almost as bad. “I have requested aid from the Kingdom and our allies as a matter of urgency,” she said. “We should start to receive shipments of medical nanonic packages over the next few days. Every hospital and clinic on the planet is being used, and civilian ships are being deployed to fly people out to asteroid settlements in the system— not that they have many beds or staff, but every little bit helps. I just wish we could ferry people out-system, but at the moment I can’t break the quarantine for that. In any event, my Foreign Minister has cautioned me that there would be some reservation from other star systems about accepting our medical cases. They’re worried about infiltration by the possessed, and I can’t say I blame them.”
“Capone’s new lunacy doesn’t help ease the paranoia,” Admiral Farquar grunted. “Damn that bastard.”
“So you would prefer the slow down scenario?” Kirsten asked.
“Very much so, ma’am,” Janne Palmer said. “It’s not just a question of providing medical support, there are transport bottlenecks as well. It’s improved slightly now we can land aircraft at the coastal ports, but we have to get the de-possessed there first, and they need care which my occupation forces really aren’t geared up to provide.”
“General Hiltch, what do you favour?”
“I don’t like slowing down the advance, ma’am. With all respect to Admiral Farquar’s SD officers, I don’t think they’ll be able to prevent the possessed from congregating. Slow their movements, maybe, but halt them no. And once that happens, we’ll be in a real mess. The kind of firepower we’re going to need to break open Ketton at the moment is way in excess of any assault so far. We have to prevent it from turning into a runaway situation. At the moment we’re dictating the pace of events to them, I’d hate to abandon that level of control. It’s our one big advantage.”
“I see. Very well, you’ll have my decision before dawn local time.”
The sensenviron ended with its usual abruptness, and Kirsten blinked irritably, allowing her eyes to register the familiar office. Touching base with normality. Necessary, now. These nightly reviews were becoming a considerable drain. Not even the Privy Council Grand Policy Conclaves back in the Apollo Palace had quite the same impact, they implemented policies that would take decades to mature. The Liberation was all so
I make political decisions, not military ones.
But the Liberation had changed all that, blurring the distinction badly. Military decisions were political ones.
She stood up, stretching, then went over to Allie’s bust. Her hand touched his familiar, reassuringly sober features. “What would you do?” she murmured. Not that she would ever be accused of making the wrong choice. Whatever it was, the family would support her. Her equerry, Sylvester Geray, scrambled to his feet in the reception room, the chair legs scraping loudly on the tushkwood floor as Kirsten came out of her office.
“Tired?” she asked lightly.
“No ma’am.”
“Yes you are. I’m going back to my quarters for a few hours. I won’t need you before seven o’clock. Have a sleep, or at least a rest.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” He bowed deeply as she walked out.
There were few staff about in the private apartments, which was how she liked them. With the rooms all dark and quiet, it was almost how she imagined a normal home would be late in the evening. An assistant nanny and a maid were on duty, sitting up chatting quietly in the lounge next to the children’s bedrooms. Kirsten stood outside for a moment, listening; the nanny’s fiancй was in the Royal Navy, and hadn’t called her for a couple of days. The maid was sympathising.
Everyone, Kirsten thought, this has touched and involved every one of us. And the Liberation is only the beginning. So far the Church had been noticeably unsuccessful in quelling people’s fears of the beyond. Though Atherstone’s Bishop reported that attendance was high in every parish on the planet, greater than Christmas Eve, he’d said almost in indignation.
She opened the door to Edward’s study without knocking, only realising her mistake once she was well inside. There was a girl with him on the leather settee; his current mistress. Kirsten remembered the security file Jannike Dermot had provided: minor nobility, her father owned an estate and some kind of transport company. Pretty young thing, in her early twenties, with classic delicate bonework. Tall with very long legs; as they all invariably were with Edward. She stared at Kirsten in utter consternation, then frantically tried to adjust her evening dress to a more modest position. Not that she could achieve much modesty with so little fabric, Kirsten thought in amusement. The girl’s wine glass went flying from trembling fingers.
Kirsten frowned at that. The antique carpet was Turkish, a beautiful red and blue weave; she’d given it to Edward as a birthday present fifteen years ago.
“Ma’am,” the girl squeaked. “I . . . We . . .”
Kirsten merely gave her a mildly enquiring glance.
“Come along, my dear,” Edward said calmly. He took her arm and escorted her to the door. “Affairs of state. I’ll call you in the morning.” She managed a strangled whimper in response. A butler, responding to Edward’s datavise, appeared and gestured politely to the by-now thoroughly frightened and bewildered girl. Edward shut the study door behind her, and sighed.
Kirsten started laughing, then put her hand over her mouth. “Oh Edward, I’m sorry. I should have let you know I was coming.”
He spread his hands wide.
“Poor thing looked terrified.” She knelt down and picked the wine glass up, dabbing at the carpet. “Look what she did. I’d better get a valet mechanoid, or it’ll stain.” She datavised the study’s processor.
“It’s a rather good Chablis, actually.” He picked the bottle out of its walnut cooler jacket. “Shame to waste it, would you like some?”
“Lovely, thank you. It has been a very bad day at the office.”
“Ah.” He went over to the cabinet and brought her a fresh glass.
Kirsten sniffed at the bouquet after he’d poured. “She was jolly gorgeous. Slightly young, though. Wicked of you.” She brushed at imaginary dust on his lapel. “Then again, I can see why she’s so obliging. You always did look rather splendid in uniform.”
Edward glanced down at his Royal Navy tunic. There were no Royal crests, just three discreet medal ribbons—earned long ago. “I’m just doing my bit. Though they are all depressingly young at the base. I think they regard me as some kind of mascot.”
“Oh poor Edward, the indignity. But not to worry, Zandra and Emmeline are terribly impressed.”
He sat on the leather settee and patted the cushion. “Come on, sit down and tell me what’s wrong.”
“Thank you.” She stepped round the small mechanoid that was sniffing at the wine stain, and sat beside him, welcoming his arm around her shoulders. The secret of a successful royal marriage: don’t have secrets. They were both intelligent people, which had allowed them to work out the grounds of a sustainable domestic arrangement a long time ago. In public and in private he was the perfect companion, a friend and confidant. All she required was loyalty, which he supplied admirably. In return he was free to gather whatever perks his position presented—and it wasn’t just girls; he was an avid art collector and bon viveur. They even still slept together occasionally.
“The Liberation is not progressing as well as could be,” he said. “That much is obvious. And the net is overloading with speculation.”
Kirsten sipped some of the chablis. “Progress is the key word, yes.” She told him about the decision she was faced with.
After she’d finished, he poured some more wine for himself before answering. “The serjeants developing advanced personalities? Humm. How intriguing. I wonder if they’ll refuse to go back into their habitat multiplicities when the campaign is over.”
“I have no idea; Acacia never ventured an opinion. And to be honest, that part is not my problem.”
“It might be if they all start applying for citizenship afterwards.”
“Oh God.” She snuggled up closer. “No. I’m not even going to consider that right now.”
“Wise lady. You want my opinion?”
