“Our job is to keep the Kingdom together to the best of our abilities. All options are on the table until the Prince-Cadet sits his rump down on the Throne,” said the Marine, and then his eyes turned steely, “but the Corps is not the only organization in this room responsible for the wellbeing of the Caprian people as a whole, General.”
“Is that a dig against the Army, Commandant?” demanded Mordan Tilday.
“I’m just a common man born of common stock. What could I possibly know about digs, my Lord?” snorted the Marine Commandant.
General Tilday stiffened, his eyes turning hot and fiery.
“Enough, you two, this is no time for childish games,” an old man with a distinguished look and the red robes of the Chancellory said coldly.
“Yes, Chancellor,” the General said after a moment.
“Of course,” the Marine Commandant agreed without hesitation.
“We do this. Invite an exiled Montagne back to the Kingdom and put him on the throne. It doesn’t matter what our intentions are, how badly the economy needs the boost or anything else, we go down in the history books with infamy,” Sandra Vance interjected like a dog with a royal bone stuck sideways in her throat.
“I am long past worry about any legacy we on the Privy Council might have once hoped for. All I care about are results, and from everything we’ve been able to gather over the years, Jason Montagne is the best hope for our planet at this particular juncture in our Star System’s history. End of story,” the High Chancellor said with a cutting motion.
“That’s easy for you to say,” Sandra Vance shot back uncowed and completely unrepentant, “you’re already ruined. King James’ High Chancellor? You’re old and the public will eat you in the streets once they realize they’ll never get their hands on our long lost King,” she scoffed, “you have nothing to lose.”
The High Chancellor’s eyes narrowed and he looked at her coolly.
“Unlike the rest of us, who just might survive this mess with our political careers intact, you—” Sandra Vance continued heatedly, only to be cut off by an uplifted hand.
“Enough,” the High Chancellor said.
“But—” the Parliamentary Member opened her mouth.
“I said enough,” the High Chancellor, said his voice moving well past sub-zero temperatures.
PM Vance’s mouth closed with a click.
The High Chancellor turned to the man next to him.
“Maybe bringing Mrs. Vance here was a mistake,” he said.
The other man shrugged.
“The army rounded up the last of the bugs two months ago but we’re still getting reports of false sightings and the economy is in the tank. You said you wanted Parliamentary buy-in, and Mrs. Vance is one of the few remaining PM’s,” he said with a shrug.
Sandra Vance frowned.
“I’m right here,” she said, pounding the table for emphasis.
“Indeed, you are, Mrs. Vance, but you might not be for much longer if you can’t keep a civil tongue about you,” warned the Council Secretary.
“Well, bully for you,” Vance said, leaning back in her chair and picking up a glass of water. She took a sip before continuing, “but it doesn’t negate the fact we’re all in a right mess. Throwing me off the Privy Council because you don’t like what I have to say may be momentarily satisfying, but in the end it’ll back fire on you.”
“None of this is germane to the subject at hand,” the Marine Commandant said harshly.
“I don’t know what there’s left to talk about,” interjected the Acting Treasury Minister, “we were facing a fiscal crisis and this council voted to send a delegation summoning Prince Jason home from exile. Now he’s here. Unless we’re about to say thanks but we’ve now changed our mind, we’re stuck with that decision,” the man from Treasury said scornfully.
The High Chancellor, General and Marine Commandant shared a mutual three-way look.
“What? Did I miss something?” asked the Acting Minister.
There was a momentary silence and then Sandra Vance barked a braying-donkey-like laugh.
“What they’re deliberately not saying is that despite having sent the Marquis de-Farqua and Maldrin La-Pierre of the 554th electoral District to our wayward Prince to ask for his help, now that he’s actually shown up, we may be taking more than just his money,” she laughed.
For a moment, the Acting Minister looked uncomprehending and then realization dawned.
“A double cross,” he said.
“How did you make it on the Privy Council if you’re this gullible?” the PM asked with genuine curiosity.
“The former Under-Minister has an amazing head for numbers. It is no small part because of his stalwart work that we realized our need for a significant infusion of credits,” said the High Chancellor.
“Call it what you want,” shrugged the PM before shooting the High Chancellor a significant look. “So?” she asked.
The High Chancellor gave her a humoring look and she shifted her gaze to the Marine Commandant.
“Are we planning to shoot our savior the Montagne Prince out of the sky and take his credits, Commandant” she asked, “or am I supposed to be the more decorative wing of this Privy Council and sit in the corner like a good little girl until called upon?”
“Of all various things a person might think of you, I do not believe anyone in this room would consider you the type of to sit quietly in the corner, Mrs. Vance,” sniffed the High Chancellor.
The PM opened her mouth only to be shut down by a stern look from the High Chancellor.
“As should have been obvious from the very notion we are currently discussing the matter, no such decision has been made,” the Chancellor said tightly.
“Well, you should have just said so already. Sheesh,” protested the PM.
As if taking pity on the newest addition to the Privy Council, General Tilday looked over at PM.
“This is the proverbial smoke-filled back room in the good old boys’ club, Mrs. Vance,” he said with mixed kindness and condescension.
“Just another den of breeding and privilege then,” she said flatly.
The High Chancellor was clearly stung.
“Unlike the exclusive golf club you are imagining, the Privy Council does nothing so plebian as to just carry out the policies of others, Mrs. Vance. Here, we do not rail against the actions of others. In this room, we collectively set policy and it is then our very great privilege to personally carry it out,” advised the Chancellor.
“I get it. But are we going to tell Prince Jason to stand and deliver or are we actually going to hand him the crown and, more importantly, actual power?” she asked.
“As to the first, this Council has always existed to advise and when necessary… temper the actions of His or Her Majesty. Whether or not he or she fully realized that was our purpose,” said the Chancellor, “as to the second,” he looked over and all eyes turned to the Marine Commandant.
“I don’t know why you’re all looking at me,” he said grimly.
“Please don’t play coy,” said the High Chancellor.
“I agree. It doesn’t suit you, Bad Dog,” agreed Mordan Tilday, “besides don’t you have some brigadier or other who knows the Prince’s set up front and back?”
The Marine Commandant turned a harsh look on the General who for his part matched stares, unimpressed.
“We have any number of information sources among the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, both past and present, the Marine Corp not alone among the various agencies that have done so,” the Commandant said bluntly, “and everything we have learned, we have passed onto the Admirals in orbit.”
“Can no one in this room give me a straight answer? What does that even mean! Are we going to rob the Prince or are we about to bend our knee to another tyrant and a Montagne at that?” demanded Vance.
The High Chancellor covered his eyes in despair.
“We don’t hav
e the warships to take the Prince in a straight-up fight, PM Vance,” the Marine Commandant said tersely, “which would bring the battle down to a boarding action. Depending on how many of those genetically-engineered Tractoans he brought, things could turn ugly. Remember it only takes one ship in orbit to lay waste to a major population center. So, no, PM Vance. We have no intention of attacking the Prince at this time. Unless the Prince turns on us like a rabid snap weasel, we’re going to offer him the throne and take his coin.”
“Was that really so hard to say? What’s with all this blather about all the options on the table,” she said.
“Have the words plausible deniability never entered your dictionary?” asked General Tilday.
“Jason Montagne has a reasonably decent reputation for a Montagne, but he is still a Montagne,” interjected the High Chancellor and then his voice turned grim, “as such, we are ready for all possibilities. If need be, we will take actions to stop a new tyrant in the making.”
“You mean after we’ve separated the Prince from his wife’s hard-earned wealth and paid off our not inconsiderable debt load?” Sandra Vance asked cynically, “I have to ask. Is it worth it? Do we really need his money? What’s an economic depression if it frees us from a king like James or a future tyrant like Jason Montagne? If not for these bugs…” she trailed off.
The royalists in the room bridled at the accusation.
Then the High Chancellor looked at her with disgust.
“Unfortunately, space bugs cannot be negotiated or reasoned with,” he said flatly.
“Will he even protect us from them though?” asked Vance, sounding worried, “I mean this is the Tyrant of Cold Space we’re talking about here.”
“You must not follow galactic news very closely, PM Vance,” said the Marine Commandant, “because if there’s one thing you can count on the Little Admiral to do, it is to take the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet into battle.”
“In short, we have no choice,” said the Parliamentary Member, “there’s nothing we can do to stop him now that he’s here—and considering the bug threat, why would we?”
“Considering its current size, the only way our System Defense Force will ever be in a position to match Prince Jason is if he actually follows through with the agreement we’ve made with him. In which case, I would have to ask why attack him in the first place,” said the Marine Commandant.
The Treasury Minister nodded in agreement while behind him, the High Chancellor and General Tilday shared a long look.
“Are we done here?” asked Sandra Vance.
Chapter 16
Shuttling Down
It was a relief to fall into orbit with an SDF escort, and getting word from the Palace that the Privy Council still ran the planet, which tended to indicate their offer was still good.
That meant there weren’t going to be any last-minute boarding actions or desperate battles toward the hyperlimit and I needed to shuttle down to the surface.
For a long minute, I marveled at the unreality of my situation. Not only had what remained of the government of my homeworld asked me to come home, but they’d gone a step further and the Caprian Privy Council itself had asked me to take up the crown to save the Caprian Star System from future potential bug attacks.
Worse, I’d actually accepted the offer.
Was I a fool?
“Caprian Two is ready to depart on your order, your Highness,” said Sean D’Argent, Chief Armsman, and my top bodyguard.
Of all the people who knew me, none had been more excited, one might say vindicated, than the head of my team of royal armsmen.
“We’re ready whenever you are, Prince Jason,” he prompted.
“Are we really ready, Sean?” I asked looking over at him.
“Every precaution has been taken, Sir,” Sean said with a sharp nod, not at all nonplussed at my making him repeat things he’d already attested to.
“Then by all means, let’s be off, Armsman,” I ordered.
Sean D’Argeant’s nod was sharp enough to cut paper and within minutes, the hastily-renamed shuttle, Caprian Two, was on its way to the surface.
After I became King instead of just a promising prince, any vehicle or space craft I boarded would from that point on be termed Caprian One. From now until I hit the surface, I was only considered an heir to the throne and thus the number two designation.
Simultaneous with our exit from the flagship, over two dozen landers, shuttles and even two cutters broke for the surface. On board were enough Lancers in battle armor to fight a small ground war. We were as ready as we were going to be.
Then the pilot’s voice came on the overhead speakers.
“Hold onto your butts.”
Chapter 17
The Loyal 2884th Army Battalion
“Any news from our contacts inside what’s left of the government?” asked Captain Arnesti DeLayn.
“As expected, the gutless wonders on the Privy Council are more interested in the Tyrant’s money than they are the best interests of the Caprian people,” reported the cold-faced operative in the uniform of the Parliamentary Secret Service, her lips thinning with anger.
“Am I to assume Operation Lollipop is a go?” asked the Captain.
“We are all counting on you to succeed, Captain. The decapitation strike must be flawless or everyone involved in the operation will be disavowed. An extra solar penal colony will be considered a cake walk if we screw this up,” she replied.
“Then I’ll just have to make sure Lollipop is a success,” Captain DeLayn replied with a cocky grin.
“This is serious, Captain,” the PSS Agent said, heat entering her voice.
“Considering the Major in charge of the 2884 is resting face down in a field latrine even as we speak, I think I’m well aware of just how serious this situation is for the homeworld, Agent,” Captain DeLayn said, the grin never leaving his face as he bared his teeth, “you do your part and I’ll ensure me and mine will do ours.”
“Good. Just see that your battalion is ready to move when the Prince’s shuttle enters your airspace and everything will be fine,” said the Agent.
The Captain looked back at the more than five hundred men and women in power-armored battle suits and the two giant aerospace defense turrets they were allegedly guarding, and then looked back at the PSS Liaison.
“I’ve replaced the normal sub-orbital defense teams and the rest of the 2884 is ready to embark on hover-skimmers at a moment’s notice. If by some miracle, the Montagne that would be our King or his shuttle survives the ADT’s, my ‘rescue forces’ will put the period on the end of Prince Jason and our current discussion,” he said decisively.
The Parliamentary Secret Service Liaison nodded sharply.
“Good hunting and free elections, Captain,” said the Liaison.
“Free ‘elections’, Agent,” the Captain said, mouth twisting derisively and then his face hardened, “and more importantly, let’s see if we can’t keep at least one of these overly-entitled royal scum buckets from porking the people a second time in a row.”
“Of course,” the PSS Liaison agreed, eyes narrowing.
“As far as I’m concerned, all those apologists who cried tears over the reconstruction can go straight to the pit. We’ve just seen what the monarchists and their kings will do to us if we let them back in power. Bugs. Whatever we have to do to keep those royal blighters from unleashing another bug Swarm on us, is worth the price,” he said.
“By any means necessary,” the Parliamentary Liaison murmured and turned away.
“Our last King wasn’t above using bugs against his political opponents, innocent bystanders notwithstanding, and now the Chancellor thinks he can pull a stone lander shuffle and replace James with a machinist. A machinist! The Tyrant of Cold Space can go right back into cold space or the demons pit after he enters my trigger sight, for all I care,” the Captain barked, only to be interrupted by a chime as his HUD started flashi
ng red.
“Speak of the Montagne and he enters orbit!” shouted the Captain now in command of the entire 2884th Battalion, breaking into a run toward the waiting skimmers, “Lollipop is a go! I say again, the Operation is a go, it’s time to rock and roll, people,” he said over the general push.
Chapter 18
A Bumpy Ride Down
“We’re being painted by ground-based targeting sensors,” reported the Pilot.
I jerked awake with a start. Realizing I’d been napping and at a time like this, I was mentally kicking myself. I thought I’d be too tired to rest, even as I forced my eyes closed and tried to nap on the way down, and now this.
“What’s our status?” I asked, leaning forward.
“We’re being targeted by six different ground-based positions, Admiral—I mean, your Highness, Sir,” the Pilot reported, repeatedly correcting himself and clumsily at that.
“Admiral will do, Pilot,” I said easily.
“Of course, Sir,” he replied with a head bob, eyeing me uneasily for a moment before seemingly shrugging it off, “I mean of course, Admiral,” he said again, this time with much more confidence before seemingly falling back into his usual routine.
Apparently, an Admiral you’d served with for at least for several years was a different animal than a Prince who would soon be King.
Of course, the pilot was a member of the Lucky Clover’s original Caprian crew so not only was it not that surprising, I was also prepared to extend every allowance. He could trip all over himself or go back to business as usual and I wouldn’t care except to try and make it easier for him.
“They’re just monitoring us?” I clarified, once that nonsense was behind us, although I had a sinking suspicion that more of that particular brand of ‘nonsense’ was in my future.
“Targeting us, but yes, Sir. No weapons system has gone active except for the targeting computers,” he said.
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