Jerry Pournelle - Sword and Scepter

Falkenberg caught Glenda Ruth's eye. He gestured toward the outside and left the hall. She joined him minutes later. "I really ought to stay, John. We've got to decide what to do."

"What you decide has just become unimportant," Falkenberg said. "Your Council doesn't hold as many cards as it used to."

"John, what will they do?"

He shrugged. "Try to stop the war now that they're here. I suppose it never occurred to Silana that a complaint from the Franklin industrialists is more likely to get CD attention than 'a similar squawk from a bunch of farmers…"

"You expected this! Was this what you were waiting for?"

"Something like this."

"You know more than you're saying! John, why won't you tell me? I know you don't love me, but haven't I a right to know?"

He stood at stiff attention in the bright reddish tinted sunlight for a long time. Finally he said, "Glenda Ruth, nothing's certain in politics and war. I once promised something to a girl, and I couldn't deliver it."

"But-"

"We've each command responsibilities-and each other. Will you believe me when I say I've tried to keep you from having to choose-and keep myself from the same choice? You'd better get ready. A CD Court of Inquiry isn't in the habit of waiting for people, and they're due in little more than an hour."

The Court was to be held aboard Intrepid. The four-hundred-meter bottle-shaped warship in orbit around New Washington was the only neutral territory available. When the Patriot delegates were piped aboard, the Marines in the landing dock gave Bannister the exact honors they'd given the Confederate governor general, then hustled the delegation through, gray steel corridors to a petty officer's lounge reserved for them.

"Governor General Forrest of the Confederacy is already aboard, sir," the Marine sergeant escort told them. "Captain would like to see Colonel Falkenberg in his cabin in ten minutes."

Bannister looked around the small lounge. "I suppose it's bugged," he said. "Colonel, what happens now?"

Falkenberg noted the artificially friendly tone Bannister had adopted. "The captain and his advisers will hear each of us privately. If you want witnesses summoned, he'll take care of that. When the Court thinks the time proper, he'll bring both parties together. The CD usually tries to get everyone to agree rather than impose some kind of settlement."

"And if we can't agree?"

Falkenberg shrugged. "They might let you fight it out. They might order mercenaries off-planet and impose a blockade. They could even draw up their own settlement and order you to accept it."

"What happens if we just tell them to go away? What can they do?" Bannister demanded.

Falkenberg smiled tightly. "They can't conquer the planet because they haven't enough troops to occupy it-but there's not a lot else they can't do, Mr. President. There's enough power aboard this cruiser to make New Washington uninhabitable. You don't have either planetary defenses or a fleet to oppose it. I'd think a long time before I made Captain Grant angry-and on that score, I've been summoned to his cabin." Falkenberg saluted. There was no trace of mockery in the gesture, but Bannister grimaced as the soldier left the lounge.

Falkenberg was conducted past Marine sentries to the captain's cabin. John Grant, nephew of Grand Senator Martin Grant and son of the late chief of United States security services, was a tall thin officer with prematurely graying hair that made him look much older than his forty-five standard years. As Falkenberg entered Grant stood and greeted him with genuine warmth. "Good to see you again, John Christian." He extended his hand and looked at his visitor with pleasure. "You're keeping fit enough."

"So are you, Johnny." Falkenberg's smile was equally genuine. Captain Grant brought his chair from behind the desk and placed it facing Falkenberg's. Unconsciously he dogged it into place. A steward brought brandy and glasses. The marine set up a collapsible table between them, then left.

"The Grand Admiral all right?" Falkenberg asked.

"He's hanging on," Grant said. He drew in a deep breath and let it out quickly. "Just barely, though. Despite everything Uncle Martin could do the budget's lower again this year-I can't stay here long, John. Another patrol, and it's getting harder to cover these unauthorized mission is in the log. Have you accomplished your job?"

"Yeah. Went quicker than I thought- I've spent the last hundred hours wishing we'd arranged to have you arrive sooner." He went to the screen controls on the cabin bulkhead.

"Got that complaint signaled by a merchantman as we came in-surprised hell out of me. Here, let me get that, the code's a bit tricky." Grant played with the controls until New Washington's inhabited areas showed on the screen.

"Right." Falkenberg spun dials to show the current military situation on the planet below. "Stalemate as it stands," he said. "But once you order all mercenaries off-planet, we won't have much trouble taking the capital area."

"Christ, John, I can't do anything as raw as that! If the Friedlanders go, you have to as well. Hell, you've accomplished the mission. The rebels may have a hell of a time taking the capital, but it won't matter who wins. Neither one of them's going to build a fleet for a while after this war. Good work." Falkenberg nodded. "That was Grand Admiral Lermontov's plan. Neutralize this planet with minimum CD involvement and without destroying the industries. Something came up, though, Johnny, and I've decided to change it a bit. The Regiment's staying."

"But I-"

"Just hold on," Falkenberg said. He grinned broadly. "I'm not a mercenary under the definition in the Act. We've got a land grant, Johnny-you can leave us here as settlers, not mercenaries."

"Oh, come off it," Grant said. His voice showed irritation. "A land grant by a rebel government? Look, nobody's going to look too closely at what I do, but Franklin can buy one Grand Senator anyway-I can't risk it, John. Wish I could."

"What if the grant's confirmed by the local Loyalist government?" Falkenberg asked impishly.

"Well, then it'd be O.K.- how in hell did you manage that?" Grant was grinning again. "Have a drink and tell me about it." He poured for them. "Where do you fit in?"

Falkenberg looked up at Grant.

Slowly his expression changed to something like astonishment. "I've got a girl, Johnny. A soldier's girl, and I'm going to marry her. She's leader of most of the rebel army. There are a lot of politicians around who think they count for something, but-" he made a sharp gesture with his right hand.

"Marry the queen and become king, uh?"

"She's more like a princess. Anyway, the Loyalists aren't going to surrender to the rebels without a fight. That complaint they sent was quite genuine. There's no rebel the Loyalists will trust, not even Glenda Ruth."

Grant nodded. "Enter the soldier who enforced the Laws of War. He's married to the princess and commands the only army around-what's your real stake here, John Christian?"

Falkenberg shrugged. "Maybe the princess won't leave the kingdom. Anyway. Lermontov's trying to keep the balance of power. God knows, somebody's got to. Fine. The Grand Admiral looks ahead ten years-but I'm not sure the CoDominium's going to last ten years, Johnny."

Grant slowly nodded agreement. His voice fell and took on a note of awe. "Neither am I. It's worse just in the last few weeks-one thing, the Grand Senators are trying to hold it together, John. They've given up the Russki-American fights to stand together against their own governments. Some of them, anyway."

"Can they do it?"

"I wish I knew." Grant shook his head in bewilderment. "I always thought the CoDominium was_the one stable thing on old Earth," he said wonderingly. "Now it's all we can do to hold it together-the nationalists keep winning, John, and nobody knows how to stop them." He drained his glass. "The old man will be sorry to lose you:"