Princess Valerie's War

by Terry Mancour

  “Your Highness,” the young knight bowed again. “Your Grace,” he said, to Otto, and then “Your Excellency,” to Countess Dorothy. “With your permission, we’ve located a suitable venue for a brief, secure meeting. If you will follow me and the mademoiselle . . .”

  He snapped and silently directed four other Golden Hand guards to fall in around them as they made their way through the crowd that had gathered to see her arrive. Harkaman’s Royal Navy guards followed behind.

  Sir Alexi surveyed the crowd and smiled charmingly. “We’ll begin in just a moment, my friends!” Alexi called to them. “Urgent matters of state, I assure you! Her Highness will be out to enjoy the ball shortly!” That spawned a chorus of groans, but Valerie barely heard them. She was still focused on the news from Marduk.

  The room found by Alexi was none other than Lucas’ own office, his old one from his earliest days on Tanith. It had been locked and sealed years ago, but a Golden Hand guard had unlimited access, and it had taken only moments to reactivate the office screen, turn on the clerical robots, and even start a pot of coffee. Harkaman looked around the room with surprise, remembering many old days when he and Lucas would sit here, sip brandy, smoke cigars, and discuss the future of their new world. He patted an overstuffed chair fondly. “Got this out of one of the finer hotels in Eglonsby, during that first raid,” he sighed.

  “Do you have an emotional attachment to all of your loot?” Countess Dorothy asked, surprised.

  “Some of it,” Otto admitted. “You should come by Harkaman House some time and see my collection.”

  “Sure, as soon as all of the wounded get up and walk home on their own,” scoffed the doctor tiredly. “Do you know how many causalities I’m taking care of right now? I was in the operating room for two days solid. And there’s a four-day waiting period for a real robodoc, and for anything surgical, well, we’re a little backed up.”

  “Well, sometime after that then,” he said, dismissively. “So, Highness, what’s the news?”

  “We’re waiting for Duke Karffard, Mr. Dawes, the Prime Minister, and Duke Valpry,” she said, ticking off the names. “I think that’s all,” she added, hesitantly. Sir Alexi escorted them all into the old office as they arrived, and played host to his superiors while overseeing the security detail that guarded them. When Karffard finally arrived, the last of them to do so, he apologized as he puffed and huffed over to a chair, his formal attire still not quite fastened up.

  “Sorry about that, Highness,” he said, pouring himself a drink. “Had to check with a friend of mine before I came. Business,” he said, unhappily. “So, let’s all see the damned thing together, shall we?” He took a sip of his drink and then called up the message on the screen.

  Ten minutes later, the entire room was seething with anger.

  “This is war!” Harkaman shouted. “I swear by my ancestors going back a thousand years, if—”

  “Admiral!” Valerie said, cutting him short. “I’m as angry as you are, but the fact is the clock is ticking. We have to prepare a response to this – some kind of response to this – and it has to be here and now. Tomorrow might be too late. I’m not going to appear weak to my people after all they have been through, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let them get away with this! So what do we do?”

  “I say we go in with nukes, the whole fleet!” Harkaman said, hotly. “They couldn’t take out all of us before—”

  “That’s impractical for a number of reasons, most of which you could already guess,” Valerie said, impatiently. “We wanted to know who was behind this vendetta, and now we know. The issue at hand is how we respond, at least in theory. I need policy advice, and I need it now. Prime Minister?”

  “It’s war,” Nikkolay Trask said, hoarsely. “It’s unavoidable now. But how do you win a war against a foe so large? I mean, it would only take—”

  “Exactly,” Valerie said. “Which is why I’m soliciting advice. Countess Dorothy? Any thoughts?”

  “I’ve only been around you people for a few years,” she said, uneasily. “But I’m starting to know how you think, which disturbs me a little. In any case, you Sword Worlders seem to have a habit of charging gallantly into battle, hammering at anything around you, and then picking up the pieces. Maybe that was good enough back home fighting against each other, or raiding a low-technology planet, but in the Old Federation, among the Powers, that sort of thing just isn’t going to work.”

  “So what do we do?” Nikkolay asked, despairingly. “This is just what we need,” he added in a grumble.

  “We go to war,” Valerie said, simply. “I mean, they have my husband. They have our Prince. I sincerely doubt they’ll just hand him back.”

  “What if they threaten to execute him?” asked Alvyn Karffard, concerned.

  “No one is more worried about that than I am,” Valerie assured him. “But that’s not something the Atonians would do lightly. They might threaten to execute him, but there’s a distinct dislike of capital punishment among the civilized worlds. Exile, imprisonment, banishment, yes . . . but their own people wouldn’t be happy if they just started shooting prisoners.”

  “So how do we wage war on Aton?” asked Harkaman.

  “Not by a frontal assault,” Countess Dorothy pointed out. “The defense grid around Aton is brutal. They had a skirmish with Baldur a few decades ago – Baldur lost. In a big way.”

  “What is the status of the Dragon, Mr. Dawes?” Valerie asked, referring to the new weapon system that the Wizard’s envoy had given them. “Would it be ready in time for conflict?”

  “The prototype is being tested on the moonbase,” admitted the quiet man. “Initial tests are encouraging. But don’t forget that the design is hundreds of years old, and there are reasons the Federation didn’t deploy it. Expense, for one.”

  “It didn’t hurt that they didn’t really need it,” pointed out Karffard. “The System States Alliance had one ship for every five the Federation Navy did.”

  “Be that as it may, if we can fine-tune the design and wrap up testing this week, we should be able to go into production within the month. We could have at least a few Dragons deployed by the time the Atonians bothered to show up.

  “Apropos to that,” he continued, “I think you have some time. From Aton’s point of view, Tanith is a minor annoyance, not a grave threat. If they had wanted to nuke the planet in a major attack, they could have done that as easily as they captured your prince – easier, actually. I believe that they took him to destabilize the regime and force a change at the top. And demonstrate to their people that they’re doing something about the Space Viking Menace. Either that or they’re trying to goad you into attack Aton head-on – which would be suicide. The Countess is right about their defensive capabilities, but if anything she’s understating them. The Wizard has better intelligence on them and from what I’ve read Aton is as well defended as any planet in the galaxy. So I would counsel a less-direct approach, if you want your Prince back.”

  “Negotiations?” Dorothy asked.

  “Out of the question!” Harkaman barked. “We don’t negotiate with treacherous kidnappers!”

  “If it means Lucas’ safe return,” began Alvyn, “I don’t see—”

  “Even trying to open negotiations is going to take months, and the actual discussions could go on years,” pointed out Dawes. “Tanith just isn’t that important to them. As to whether or not Aton would even consider releasing the prince, I don’t think it’s likely.”

  “And our allies would see negotiations so quickly as a sign of weakness,” Harkaman pointed out. “And so would our enemies.”

  “Tanith is a Space Viking world,” Valerie declared, thoughtfully. “We don’t haggle over the lives of our sovereigns like a Gilgamesher over a fine rug. We are fighters. We may not have Aton’s numbers, but then there are advantages of fighting a far superior foe – small ones, but perhaps ones we can exploit. So I’m soliciting suggestions: just how should we proceed in prosecuting thi
s unexpected war, and how do we present it to the people?”

  They discussed the matter heatedly for twenty minutes, but actually had managed to hammer out a reasonable strategy before they adjourned to the Ball. Not one that would satisfy everyone, once they heard the news, but one which could be presented as an effective and thorough response to the crisis. They practiced the nuances of the policy for a few more minutes, trying to predetermine questions and prepare to present a unified response. Finally, half an hour after she’d landed, Princess Valerie’s War was beginning to take shape.

  As the others were led back to the Concourse, where the music told them the festivities were already underway, Valerie paused a moment and looked at the long, blank blackboard that had once held the details of Lucas’ hunt for Andray Dunnan.

  She thought about the ten long years her husband had spent here, staring at that board, trying to out-think the homicidal madman he was hunting while he dealt with the pain of his grief. The countless hours obsessed with the chase, the agonizing delays between good information, the hopelessness of it all. He had almost succumbed to despair several times during those dark days, he’d told her in their most intimate moments. Sometimes the board seemed to taunt him, Lucas had revealed, and sometimes it had seemed to offer false hope. But it had gotten him through, too, being a visible sign of his progress towards getting Dunnan. Now it was empty, a testament to his achievement and his dedication by its very blankness. The lack of words communicated volumes, if you understood how to read it.

  Blackboards were such basic things, she realized, but even after a thousand years it was hard to improve on them. She went to the center of the board, picked up a piece of chalk, and wrote in big letters, I MISS YOU LUCAS!!! – VAL, before she turned off the lights and allowed herself to be escorted back to the ball.

  She was surprised to find a frazzled-looking Mademoiselle Calderon nearby, still holding her clipboard, waiting for the Princess to resume the planned festivities. She brightened and pasted on her fake smile as she saw her party approach.

  She was cute, Valerie decided, one of those over-eager functionaries who found themselves prospering in the wake of more experienced people, but she was also young and pretty and seemed very, very invested in how well the evening turned out because it would reflect prominently on her career. Valerie could appreciate that – a decade ago, she’d been that girl. It was how she’d managed to get her job with the Royal Family on Marduk. But she’d also missed so much by devoting her life to her work, she realized now.

  “Your Highness, I’m so terribly sorry about the delay, but if you’ll come this way we can start the judging—” Calderon began, a hint of whine in her voice.

  “Change of plans, Cindy,” Valerie interrupted, briskly. “Attend me, will you?”

  “Of course, Your Highness!” the girl said, eyes wide.

  “I know this event is important to you, and you’ve planned all sorts of festivities, but I’m afraid that it’s about to be ruined for you. We just endured a battle, and we’re about to endure a whole lot more, and while this event is exactly what we need right now, it’s also not going to be as much fun in about fifteen minutes. Are you a loyal subject of the Realm, Cindy?” she asked, evenly. Part of the art of dealing with lower-level organizers like Cindy was changing the subject rapidly and often to keep them too confused to ask irrelevant questions. Calderon took the bait.

  “Why, yes, of course, Your Highness! I swore fealty with the medical staff, even though Countess Dorothy said that it was completely voluntary! I love Tanith, Highness, and I’m loyal!”

  “Good,” Val smiled, faintly. “Then be a good and loyal subject for me tonight. Let me see your list . . . okay, Duchess Cecelia can be roped into the judging, tell her I said to do it and I’ll owe her one. The grand presentation you can cancel – there’s other business to discuss – but I will do a brief court, the awards and investitures, and then I’ll follow with . . . well, you’ll see. And I’m going to need viewscreens, lots of viewscreens, scattered around the room in about ten minutes. A big one behind the thrones, if you can manage it. I’ve also sent for more cameras from Sir Paul Koreff, so please make sure they’re set up the moment they arrive – I want a good, clear recording of this. Oh, and the after party? Cancel it. No, don’t cancel it, see if Lady Chaveth will preside on my behalf – she’d love the chance, I’m certain. I’m going to be busy. Now, get all of that done in the next ten minutes, and report back to me.”

  “Yes, Highness – um, what should I tell everyone?”

  “That there has been an unanticipated change in the planned schedule, at the request of Her Highness. That’ll shut up anyone who’ll give you any problems. Actually . . . Sir Alexi!”

  “Yes, Highness!” the handsome young knight said at once.

  “Go with Mademoiselle Calderon and ensure that she has no difficulties enacting my instructions. I want to walk on stage in fifteen minutes. Lt. Perez can attend me in your absence.”

  Once again, Karvall led the sputtering woman away, while Valerie smiled. She remembered what it was like to be that young and that subject to the whims of superior authority. Then her smile faded. Wait until she was old enough to be that superior authority – and still be just as subject to the whims of fate.

  She enjoyed a drink and a chat with a few people in the area prepared for her entrance, seeing Baron Bentfork’s third wife, who was in town visiting his heroic son in the hospital, for instance, and Duke Rathmore’s wife who was apparently excited to be at a social function without her slightly boorish politician husband around for a change – she was already well in her cups. In just under ten minutes, however, Cindy and Sir Alexi came back to her, breathless, as workmen started setting up viewscreens around the room.

  “The big one will only take a few minutes,” she said, huffing and puffing, her cheeks red under her carefully-applied make-up. “We’re bringing in the big board used for arrivals and departures. It’s on its own contragravity, so it should be ready in – there it is,” she said, as the big screen was carefully floated in. “We’ll be ready to begin in just . . . just a few . . . few minutes.”

  “Sir Alexi, be a dear and get this poor woman a drink, will you?”

  “At once, Highness!” he said, chuckling under his breath. He was back with a glass of wine within a minute and a half, and Valerie made sure that Cindy drank half of that before she continued. “Now, Cindy, I’m about to address this crowd, and then it’s going to be chaos. But it’s clear you’ve done a wonderful job organizing this event, and deserve a reward.”

  “Highness?” the girl asked in a daze.

  “See this man here? This is Sir Alexi Karvall. You should know that name. He nearly single handedly rescued Princess Elaine from Garvan Spasso’s minions. I knighted him on the spot for his effort, but he’s been working nearly non-stop since then. Mademoiselle, it is my command that you and he spend the evening drinking and dancing and having a good time. I expect to see you out on the floor, smiling, relaxing, and enjoying each others company. In fact, I want you to ensure that this brave young soldier has the best evening he’s ever had, as a token of thanks for his outstanding service to the Realm. May I count on you for that service, dear?”

  Cindy was flabbergasted, looking back and forth from Valerie to Sir Alexi’s face in confusion. “Highness?” she finally squeaked, “Me? Why, there are plenty of beautiful women here tonight, and I’m hardly the type to be able to—”

  “Are you married?” Valerie asked. “Engaged?”

  “No, Highness, I’m a career woman, I hope to—”

  “Then you have no other reason to decline, my dear. Sir Alexi, after the address, you may take the next forty-eight hours off as liberty. Indeed, I command it.”

  “As Your Highness commands,” he said, trying desperately not to laugh at how his Princess had just steamrolled the poor girl into a date with him. “I would be honored to be your escort for the evening, Mademoiselle,” he declared, extending his elbow
to her.

  “But . . . why . . . I’m . . . oh, dear, I . . .”

  “Be a good girl, finish your drink,” Valerie said, encouraging her. “I think you’ll need another shortly.” She saw one of the other event functionaries, a young man wearing an earpiece, try to get Cindy’s attention to let her know to let the Princess know that all was in readiness. Valerie took a few moments to send for her attendants for court and get them organized, and then she proceeded to the stage.

  Nikkolay went first, looking splendid in his green-and-tawny cloak, holding the large Sword of State in front of him while his wife – fully recovered from her pregnancy, now and looking radiantly healthy in an emerald-green dress – escorting him to the stage where the thrones were set up. Next was the Warlord, his ornately braided blue dress uniform covered by a dashing black cloak. Harkaman wore both a pistol and a dress dagger, but he hefted the massive bronze double-headed axe that Lucas had presented to him as a badge of office like a toy. He was escorted by Countess Dorothy, who looked a little uncomfortable next to the giant Harkaman. The two exchanged a glance – only for an instant – but Valerie was attentive enough to realize that there was something between two of her ministers. She found that very interesting.