He chuckled. “The Indians will insist on some minor modifications, and the South Africans will demand their right to only enfranchise Africans who have adopted European ways and the Australians will demand the right to set immigration policy…”
“Most of the Jews are going to the Commonwealth,” Truman said suddenly. “Do you think that that will cause you problems?”
Hanover shook his head. “Between South Africa and Australia, there is enough room for them, and many of them worked in German manufacturing plants. Palestine can’t take many Jews, even with the rebuilding effort being undertaken there.” He grinned. “One of my better ideas, I think.”
Truman shook his head in awe. “We might be doing the same in Mexico and the Caribbean,” he said. “We have to bring democracy to the region – quickly.”
Hanover nodded. Both men knew that that would be far easier said than done; distrust of America ran through the region, even though Cuba was proving a success once the dictator had been removed in 1940. It would take time, perhaps a decade, but it could be done. Oddly, there was considerable business support for such an effort, including the Bracken Consortium.
“Oliver is one of your agents, isn’t he?” Truman asked. Hanover lifted an eyebrow. “He provided us with information your Parliament had forbidden you from giving to us.”
Hanover nodded. “He’s served his purpose,” he said. “He’s on his own now.”
Truman snorted. “Why?” He asked. “Why go against the wishes of your own Parliament?”
“You needed atomic weapons,” Hanover said. “There had to be parity between us, so that our alliance could continue.”
“Thank you, then,” Truman said. “Just you wait until we colonise Mars.”
Hanover nodded. The secret protocol in the Space Treaty had given Mars to America – unless some bug-eyed monsters lived there to dispute American control. It didn’t matter; the asteroids were more important to the Ministry of Space.
“I hope that you’ll do well in space,” Hanover said seriously. “We have to do it properly this time, just to ensure that we don’t get caught by any unexpected surprises this time.”
“And to ensure that our alliance remains the global superpower,” Truman said. The two men studied each other with mutual respect, if not complete trust. “That’s the real point, of course.”
Hanover nodded. “We have to remain supreme,” he said. “All of the alternatives to democracy are worse.”
Kristy Stewart circulated the small buffet after the treaty had been signed, observing the reactions of the various powers involved. The Germans – and, as far as she could tell, Molotov – seemed relived; they’d expected much worse. The French seemed genuinely annoyed; the Italians and the Spanish merely… tired.
“We need to talk,” Baron Edmund said sharply. She blinked up at him; the BBC producer had been invited as well, along with a handful of other dignitaries that might have had some business with the politicians. Kristy followed him into a private room. “You’ve been quite hard to talk to for the last few weeks,” Edmund snapped. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Once, Stewart would have cringed back. Facing the Nazis had hardened her. “I am reporting,” she snapped back. “What do you think I’m doing?”
“You’re on suspension,” Edmund snapped. “You know; the woman who fucked the entire German army…”
“He died heroically, remember?” Stewart snapped. Outrage burned though her. “And when was I fucking suspended?”
“A month ago,” Edmund snapped. He glared at her. “Your… sexual pleasures have brought the BBC into disrepute!”
Stewart’s rage congealed into an angry cold ball in her chest. “You have been using my material, even after I was suspended,” she said. “If, of course, I was suspended.”
Edmund glared at her, not smart enough or too angry to recognise the face-saving way out she’d offered him. “You were suspended,” he said coldly…
“Then I must request that the BBC pays me compensation for using my material,” Stewart said, feeling a sudden burst of humour spreading through her. “I used my own equipment; you know, the equipment you demanded I buy?”
Edmund glared. “You have been getting into places based on the BBC name,” he snapped. “We have at least a partial claim to the material.”
“Hell no,” Stewart said, feeling the trap closing in around him. She held up a paper. “Interview with Rommel in twenty minutes. Interview with Prime Minister Hanover, forty minutes…”
“How the hell did you do that?” Edmund snapped. “How…?”
“I used my name,” Stewart said. “Of course… if you’re not interested in using the material…”
Edmund gave in. “Very well,” he said. She was careful to get it all on camera. “You’re no longer suspended.”
“Never was suspended,” Stewart said. “Besides, failing to tell someone they’re suspended invalidates it. Union-BBC agreements number something or other.”
“Never was suspended,” Edmund agreed. He glared at her. “This had better be good material,” he snapped. “The BBC became a laughing stock for a while, thanks to you.”
Stewart chuckled as Edmund stalked back into the reception. It had taken time, more time than she cared to think about, but she was finally back to her old self. With all of the scoops she was going to make, kicking that bitch Charlene Molesworth out of the BBC would be easy. Smiling, she headed back to the reception.
Chapter Forty-Nine: Saying Goodbye
Ten Downing Street
London, United Kingdom
10th September 1942
They laid Victor Abernathy to rest one cold day in September, with almost every Head of State in the Commonwealth in attendance. The sermon, preached by the Chaplin from RAF Leeming, was short, but moving. The great and the good – and those who were neither – had turned out for it; far more than had turned out for the last royal funeral.
Prime Minister Menzies of Australia left the funeral with the other Heads of State, heading back to Ten Downing Street, following Hanover and the other British figures on their lonely walk. It wasn’t a long walk, but it was slow; the people who hadn’t been to the future Britain were walking along, staring at everything.
One day Australia will be like this, Menzies thought. It was a comforting thought; the Commonwealth, the horse he’d bet on, would survive for a long time indeed, perhaps harden into a permanent unit. He’d been right, just as he’d been right to order the capture of the Dutch East Indies and the other islands north of Australia; they would become Australian mandates and they would become far more stable than they had been in the other timeline.
Ten Downing Street, as always, was reassuringly bright and shiny. Menzies took his seat at the round table, joining the other representatives, and smiled as Hanover took the stand. The Heads of State were equals – that had been decided from the start – and the chair would be held by whoever’s country it was. He smiled; Australia would have a meeting room for the Commonwealth soon enough, and it would play a large role upon the Commonwealth stage.
“Thank you all for coming,” Hanover said. “As you know, it has been two months, more or less, since the war came to an end. You have all seen the proposed protocols; do any of you wish to propose revisions to the protocols?”