Crown of Slaves

the moment. I'm sure they'll cooperate with our needs, but they're so pissed off with the Government at the moment that that cooperation's likely to be pretty grudging. And they aren't going to be impressed by our concerns about our proximity to Haven, either. Not after the way half of their voters figure the Star Kingdom was willing to throw away the entire Alliance for purely domestic political advantages.'

Hofschulte nodded, but her expression was a bit uncomfortable. True, the Queen's Own's loyalty was to the Crown and the Constitution, not to the office of the Prime Minister or to the current government of the Star Kingdom. The regiment's personnel were charged with keeping the monarch and the members of her family alive, at any cost, and they were expected to discuss the parameters of their mission with complete frankness and thoroughness. Which included calling a spade a spade when the stupidity of the government of the day's policies threatened to complicate the primary mission. Still…

'Do you seriously expect them to drag their feet, Sir?' she asked more seriously, and Griggs shrugged.

'Not really,' he said. 'What I do expect, though, is that they're not going to go out of their way to extend additional cooperation the way they did when Princess Ruth's father visited Erewhon during the war.' He shrugged again. 'Hard to blame them, really. Even leaving aside the way we've stomped all over their toes in the last three or four T-years, the Princess is a lot less likely a target than the Duke was, and the threat environment should be a lot less extreme than it was then.'

He and Hofschulte looked at one another grimly, remembering the many friends and colleagues who'd died aboard the royal yacht during the attempt to assassinate the Queen on her state visit to Grayson.

'Well, that's true enough, anyway, Sir,' Hofschulte agreed after a moment. 'On the other hand, the Duke wasn't the Princess, if you'll pardon my saying so. He was a hell of a lot easier to protect than she's likely to be.'

'I know,' Griggs agreed glumly. Actually, Ruth was normally quite popular with the royal family's protective details. Everyone liked her a great deal, and she was always cheerful and-like most Wintons, whether by birth or adoption-never snotty to the uniformed people responsible for keeping her alive. Unfortunately, the detail also knew all about the princess' ambition to pursue a career in espionage. Anton Zilwicki's presence gave a certain added emphasis to that ambition, and hobnobbing with Anti-Slavery League activists in a situation as politically complex as the Stein funeral was likely to prove was not something any sane bodyguard commander wanted to contemplate. Worse yet-

'How old did you say Ms. Zilwicki is, Sir?' Hofschulte asked, and Griggs chuckled sourly at the proof that her thoughts were paralleling his own.

'Seventeen, actually,' he said, and watched the sergeant wince.

'Wonderful… Sir,' she muttered. 'I'd kind of hoped she might, ah, exercise a restraining influence on the Princess,' she added rather forlornly.

'It would be nice if someone would,' Griggs agreed. Ruth Winton was a perfectly nice young woman, with an exquisite innate sense of courtesy. She had also, by dint of the way the royal family had closed ranks to protect her and her own intense concentration on the subjects of special interest to her, led a very sheltered existence. She was, in many ways, what an earlier age would have called a nerd. A brilliant, talented, well educated, incredibly competent and well-adjusted nerd, but a nerd and-also in many ways-unusually young for her age.

And no one who knew her could possibly doubt even for a moment that she was already busily plotting and scheming to make the most of her escape from Mount Royal Palace to someplace as… interesting as Erewhon.

The only real difference between her and the Zilwicki girl is that the extra six T-years have probably only made her even sneakier and more cunning when it comes to evading restrictions, he thought glumly. They certainly haven't done anything to dull her sense of adventure. Damn it.

'Well, at least we'll have Zilwicki along to help ride herd on both of them,' he observed in a voice of determined cheer.

'Oh, that makes me feel lots better, Sir,' Hofschulte snorted. 'Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't he the guy who went out and hunted up the Audubon Ballroom when he needed a little extracurricular muscle?'

'Well, yes,' Griggs admitted.

'Wonderful,' Hofschulte repeated, and shook her head. But then, suddenly, she grinned.

'At least it won't be boring, Sir.'

'Boredom is certainly one thing we won't have to worry about,' Griggs agreed with another chuckle. 'Actually, I think we're all going to deserve the Spitting Kitty for this one, Sergeant. Riding herd on the Princess, a seventeen- year-old pretending to be the Princess, an ASL intellectual, and the Star Kingdom's most notorious ex-spook, all in the middle of a three-ring circle like the Stein funeral on a planet like Erewhon?' He shook his head. 'Spitting Kitty time for sure.'

'I hope not, Sir!' Hofschulte replied with a laugh.

The 'Spitting Kitty' was the Queen's Own's nickname for the Adrienne Cross. The medal had been created by Roger II to honor members of the Queen's Own who risked-or lost-their own lives to save the life of a member of the royal family other than the monarch herself. The cross bore the snarling image of a treecat (rumor said that then-Crown Princess Adrienne's own 'cat, Dianchect, had sat as the model), and eleven people had won it in the two hundred and fifty T-years since it was created. Nine of the awards had been posthumous. Of course, the lieutenant reflected, this trip wasn't really going to kill them all. It was just going to make them feel that way.

'Oh, well,' he said finally. 'I guess it could be worse. We could be taking Princess Joanna along, as well. Think what that would be like.'

They looked at one another, each envisioning what the inclusion of the Queen's younger daughter would have done to the already frightening mix, and shuddered in perfect unison.

Chapter 3

'Captain Oversteegen is here, Admiral Draskovic.'

The dark-haired, dark-eyed woman in the uniform of an admiral of the red looked up from the paperwork on her terminal at the yeoman's announcement.

'Thank you, Chief,' she said, with perhaps just a trace more enthusiasm than the Fifth Space Lord of the Royal Manticoran Navy might normally be expected to show over the arrival of a mere captain. 'Please show him in,' she added.

'Yes, Ma'am.'

The yeoman withdrew, and the admiral quickly saved the document she'd been perusing. Then she stood and walked around her desk to the conversational nook arranged around the expensive coffee table. The door to her office opened once more, and the yeoman ushered in a man in the black-and-gold of an RMN senior-grade captain.

'Captain Oversteegen, Ma'am,' he murmured.

'Thank you, Chief.' The admiral held out a hand and smiled at her visitor in welcome. 'That will be all,' she added, never looking away from the newcomer.

Her yeoman withdrew once more, and she gripped the captain's hand firmly.

'Good to see you, Captain,' she said warmly, and waved at one of the waiting chairs with her free hand. 'Please, have a seat.'

'Thank you, Ma'am,' Oversteegen said, and if it occurred to him that a full admiral of the red did not normally greet the commander of a mere heavy cruiser quite so enthusiastically, no sign of it showed in his expression or manner as he availed himself of the offer. He settled into the indicated chair, crossed his legs, and regarded his superior with polite attentiveness.

'I don't believe that I've had the opportunity yet to congratulate you, Captain,' the admiral said as she sat in another chair, facing him across the coffee table. 'That was quite a show you put on in Tiberian.'

'I had a bit more luck than a man should get into the habit of expectin',' he replied in calm, even tones. 'And, even more importantly, the best crew and officers it's ever been my good fortune t' serve with.'