Du Havel leaned back in his chair, smiled widely, and gestured to the empty chair next to him. "By all means, Mr. Secretary of War. Your Pres—ah, head of government, will give you his full support. You have my promise on that. I'll be more precise. There will be nothing 'covert' about this war. I propose to make the first act of the new government of the new star nation a formal and official declaration of war against the planet of Mesa. To hell with restricting it to an informal struggle against Manpower Unlimited. The entire planet of Mesa is our mortal enemy—and let's name them so before the entire human race."
Jeremy grinned, very savagely. Then, strode over, shook Du Havel's hand, and flung himself into the empty chair with an acrobat's ease. "Splendid! Professor Du Havel, I believe this is the beginning of a long friendship."
Now that he was returning to his usual impish self, Jeremy's thought processes were also returning to their normal quicksilver pattern. "But what's this hemming and hawing about the 'presidency' business? Surely you're not going to go all modest on me?"
Du Havel cleared his throat, and gave Anton a nervous glance. "As it happens, I'd much prefer the title of 'Prime Minister.' And I'd prefer to think of myself as the 'head of government' rather than the 'head of state.' My reasoning is as follows—"
He paused, glancing quickly at Ruth. She returned it with what was obviously an expression of support—an expression which bordered on being conspiratorial, in fact.
So, thought Anton. She's in on it, too. The treacherous lass. Sharp as a serpent's tooth is the ingratitude of children.
Anton looked at Berry. There was no expression on his daughter's face beyond simple interest in the discussion. Clearly enough, Berry herself had no idea at all what Du Havel was scheming for.
In the next few minutes, Du Havel explained. Long before he was done, Berry's mouth was wide open with stunned surprise.
Anton had that much in the way of satisfaction. At least his own daughter wasn't trying to manipulate him.
Jeremy, clearly, was almost as shocked as Berry. It was the only time Anton had ever seen the man at a loss for words.
Which, alas, meant it was time for Anton to speak. He took a deep breath, and bade a sad farewell to the pleasures of fatherhood. Then spoke, in as even a tone of voice as he could manage.
"It's entirely your decision, Berry. For whatever my advice is worth, here it is. First, it will often be very hard on you. It will certainly be dangerous, and—" His deep voice grew even huskier. "And there's a good chance it will kill you. Possibly at a very early age."
Hearing her father speak had cut through Berry's sheer paralysis. Her mouth finally closed. "What's the second thing?"
"The second thing is that Professor Du Havel's right. On both counts. It's a hell of a good idea—and, like him, I can't think of anybody who'd be better than you."
With some difficulty, he managed to restrain himself from saying the next sentence. But it's the last thing in the world I want you to do!
Jeremy was staring at him. "You're daft! Well, I suppose I should expect that, coming from you. A Crown Loyalist. Idiots." He turned the stare on Du Havel. "But from you—"
Web smiled. "I'm not a Crown Loyalist, Jeremy. Nor, by the way, do I think that label fits Captain Zilwicki all that well, either. Not today, at any rate. But that's because 'crown loyalism' makes a fetish out of the matter. Hereditary monarchies have advantages and disadvantages—and, taking history as a whole, the disadvantages usually outweigh the rest. By quite a margin, actually. But it's just as much of an error to make a fetish out of republicanism, too. There are times and places where an hereditary monarchy's advantages come to the fore. And this is one of them."
Jeremy started to argue, but Ruth Winton interrupted.
"He's right, Mr. X—uh—"
Jeremy winced. " 'Mister X' is ludicrous. The name is Jeremy, if you please."
Ruth gave him her nervous smile. "Okay, then. Please call me Ruth. I don't much like formalities, either." In a rush: "But that's not surprising, since you and I are much alike. Oh, yes, we are! Not every way, of course. I can't shoot worth a damn and I can't imagine being as ruthless as you are. Well, maybe. Sometimes. But, still—"
She, too, seemed at a loss for words. Which, for Ruth as for Jeremy, was a most unusual state of affairs.
It didn't last long, naturally. "What I mean is that we're both sort of, well, compulsive. High-strung. Nervous. Very capable, too—sorry, I'm no good at false modesty, either. But the thing is..."
The next words came almost in a wail. "She'll calm you down, Jeremy! She will. That's why I like being around Berry so much. Well, one of the reasons. She's good for me. Kind of like, I don't know—those rods they use in old-style fission power plants, to keep the chain reaction from getting out of control."
Du Havel chimed in. "As it happens, Jeremy, that's quite a good analogy—and one which I could show you in the mathematics of political dynamics." Before Jeremy's look of suspicion could congeal, Web waved his hand. "But the analogy may be even better. Truth is—don't ever tell my colleagues I said this—those fancy equations aren't what they're cracked up to be. Politics is still more of an art than a science, don't let anybody tell you otherwise."
Jeremy, clearly, was still not convinced. Du Havel tried a different tack.
"I'll predict the following, Jeremy. Initially, our new government will be a marvelous 'government of national unity.' That will last not more than a few years. Soon enough—it always happens—our new nation will become politically factionalized. And that will be the most dangerous moment. Period, rather. Those years after the factions form, but before we've had time to develop our own customs for keeping factionalism harnessed and under control. Berry Zilwicki—Queen Berry, of the House of Zilwicki—will buy us that time. She'll be our anchor—or stabilizer—when we need it most."
Web ran fingers through his hair, and glanced back and forth between Berry and Jeremy.
"Let me put it this way, Jeremy. The day will come—I'm certain of it—when our current accord collapses. You and I will then be in political opposition, and perhaps quite sharp opposition. At some point in the course of that, the day will come—I'm sure of it, again—when you'll begin considering the use of armed violence to resolve the dispute. Or, if you don't, some of your supporters will urge it upon you. The same dynamic will be at work within my camp, of course. But for reasons which are blindingly obvious to both of us, it will always be your camp which controls the balance of sheer force." With a wry smile: "I'll have most of the old farts and the professors, and you'll have the experienced fighters and the young firebrands."
Jeremy chuckled and nodded his head. "Go on."
"Easy enough, really, to ponder my overthrow—or suppression, if you happen to be holding the reins of government at the time instead of me. By then, I'll be a tiresome old fart to you myself. Someone who'd look damn good with a pulser dart in the head." Quite dramatically, Web pointed a finger at Berry. "But how easy will it be for you to ponder killing her?"
"And consider the risks," growled Anton. He was looking at Jeremy through eyes which were almost slitted. "You're not the only one in the galaxy who knows how to organize an assassination."
He was expecting to see Jeremy match that look of menace with one of his own. That same flat-eyed, deadly stare Jeremy had once bestowed upon him on Terra. But, not for the first time, Jeremy surprised him.
True enough, the head of the Audubon Ballroom was perhaps the galaxy's most cold-blooded killer. But he'd been bred and raised by Manpower to be something of a court jester—and, in this if nothing else, Manpower's plans had not gone awry.
Jeremy's eyes widened, his mouth made a perfect "O" of shock and surprise. Then, springing out of his seat, he flung himself on one knee before Berry. One hand outstretched to the girl, as if pleading for mercy, the other waving about dramatically.