Charles Stross - MP 6 -The Trade of Queens

"There's no show about it,

Mother."

Patricia Thorold-Hjorth, herself dowager duchess and mother to the queen-widow, stared back at her own dam, the duchess Hildegarde. "We've bled ourselves white in your lifetime. Every one of us of the true blood who dies, especially the women, is a score fewer grandchildren to support our successors. If you don't feel that—"

She stopped, as Hildegarde's palm rattled the crystal on the table. "Of

course

I feel that!" the duchess exploded. "I've known that since long before I whelped you, you ungrateful child. I've known that ever since my sister—" She stopped, and reached for a glass of wine. "Damn you,

you're

old enough to know better, too."

Hildegarde stopped. They sat in silence for a minute, eyeing each other sidelong. Finally Patricia spoke. "I assume you didn't bring me here for a friendly mother-daughter chat."

"I brought you here to save your life, girl," Hildegarde said harshly.

Patricia blinked. "You did?"

"If you were elsewhere, I could not insure that certain of the more enthusiastic members of the conservative club would leave you be," the dowager pointed out. "And I feel some residual family loyalty to this day, whatever you may think of me."

"Eh. Well, if you say so. Do you expect that will make Helge think better of you?"

"No." The dowager stared at her daughter. "But it will be one less thing for me to take to my grave." For a moment her eyes unfocussed, staring vaguely into some interior landscape. "You corrupted her most thoroughly. My congratulations would be in order, were the ultimate effect not so damaging."

Patricia reached slowly for the other wineglass. "Why should I thank you for saving my life?" she asked. "Are your faction planning a return to the bad old days? Cousin killers?"

"No. Not really." Hildegarde took a sip from her glass. "But it was necessary to break the back of your half-brother's organization, to buy time while we deal with the harvest he was about to bring in from the field. Test-tube babies, what an idea. I gather I should thank you for helping deal with it—Dr. yen Hjalmar was quite effusive in his praise for your assistance. But in any case: The program is secure, as is our future. We shall make sure that the infants are raised by trustworthy families, to know their place within the Clan—better than your wildcat, anyway—and in the next generation our numbers will increase fivefold."

Patricia nodded guardedly. "Where is the doctor?" she asked.

"Oh, who cares?" Hildegarde waved a shaky hand: "He doesn't matter now that the program records are destroyed."

"Really?" Patricia shook her head. Hildegarde's grasp of computers was theoretical at best, shaky at worst. "He's not tried to blackmail you?"

"No." Hildegarde's grin was not reassuring. "I think he might be afraid to show his face. Something to do with your hoyden."

"So you took action against Security?" Patricia nudged.

"Yes. I had to, to preserve the balance. I know you harbor Anglischprache ideas about 'equality' and 'freedom,' but you must understand, we are

not

a meritocracy—we live or die by our bloodlines. Certainly Angbard had the right idea thirty years ago, to clamp a lid on the feuding, but his solution has become a monster. There are young people who pledge their loyalty to the Security directorate, would you believe it? If he was allowed to bring the, the changelings into his organization, within a generation we'd be done for. This way is better: With the Security organization cut back to its original status, and other threats dealt with, we can resume our traditional—" Patricia was wheyfaced. "What is it?"

"Other

threats.

What

other threats?"

"Oh, nothing important." Hildegarde waved the back of her hand dismissively, prompting a fly to dodge. "We sent a message to the Anglischprache leadership, one that they won't ignore. Once we've got them out of our hair—"

"A message the Anglischprache won't ignore? What kind of message?"

"Oh, we used those bombs Oliver had lying about." Hildegarde sniffed. "How else do you deal with a hostile king? They'll make the point quite well: Once the new Anglischprache president-emperor ascends the throne, he won't be under any illusions about the consequences of threatening us. We'll talk to him, I'm sure. We've done it before: This will just set negotiations off on the right foot."

"Sky Father . . ."

Patricia stared at her mother, aghast, then raised her wineglass and knocked it back in a single swallow. "Those were atomic weapons," she said slowly. "Where were they set?"

"Oh, some white palace, I gather," Hildegarde said dismissively. "In a town named after a famous soldier."

"Oh dear Trickster Cousin," Patricia muttered under her breath. "You said 'used.' I suppose it's too much to hope that you misspoke, and there's still time—"

Hildegarde stared at her daughter, perplexed. "Of course not. This was yesterday. Are you all right?"

"I—a moment." Patricia shrugged uncomfortably. "This is not a criticism I speak now, but—I lived among them for nearly a third of a century, Mother. You did not. You don't know them the way I do." Patricia nodded at the decanter: Her mother reached for the bell-pull once more. "I'm telling you, you've misjudged them badly."

"We had to get rid of their current king-emperor somehow; he's an idiot." Hildegarde paused while her footman refilled both goblets and retreated. "His next-in-line is far more intelligent. He understands power and its uses."

"Granted. But their president is not a king, as we understand the term, he is merely a first citizen, elected by his people. They run everything by a system of laws."

"I know that—"

"The trouble is, simply attacking them on their home field is . . . it's a declaration of war. And

they don't know how to surrender,

Mother. They

can't.

There is no law in their constitution that says 'if attacked by an irresistible force it is permissible to offer a limited surrender: To do so invoke this clause.' Once they're at war, any leader who tries to stop it will be impeached—removed. It's like stabbing a hornets' nest: Every one you kill just makes the others angrier. I'm not making this up. The last time they lost a war, nearly thirty years ago, they left it to an unelected temporary regent to take the barrage of rotten fruit, and there are

still

people who think they could have won in Vietnam if only they'd fought harder. There are still many in the South who think they could have won the slaveowners' rebellion against the North, a century and a half ago. They're all quite mad, you know. Just now they're fighting two wars on the other side of the world, all because a ranting priest sent his idiot followers to blow up a couple of towers. Two wars—because they're not sure who did it." Patricia picked up her glass again. "Do you know how powerful these bombs are?" she asked. "I'm told they can be made more or less damaging—"

"Oh, I'm sure they used the most powerful available," Hildegarde said dismissively. "No point tapping your enemy on the head with a twig when there's a club to hand, is there? As you say, it only makes them angry. But the enemy's intentions, you must understand—they don't matter. What can they do to us? Certainly they may kidnap one or two of our own, ride them like mules, and they may even bring more of their bombs, but we are on our home ground here. We must be firm and deliver our ultimatum, and they must learn to leave us alone!"

"Mother." Patricia looked at Hildegarde: "You're not the only person who's been sending messages. I—at the rump Council's orders—I've been trying to negotiate with them for some time. They don't want to haggle; they want our total surrender. They sent a final demarche and cut me dead."