Prince of Tanith, page 8
“Why in the next four months?” Harkaman asked, confused.
“Because,” Lucas sighed, happily, “any later than that and I won’t want to be away from home. Else I might miss the lovely final stages of pregnancy and the birth of my new heir. Sorry, Nick, looks like you’re another step away from the throne. We’re going to have a baby!”
There was an explosion of a different sort, this time – an explosion of joy and congratulation. For a few brief moments he was no longer Prince Task, Ruler of Tanith or even Lord Trask or Captain Trask the Space Viking. He was just Lucas, and he and his wife were being wished well by their friends – some of whom, he was amused to note, actually were tearing up. He felt his hand get shaken tightly and his back pounded soundly, and instead of the sovereign of a fell people he felt like a thirty-five year old new father surrounded by his friends.
“And don’t worry about me scheming against my new cousin for the throne,” Nikkolay Trask assured him, warmly. “I’ve seen what you do -- it’s a crap job, Lucas. Nice hat, nice chair -- but not for me.”
“Then just have a load of cousins for him to play with,” he suggested. “He’s going to need trusted advisers.”
“Now that you mention it,” his cousin blushed, “Cecelia and I are about three months ahead of you.”
“You’re what? Congratulations, Nick!” he beamed. “Somebody wring that robobartender for some brandy, or send to the kitchen for some champagne or honey-rum -- we need a toast!”
The servants scurried to procure appropriate glassware, and a case of sparkling wine was found and opened. Lucas looked around at all of his friends, and at his cousin and lastly at his gloriously beautiful bride, and he felt a surge of pride. He felt like he could take on anything, right now.
“To the House of Trask,” he proposed, “and to the people of Tanith: may the sons and daughters of our sons and daughters someday grow fat and lazy in the shade of all we’ve built!”
Chapter Three:
Harkaman House
The news of Princess Valerie’s pregnancy was all over the newscasts by nightfall, and she recorded a brief audiovisual confirmation for the scant press -- to date, there were only two telecast stations operating, TanithNews and the Rivington Times, but both reporters were thrilled to have Valerie’s smiling face to lead the evening’s news. Since one of them was Sir Paul Koreff, the old signals-and-detection officer of the Nemesis, Valerie made a special point to give him a more lengthy interview and some very pretty shots of her.
Among other effects, the news turned what had been planned as a simple state reception at Harkaman House into a full-blown celebration. Additional catering robots and dozens more human servants were brought in, as well as additional security. Lucas noticed them as his sleek aircar circled and slowed over the restored ruin, the sun already going down in the west.
“I had Colonel Festersan bring in an additional platoon of Royal Army -- what passes for Special Operations troops. His elite,” Harkaman assured him. He’d come back to Trask House to continue discussing the proposed treaty with Lucas, and caught a ride in the royal aircar back to his own place. He gestured to them as they circled around the landing platform.
The black-clad soldiers certainly looked the part. Their black dress uniforms had been adapted from the standard Space Viking ground-fighter gear, including full combat helmets with the Tanith insignia, submachine guns and side-arms, as well as a belt full of grenades and knives. Then men themselves were businesslike as they took positions overseeing the grounds, or patrolling the perimeter. “Festersan has really done wonders out at Camp Valiant, Lucas. He’s bringing through another company of infantry through basic training every twelve weeks, and through advanced training in another six.”
“I liked the man the moment I hired him,” Lucas agreed. “And we need to go out there and tour the place -- Nick says that he’s built the nastiest training camp in history.”
Festersan had been a career infantry officer, initially for one of the feuding great noble families in Durendal’s endless dynastic squabble. Then he took ship for the Old Federation as a lieutenant in the landing parties of a Space Viking ship. Twenty years later he had seen hundreds of raids and battles, and knew how to beat a man into a soldier better than anyone in the Sword Worlds. Harkaman had recommended him when it became apparent that the loose organization of infantry and marines shared between the various Space Viking ships of Tanith needed to be re-cast for something more suited to the needs of a nascent civilized world.
Festersan had jumped at the chance, especially when it included a mandate to form the ground forces of an entire planetary army in his own image – and get out of a tough spot he’d been in on Joyeuse. Lucas had thrown a barony into the deal, too, but the old infantryman found the most allure in the opportunity to create his own model training program.
That included heavy weapons, air cavalry, artillery, reconnaissance, and, of course, special operations troopers. With a steady stream of Tanith natives wandering into Rivington every day looking for work, Festersan had eagerly crafted them into decent light infantry for the sepoy Home Guard troops. With the large number of Sword World mercenaries augmenting the force and strengthening it, the Royal Army of Tanith was starting to look like a credible force.
“Do you think we’ll need all that security?” Valerie asked, doubtfully.
“I’d rather have them and not need them than not have them and need them,” Otto shrugged as the car thumped to a landing. Ordinarily Lucas might have shrugged himself at the thought -- but today he had found out he was going to be a father, and his whole perspective had changed. Suddenly he couldn’t imagine any number of burly infantrymen would be enough to properly protect his bride and her precious cargo.
“I really don’t think you will,” Valerie said, pleasantly, as a footman rushed forward and inexpertly helped her out of the car. “There aren’t enough people in Rivington to have politics, much less political assassination.”
“There are folks here from out of town,” reminded Lucas, nodding towards the aircar that bore the symbol the Gilgamesher’s used. “And I’ve made my share of enemies. The ambassadors of Beowulf and Amateratsu, two of Tanith’s closes allies were also evident, as was the representative from Khepra, the ambassador from Marduk and the consul from Odin, envoys from Excalibur, Joyeuse, and some of the other Sword Worlds, and of course Count Spasso, late of Gram. Plus their individual entourages, security details, and personal servants.
“I defer to your judgment,” Valerie admitted, grabbing his arm a little more tightly.
They were escorted to the grand hall of the place -- it had been the planetary military command center, before Tanith de-civilized, Harkaman said -- where two portable thrones had been set up.
Lucas wasn’t fond of this part of the job, but it was essential. Royal court functions were important, even when they seemed utterly frivolous. Good people needed to be rewarded, bad people needed to be punished, and court was where that happened. It was where the sovereign took official notice of the Realm, if he was wise, and where fools were self-aggrandized and worshipped. Lucas was determined not to be a fool.
He kept it short and sweet, as per Valerie’s recommendations and his own inclinations. A minimum of fanfare, a brief greeting, announce the pregnancy, wait for the congratulations, then on to the Realm’s business. A lot had piled up in his absence.
Approve the list of subjects being elevated to the nobility, and the list of nobility elevated to the peerage. Confirm baron such-and-such of East Wiggliwick or somewhere -- a native man who had been king in the north of all he surveyed just ten years ago -- in fief of said lands to the crown, and accept his oath of fealty. Sign death warrants on four Space Viking mercenaries for raping a village woman. Knight two courageous young spacemen who had saved a good portion of the lunar mining base from being destroyed due to quick thinking. Announcements announcements announcements . . . and then he was done.
Forty-five minutes -- not bad, Lucas thought to himself. In fact, the great pit barbecues were starting to smell like the food was ready, and he suddenly needed a glass of something potent. It had been a long day.
Unfortunately, court had been the easy part. That was mere performance. This was politics. Now he had to tag along and meet everyone, hear their congratulations, and “chat”. Making small-talk was not his fortè, as a monarch, but he had mastered the art of looking interested while important people talked, and it got him through the first few tedious meetings.
It helped that many of the people here were already his friends and colleagues, some of them former shipmates, and by his second drink he had relaxed a bit and almost began to enjoy himself. In fact, he had observed, most of Tanith’s business seemed to get done during these glorified cocktail parties than more formal settings. This was when people were more apt to be candid, speak their mind, and listen to his casual suggestions rather than an edict from the throne, he knew. This meant that this part of the evening was more important than his time on the throne.
Perhaps, he reflected while he ate, the most effective parliamentary system of government would be an eternal cocktail party. Debate policy over highballs. Discuss planning and zoning and regulation in the buffet line. Brandy, cigars, and foreign policy out on the terrace, of course, and domestic policy in the line that inevitably formed near the facilities.
Lucas realized that he was starting to feel a little too good, and immediately cut back on the booze and began eating with new determination. But he filed away the cocktail party form of government for future musings.
Mostly, he was interested in hearing the gossip. And there was plenty, from the Old Federation, from the Sword Worlds, amongst the Space Vikings, and right here on Tanith.
Gilgameshers having problems with pirates from Hathor. Odin’s small empire facing incursions on its trade worlds from slavers and rival trading blocs. Revolution on Bubastis, where the Atonian-backed peasantry had overthrown the native warrior aristocracy that had ruled for two centuries. The Eternal Queendom of Isis ordering dozens of new warships from Freya in anticipation of conflict with the some upstart alliance that was challenging her. Marduk and Ishtar entering into a wide-ranging trade agreement -- that last note piqued Lucas’ interest. Ishtar was a massive world of eight billion people, one of the most civilized worlds in the galaxy, though it did not participate in empire-building the way others did. That could be a huge potential market for Tanith’s wares, ill-gotten and otherwise. He noted that for future reference, too.
Lothar Ffayle got his attention when he wandered by the robobartender for a refill – something soft, this time. The Princedom’s money man looked thoughtful, which Lucas didn’t find comforting. Nor was he, when Lothar revealed what he was thinking about.
“Basically, Lucas,” his old friend said, “the Realm is near bankruptcy at the moment. Oh, we have decent cash flow, thanks to the mercenaries and the repair yard, not to mention the commission on loot, but at the rate we’re spending . . .” he shrugged, leaving the result up to Lucas’ imagination.
“How bad is it? And no dissembling, please, Lothar. I’m not the type to kill the messenger.”
“Your Highness is gracious,” Lothar grunted. “And the messenger, grateful. We can keep making monthly operating expenses indefinitely, and the lunar base is actually starting to turn a profit. But the Star of Tanith chewed through our surplus, and those two new ships in the yard, those are just as expensive. We can’t finish them with cash on hand. Nor can we build that robotic foundry at the lunar base until we have more cash for equipment. Or you manage to steal some. And if you’re serious about paying off the Gram investors, well, that’s going to set back all the major projects.
“We’ll get by, but . . . well, if we don’t find more money soon, things are going to get tight and we’ll have to start cutting back on important things. Or monkeying around with the monetary system. As your chief financial advisor and banker, I don’t recommend that. And I’d be cautious about throwing around any idea of taxation, just yet. That might stifle business at a critical time,” he warned. “I just thought you’d want to know, Lucas.”
Blast! Those ships were important things -- they were fifteen-hundred footers, warships based on the highly effective design of the Star of Tanith, which had been the first ship Basil Gorram had designed on his own. And they would give Tanith a real war fleet -- one that would make King Omfray or anyone else think seriously before meddling in Tanith’s affairs. And the moonbase improvements -- those would be necessary if the stream of iron and rare minerals that built those ships was to improve. As it was, there was a three month back log of orders for collapsium plating, essential in any kind of starship construction.
“Thanks for your candor, Lothar,” Lucas said, quietly. “I’ll work on it. You can keep things afloat in the meantime?”
“But of course, Your Highness,” the banker shrugged. “It’s just numbers in a computer, for now. I just thought you’d appreciate my honest assessment. If we don’t add about a hundred million stellars to the Exchequer by the time your heir is born, he might inherit a bankrupt realm.”
“I won’t let that happen,” Lucas assured him. “I’ll just get more money the old fashioned way. I’ll steal it.” Lothar nodded sagely. He was far less concerned with where the money came from than where it was going.
From them on more and more he heard the question: “So, Lucas -- Your Highness -- when are you going to take the Nemesis out again on a raid?”
That question had been niggling at his mind for weeks, now. Not that he enjoyed the death and slaughter and purposefully inflicted misery – far from it. But raiding was the easiest way to fill his coffers, and between Spasso’s attempted blackmail and the very real fact that he had two new ships under construction, but scant funds to finish them, it was clear that a raid en force would be prudent.
“Soon, soon,” he assured one and all. “And where do you think I should take her?” That inevitably led to a mouthful of suggestions, mostly worthless, reckless, or fanciful depending upon who made them. But there were one or two good ideas, too, and Lucas didn’t hesitate to steal them.
“Arawn,” Boake Valkanhayn said without hesitation. “Out in the Coalsack sector. No one has hit Arawn in over forty years, not since Juan Okiagi was running the Star Dragon. Arawn’s mildly civilized, if you don’t use the word too specifically. Contragravity, at least, and nuclear weapons. But not space travel. They have about nine big nation-states, and a lot of ethnic minorities, and they fight amongst each other constantly. Conventional, not nuclear.”
“But if they have nukes . . .” Lucas said, doubtfully. There were few things that could seriously threaten a collapsium-hulled Space Viking ship, but nuclear weapons were one. A ship like his Nemesis could take a few big hits, relying on its collapsium plating to absorb the damage, but a smart Space Viking didn’t take a risk like that unless the potential take was worth it.
“Robotics,” Valkanhayn said. “That’s how they fight their wars, mostly, with robots. They make a real science out of it. Some of the pieces Okiagi brought back were amazing, light-years ahead of Sword World technology. Almost artwork.”
“That could be valuable,” Lucas admitted. “I’ll add it to the list.”
“Damkina,” Giles Phillipe, an independent Space Viking captain of the Relentless suggested when he overheard the two talking. Phillipe was a friend of Harkaman’s he remembered, they’d served together on Durendal. “That’s not far from Coalsack sector, either. Damkina,’s tough, but they’ve got huge rare earth element deposits.”
“You can’t raid Damkina, unless you want Odin on your doorstep,” Duke Valpry reminded him as he joined them at the bar. “Remember? It’s on the new list.”
“Maybe not Damkina,, then,” Phillipe agreed, reluctantly. “But twenty parsecs beyond Damkina, is the Quints. You could find all sorts of fun out there, if you were feeling ambitious.”
“The Quints?” Lucas asked. “I’ve never heard of them.”
“The Quints are a multi-stellar system,” Valkanhayn explained. “A real oddity. A central white star, with four orbiting suns -- two red, two yellow. Duke Esbarsan of Joyeuse made two raids out there, almost sixty, seventy years ago, so a lot could have happened since then, but the Quints are real interesting. Five stars all within a light-year and a half of each other, but seven habitable worlds between them. It’s remote, one of the later parts of the galaxy to be settled, and way past hell’s back acre, but Esbarsan retired to a life of leisure from what he took.”
