The Prince by Jerry Pournelle and S.M. Stirling

“Give it to ’em, Glenda Ruth!” someone shouted from the balcony.

Howard Bannister looked up in surprise. “We will have order here!”

“Hump it, you Preston Bay bastard!” the voice replied. The elderly rancher was joined by someone below. “Damn right, Ford Heights don’t control the Valley!” There were cheers at that.

“Order! Order!” Bannister’s commands drowned the shouting as the technicians turned up the amplifiers to full volume. “Miss Horton, you have the floor.”

“Thank you. What I was trying to say is that we did not start this revolution to destroy New Washington! We must live with the Loyalists once it is over, and—”

“Fedsymp! She was engaged to a Feddie soldier!” “Shut up and let her talk!” “Order! ORDER!”

Falkenberg sat motionless as the hall returned to silence, and Glenda Ruth tried to speak again. “Bloody noisy lot,” Jeremy Savage murmured.

Falkenberg shrugged. “Victory does that to politicians.”

Glenda Ruth described the conditions she’d seen in Allansport. She told of the burned-out city, hostages herded into jail cells—

“Serves the Fedsymps right!” someone interrupted, but she managed to continue before her supporters could answer.

“Certainly they are Loyalists. Over a third of the people in the territory we control are. Loyalists are a majority in the capital city. Will it help if we persecute their friends here?”

“We won’t ever take the capital the way we’re fighting!” “Damn right! Time we moved on the Feddies.” “Send the mercenaries in there, let ’em earn the taxes we pay!”

This time Bannister made little effort to control the crowd. They were saying what he had proposed to the Council, and one reason he supported Silana was because he needed the governor’s merchant bloc with him on the war issue. After the crowd had shouted enough about renewing the war, Bannister used the microphone to restore order and let Glenda Ruth speak.

The Council adjourned for the day without deciding anything. Falkenberg waited for Glenda Ruth and walked out with her. “I’m glad we didn’t get a vote today,” she told him. “I don’t think we’d have won.”

“Noisy beggars,” Major Savage observed again.

“Democracy at work,” Falkenberg said coldly. “What do you need to convince the Council that Silana is unfit as a governor?”

“That’s not the real issue, John,” she answered. “It’s really the war. No one is satisfied with what’s being done.”

“I should have thought we were doing splendidly,” Savage retorted. “The last Confederate thrust into the Matson ran into your ambush as planned.”

“Yes, that was brilliant,” Glenda Ruth said.

“Hardly. It was the only possible attack route,” Falkenberg answered. “You’re very quiet, Mayor Hastings.” They had left the gymnasium and were crossing the parade ground to the barracks where the Friedlanders had been quartered. Falkenberg’s troops had it now, and they kept the Allansport officials with them.

“I’m afraid of that vote,” Hastings said. “If they send Silana back, we’ll lose everything.”

“Then support me!” Falkenberg snapped. “My engineers already have the automated factories and mills in reasonable shape. With some help from you they’d be running again. Then I’d have real arguments against Silana’s policies.”

“But that’s treason,” Hastings protested. “You need the Allansport industry for your war effort. Colonel, it’s a hell of a way to thank you for rescuing my family from that butcher. but I can’t do it.”

“I suppose you’re expecting a miracle to save you?” Falkenberg asked.

“No. But what happens if you win? How long will you stay on the Ranier Peninsula? Bannister’s people will be there one of these days—Colonel, my only chance is for the Confederacy to bring in Franklin troops and crush the lot of you!”

“And you’ll be ruled from Franklin,” Glenda Ruth said. “They won’t give you as much home rule as you had last time.”

“I know,” Roger said miserably. “But what can I do? This revolt ruined our best chance. Franklin might have been reasonable in time—I was going to give good government to everyone. But you finished that.”

“All of Franklin’s satraps weren’t like you, Roger,” Glenda Ruth said. “And don’t forget their war policies! They’d have got us sucked into their schemes and eventually we’d have been fighting the CoDominium itself. Colonel Falkenberg can tell you what it’s like to be victim of a CD punitive expedition!”

“Christ, I don’t know what to do,” Roger said unhappily.

Falkenberg muttered something which the others didn’t catch, then said, “Glenda Ruth, if you will excuse me, Major Savage and I have administrative matters to discuss. I would be pleased if you’d join me for dinner in the Officers’ Mess at nineteen hundred hours.”

“Why—thank you, John. I’d like to, but I must see the other delegates tonight. We may be able to win that vote tomorrow.”

Falkenberg shrugged. “I doubt it. If you can’t win it, can you delay it?”

“For a few days, perhaps—why?”

“It might help, that’s all. If you can’t make dinner, the regiment’s officers are entertaining guests in the mess until quite late. Will you join us when you’re done with politics?”

“Thank you. Yes, I will.” As she crossed the parade ground to her own quarters, she wished she knew what Falkenberg and Savage were discussing. It wouldn’t be administration—did it matter what the Council decided?

She looked forward to seeing John later, and the anticipation made her feel guilt. What is there about the man that does this to me? He’s handsome enough, broad shoulders and thoroughly military—nonsense. I am damned if I’ll believe in some atavistic compulsion to fall in love with warriors, I don’t care what the anthropologists say. So why do I want to be with him? She pushed the thought away. There was something more important to think about. What would Falkenberg do if the Council voted against him? And beyond that, what would she do when he did it?

* * *

Falkenberg led Roger Hastings into his office. “Please be seated, Mr. Mayor.”

Roger sat uncomfortably. “Look, Colonel, I’d like to help, but—”

“Mayor Hastings, would the owners of the Allansport industries rather have half of a going concern, or all of nothing?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I will guarantee protection of the foundries and smelters in return for a half interest in them.” When Hastings looked up in astonishment, Falkenberg continued. “Why not? Silana will seize them anyway. If my regiment is part owner, I may be able to stop him.”

“It wouldn’t mean anything if I granted it,” Hastings protested. “The owners are on Franklin.”

“You are the ranking Confederate official for the entire Ranier Peninsula,” Falkenberg said carefully. “Legal or not, I want your signature on this grant.” He handed Roger a sheaf of papers.

Hastings read them carefully. “Colonel, this also confirms a land grant given by the rebel government! I can’t do that!”

“Why not? It’s all public land—and that is in your power. The document states that in exchange for protection of lives and property of the citizens of Allansport you are awarding certain lands to my regiment. It notes that you don’t consider a previous grant by the Patriot Government to be valid. There’s no question of treason—you do want Allansport protected against Silana, don’t you?”

“Are you offering to double-cross the Patriots?”

“No. My contract with Bannister specifically states that I cannot be made party to violations of the Laws of War. This document hires me to enforce them in an area already pacified. It doesn’t state who might violate them.”

“You’re skating on damned thin ice, Colonel. If the Council ever saw this paper they’d hang you for treason!” Roger read it again. “I see no harm in signing, but I tell you in advance the Confederacy won’t honor it. If Franklin wins this they’ll throw you off this planet—if they don’t have you shot.”

“Let me worry about the future, Mr. Mayor. Right now your problem is protecting your people. You can help with that by signing.”

“I doubt it,” Hastings said. He reached for a pen. “So long as you know there isn’t a shadow of validity to this because I’ll be countermanded from the home world—” he scrawled his name and title across the papers and handed them back to Falkenberg.

* * *

Glenda Ruth could hear the regimental party across the wide parade ground. As she approached with Hiram Black they seemed to be breasting their way upstream through waves of sound, the crash of drums, throbbing, wailing bagpipes, mixed with off-key songs from intoxicated male baritones.

It was worse inside. As they entered a flashing saber swept within inches of her face. A junior captain saluted and apologized in a stream of words. “I was showing Oberleutnant Marcks a new parry I learned on Sparta, Miss. Please forgive me?” When she nodded the captain drew his companion to one side and the saber whirled again.

“That’s a Friedland officer—all the Friedlanders are here,” Glenda Ruth said. Hiram Black nodded grimly. The captured mercenaries wore dress uniform, green and gold contrasting with the blue and gold of Falkenberg’s men. Medals flashed in the bright overhead lights. She looked across the glittering room and saw the colonel at a table on the far side.