The Mote in God's Eye

“You can guess about the commission, can’t you?” Ben asked pointedly. “Parliament’s been concerned about Imperial prerogatives. If there’s anything that’s pure prerogative it’s defense against aliens. But if they’re peaceful and all that, Parliament wants a say in the trade deals. Emperor isn’t about to turn the Motie question over to Government until we’re sure what we’re up against. But he can’t manage this from Sparta. Can’t come out here himself—boy, that would cause problems at the Capital. Parliament couldn’t stop him from turning it over to Crown Prince Lysander, but the boy’s too young. Deadlock. His Majesty’s one thing, but appointed agents with Imperial powers are another. Hell, I don’t want to give Imperial authority to anybody but the Royal Family. One man, one family, can’t personally exercise too much power no matter how much they’ve got in theory, but give them appointed agents and it’s another matter.”

“What about Merril? It’s his sector.”

“What about him? Same objections to him as anybody else. More. Viceroy’s job is pretty carefully defined. Dealing with aliens isn’t. Merrill wouldn’t get too big for his britches and try to set up his own little Empire out here, but history shows one thing damn clear, you got to watch out for that. So it had to be a Commission. Parliament’s not about to approve that much power for any single man, not even me. Made me chairman since I’ve got the votes. Put my niece on it—my brother was more popular than I am, we needed a woman, and here’s Sally just been to the Mote. Fine. But I can’t stay out here too long, Rod. Somebody’s got to. That’s you.”

“I saw that coming. Why me?”

“You’re a natural. Needed your old man’s support to get the Commission approved anyway. Marquis is pretty popular right now. Done some good work consolidating his sector. Good war record. Besides, you’re almost Royal Family. You’re in line the Throne—”

“About twenty-eighth. My sister’s boy has a better claim than I do.”

“Yeah, but it’s not spreading the prerogative too far. The peers trust you. Baronage likes your father; Commons too, and nobody’s going to think you want to be king out here, you’d lose Crucis Court. So now the problem is to find a couple of local dummies who’ll take their baronages and go along with you after I leave. You’ll have to find yourself a replacement before you can go home, but you’ll manage that. I did.” Fowler smiled beatifically.

The Palace loomed up ahead of them. Kilted guards stood outside in ceremonial uniforms, but the officer who checked their credentials against his appointment list before waving them through the gates was a Marine.

“Got to hurry,” Senator Fowler said as they drove around the circular way to the bright red-and-yellow-rock steps. “Rod, if those Moties are a threat, could you order Kutuzov in there with a battle fleet?”

“Sir?”

“You heard me. What are you smiling about?”

“I had this conversation with one of my officers back at Mote Prime. Only I was in your seat. Yes, sir. I wouldn’t want to, but I could. And I can answer so fast because I decided the question on the way home, otherwise I’d have had to tell you to stuff your Commission.” He paused a moment. “Sally couldn’t, though.”

“Wouldn’t expect her to. She wouldn’t fight it, either. Any evidence that would make you or me order something like that would make her resign. Look, I’ve been over those reports until I’m deaf and blind, and I don’t find much wrong—there are a few things, though. Like your middies. I’m having trouble swallowing that frog.”

“So am I—”

The cab pulled up at the Palace steps and the driver opened the doors for them. Rod fished for bills to pay the fare, and he gave too large a tip because he wasn’t used to riding in cabs.

“Will that be all, my lord?” the waiter asked.

Rod glanced at his pocket computer. “Yes, thank you. We’re going to be late, Sally.” He made no attempt to stand. “Angus—we’ll have coffee. With brandy.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Rod, we really will be late.” Sally didn’t get up either. They looked at each other and laughed. “When was the last time we had lunch together?” she asked.

“A week? Two? I don’t remember. Sally, I’ve never been so busy in my life. Right now a main fleet action would be a relief.” He grimaced. “Another party tonight. Lady Riordan. Do we have to go?”

“Uncle Ben says Baron Riordan is very influential on New Ireland, and we may need some support there.”

“Then I suppose we have to.” Angus arrived with coffee. Rod tasted it and sighed in satisfaction. “Angus, that is the best coffee and brandy I’ve ever had. Your quality has improved in the last week.”

“Yes, my lord. It is reserved for you.”

“For me? Sally, is this your—?”

“No.” She was as puzzled as he. “Where did you get it, Angus?”

“A merchant captain personally brought it to Government House, my lady. He said it was for Lord Blaine. The chef tried it and said it was fit to serve.”

“And that it is,” Rod agreed enthusiastically. “Who was the captain?”

“I’ll find out, my lord.”