The Prince by Jerry Pournelle and S.M. Stirling

“Actually, no. Ly—Prince Lysander bought it for me at a little shop in the garden district. He was looking for something made here.”

“Ah, very astute,” Dr. Nol said. “Tell me, Your Highness, did you know our governor before you came to Tanith?”

“Not at all. We’d heard about him of course. Seems very dedicated to his work.”

“He is that,” Hendrik ten Koop said from Alma Reilly’s right. “Too dedicated for some.”

* * *

White-jacketed servants cleared the table and brought an elaborate three-tiered compote of sherbets and ices. After desert they brought crystal decanters of a rose-colored liqueur. Governor Blaine stood to offer the first toast.

“To our guest, Prince Lysander of Sparta. May there always be friendship between Tanith and Sparta.”

That’s a bold toast, Lysander thought. Considering that Sparta is sovereign and Tanith isn’t. Not yet.

Lysander acknowledged the toast with a bow. “Our thanks. May we always be friends, and your enemies be ours.” There was silence for a moment. Lysander looked across the table to smile reassurance at Ursula, then up toward the governor. Colonel Falkenberg caught his eye, and might have smiled. Lysander turned back to his left. “And if I may offer a toast to our charming hostess. Madame Chang.”

Hendrik ten Koop laughed aloud. The portly Dutch planter had already drunk four glasses of port, but it hadn’t seemed to affect him at all. “Good, good. May I second? To the real governor of Tanith.”

“Why, thank you,” Mrs. Chang said. “And in response—to the new order on Tanith.” She looked significantly at Ursula Gordon. “But I can’t quite let Mynheer ten Koop get away with that. To the best governor Tanith will ever have.” She raised her glass toward Blaine.

Another moment of silence, even longer than the first. Then Falkenberg lifted his glass. “Well said,” Captain Ian Frazer and both Captains Alana instantly lifted theirs. Dr. Nol smiled, a tiny smile at just the corners of his mouth. “If Colonel Falkenberg agrees, then it must be so.”

Christopher Reilly was next. “Indeed. Thank you, Dr. Nol.” He sipped at his liqueur.

“I see,” Hendrik ten Koop said. “I see indeed.” He drained his glass in one gulp.

* * *

The outside walls of Government House were bleak and fortified, with few windows. The building’s roofed verandas all lined its inner walls, which enclosed a large courtyard dotted with fountain pools and crowned with a large illuminated aviary. Sprays of water traced sparkling paths through the multicolored spotlight beams, and the patter of the fountains was punctuated by the occasional cries of the birds.

There were ceiling fans out here as well as inside. Lysander watched a pair of brilliant blue-and-red hens strut in their cage, then turned to the others who had gathered around him at the veranda railing. “I’d thought Tanith was a young planet,” Lysander said. “But surely birds are a late stage of evolution?”

“Quite late, Highness,” Catherine Alana said. “Even though this planet looks like it’s still in the Cretaceous, it’s actually in an era beyond Earth’s present period.”

“Ah. I hadn’t known that. And no intelligent life evolved. Not here, not anywhere—”

Ursula smiled. “Except on Earth, of course.”

“Sometimes I wonder,” Christopher Reilly said. He looked out over the fountains below. “If we’re so intelligent, why do we act so stupid?”

“You’re not being stupid,” Captain Alana said. Her smile faded. “It’s those others. They aren’t going to win, so why are they making us fight? It will be expensive for everyone.” She looked across the veranda where her husband stood with Colonel Falkenberg. “It could be very expensive.”

“She ought to know,” Beatrice Frazer said. “Catherine is the regiment’s chief accountant.”

“I see. Captain Alana is in uniform, but you’re not, Madame Frazer,” Lysander prompted.

“No, I’m a civilian.” She laughed. “As much as we have civilians in Falkenberg’s Legion. I teach in the regimental schools.”

“Are there many women in your regiment?” Ursula asked.

“A fair number if you count the dependents,” Beatrice said. “Most of the men are married, so there are nearly as many women as men. I expect Catherine could tell you exactly how many of us are in uniform. Actually, we don’t make too strong a distinction between those in ranks and the dependents. We take care of our own.”

“Do you fight?” Lysander asked Catherine Alana. He glanced at her holstered pistol.

“I presume you mean the women? Only if we have to. The regiment is organized so that it can take the field without us, and we manage the rear areas, so to speak. Sometimes things don’t work the way they’re planned.” Captain Alana’s blue eyes danced. “I should tell you? You’ve a whole planet to run. Or will have.”

“It’s not quite cut and dried,” Lysander said. “Sparta has a dual monarchy, and the throne is elective in each royal house. Then there’s the Senate, and the Council.”

“How could they pass you over?” Catherine said.

“Well, it would be pretty stupid, wouldn’t it?” Lysander grinned and turned so that he faced her, with his back to the others. “You seem to know everything, Captain. Tell me, please: What is all this about a revolt of the planters?”

“I expect you’ll find out soon enough,” Catherine said. “Very soon, in fact. Here’s the governor, and if no one’s already told you, he’s revived the custom of inviting the menfolk into his office for after-dinner cigars.”

Governor Blaine had brought Falkenberg down to join them. Like his officers, Falkenberg wore dress whites. Lysander smiled to himself. He’d already noticed that the colonel and his staff were the only guests wearing white upper garments.

“Your Highness, Colonel Falkenberg has asked me to provide you transport to his regimental compound tomorrow,” Blaine said. “Easy enough to do, if you like.”

“Oh, please,” Lysander said. “Good of you to invite me, Colonel.”

“My pleasure. I’ll ask the mess president to come up with something special for dinner. Lunch as well?”

“Certainly, if it’s not an inconvenience.”

“Not at all.”

Blaine turned to Ursula. “Meanwhile, if the ladies would excuse us? Gentlemen, if you’d care to join me in my office, I can offer you genuine Havana cigars. Rolled on Tanith, of course, but the tobacco is imported from Cuba. It’ll be another few years before we can grow our own.”

“Not too long, I hope,” Lysander said. “I confess I’ve never smoked a genuine Havana. Thank you.” He looked to Ursula. “You’ll excuse me?”

She glanced nervously around. Beatrice Frazer caught Falkenberg’s eye, then smiled at Lysander. “Your Highness, with your permission we’ll bore your young lady with tales of life in the regiment.”

“Ah. Yes. Thank you.” He squeezed Ursula’s hand and turned to Blaine. “Governor, I would very much like a taste of your tobacco.”

* * *

A detailed map swam up on the monitor screen. Blaine pointed at an inlet of the sea. The view zoomed in until Government House Square filled the screen, then zoomed back out to show an area of several hundred kilometers around the city. The screen held the display for a moment, then the view zoomed out once more.

“The last pirates are down here, between us and the southern province,” Blaine said. “They call themselves the Free State.”

Hendrik ten Koop drained his glass of port and poured another. “Free State. Yes, that’s what they called themselves. Last month they killed five of my people and kidnapped three women on my south station. Then they burned what they could not carry away.”

“Yes. Well, it shouldn’t take Colonel Falkenberg long to root them out.” Blaine zoomed the map to an area a few hundred kilometers west of Lederle. “It’s the rebel planters who’re likely to be more trouble to us all. Most of them are in this area here.” He pointed.

“I would not go so far as to call them rebels,” Dr. Nol said. He drew delicately on his cigar. “Excellent tobacco. Thank you. Governor, is it wise to think of our friends as rebels?”

“Perhaps not.” Blaine looked thoughtful. “Think rebel and drive them to rebellion. Note taken. Still—what should we call them?”

“The opposition?” Christopher Reilly asked.

“Hardly a loyal opposition,” Blaine said. “But very well. ‘Opposition’ it is.”

“Your pardon, Governor,” Lysander said. “If they’re not rebels, what have they done that you’re about to send some of the best troops in the galaxy against them?”

“Withheld their crops,” Blaine said.

“They won’t pay taxes,” ten Koop said. “Often I wonder why I do not join them.”

“For the same reason I don’t,” Reilly said. “The Navy will have our crops, or someone else will. Better we keep something than nothing.”

“Will they kill all the geese?” ten Koop demanded.

“I expect that’d depend on the goose supply,” Falkenberg said carefully. “Fifty geese laying silver eggs might be worth as much as one that lays gold, if the one that lays gold eats too much.”