We Few

by David Weber

  "Yet the Imperial Court is no place for a truly honest man," the Phaenur suggested.

  "Maybe I can change that." Roger shrugged. "And if I can't, I have some truly dishonest advisers."

  The Phaenur cocked its head to the side and then bobbed it.

  "I sense that was a joke," it said. "Human and Phaenur concepts of humor are often at odds, alas."

  "One thing I would be interested in," Roger noted, "to try to make the Court a more... honest place, is some Phaenur advisers. Not immediately, but soon after we retake the Palace."

  "That could be arranged," Sreeetoth said, "but I strongly recommend that you contract with independent counselors. We like and trust the Empire, and you like and trust us. But having representatives of our government in your highest councils would be... awkward."

  "I suppose." Roger sighed. "I'd like to do as much as possible in the open, though. The Court hasn't been a place for an honest man, and one way to change that might be to make sure that what's said in Court is honest. Among other things, it would place me in a position where I could work to my strengths, not my weaknesses. I've never understood the importance that's placed upon dishonesty in business and politics."

  "I do," Despreaux said with a shrug. "I don't like it, but I understand it."

  "Oh?" the Phaenur said. "There is a point to dishonesty?"

  "Certainly. Even the Phaenurs and the Althari don't wear their thoughts on their sleeves. For example, Roger in command of the Empire will be a very restless neighbor. You have to know that. Surely there are others you'd prefer?"

  "Well, yes," Sreeetoth admitted.

  "But you don't bring it up, don't emphasize it. In it's own way, that's dishonest—or at least dissembling. And I have no doubt that you're capable of lying by omission, Mr. Minister." She looked directly into the Phaenur's eyes. "That there are things you have no intention of revealing, because to do so might evoke reactions which would run counter to the outcomes you're after."

  "No doubt," Sreetoth conceded, bobbing its head respectfully at her. "And you are correct. Roger's personality, the style of rulership we anticipate out of him, will not be... restful under the best of circumstances."

  It made a soft sound their toots interpreted as quiet laughter.

  "That may not be so bad a thing, however," it continued. "His grandfather, for example, was quite soothing. Also an honest man, but surrounded by deceit and virtually unaware of it. His lack of competence precluded the Empire's becoming a threat to us, which was restful, yet it also created the preconditions for the crisis we all face today.

  "Still, that does not mean a restless human ruler is necessarily in our best interests. Roger's mother, unlike her father, is a very deceitful person, but not at all, as you put it, restless. She was solely concentrated on the internal workings of the Empire and left us essentially alone. From our reports, it is unlikely she will continue very long as Empress. That will leave this... restless young man as Emperor. We could prefer someone less restless, but he is the best by far of the choices actually available to us."

  "How badly has Mother been injured?" Roger asked angrily.

  "Quite badly, unfortunately," the Phaenur replied. "Calm yourself, please. Your emotions are distressing in the extreme. It is why we have not brought up the full measure of damage before."

  "I'll... try," Roger said, as calmly as he could, and inhaled deeply. Then he looked directly at his host. "How damaged?"

  "The nature of the reports on her condition we have received—their very existence—means that maintaining security to protect our source is... difficult," Sreeetoth replied. "We have been able to clear only one specialist in human psychology and physiology to take a look at them, but she is among the best the Alliance can offer in her speciality, and I have read her analysis. It would appear that the... methods being used are likely to cause irreparable long-term damage. It will not kill her, but she will no longer be... at the top of her form. A form of senility is likely."

  Roger closed his eyes, and one jaw muscle worked furiously.

  "I apologize for my current... feelings," he said after a moment in a voice like hammered steel.

  "They are quite bloody," Sreeetoth told him.

  "We'll handle it," Despreaux said, laying a hand on his arm. "We'll handle it, Roger."

  "Yes." Roger let out a long, hissing breath. "We'll handle it."

  He touched the hand on his arm very lightly for just an instant, then returned his attention to Sreeetoth.

  "Let's talk about something else. I love your house. You don't have neighbors?"

  "Phaenurs tend to separate their dwellings," his host said. "It is quite impossible to fully shield one's feelings and thoughts. We learn, early on, to control them to a degree, but being in crowds is something like being at a large party for a human. All the thoughts of other Phaenurs are like a gabble of speech from dozens of people at once. All the emotions of others are like the constant roar of the sea."

  "Must be interesting working in customs," Despreaux observed.

  "It is one of the reasons so much of the direct contact work is handled by humans and Althari males," Sreeetoth agreed. "Alas, that has been somewhat less successful than we had hoped. Your reports on Caravazan penetration have caused a rather unpleasant stir, with some serious political and social implications."

  "Why?" Roger asked. "I mean, you're an honest society, but everyone has a few bad apples."

  "Humans have been a part of the Alphane Alliance since its inception," Sreeetoth explained. "But they have generally been—not a lower class, but something of the sort. Few of them reach the highest levels of Alphane government, which has not sat well with many of them. They know that Altharis and Phaenurs are simply more trustworthy than their own species, but that is not a pleasant admission for them, and whatever the cause, or whatever the justification, for their exclusion, the fact remains that they do not enjoy the full range of rights and opportunity available to Altharis or Phaenurs.

  "Althari males, however, most definitely are a lower class. Althari females, until recently, considered them almost subsentient, useful only for breeding and as servants."

  "Barefoot and... well, I guess not pregnant," Despreaux said dryly, and grimaced. "Great."

  "It is humans who have pushed for more rights for Althari males, and over the last few generations they have attained most of those rights. But it was humans and Althari males, and a single Phaenur who was supposed to be keeping an eye on them, who were corrupted by the Saints. I have already seen the level of distrust of the males growing in the females who work with them, those who know of their betrayal. Such a betrayal on the part of a female Althari would be considered even worse, and might shake their world view... and their prejudices. But, alas, only males were involved. And humans."

  "So now both groups are under a cloud," Roger said. "Yes, I can see the problem."

  "It is damaging work which has taken a generation to take hold," Sreeetoth said. "Most distressing. Admiral Ral has reinstituted communications restrictions on the males in her household, since you are staying there. That, in itself, is a measure of the degree of distrust which has arisen. She has lost faith in the honor of the males of her own household."

  "Lots of fun," Roger said, and grimaced. "I almost wish we hadn't given you the information."

  "Well, I cannot wish that," the Phaenur said. "But we have had to increase the level of counseling and increase the number of counseling inspectors. It is a difficult process, since they need to move about so that the counselors are unavailable for corruption. It is, in fact, something I had pressed for previously, but prior to your information the funds were unavailable. They are becoming available. Quickly."

  "Sorry," Roger said with a frown.

  "I am not," Sreeetoth said. "It helps me to ensure that the affairs of my department are in order. But you do seem to bring chaos wherever you go, young Prince. It is something to beware of."

  "I don't mean to," Roger protested, thinking of
the trail of bodies, Mardukan and human, the company had left behind on Marduk.

  "You appear simply to be responding to your surroundings and the threats you encounter," Sreeetoth said, "not seeking to become a force of destruction. But be careful. However justified your responses, you thrive on chaos. That is not an insult; I do the same. To be in customs, it is a necessity."

  "I think that was a joke," Roger said.

  "You humans would consider it so, yes—an ironic reality," it replied. "There are those who manage chaos well. You are one; I am another. There are others who cannot handle chaos at all, and fold in its face, and they are much more numerous. The job of a ruler, or any policymaker, is to reduce the chaos in life, so that those who simply wish tomorrow to be more or less the same as today, possibly a bit better, can get on with their lives.

  "The danger for those who manage chaos well, though, is that they seek what they thrive upon. And if they do not have it in their environment, they may seek to create it. I have found such tendencies in myself; they were pointed out to me early on, by one of my superiors. Since then I have striven, against my nature, to create placidness in my department. To find those who thrive on eliminating chaos. I have many subordinates, humans, Altharis, and Phaenurs, who also thrive on chaos—but those who cannot create order out of it, I remove. Their ability to manage the chaos is unimportant in the face of the additional chaos they create. So which will you do, young Prince? Create the chaos? Or eliminate it?"

  "Hopefully eliminate it," Roger said.

  "That is to be desired."

  They ate, then, from a smorgasbordlike selection of the Phaenur foods that were consumable by humans, with several small servings of multiple dishes rather than one main entrée. Conversation concentrated on their travels on Marduk, the things they'd seen, the foods they'd eaten. Roger couldn't entirely avoid reminiscing about the dead—there were too many of them. And whenever he had a fine repast, and this was one such, it brought back memories of Kostas and the remarkable meals he had produced from such scanty, unpromising material.

  When the meal was done, they departed, walking out of the grove to the waiting shuttle. It was the Phaenur custom, not a case of "eating and running." Phaenur dinner parties ended at the conclusion of the meal. In fact, the original Phaenur custom had been to conclude any gathering by the giving of foods to be eaten afterwards. That custom had been modified only after the Phaenur culture's collision with human and Althari customs.

  Roger thought it was rather a good custom. There was never the human problem of figuring out when the party was over.

  He and Despreaux boarded the shuttle in silence, and they were halfway through the flight back to the admiral's warren before Roger shook his head.

  "Do think it's right?" Roger asked. "Sreeetoth? That I create chaos wherever I go?"

  "I think it's hard to say," Despreaux replied. "Certainly there is chaos wherever we go. But there's usually some peace, when we're done."

  "The peace of the grave," Roger said somberly.

  "More than just that," Despreaux said. "Some chaos, to be sure. But an active and growing chaos, not just some sort of vortex of destruction. You... shake things up."

  "But Sreeetoth is right," Roger noted. "There's only room for a certain amount of shaking up in any society that's going to be stable in the long-term."

  "Oh, you generally leave well enough alone, if it isn't broken," Despreaux argued. "You didn't shake things up much in Ran Tai. For the rest, they were places that desperately needed some shaking. Even K'Vaern's Cove, where you just showed them they needed to get off their butts, and how to do it. It's not easy being around you, but it is interesting."

  "Interesting enough for you to stay?" Roger asked softly, looking over at her for the first time.

  There was a long silence, and then she nodded.

  "Yes," she said. "I'll stay. If it's the right thing to do. If there's no serious objection to it, I'll stay even as your wife. Even as—ick!—the Empress. I do love you, and I want to be with you. Sreeetoth was right about that, too. I don't feel... whole when I'm not around you. I mean, I need my space from time to time, but..."

  "I know what you mean," Roger said. "Thank you. But what about your absolute pronouncement that you'd never be Empress?"

  "I'm a woman. I've got the right to change my mind. Write that on your hand."

  "Okay. Gotcha."

  "I'm not going to be quiet," Despreaux warned him. "I'm not going to be the meek little farm girl over in the corner. If you're going off the deep end, I'm going to make that really, really plain."

  "Good."

  "And I don't do windows."

  "There are people for that around the Palace."

  "And I'm not going to every damned ribbon-cutting ceremony."

  "Agreed."

  "And keep the press away from me."

  "I'll try."

  "And I want to get laid."

  "What?"

  "Look, Roger, this is silly," Despreaux said angrily. "I haven't been in bed with a guy—or with a female, for that matter—in nearly ten months, and I have needs, too. I've been waiting and waiting. I'm not going to wait for some damned matrimonial ceremony, if and when. And it's not healthy for you, either. Parts start to suffer."

  "Nimashet—"

  "We've discussed this," she said, holding up her hand. "If you're going to have a farm-girl as your wife, then you're going to have to be willing to have one that's clearly no virgin, if for no other reason than that she's been sleeping with you. And we're not on Marduk anymore. Yes, I'm one of your guards, technically, but we both know that's just a job description anymore. I guess I'm one of your staff, but mostly I'm there to keep the peace. There's no ethical reason, or moral one, come to think of it, why we can't have... relations. And we're going to have relations, if for no other reason than to take the edge off you. You're like a live wire all the time, and I will ground you."

  "You always have grounded me," Roger said, patting her hand. "We'll discuss it."

  "We already have," Despreaux said, taking the patting hand and putting it in her lap. "Any further discussion will take place in bed. Say 'Yes, Dear.'"

  "Yes, Dear."

  "And these tits are new, so they're still a bit sore. Be careful with them."

  "Yes, Dear," Roger said with a grin.

  * * *

  "My, Your Highness," Julian said, looking up as a whistling Roger walked into the office he'd set up. "You're looking chipper today."

  "Oh, shut up, Julian," Roger said, trying unsuccessfully not to grin.

  "Is that a hickey I see on your neck?"

  "Probably. And that's all we're going to discuss about the evening's events, Sergeant. Now, what did you want to tell me?"

  "I've been looking into the information the Alphanes provided on our Navy dispositions." Julian was still grinning, but he spoke in his getting-down-to-business voice.

  "And?" Roger prompted.

  "Fleets can't survive indefinitely without supplies," Julian said. "Normally, they get resupplied by Navy colliers and general supply ships sent out from Navy bases. But Sixth Fleet is right on the edge of being defined as operating in a state of mutiny, with everything that's going on. So Navy bases have been ordered not to resupply its units."

  "So where are they getting their supplies?" Roger asked, eyes narrowing in interest as he leaned his shoulders against the office wall and folded his arms.

  "At the moment, from three planets and a station in the Halliwell Cluster."

  "Food and fuel, you mean?" Roger asked. "I don't see them getting resupply on missiles. And what are they doing for spares?"

  "Fuel isn't really that big a problem... yet," Julian replied. "Each numbered fleet has its own assigned fleet train service squadron, including tankers, and Sixth Fleet hasn't been pulling a lot of training maneuvers since the balloon went up. They haven't been burning a lot of reactor mass, and even if they had been, feeding a fusion plant's pretty much dirt cheap. I don't think
Helmut would hesitate for a minute when it came to 'requisitioning' reactor mass from civilian sources, for that matter.

  "Food, on the other hand, probably is a problem, or becoming one. Missile resupply, no sweat, so far—they haven't expended any of their precoup allotment. But spare parts, now. Those are definitely going to be something he's worrying about. On the other hand, you and I both know how inventive you can get when you're desperate."

  "'Inventive' doesn't help if a capacitor goes out," Roger pointed out. "Okay, so they're getting resupplied by friendly local planets. What's that do for us?"

  "According to the Alphanes, Helmut's supplies are being picked up by three of his service squadron's colliers: Capodista, Ozaki, and Adebayo. I was looking at the intel they have on Sixth Fleet's officers—"

  "Got to love their intel on us," Roger said dryly.

  "No shit. I think they know more about our fleets than the Navy does," Julian agreed. "But the point is, the captain of the Capodista is one Marciel Poertena."

  "Any relation to... ?"

  "Second cousin. Or once removed, or something. His dad's cousin. The point is, they know each other; I checked."

  "And you know Helmut."

  "Not... exactly. I was one of the Marines on his ship, once upon a time, but there were fifty of us. We met. He might remember me. Then again, given that the one time we really met met it was for disciplinary action..."

  "Great," Roger said.

  "Who the messenger is isn't really that important," Julian pointed out. "We just need to get him the message—that the Empress is in trouble, that the source of the trouble is provably not you, and that you're going to fix it."

  "And that if we can't fix it, he has to disappear," Roger said. "That we're not going to crack the Empire over this. Anything is better than that, and I don't want him coming in after the fact, all guns blazing, if we screw the pooch."

  "We're going to have a civil war whatever happens," Julian countered.

  "But we're not going to Balkanize the Empire," Roger said sternly. "He has to understand that and agree. Otherwise, no deal. On the other hand, if he supports us, and if we win, he has his choice: continue in Sixth Fleet until he's senile, or Home Fleet, or Chief of Naval Operations. His call."