by David Weber
Unfortunately, the idiot never counted on Elizabeth losing her patience with all the irritating pygmies—like him—buzzing around the Convention like so many gnats. And my own Cabinet wants me to go on cooperating with this fool? She shook her head mentally. Talk about riding the ship down in flames!
Lababibi's problem was, in many ways, the opposite of Aleksandra Tonkovic's. Since the Convention was being held on her own homeworld, every single member of the Spindle System -government—not to mention every semi-literate in the street—knew every detail of what was happening. Well, every public detail, at any rate. There were still some things which were thankfully confidential. God bless smoke-filled rooms and their spiritual descendants!
But more than enough was known to prevent Lababibi from exercising anything remotely resembling the freedom Tonkovic had enjoyed . . . until she was yanked back to Split. Which had its upside, of course. At least no one could drag her home and accuse her of concealing critical information or formulating her own policies. The bad news was that she had no choice but to execute the policies dictated to her, whether she thought they were insane or not.
"If you think so many of the Liberal delegates are going to be recalled, what do you propose we do about it?" she asked Yvernau.
"I propose that we see how many of the stupid sheep are still willing to stand up like men—at least until they get dragged home by the scruff of their fleece."
"That sounds very poetic," she said tartly. "Now, would you care to be just a bit more specific?"
"The basic situation is very simple, Samiha." Yvernau's voice took on the lecturing note Lababibi most detested. "In essence, Medusa's informed all of us that we're under the gun. That we face a time limit, imposed by Manticore, within which we must yield to the Star Kingdom's demand for a complete surrender of our sovereignty. If we decline to lick Queen Elizabeth's hand like proper little lap dogs, then she'll kick us aside and leave us to languish in the outer dark. Where, as the final element of her threat runs, we'll undoubtedly be devoured by Frontier Security."
He paused, and while Lababibi would have disputed the tone and purpose of the Manticorans' statement, he'd certainly summed up the consequences accurately enough in his own, viciously angry way.
"However," he continued, "the truth isn't quite that cut and dried, because Aleksandra had a point. If they carry their threat through, and if Frontier Security does scoop us up, Manticore's prestige and diplomatic reliability will suffer severe damage. Possibly even irreparable damage, given how much dispute there is over the Manties' and Haven's versions of their prewar diplomatic exchanges. They're in a worse position to afford damage to their credibility than anyone else I can possibly think of."
"So you still think, despite the formal communique from Prime Minister Alexander in the Queen's name, that it's really a bluff?" Lababibi managed to keep the incredulity out of her voice somehow.
"More than a bluff, but far short of an irrevocable policy statement. They may be threatening to do it, but it's the last thing they really want to do."
You flaming idiot. Just what, Lababibi thought scathingly, makes you think this Cluster is important enough to Manticore for them to waste time trying to bluff us? About the only thing I can say for you, Andrieaux Yvernau, is that you're not a whole lot stupider than my own political lords and masters.
"If that's the case, what do we do about it?" she asked, rounding her eyes and giving him her best "troubled-but-trusting" expression.
"We treat it as a bluff," he said decisively.
"I beg your pardon? Didn't you just say it was more than that?"
"Of course. But if we stand fast, tell them we're prepared to reject their demands even at the risk of their abandoning the entire process, we'll be able to use Medusa's own policy against Alquezar and his so-called 'moderate' cronies. They're already terrified we're going to pull the house down around their ears. I say we convince them that's exactly what we'll do unless they meet us at least half way. And once they're convinced of that, we offer them the compromise platform I've been working on all along. They'll be so scared, so desperate to do anything to save the annexation, that they'll accept the compromise rather than call our bluff and risk losing everything."
"And if they do decide to 'call our bluff' and count on the portion of the Alexander statement that says Manticore will pick and choose which of the Cluster's systems it will annex and which it will exclude?"
"There are two possibilities, assuming—which I, for one, don't—that these frightened little minds have the fortitude to go eyeball-to-eyeball with us. One is that Manticore's genuinely willing to exclude and abandon our star systems, despite the diplomatic fallout of such an action. The second is that our governments back home will disavow our positions and cave in, making the best deals they can with Alquezar after removing us from our delegations.
"Personally, I don't think the Manticorans have the balls to go through with the exclusion. And, even if they do, I don't see them allowing Frontier Security to snap us up. The Manties couldn't afford to see their new systems here in the Cluster invaded by cysts of the League. So whether it's what they want to do or not, they'll have to include us under the same security umbrella as their possessions here. That's why I'll recommend to my government that even if everyone else signs up like good little peasants, we refuse."
"And if they don't?"
"If they don't, then they disavow my actions," Yvernau said unflinchingly.
Lababibi rather doubted he could really visualize a situation in which his government might actually do that. His personality was too fundamentally arrogant for him to believe on any emotional level that even the universe itself could ultimately fail to do his bidding. And there was probably an element of desperation in his disbelief, as well. His final refuge was to deny the reality of the threat bearing down upon him. Yet whether or not he could fully accept the possibility of his political demise, he was at least intellectually aware of the possibility. And so, in his own way, he was showing considerable political courage. Of a nasty, contemptuous sort, perhaps, but still courage.
Which was quite possibly the single virtue he possessed.
"Have you discussed this with the other CLP delegates?"
"With the majority of them."
"And they said—?"
"I got a generally positive response."
Meaning at least a quarter of them told you to take a hike, she thought. The problem was, her fellow Spindalian oligarchs were unlikely to agree with that sane quarter. They'd undoubtedly be willing to take Yvernau's second option when his bluff failed, but Lababibi felt no particular desire to obey their instructions to refuse to surrender only to have them disavow her when it didn't work.
My God. He may actually be able to produce the votes he needs to try this insanity simply because people are too frightened to face their home political establishments without trying it!
"So when do you plan on laying this . . . strategy before the Convention?"
"Tomorrow or the next day. I still have one or two people I need to talk to, first."
"I see."
"And do you think the Spindle System will stand with us?"
"I'll certainly discuss it with my Cabinet and the legislature's leadership this afternoon," she assured him. "Frankly, at this point, I wouldn't venture to predict what they're likely to say. All I can tell you at the moment is that so far they've been very firm about supporting the CLP position ever since Nordbrandt started killing people."
"Then I'll take that as a good sign," Yvernau told her. "And now, if you'll forgive me, I have to go. I have an appointment with the Rembrandt delegation." He smiled thinly. "I don't think Van Dort's control is quite as firm as he believes. And since he's off running errands for Medusa like a good little brown-noser, he's not exactly around to keep them in line anyway, is he?"
* * *
"So what do we do about Yvernau's latest brainstorm?" Henri Krietzmann asked.
"Nothing," Joachim Alquezar
replied with a nonchalance which had to be at least partly assumed, Krietzmann thought.
"He might actually get those stupid dinosaurs to stand up in front of the glacier with him, you know," the Dresdener pointed out.
"In which case they'll be found a thousand years later with buttercups frozen in their stomachs," Alquezar said scornfully. "That's the best they'll be able to hope for—to stay frozen exactly where they are while the rest of us sign up with Star Kingdom and leave them in our dust. But that's not what's going to happen."
"No?"
"No. I give it ten T-years, twenty-five at the outside, before they get themselves tossed out of office by a new crop of political leaders who'll come begging, hats in hand, to be allowed to join the Star Kingdom on our terms. I don't think any other result's possible, in the long term. Not when they see what membership in the Star Kingdom's going to do for our economies and our citizens."
"I think you may be being overly optimistic," Krietzmann said, his eyes troubled. He raised his left hand, the one with the missing fingers, in an exasperated sort of wave. "Unless we're willing to embargo their economies, they'll still share in any general economic improvement in the Cluster. Not to the same extent, maybe, but I'm afraid they may see enough domestic improvement to keep a lid on things a lot longer than you're predicting."
"Perhaps they will," Alquezar conceded. "And if they do, I'll be very sorry for the rest of their population. But all we can do is the best we can. And, to be brutally frank, Henri, our fundamental responsibility's to our own star systems. We can't justify endangering our own people's future out of concern for the consequences of the actions of a handful of self-interested, self-absorbed, self-serving political parasites in other systems."
* * *
It was a beautiful late morning. She looked up at a blue sky, swept by orderly lines of blindingly white clouds and polished by a brisk easterly wind, and felt the sheer, vibrant energy of the day. It danced on her skin like some sort of elemental life force, and she leaned back in the chaise lounge on the townhouse roof, closed her eyes, and tilted her face up to the sun.
With her eyes closed, she could forget—temporarily, at least—the political crisis. Just as she could forget the extra guards, armed now with the latest in off-world weapons, either directly from Manticoran stores or from weapons captured from the FAK base camp, who stood watchfully at the corners of the rooftop terrace.
Nordbrandt was still out there, she thought. Rajkovic and his vulture allies were circling, ready to try their luck at a judicial coup d'état, and the terrorists' "great leader" was still uncaught, unpunished. She was undoubtedly planning yet another attack, but could Kornati's so-called political leadership be bothered to do anything about it? Not until they'd finished the gladiatorial circus of the impeachment attempt.
A part of Aleksandra Tonkovic's brain was aware she was being unfair—where finishing off the FAK was concerned, at least. Rajkovic and his cronies knew Nordbrandt was still alive, still active. That was the reason the detachment of Manty Marines was still camped at the spaceport, providing surveillance and security. It was going to take more than simple planning and good luck for Nordbrandt to get through that security umbrella, and Tonkovic knew it. No wonder the terrorists were lying low, licking their wounds. Yet another part of her couldn't help wishing the FAK would get through . . . or at least make the attempt and fail. That sort of proof that the base camp raid hadn't magically finished off the terrorist threat might at least help show Rajkovic up for the fraud he was.
"Excuse me, Madam President." It was her butler, and she pried one eye open and looked up at him.
"Yes, Luka?"
"Secretary Kanjer is here, Madam President. He asks if it would be convenient for you to receive him?"
Both of Tonkovic's eyes popped open. Kanjer, here? Without a prior appointment? Her mouth felt unaccountably dry, but she swallowed to moisten it and sat upright on the lounge.
"Of course it will," she said calmly, reaching for a robe and shrugging into it. She belted the sash around her waist, and nodded. "Show him up, Luka."
"At once, Madam President."
The butler disappeared with the soundless, magical efficiency of his kind. He reappeared minutes later, with Mavro Kanjer in tow.
"Secretary Kanjer, Madam President," he murmured, and vanished again.
"Have a seat, Mavro," Tonkovic invited, pointing at the chairs around an umbrella-shaded table. The normally vocal Justice Secretary nodded jerkily and sat without a word. That was a bad sign, she thought, but she said nothing, only smiled and settled into a chair on the other side of the table.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" she asked lightly, once she was seated.
"Mrsic is going to move for a formal impeachment tomorrow morning," Kanjer said bluntly.
Despite Zovan's warning, it hit her like a fist.
"That seems unlikely," she heard her own voice say, and Kanjer grimaced.
"Aleksandra, it's been coming for weeks," he said. "I admit, I didn't see it either—not until Parliament voted to call you home. And even then, I didn't think this would happen. But I was wrong. They have the votes on the Standing Committee to report out a bill of impeachment, and they're going to."
"That bastard!" she hissed as the cold hammer of reality began to shatter the armor of her detachment. "That miserable, traitorous son of a bitch! He won't get away with it—he won't, I tell you!"
"Who won't?" Kanjer's expression was more than a little confused.
"That bastard Rajkovic, of course! He may think he can steal the presidency this way, but he's got another thought or two coming!"
"Rajkovic?" Kanjer stared at her. "Didn't you hear what I said? The motion's coming from Mrsic—Eldijana Mrsic."
"Mrsic?" Tonkovic blinked as the name finally registered. Eldijana Mrsic wasn't a Reconciliationist. She wasn't even a Social Moderate. She was the senior Democratic Centralist on Cuijeta Krizanic's Standing Committee.
"That's what I'm trying to tell you," Kanjer said. "It's coming from inside the Party, Aleksandra."
"But . . . but how did Rajkovic get to Mrsic?" Tonkovic asked in bewilderment.
"He didn't, Aleksandra," Kanjer said almost gently. "Alenka and I have been telling you all along that Rajkovic hasn't been in secret communication with Parliament. Hasn't been tapping your communications. Hasn't been using the KNP against you and your supporters. You just haven't been listening."
"But . . ." She stared at him, confused, and he shook his head.
"Vuk Rajkovic's no saint, Aleksandra. He's an experienced politician, and he can be just as sneaky and devious as any of the rest of us. But he didn't have to be this time. He didn't pressure Parliament into recalling you. All he did was pass on the information Medusa put into his possession through Van Dort. Parliament did the rest. And now Parliament is pushing the impeachment movement."
"But why? What about our majority?" she asked.
"We don't have one on this issue. Nordbrandt scared too many people, and the Manties got too much credit from those terrified people when they took out her base camp and all those weapons. And, to be perfectly blunt, Aleksandra, the threat that your policies in Spindle could get us blacklisted by the Star Kingdom frightened them even worse than Nordbrandt. That's why the Party's fracturing over the impeachment vote. Some of our deputies actually want you removed from office, because they're scared of exactly the same things and they blame you for it. But more of them are frightened of the consequences at the polls if you remain as Party leader. They want you out, Aleksandra. They believe you've become a dangerous political liability, and they won't support you. At best, they'll abstain when it comes down to the vote. And if they do, you'll lose."
"What are you saying? Are you saying the impeachment would succeed?"
"Yes," he said, and there was a certain kindness in the brutally brief reply. She shook her head, dazed, almost bemused, and he reached across the table and took her lax right hand between both of his own.
<
br /> "I know what you tried to do," he said. "And I believe the majority of the Party does. But it's not a big enough majority. Not with the Reconciliationist bloc in Parliament. If you're impeached, the impeachment will be sustained. Comfortably."
Tonkovic swallowed. This was a nightmare. It couldn't be -happening—not to her.
"What should I—? I mean, how—?"
"You have to resign," Kanjer told her gently. Her eyes flashed in instant rejection, and he tightened his clasp on her hand. "Listen to me, Aleksandra! You have to resign. If you don't, they'll hound you out of office, anyway. It's going to happen. The only choice you have is how you leave."
"And why should I make it easy for the traitorous bastards?" she snapped with a return of spirit. "If they want to be rats scurrying over the side before the ship sinks, why should I give a single solitary damn about what they want?"
"Because if you don't, it's the end of your political career."
"And how much 'political career' does a President who resigns in disgrace have? No Planetary President's ever resigned, and you know it!"
"This is a panic reaction," Kanjer said. "The people who ought to recognize what you're trying to do are too frightened to defend you at the moment. But that doesn't mean they won't eventually realize you were right. That by stampeding into the Manties' arms under Alquezar's terms they've thrown away their best—possibly their only—hope of preserving our way of life and, not to put too fine a point on it, their own positions.
"But when that day comes, they'll still be a political force. Not as strong a force as before they threw away all their advantages, but still a force. And the only force dedicated to protecting what's left of our society. When they finally wake up and recognize what they've done, how bad the situation is, they'll need a leader. One who didn't stampede right along with them.