he knew his sister well. Unlike Angelique, Caitrin thrived on social events and affairs, and she would be delighted to . . . regularize her relationship with young Gold Peak, too.
“Well,” he said out loud, turning back to Adcock with a smug expression as he extended one elbow to each of the women, “it would seem there are some advantages to becoming an idle civilian, after all.” He elevated his nose and sniffed loudly. “Unlike those uniformed menials whose ranks I shall soon be departing, I am free to go take a long, slow, luxurious lunch break.” He smiled sweetly. “Should we bring you the leftovers, Sir?”
October 1857 PD
KING ROGER WINTON sailed into the Admiralty House conference room like a thunderstorm, and Jonas Adcock felt a sinking sensation as he absorbed the gale warning signals flying in his brother-in-law’s eyes.
The last couple of months would have tried the patience of a saint, and whatever manifold virtues Roger III of Manticore might possess, sainthood was not amon
g them. He was impeccably polite as he shed the three-man security detail from the King’s Own Regiment—which had been the Queen’s Own, until about six T-weeks ago—at the conference room door, strode to the head of the table, and seated himself. No one was fooled, however; one look at Monroe’s flattened ears and twitching tail was enough to warn even the densest that His Majesty was not amused.
Allen Summervale, the Duke of Cromarty and the Star Kingdom’s new Prime Minister, had followed him through the door. Now he nodded a greeting to the others seated around the table—First Lord Castle Rock, Second Lord Jerome Pearce, First Space Lord White Haven, Second Space Lord Big Sky, Fourth Space Lord Lomax, and sitting at the very foot of the table, monumentally junior to everyone else present, Captain (JG) Jonas Adcock—before he found his own seat and slipped into it.
Roger let Cromarty settle, then smiled (more or less) and planted his forearms firmly on his comfortable chair’s armrests.
“Allen and I have just come from a Cabinet meeting,” he said in a dismayingly pleasant tone. “At that Cabinet meeting, I was informed that while everyone deeply regrets my mother’s death, they’re simply delighted with the superlative degree of training, insight, and experience, gained at her side, which I bring to the Throne. My ministers inform me that Parliament has total faith in my judgment and that my people’s hearts are with me as I take up the weight of government. And I have personal messages from the leaders of every political party promising cooperation and support as I take up the burden of government.”
