March To The Stars

That's an interesting datum.'

'You know him?' Roger asked.

'Oh, I know just about everyone, Your Highness,' Pahner told him with a bleak smile. 'Maybe not all of them as well as I thought I did, I suppose. But Kjerulf is Gronningen with five years of college, then Staff School and Command College, plus thirty years of experience.'

'Hmmm,' Roger said. 'So what does that tell us?'

'He was probably a ready pick,' O'Casey replied. 'They couldn't justify letting Greenberg operate permanently without proper staff backup, and he was the first person logically available, whether the real conspirators wanted to use him or not. If that's the case, it tells us the coup isn't fully spread through the Fleet. And that not everyone may be quite as convinced by the 'party line' as they'd like. Not if they need to worry so much about window dressing and allaying suspicion that they've put a man like Kjerulf into such a sensitive position.'

'Everyone agree with that?' Roger asked, looking around his advisers' faces. 'There was a successful coup. Its control may not be entirely solid yet, but it's heading that way. And Mother's under duress.' Heads nodded around the table, and he grimaced. 'Wonderful. Because if it was, there's just one problem.'

'It can't last,' O'Casey supplied for him. 'Eventually she'll either break their control, or—if it's a direct drug or toot control—it will get found out.'

'So what does that tell us?' Roger said again. 'Assume they think I really am dead.'

'I think it's obvious that that's exactly what they think, Your Highness,' Kosutic put in. 'DeGlopper was the first bead in the magazine, and they obviously think they got us. What I don't know was whether they intended to make you the fall guy all along, or if this was some sort of ex post facto brainstorm.' The sergeant major snorted a bitter laugh. 'You know, from a purely tactical viewpoint, you gotta love it. Look at it—they've got the perfect Overlord of Evil! They can keep right on chasing you for decades as a way to maintain the 'threat' that justifies whatever 'emergency measures' they decide to take, and they know they can never catch you, because you're dead!'

'The sergeant major is right,' O'Casey agreed. 'And if they think you're dead, and they're worried about the Empress slipping out of their control, they have to be angling for an Heir. Probably another one by New Madrid.'

'And if they don't get an Heir and mother suffers a tragic accident anyway?' Roger asked. 'Uncle Thorry, right?'

'The Duke of San Cristobal, yes,' O'Casey agreed. 'But—'

'But he's damned near senile, and never bothered to have children,' Roger completed. 'And after him?'

'At least a dozen claimants,' O'Casey said. 'All with more or less equal claims.'

'Jackson's not in that group,' Roger amused. 'But he's close. And given his position of advantage ...'

'It's probable that the Throne would fall to him,' O'Casey said. 'But whether or not he could hang onto it would be another matter. Given all of the other competing heirs, it's almost as likely that the Empire would simply dissolve into warring factions. The rival cliques are still out there, you know, Your Highness.'

'Arrrgh.' Roger closed his eyes and rubbed his face. 'Julian, what's the dateline on the first news story that said Mother was something like 'alive and recovering'?'

The sergeant did a quick scan and pulled up an article.

'Nice word choice, Sir. 'Alive and should fully recover from her wounds.' Two months ago. Three days after the attack.'

'Now those must've been some tense days,' Roger said with a lightness which fooled none of them. 'And I thought being on Marduk was a bad thing. We have seven months.'

'Aye,' Pahner agreed. 'The child must be born of her body.'

'Which means she at least has to be alive when the can is cracked,' Roger said.

'Well, technically, yes,' O'Casey said. 'But, it's possible—'

'Under other circumstances, maybe,' Roger cut her off. 'But not these. If she dies before they have an acknowledged Heir to the Throne, then—like you just said—odds are the entire Empire could fall apart on them.' He shook his head. 'No, Eleanora. For right now, she's their trump card. With the child born and well, proven to be of her genetics, while she's still alive to confer legitimacy on their regime, they're covered. Then Mother dies, Jackson becomes Regent, and from there he can do as he wishes. But she has until the child is born to be relatively safe. Which means we only have seven months until my mother's life probably isn't worth spit.'

'Agreed,' Pahner said. 'At the same time, Your Highness, we have to get through our other problems before we can do anything about that one. We'll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it.'

'Indeed, Captain. Indeed.' Roger sighed sadly. 'Well, if it were easy, they wouldn't pay us the big bucks.'

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Harvard Mansul was lurking just outside the conference chamber when the meeting broke up.

The journalist rarely asked the prince any questions, preferring to pump the junior Marines and the Mardukan mercenaries, who were more than willing to share their stories. And, of course, he had not been invited to attend the command staff meeting, itself. But he was getting hours of video of the prince, and it was beginning to bother O'Casey.

She stepped out of the meeting room just as Mansul started to dart off after Roger, and she stuck out an arm and grabbed him before he could get away. He looked at her in some surprise, but the chief of staff had developed remarkably sinewy arms during the trek across Marduk, and he was wise enough not to resist as she dragged him back into the now empty room.

'We need to talk,' she said pleasantly.

'Yes, Ma'am,' the photographer said. 'I'm trying to stay out of the way.'

'And you're succeeding,' she noted. 'And I know that this is a heck of a story. But it's not necessarily one the IAS can publish when we get back.'

Mansul sighed and nodded.

'I understand that. But do you know what the prince intends to do? Is he going to contact the Empress when we return? How are we going to return?'

'That's ... not settled yet,' O'Casey temporized. 'But ... You do understand why we've got to start excluding you from some meetings?'

'I understand,' Mansul repeated. 'But this isn't just a good story, you realize. This is history unfolding. And what history! I mean, this is the best story in a thousand years! He could play his own leading man!'

'What do you mean?' the chief of staff asked.

'Come with me,' Mansul said, and took her arm. 'I want to show you something.'

He led her out of the door and towed her down the corridor, asking the occasional guard for directions to the prince.

They finally found him out on the battlements, conferring with the local Shin leadership. The skies, as always, were gray, but the brilliant pewter cloud glare of Marduk's powerful sun was near zenith and the day was bright—hot, and almost dry at this altitude. The prevailing wind in this area came down from the glaciers up-valley, and on some days it built up to a near-gale. Today it was running about thirty kilometers per hour, and the prince's hair had come unbound. It streamed sideways in the wind as he and the native leaders conferred, gesturing at the distant battle lines.

'There,' Mansul said.

'What?'

'That's what I brought you to see,' he replied. 'Nobody sees it. I want you to look at the prince and tell me what you see. Take your time.'