David Weber - Hell's Gate

Kinshe couldn't help wondering what King Fyysel's ultimate vote in Conclave was going to be. The parliamentary representative knew the Crown Prince shared many of his own political convictions, but if Sharona ended up voting in a world government, Danith Fyysel would lose his opportunity to wear a crown.

"My father and I have already spoken about the most important aspect of Shurkhal's participation in this Conclave, Representative Kinshe," the Crown Prince said, as if he'd read Kinshe's mind, and his tone was as formal as his choice of titles. "He specifically instructed me to share our thoughts with you, since you are both a senior member of Parliament and a Portal Authority director. Both of us know Sharona must have a world government. At the same time, Father has already sworn on blood-honor that we will never tolerate a government run by Uromathia. His exact words were, ah, "death before Uromathia,' I believe."

"That certainly sounds like your father, Your Highness. Rather mild for him, actually," Kinshe observed with a grimace, and the Crown prince's lips twitched.

"You know him well. What I want to say, however, before this matter even comes to vote, is that I support Father's position absolutely. I hold the survival of Sharona far higher than any petty desire to sit on a fancy chair in Sethdona. We can't afford that kind of nonsense."

"Your Highness," Alimar Kinshe said softly, before her husband could speak, "you've just proven how worthy you would have been to sit in that chair."

Danith Fyysel blinked in surprise. Then the Crown Prince of Shurkhal actually turned red for a second or two before he finally managed a chagrined smile.

"Thank you, Mrs. Kinshe," he said. "That may be the greatest compliment I've ever received."

Andrin's head was throbbing by the time her father called a much-needed break. She sat, rubbing her temples, and watched servants carry an early luncheon into the Privy Council Chamber. Despite her father's forceful personality and Shamir Taje's skill as an organizer, they'd managed to accomplish only a fraction of what they really needed to do in the time they had. Hopefully, it was the most important fraction, and her father was undoubtedly correct about the need for all of them to eat before launching into a Conclave which would undoubtedly run for many hours.

And so they ate, sitting at the inlaid table, covered protectively with a crisp white linen cloth, while they continued to cover critical bits and pieces of business in side conversations. When they'd finished, the servants whisked away the remnants, then refilled wine cups and served hot tea, New Farnalian coffee, and steaming mugs of the New Farnalian cocoa Andrin and several other Councilors enjoyed. They also re-stoked the coal fire on the hearth, which Andrin appreciated. The heat at her back was as delicious as the rich cocoa in her mug.

She listened to the side conversations and realized how little she truly understood about what the Councilors were saying. It quickly became clear to her that she simply lacked the critical building blocks of known facts to tie the other conversations together in any comprehensible fashion. Unfortunately, she couldn't exactly break into the discussions and request explanations and definitions?certainly not under this sort of emergency time pressure. Yet if she didn't ask now, how would she be able to remember the proper questions later?

She pondered the problem for a moment, then asked one of the servants?a girl perhaps three years older than she was?to find her a notebook and a pen. She also asked for a filled inkwell, in case the pen's internal reservoir ran dry. The servant hurried back with the requested items, and Andrin thanked her sincerely.

"That be my pleasure, Your Grand Highness," the girl murmured, almost too low to hear as she swept a deep curtsy that took her nearly to the floor. She glanced up, needing Andrin's eyes for just a fleeting instant, then looked down again, almost fearfully.

"You see," she said, speaking in a rush as if it took all her courage for one hurried burst of words, "it's just forever I've been wanting a chance to serve you. If you be needing anything else, I'll be waiting just outside. Just you open that door a crack and ask. I'll go and fetch anything you'd be wanting."

She rose with a surprising grace and retreated from the room. Andrin watched her go in mild astonishment, then pulled her attention back to the ongoing discussion, sipping cocoa, listening, and jotting down occasional questions or ideas. At length, the mantle clock chimed the half-hour, and her father signaled for silence and turned to Alazon Yanamar.

The Privy Voice sat in a waiting attitude, eyes closed, clearly Listening for the incoming message from First Director Limana. Or, rather, from the chain of Voices between Tajvana and the Privy Council Chamber. The arrangements and coordination required for Voices to relay over truly lengthy distances could be unbelievably complicated, especially at a time like this, when individual, totally secure links had to be maintained between the Portal Authority in Tajvana and every national capital on Sharona. Not even the EVN could maintain a real-time link to the various colonial governments, since no Voice could communicate with another through a portal. But Andrin knew that there were other chains of Voices, stretching down the transit chains between universes, to provide the fastest message turnaround humanly possible.

Then Yanamar's eyes opened so suddenly Andrin actually twitched in shock.

"Your Imperial Majesty," the Privy Voice said, in a deep, rich voice filled with subtle tones, one so beautiful Andrin would have given all the silly baubles in her jewel box to possess its equal. "First Director Limana has begun the Conclave. The Portal Authority's Head Voice, Yaf Umani, is transmitting what he sees and hears."

Her voice shifted suddenly. It took on not simply a different timbre, but a different rhythm and accent as she repeated the words of a man a quarter of the world away. That was remarkable enough, but what stunned Andrin was the projection that abruptly appeared at the far end of the room. It was a three-dimensional image of a man standing at a podium in a room she'd never seen. There were others present, seated between themselves and the speaker, and a map of the newly discovered portals hung behind him. The man at the podium was looking right at them, even though he couldn't possibly have actually seen them.

Andrin had always known Voices could receive and transmit detailed images of actual events, but less than one Voice in ten thousand could actually project those images for non-telepaths to see. Despite her birth, she herself had seen that particular Talent used exactly once, when the universe-famed Projective Falgayn Harwal had visited the Imperial House of Music here in Estafel. She still shivered inside when she remembered how Harwal and his dozen highly-trained, powerful assistant Voices, had filled the entire Opera House with a projection of the New Tajvana Chior's eight thousand singers and voices.

But Harwal was unique, the sort of Talent who arose perhaps once every two hundred years. Although Andrin had always known there were others with the same ability, if only on a far smaller scale, she'd never actually seen it done. Not this closely and intimately. No wonder Alazon Yanamar was her father's Privy Voice! Her Talent must be indispensable to a man who governed an Empire that covered several major islands and most of a continent.

She wondered if the Portal Authority's Head Voice could do this, as well. Probably, she decided. Then Yanamar's voice dragged her attention back to the meeting underway.

"Honored heads of state of the sovereign nations and colonies of Sharona and the various advisory councils and board members with you. For those of you who have never personally met me, I am Orem Limana, first Director of the Sharonian Trans-Temporal Portal Authority. In that capacity, I thank you for joining this Conclave. May we have a roll call of official members of the Conclave, please?"