Robert Heinlein - Double Star

«You served our father well. It is now our thought that you might serve us. How say you?»

«My sovereign's wish is my will, Majesty.»

«Approach us.»

Perhaps I made too good a thing of it but the steps up the dais are high and my leg actually was hurting — and a psychosomatic pain is as bad as any other. I almost stumbled — and Willem was up out of his throne like a shot and steadied my arm. I heard a gasp go around the hall. He smiled at me and said sotto voce , «Take it easy, old friend. We'll make this short.»

He helped me to the stool before the throne and made me sit down an awkward moment sooner than he himself was again seated. Then he held out his hand for the scroll and I passed it over. He unrolled it and pretended to study the blank page.

There was chamber music now and the court made a display of enjoying themselves, ladies laughing, noble gentlemen uttering gallantries, fans gesturing. No one moved very far from his place, no one held still. Little page boys, looking like Michelangelo's cherubim, moved among them offering trays of sweets. One knelt to Willem and he helped himself without taking his eyes off the nonexistent list. The child then offered the tray to me and I took one, not knowing whether it was proper or not. It was one of those wonderful, matchless chocolates made only in Holland.

I found that I knew a number of the court faces from pictures. Most of the unemployed royalty of Earth were there, concealed under their secondary titles of duke or count. Some said that Willem kept them on as pensioners to brighten his court; some said he wanted to keep an eye on them and keep them out of politics and other mischief. Perhaps it was a little of both. There were the non-royal nobility of a dozen nations present, too; some of them actually worked for a living.

I found myself trying to pick out the Hapsburg lips and the Windsor nose.

At last Willem put down the scroll. The music and the conversation ceased instantly. In dead silence he said, «It is a gallant company you have proposed. We are minded to confirm it.»

«You are most — gracious, Majesty.»

«We will ponder and inform you.» He leaned forward and said quietly to me alone, «Don't try to back down those damned steps. Just stand up. I am going to leave at once.»

I whispered back, «Oh. Thank you, Sire.»

He stood up, whereupon I got hastily to my feet, and he was gone in a swirl of robes. I turned around and noticed some startled looks. But the music started up at once and I was let to walk out while the noble and regal extras again made polite conversation.

Pateel was at my elbow as soon as I was through the far archway. «This way, sir, if you please.»

The pageantry was over; now came the real audience.

He took me through a small door, down an empty corridor, through another small door, and into a quite ordinary office. The only thing regal about it was a carved wall plaque, the coat of arms of the House of Orange, with its deathless motto, « I Maintain! » There was a big, flat desk, littered with papers. In the middle of it, held down by a pair of metal-plated baby shoes, was the original of the typed list in my pocket. In a copper frame there was a family group picture of the late Empress and the kids. A somewhat battered couch was against one wall and beyond it was a small bar. There were a couple of armchairs as well as the swivel chair at the desk. The other furnishings might have suited the office of a busy and not fussy family physician.

Pateel left me alone there, closing the door behind him. I did not have time to consider whether or not it was proper for me to sit down, as the Emperor came quickly in through a door opposite. «Howdy, Joseph,» he called out. «Be with you in a moment.» He strode through the room, followed closely by two servants who were undressing him as he walked, and went out a third door. He was back again almost at once, zipping up a suit of coveralls as he came in. «You took the short route; I had to come long way around. I'm going to insist that the palace engineer cut another tunnel through from the back of the throne room, damn me if I'm not. I have to come around three sides of a square — either that or parade through semi-public corridors dressed like a circus horse.» He added meditatively. «I never wear anything but underwear under those silly robes.»

I said, «I doubt if they are as uncomfortable as this monkey jacket I am wearing, Sire.»

He shrugged. «Oh well, we each have to put up with the inconveniences of our jobs. Didn't you get yourself a drink?» He picked up the list of nominations for cabinet ministers. «Do so, and pour me one.»

«What will you have, Sire?»

«Eh?» He looked up and glanced sharply at me. «My usual. Scotch on ice, of course.»

I said nothing and poured them, adding water to my own. I had had a sudden chill; if Bonforte knew that the Emperor always took scotch over bare cubes it should have been in his Farleyfile. It was not.

But Willem accepted the drink without comment, murmured, «Hot jets!» and went on looking at the list. Presently he looked up and said, «How about these lads, Joseph?»

«Sire? It is a skeleton cabinet, of course.» We had doubled up on portfolios where possible and Bonforte would hold Defense and Treasury as well as first. In three cases we had given temporary appointments to the career deputy ministers — Research, Population Management, and Exterior. The men who would hold the posts in the permanent government were all needed for campaigning.

«Yes, yes, it's your second team. Mmm ... How about this man Braun?»

I was considerably surprised. It had been my understanding that Willem would okay the list without comment, but that he might want to chat about other things. I had not been afraid of chatting; a man can get a reputation as a sparkling conversationalist simply by letting the other man do all the talking.

Lothar Braun was what was known as a «rising young statesman.» What I knew about him came from his Farleyfile and from Rog and Bill. He had come up since Bonforte had been turned out of office and so had never had any cabinet post, but had served as caucus sergeant at arms and junior whip. Bill insisted that Bonforte had planned to boost him rapidly and that he should try his wings in the caretaker government; he proposed him for Minister of External Communications.

Rog Clifton had seemed undecided; he had first put down the name of Angel Jesus de la Torre y Perez, the career subminister. But Bill had pointed out that if Braun flopped, now was a good time to find it out and no harm done. Clifton had given in.

«Braun?» I answered. «He's a coming young man. Very brilliant.»

Willem made no comment, but looked on down the list. I tried to remember exactly what Bonforte had said about Braun in the Farleyfile. Brilliant ... hardworking ... analytical mind. Had he said anything against him? No — well, perhaps — «a shade too affable.» That does not condemn a man. But Bonforte had said nothing at all about such affirmative virtues as loyalty and honesty. Which might mean nothing, as the Farleyfile was not a series of character studies; it was a data file.

The Emperor put the list aside. «Joseph, are you planning to bring the Martian nests into the Empire at once?»

«Eh? Certainly not before the election, Sire.»

«Come now, you know I was talking about the election. And have you forgotten how to say “Willem”? “Sire” from a man six years older than I am, under these circumstances, is silly.»

«Very well, Willem.»

«We both know I am not supposed to notice politics. But we know also that the assumption is silly. Joseph, you have spent your off years creating a situation in which the nests would wish to come wholly into the Empire.» He pointed a thumb at my wand. «I believe you have done it. Now if you win this election you should be able to get the Grand Assembly to grant me permission to proclaim it. Well?»