"By all means. A mouse it is." Jeremy now managed the feat of stroking his genetically determined hairless face as if he were an elder stroking a wise beard. "So much for cunning. We also need caprice. Hm… I have it!"
This time, it was Du Havel who was the recipient of Jeremy's glower. "I'm afraid I shall have to insist that the Queen retain some whimsical powers, Professor. Your equations be damned! I'll have no prissy constitutional monarchy for slaves! Damn me before I'll agree! I want a crown with some teeth!"
Before Du Havel could argue the point, Jeremy waved his hand. The gesture was histrionic, of course. "No, no, nothing preposterous. Ruling queens are usually a dull lot, after all. Tsarinas, even worse. Far better to leave government in the hands of politicians, who can at least entertain the populace with their knaveries. But I shall insist that the Queen has the right to have one person a year executed at her whimsy, just to keep the politicians unsettled. One every T-year, mind you, no slouching-I understand Congo's years are almost three T-years in duration."
Berry grimaced. Jeremy eyed her, still stroking his non-existent bead, and shrugged regretfully.
"Well, I suppose not. Alas, a tender-hearted queen. Pity. Catherine the Great was so much more colorful. Very well, then-a compromise! The queen gets to banish one person a year from the kingdom! No debates, no argument, no appeal. Out you go, lout! You've irked Her Majesty! Or-worse!-you've bored her."
Berry chuckled. So did Web. "Be careful, Jeremy," he cautioned. "She might banish you, you know."
"I'll take my chances," replied Jeremy smugly. "A sprightly young lass? Far more likely she'd banish a tiresome old fart of a professor who kept telling her 'don't do this, don't do that.' Whereas I am a lively, droll sort of fellow."
Du Havel looked a bit startled. Anton laughed. "He's got a point, Web. And what else, Jeremy?"
The Ballroom's leader continued that ridiculous "beard" stroking. "Well… there's the matter of an armed force responsible to the crown, of course. I think that'd be a good idea. Something in the way of a Praetorian Guard to serve as a counterbalance to us bloodthirsty Ballroom types. We'll have to form the core of the new army, of course."
Web frowned, pondering the pros and cons of that idea. But before he could reach any conclusion, Berry settled the matter.
"No," she said. "Under no conditions. Absolutely not."
She turned to Anton. "Tell me true, father."
"I'll miss you," he said, almost choking on the words. "More than I can tell you. Although…"
Anton was still catching up with things, and a new thought suddenly came to him. "Maybe not as much as we think. It occurs to me that an independent star nation of ex-slaves would make the ideal headquarters-central location, at the very least-for the Anti-Slavery League. Of which-" He made a modest cough. "-I think it's fair to say I'm the organizer of the muscle. So I might be seeing you quite often, now that I think about it."
That thought obviously cheered Berry up as much as it did him. Anton chewed on it a bit longer.
"Do it, girl, if you've a mind. You're an adult now, so far as I'm concerned, so the decision is entirely yours. But, leaving aside everything else…"
The conclusion, so hard to make, flowed through him easily and naturally once made. "You'd be awfully good at it, Berry, you really would. And I think you'd enjoy your life. However long it lasted."
She thought about it, for a moment, in that simple, translucent way she had about her. Then, nodded.
"Okay. That makes sense to me. But-"
She gave Jeremy the same look which she had so often bestowed upon Anton, over the years. Simple, translucent-sanity in springtime, he often thought it.
"I'll neither reign nor rule-to whatever extent, that last-except on two conditions."
"Name them," stated Jeremy.
"First, it has to be voted on by the people, and approved by them. I won't be foisted on them by a clique, no matter how prestigious."
"Done." Jeremy glanced at Du Havel, who nodded. "And the second?"
"I'll have no bodyguards. Not even one, much less a whole damn Praetorian Guard."
Both Jeremy and Du Havel winced. So did Anton. Ruth, on the other hand, nodded.
"None of you are thinking right," Berry said firmly. "The only point to this-only point at all, so far as I can see-is to give a new people a chance. My new people. And, that being so, let them also understand that their new Queen will place her safety in their hands alone. I haven't had a bodyguard since I came aboard this ship. Why should I start now? I'll share their life-perils and triumphs both-and move among them freely with no shield between me and them." She shrugged. "If that leads to my death at someone's hand, so be it. It's one life, measured against building a nation's hope and self-confidence. No contest, the way I look at things."
Before Jeremy or Web-or Anton-could say anything, Berry shook her head. "That's how it is. I'll insist on that. If you don't agree, fine. But find yourself another monarch, because it won't be me."
The words were spoken in Berry's normal tone of voice. Easily, almost gently-but with all the solidity and sureness of a continent moving across an ocean floor.
Oh, my, thought Anton. If she lives long enough… these fine gentlemen are in for some surprises, I think.
Not Web, perhaps. "Illusion becomes truth," Anton heard him murmur. "So does true custom arise." Then, more loudly: "Very well, Your Majesty. I won't argue the point."
Jeremy hesitated no more than a second longer. "Me, neither. You're quite insane, of course. But I find the idea of Mad Queen Berry rather charming, now that I think about it."
Web smiled. "That leaves, however, the problem of the armed forces. Not to put too fine a point on it, Berry-uh, Your Majesty-"
"Keep it 'Berry,' if you would. I foresee that I'll also be establishing probably the most informal customs of any monarchy in history. Which suits me just fine. I wouldn't know one end of proper royal protocol from the other, anyway."
"Berry, then. As I was saying, that still leaves the problem of the armed forces. Whether he intended it that way or not, Jeremy's proposal of a Praetorian Guard does have the advantage of giving us a certain balance of power in the new nation. Which is important in all things, but especially so with the armed forces." He cleared his throat. "Meaning no offense, but I have to speak bluntly here. I am not happy at the thought of the Ballroom having an effective monopoly over control of the military. Which, between Jeremy being Secretary of War and some other Ballroom member being head of the military-there's no one else with the experience-is what we'd wind up with. That's not a statement of suspicion toward the Ballroom, on my part. It's just a cold-blooded and objective assessment of a political problem."
Anton saw Berry and Ruth exchange a glance; accompanied, a moment later, by two rather self-satisfied looking smiles. He didn't understand the glance, or the smiles. But knowing both of them, he was sure a scheme had just been hatched.
He thought about it, for a moment. And then decided that he'd stay out of it. All things considered-given those two young women-it would probably be a pretty good scheme.
"I propose that we defer that issue for the moment," said Berry, almost brightly. "Let me think about it, for a bit. Since I'm apparently going to be the new Queen, I ought to do something useful for a living. I've gotten to know quite a few people over the past few weeks. Maybe I can think of someone."
Jeremy and Du Havel gave her a look which bordered on suspicion.
"Please," she said, in that winsome voice with which, over the years, Berry had managed to cajole damn near anything she wanted out of Anton.
He watched the future head of government and his bloodthirsty secretary of war cave in just as fast. And tried-it was so hard-not to smirk.