The Prince by Jerry Pournelle and S.M. Stirling

“How am I supposed to organize this coup?” Falkenberg demanded. “I have a handful of men loyal to me. The rest are mercenaries, or your locals. You’ve paid a lot to bring me and my staff here. You want us to fight impossible odds with nonexistent equipment. If you also insist on your own organization of forces, I cannot accept the responsibility.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Falkenberg shrugged. “If President Budreau so orders, and he would on your recommendation, I’ll turn command over to anyone he names.”

And he’d name Bradford, Hamner thought. I’d rather trust Falkenberg. Whatever Falkenberg does will at least be competently done; with Ernie there was no assurance he wasn’t up to something, and none that he’d be able to accomplish anything if he wasn’t.

But. “What do you want out of this, Colonel Falkenberg?”

The question seemed to surprise the colonel. “Money, of course.” Falkenberg answered. “A little glory, perhaps, although that’s not a word much used nowadays. A position of responsibility commensurate with my abilities. I’ve always been a soldier, and I know nothing else.”

“And why didn’t you stay with the CD?”

“It is in the record,” Falkenberg said coldly. “Surely you know.”

“But I don’t.” Hamner was calm, but the whiskey was enough to make him bolder than he’d intended to be, even in this camp surrounded by Falkenberg’s men. “I don’t know at all. It makes no sense as I’ve been told it. You had no reason to complain about promotions, and the admiral had no reason to prefer charges. It 1ooks as if you had yourself cashiered.”

Falkenberg nodded. “You’re nearly correct. Astute of you.” The soldier’s lips were tight and his gray eyes bored into Hamner. “I suppose you are entitled to an answer. Grand Senator Bronson has sworn to ruin me for reasons you needn’t know. If I hadn’t been dismissed for a trivial charge of technical insubordination, I’d have faced a series of trumped-up charges. At least this way I’m out with a clean record.”

A clean record and a lot of bitterness. “And that’s all there is to it?”

“That’s all.”

It was plausible. So was everything else Falkenberg said. Yet Hamner was sure that Falkenberg was lying. Not lying directly, but not telling everything either. Hamner felt that if he knew the right questions he could get the answers, but there weren’t any questions to ask.

And, Hamner thought, I must either trust this man or get rid of him; and to irritate him while keeping him is the stupidest policy of all.

The pipers came back in, and the mess president looked to Falkenberg. “Something more?” Falkenberg asked.

“No.”

“Thank you.” The colonel nodded to the junior officer. The mess president waved approval to the pipe major. Pipe major raised his mace, and the drums crashed. The pipers began, standing in place at first, then marching around the table. Officers shouted, and the room was filled with martial cries. The party was on again.

George looked for one of his own appointees and discovered that every Progressive officer in the room was one of his own. There wasn’t a single man from Bradford’s wing of the Party. Was that significant?

He rose and caught the eye of a Progressive lieutenant. “I’ll let Farquhar escort me out, Colonel,” Hamner said.

“As you please.”

The noise followed them out of the building and along the regimental street. There were more sounds from the parade ground and the camp beyond. Fires burned brightly in the night.

“All right, Jamie, what’s going on here?” Hamner demanded.

“Going on, sir? Nothing that I know of. If you mean the party, we’re celebrating the men’s graduation from basic training. Tomorrow they’ll start advanced work.”

“Maybe I meant the party,” Hamner said. “You seem pretty friendly with the other officers.”

“Yes, sir.” Hamner noted the enthusiasm in Jamie Farquhar’s voice. The boy was young enough to be caught up in the military mystique, and George felt sorry for him. “They’re good men,” Jamie said.

“Yes, I suppose so. Where are the others? Mr. Bradford’s people?”

“They had a field problem that kept them out of camp until late,” Farquhar said. “Mr. Bradford came around about dinner time and asked that they be sent to a meeting somewhere. He spends a lot of time with them.”

“I expect he does,” Hamner said. “Look, you’ve been around the Marines, Jamie. Where are those men from? What CD outfits?”

“I really don’t know, sir. Colonel Falkenberg has forbidden us to ask. He says that the men start with a clean record here.”

Hamner noted the tone Farquhar used when he mentioned Falkenberg. More than respect. Awe, perhaps. “Have any of them served with the colonel before?”

“I think so, yes, sir. They don’t like him. Curse the colonel quite openly. But they’re afraid of that big sergeant major of his. Calvin has offered to whip any two men in the camp, and they can choose the rules. A few of the newcomers tried it, but none of the Marines would. Not one.”

“And you say the colonel’s not popular with the men?”

Farquhar was thoughtful for a moment. “I wouldn’t say he was popular, no sir.”

Yet, Hamner thought, Boris had said he was. Whiskey buzzed in George’s head. “Who is popular?”

“Major Savage, sir. The men like him. And Captain Fast, the Marines particularly respect him. He’s the adjutant.”

“All right. Look, can this outfit fight? Have we got a chance after the CD leaves?” They stood and watched the scenes around the campfires. Men were drinking heavily, shouting and singing and chasing each other through the camp. There was a fist fight in front of one tent, and no officer moved to stop it.

“Do you allow that?” Hamner demanded.

“We try not to interfere too much.” Farquhar said. “The colonel says half an officer’s training is learning what not to see. Anyway, the sergeants have broken up the fight, see?”

“But you let the men drink.”

“Sir, there’s no regulation against drinking. Only against being unfit for duty. And these men are tough. They obey orders and they can fight. I think we’ll do rather well.”

Pride. They’ve put some pride into Jamie Farquhar, and maybe into some of those jailbirds out there too. “All right, Jamie. Go back to your party. I’ll find my driver.”

As he was driven away, George Hamner felt better about Hadley’s future, but he was still convinced something was wrong; and he had no idea what it was.

IX

The stadium had been built to hold one hundred thousand people. There were at least that many jammed inside it now, and an equal number swarmed about the market squares and streets adjacent to it. The full CoDominium Marine garrison was on duty to keep order, but it wasn’t needed.

The celebration was boisterous, but there wouldn’t be any trouble today. The Freedom Party was as anxious to avoid an incident as the Marines on this, the greatest day for Hadley since Discovery. The CoDominium was turning over power to local authority and getting out; and nothing must spoil that.

Hamner and Falkenberg watched from the upper tiers of the Stadium. Row after row of plastisteel seats cascaded like a giant staircase down from their perch to the central grassy field below. Every seat was filled, so that the Stadium was a riot of color.

President Budreau and Governor Flaherty stood in the Presidential box directly across from Falkenberg and Hamner. The President’s Guard, in blue uniforms, and the CoDominium Marines, in their scarlet and gold, stood at rigid attention around the officials.

The President’s box was shared by Vice President Bradford, the Freedom Party opposition leaders, Progressive officials, officers of the retiring CoDominium government, and everyone else who could beg an invitation. George knew that some of them were wondering where he had got off to.

Bradford would particularly notice Hamner’s absence. He might, George thought, even think the Second Vice President was out stirring up opposition or rebellion. Ernie Bradford had lately been accusing Hamner of every kind of disloyalty to the Progressive Party, and it wouldn’t be long before he demanded that Budreau dismiss him.

To the devil with the little man! George thought. He hated crowds, and the thought of standing there and listening to all those speeches, of being polite to party officials whom he detested, was just too much. When he’d suggested watching from another vantage point, Falkenberg had quickly agreed. The soldier didn’t seem to care too much for formal ceremonies either. Civilian ceremonies, Hamner corrected himself; Falkenberg seemed to like military parades.

The ritual was almost over. The CD Marine bands had marched through the field, the speeches had been made, presents delivered and accepted. A hundred thousand people had cheered, and it was an awesome sound. The raw power was frightening.

Hamner glanced at his watch. As he did the Marine band broke into a roar of drums. The massed drummers ceased to beat one by one until there was but a single drum roll that went on and on and on, until finally it too stopped. The entire Stadium waited.