Crown of Slaves

can see it now. All over the holovids. Captain Zilwicki, Scourge of the Spaceways-and now! Introducing his daughter! Princess Berry, She Who Makes Slavers Howl! Do try to make sure she wears modest apparel, though. I've always found those scantily-clad sword-wielding princesses of the fantasies rather gauche. Don't you?'

* * *

The so-called 'audience chamber' appeared to have been, at one time, a large mess compartment. But after entering it, and observing for a few seconds, Anton understood the peculiar terminology.

Berry was seated on a chair not far from one of the walls. She was surrounded by people, some of them sitting on chairs, others standing, and was engaged in some sort of convivial conversation with all of them. Anton couldn't hear the words, but he didn't need to. He'd known Berry for years, and had met few if any people in his life who could converse so easily and comfortably. Part banter, part friendliness, part advice, part comfort-and, most of all, the girl's superb capacity for listening. Talking with Berry was a genuine pleasure.

As for the rest…

Yes, he could see it now. As an 'audience,' it bore no resemblance to any royal audience you'd have found anywhere else in the galaxy. Leaving aside the fact that Berry's chair was neither elevated nor any larger or fancier than any other, she was comporting herself far too casually and unpretentiously. But he had no difficulty- none at all-understanding how completely the ex-slaveswould have taken her into their hearts, in the two weeks since she'd arrived on the Felicia and rescued them.

Anton didn't have Web Du Havel's encyclopedic knowledge of history, but he knew more than enough to recognize the pattern. This wouldn't be the first time that a scorned and despised people, finding a glamorous champion, adopted him-or her-for their own. If Berry wasn't actually a princess, she was close enough. Close enough, after all, to consort with princesses and pass for one-not to mention being the adopted child of Anton Zilwicki and Catherine Montaigne. Cathy had given up the Tor title, true, but that would be irrelevant to the ex- slaves. For them, she was and would always remain the Countess-the wealthy, powerful aristocrat who had made their cause her own. Who'd committed herself to the liberation of the most despised, abused, forgotten victims of the galaxy not because she'd had to, but because she'd chosen to. And who'd given those same victims, and the 'terrorists' who fought for them, her unstinting support for so long and so fiercely, even at the cost of exile and the voluntary renunciation of her title when it got in the way of her work. Her adopted daughter would have basked in that stature alone, among these people, even if she hadn't played a central role in their rescue. Combine the two…

Then, he caught sight of Web Du Havel, sitting a bit aside from the conversation. Web was not participating, simply watching. And he had a very smug smile on his face.

In that lightning way that everything could suddenly make sense to Anton, after he'd chewed on it for a while, he understood what Du Havel was scheming for. He even remembered Du Havel once using a term to describe the strategy. The Bernadotte Option, he'd called it.

'I'll kill him,' he growled. 'W.E.B. Du Havel, you are lunch. No. Dog food. No. I wouldn't feed a dog-'

Jeremy was standing next to him, by then. He frowned slightly. 'Why the sudden animosity, Captain? I'd have thought Professor Du Havel far more congenial to you than I am-and you've never threatened to make me the main course for dinner.'

Anton set his jaw and glanced at Jeremy. Then, managed a chuckle.

Brace yourself, Jeremy. You're in for a shock.

* * *

Du Havel didn't waste any time. Two hours later, as the ship's wild celebration over the arrival of the famous Jeremy X and the almost equally famous Captain Zilwicki was well underway, Du Havel drew the two of them aside.

'We need to talk. Now. Come to the necessary agreements while everyone's good will is at a peak.'

Jeremy nodded. 'Agreed, Professor. Your compartment?'

Du Havel shook his head. 'No, I think the compartment of the two princesses would be best. Andwith both of them present.'

Jeremy cocked a quizzical eyebrow. Then, shrugged. 'I've no problem with that. What I've got to say in private will be no different from what I'll say in public.'

It took a few minutes to round up Berry and Ruth and retire to their compartment. Then, with everyone seated except Jeremy, who remained standing, the leader of the Ballroom opened the discussion. The negotiations, to use the proper term.

'Whatever you and I decide here, Professor Du Havel, it'll all have to be ratified by a popular vote after the liberation. That goes without saying. But I don't foresee any problems so long as you and I can reach agreement. So I'll begin by laying down my first two conditions.

'One. You will be the first head of state of our new star nation. You're the only one who could give us the necessary interstellar legitimacy. I'm the only other one with sufficient authority among our people, and I'm simply too notorious. For the moment, let's call it the presidency.

'Two. There will be no restrictions whatsoever on the movement or actions of the Audubon Ballroom. I'm willing to discuss tactics with you-and I'll abide by any agreement-but there will be no presumed limits. Not one.'

Web nodded his head. 'I've no problem with the second provision, Jeremy, provided you accept one of my own. You will accept a position in my Cabinet. Specifically, as Secretary of War. And that's exactly what I insist the position be titled. No stupid nonsense about a 'Secretary of Defense.' We're at war with Manpower and Mesa, we'll make no pretense otherwise-and I can think of no better way to make that clear than for you to hold the position.'

Jeremy smiled thinly. 'You're such an odd sort of 'conservative,' Professor, if you'll pardon me saying so.'

'I'm not a 'conservative' at all,' Web countered, 'as most people understand the term. Except in the broadest sense-which goes all the way back to Edmund Burke-of recognizing that societies are analogous to organisms, not machines. And that you must therefore understand that changing laws and customs is equivalent to medicine-or, sometimes, surgery-and isn't so simple a matter as swapping parts in a motor.' His normally pleasant face was almost tight with anger. 'That does not prevent me from undertaking surgery, when surgery is needed.'

Jeremy studied him for a moment. 'You're a shrewd one, too. Which, in itself, is fine with me. You're assuming that if I become Secretary of War I'll have to forego my previous tactics.'

'I don't 'assume' it, Jeremy. I'll insist on it.' He began talking a bit faster, trying to head off a collision. 'I make no condemnation of what you've done in the past. I never have-not publicly, at least- and I won't do so here in private. But I will tell you that it must change. Whether or not the tactics of individual killings and other such dramatic gestures is effective for an outlaw group can be argued till the heat death of the universe. But it's completely ineffective as a tactic used by an independent star nation. Worse than ineffective. The reasons are-'

Jeremy waved his hand. 'Skip the lecture, Professor. I won't argue the point, since I agree with you anyway. About the future, if not the past.' His jaws tightened a moment. 'So long, that is, as you understand that I will be waging war. I'm not quite sure how yet-yes, yes, I'll give up the pleasure of shooting the occasional swine-but I will do it. War to the knife, until genetic slavery is erased from the universe.'

Du Havel leaned back in his chair, smiled widely, and gestured to the empty chair next to him. 'By all means, Mr. Secretary of War. Your Pres-ah, head of government, will give you his full support. You have my promise on that. I'll be more precise. There will be nothing 'covert' about this war. I propose to make the first act of the new government of the new star nation a formal and official declaration of war against the planet of Mesa. To hell with restricting it to an informal struggle against Manpower Unlimited. The entire