Crown of Slaves

moment, you can go to your rest in the serene confidence that before too long you'll be able to offend somebody else from the upper crust.'

'Oh, splendid,' he said. 'I do so enjoy that, as long as I'm not fouling something up for you.'

'In this case, I doubt it. First, from what Anton tells me, because the upper crustee in question probably doesn't offend all that easily. Secondly, because I don't give a fuck anyway.'

'You really should watch your language. Especially now that you're a politician instead of a rabble- rouser.'

'Don't be silly, Web. It's part of my charm. Persona, if you will. Who else can the Liberals turn to when the mob gets unruly, except someone who can cuss like a deep-space cargo-walloper?'

'You have a devious mind, Catherine Montaigne. I'd fear for your soul, except I don't believe in souls. Not a shred of evidence to support the notion, I'm afraid.'

They'd reached the door to his bedroom. He began to open it, but paused.

'Well. I admit your daughter Berry could be considered a piece of evidence in favor. Hard to explain otherwise how she turned out, really.'

'Isn't she a gem?' agreed Catherine enthusiastically. 'I sometimes think she's the most levelheaded person I've ever known. Most of the time, I'm sure of it.'

'Well put.' He shook his head sadly. 'I'll miss her, when I leave. I surely will.'

As he entered the bedroom and closed the door, he caught a glimpse of Cathy, still standing in the corridor. There seemed to be an odd gleam in her eyes. Maternal pride, perhaps.

Chapter 6

Getting to his ship a few days later was a madhouse for Anton. Queen Elizabeth had waited until the last minute to leak the news, but the Star Kingdom's paparazzi had the same lightning reflexes possessed by that breed throughout the galaxy. By the time Anton and his entourage reached the gate to the landing field where the orbital shuttle awaited them, the area was mobbed with journalists.

For all that he'd planned for it, Anton still found the whole situation a bit infuriating. For one thing, he'd become so accustomed to working in the shadows that he'd overlooked how much he would be an item of avid interest. As many of the paparazzi seemed interested in getting holopics of him as they were of the Princess.

Glumly, he could imagine the tabloid headlines.

Disgraced officer on mystery trip with royalty!

Captain Zilwicki tosses over the Countess for the Princess!

Catherine Montaigne heartbroken! 'My lover left me for a younger woman!'

Another scandal in a scandalous career!

It didn't help any when Berry, filled with excitement at the occasion, planted a sloppy impromptu kiss on his cheek right in front of the journalist mob. That it was a daughter's kiss and not a lover's should have been blindingly obvious to anyone nearby. But the paparazzi were kept at a distance by the police, and all their carefully cropped holopics would show was the sight of a pretty young woman dressed up like a princess apparently slobbering over a much older man.

Something of his unease must have shown. Behind him, he heard Princess Ruth murmur with amusement: 'Oh, stop worrying, Captain. The proper news media will carry the official version of the story, and who pays any attention to the scandal sheet tabloids anyway?'

About two-thirds of the population of Manticore, thought Anton sourly. Ninety percent, on Gryphon. I'll never be able to show my face in the highlands again.

Despite the sourness of the moment, he was pleased with Ruth herself. The young royal was playing her part in the charade to perfection. She was ambling casually along a few paces behind, engrossed in a conversation with Web Du Havel except when making wisecracks to her purported 'father.' The spitting image of a bright and none-too-respectful daughter.

Nevertheless, he couldn't help wincing at the sheer number of paparazzi present at the landing field. Like locusts swarming over ripe grain.

Great, just great. And now I'll be an item myself. The notorious Cap'n Zilwicki, rogue of the spaceways.

Modern holopic technology did not involve the dramatic flashbulbs of ancient times. But, at that moment, Anton felt as if every spotlight in the universe was focused on him.

* * *

He didn't feel any better once they reached orbit and transferred from the shuttle into Pottawatomie Creek, the ship the Anti-Slavery League had provided for the voyage. There hadn't been any physical problem getting through the landing gate, of course. Paparazzi took scuffling with police for granted, in order to get closer to their targets, but not even they were crazy enough to meddle with royal bodyguards from the Queen's Own Regiment. Lieutenant Griggs and the other troopers in Griggs' unit detached from the regiment as an escort for the Princess in her trip were heavily armed, scowling as ferociously as such well-trained and disciplined soldiers ever did, and making absolutely clear with their body language alone that they would instantly gun down any paparazzi who managed to break through the police line. Gun them down and probably gut the corpse for good measure.

The problem lay elsewhere. Princess Ruth was as much of a political junkie as Anton had expected she'd be, given her fascination with intelligence work. So, the moment they'd entered the ship, she'd made a beeline for the wardroom's HD and turned it on. Even after the ship left orbit, there'd be time to catch the evening news broadcasts before they were out of reception range.

Not to Anton's surprise, the show Ruth turned to was the prestigious talk show The Star Kingdom Today. The show's moderator, Yael Underwood, had a flair for presenting serious news in a manner which captured popular interest. Personally, Anton thought Underwood was a much shallower thinker than he managed to project. But he'd readily admit the man was an expert showman, and his news did have more substance than the usual fire-and-a-freak fare.

He caught the last part of a question posed by Underwood to his panel of guests.

'-think there's no truth, then, to the rumors regarding a romantic tie between Captain Zilwicki and Princess Ruth?'

'Oh, for God's sake!' exclaimed one of the guests. Anton recognized her as one of Underwood's regulars. A woman named Harriet Jilla, who'd once been some kind of academic specialist in who-can-remember-what but had long since traded that in for a more lucrative career as a Professional Talking Head.

'Not even the tabloids are going to push that for more than a day or two,' she jibed. 'If for no other reason than that they're going to suffer from schizophrenia, seeing as how they'll also want to run all the holopics they got from Montaigne's townhouse. I'm told the paparazzi were almost as thick on the ground there as they were at the landing field.'

Underwood gave the audience his patented knowing smile. It was quite a superb thing, combining shrewd intelligence and savoir-faire with just the right touch of slightly sardonic humor.

'I'd say you're right, Harriet. In fact-' He glanced away for a moment, as if checking something with an off- stage technician. 'Yes. Let's run a little footage of our own from that scene.'

Anton had time to wonder about the origin of the peculiar term footage, used throughout the news industry to refer to imagery despite its apparent meaninglessness, before the scene itself came on.

'Goddamit,' he growled. 'Is there any privacy left?'

'That's a little rich coming from you, Daddy,' retorted Berry. 'Mr. Supersnoop.'

Anton silently admitted the justice of her remark. But it still didn't make him feel any better seeing his parting embrace-kiss, too, and a damn passionate one, as usual with Cathy, public spectacle be damned, when did she