The Commonwealth Saga 2-Book Bundle (77 page)

It began in earnest at breakfast. The staff had set up an extensive buffet in the conservatory on the side of the main house, and Justine came over early to join Patricia and Crispin Goldreich at a table. Crispin’s two wives, Lady Mary and Countess Sophia, were still in their lodge taking breakfast in bed, though one of his aides sat beside him, pouring tea and fetching food from the buffet. Patricia’s immaculate young man was doing the same thing for her.

One of the house staff brought a pot of Jamaican coffee for Justine. She sat next to Crispin as he ate his eggs Benedict. It was the less confrontational position, she wanted to know the same things as Patricia, and Crispin was hugely influential. In addition to his leadership of the Budget Commission, he held a lot of authority among the bloc of European affiliate planets.

“Thompson told me you were one of the more moderate voices on the Council meeting,” Justine said.

“Cautious would be the more accurate word, my dear. I’ve been in this game long enough to spot an open-ended commitment. If this agency is approved by the Senate, there is no knowing how long taxpayers will be required to fund the endeavor. It won’t end with the Dyson flights, you know. If they turn out to be benign, there will be a precedent in place for government to fund exploration of other questionable unknowns.”

“Which is surely better than having it done by a private company?” Patricia said. “We’ve all heard the rumors of closed planets, worlds which have something so valuable the Sheldons have kept it for themselves.”

“And you believe that?” Crispin asked.

“Not personally, no. But I do believe that the government should be more involved with the investigation of potentially hazardous scenarios, such as the Dyson Pair. For that we need the starflight agency. After all, the Dyson Pair is the very first time we’ve found anything remotely threatening. And it’s a big galaxy. So far we’ve been lucky. We have to start being more cautious.”

“Which brings us to this dratted navy proposal,” Crispin said.

“You can’t deny that would be essential if the Dyson scouting mission proves them hostile.”

“No, I don’t. But the expenditure for that will be orders of magnitude above a starflight agency.”

“So how would you like to see this managed?” Patricia asked.

Crispin took a moment to finish the last of his eggs Benedict. “With a greater degree of responsibility,” he said eventually. “At the moment we’re simply throwing money at the problem. The first thing I’d like to see is some proper channeling of resources.”

“You mean some kind of oversight committee?” Justine asked. In her virtual vision, a calendar was displaying the date two years hence when Crispin’s senatorial seat was up for reelection. He’d get it again if he wanted it, that wasn’t a problem. But of course if he’s to carry on as chair of the Budget Commission he would need to be nominated by the executive.

“Oversight, management, steering: call it what you like. We have to insure the resources are spent properly.”

“Your Budget Commission has it within its purview to set up such an oversight body,” Patricia said.

“Technically, yes, unless the executive starts throwing up obstacles. I’m sure the President’s office would want to maintain a tight control over the agency, and certainly the navy.”

“Of course. But Elaine would be in favor of legitimate financial scrutiny. She absolutely does not want taxpayers’ money wasted, and I know she has a lot of confidence in the way you run the Budget Commission.”

“I’m delighted to hear that,” Crispin said. He poured himself some tea. “In which case, providing the Budget Commission can get those financial safeguards in place, Elaine Doi would have my support for the agency. If she gets elected.”

“If she gets elected,” Patricia parroted, keeping a composed face.

“Crispin is on board,” Justine told her father.

“Good work. What did it cost?”

“Patricia gave him the Budget Commission leadership after Doi’s elected.”

“There could be worse people in charge. Crispin is an old hack, but at least he understands the rules of the game. Well done. What’s next?”

“Utreth. Thompson’s with him after breakfast.”

It stopped raining after breakfast, leaving the grounds glistening from the overnight soaking. Thompson led his guest past the formal gardens, and into the woods beyond. They were a mixture of pine and beech and silver birch, not as densely planted as they had been during the logging centuries when they’d been all pine. As Washington state was now edging into springtime, a multitude of bulbs were pushing through the sandy soil, their verdure leaves contrasting with the mat of brownish winter grass that was still pressed against the ground from the weight of snow that had lain on it for months.

Gerhard Utreth seemed to be enjoying the mock-wild environment. He’d even brought his own walking boots.

“Every time I visit the West Coast I always promise myself I’ll take a day and go to look at the sequoias,” the Democratic Republic of New Germany Senator said.

“And have you?” Thompson asked.

“No. Not once in a hundred and fifty years.”

“You should. I went about fifty years ago. They’re quite a sight.”

“Ah, well, maybe next time.”

They reached one of the streams that had cut a deep narrow cleft through the soil, its perfectly clear water now running over a bed of white and gray stones. Thompson started to follow it up the shallow slope, avoiding the big tufts of dark green reed grass sprouting from the sodden banks.

“I congratulate your family on getting a Sheldon as important as Campbell under the same roof as Doi’s chief political advisor. The weight which your father’s name still carries is remarkable.”

“It’s not in anyone’s interest to have warring factions at the heart of government. We do what we can.”

“Of course. I have to admit, I don’t remember a Vice President launching a campaign without the support of at least seven of the Big15 dynasties.”

“Doi’s own caution works against her at this level. You really can’t please all of the people all of the time. She’s been trying to do that for too long. It’s not that she’s gained enemies, she simply hasn’t gathered much in the way of admiration.”

“And if I may ask, how does the Burnelli family view her?”

“No differently to any other presidential candidate, there are many flaws and some strengths. However, our principal interest lies in the events which will play out during her presidential term. We heartily endorse the formation of a starflight agency. Doi did have the foresight to make the initial proposal in the ExoProtectorate Council.”

“Is that the view of the Grand Families as well?”

“The majority, yes, we will be campaigning on her behalf.”

“I see.”

Thompson stopped where the stream opened out into a wider pool. The far end was fed by a small waterfall gushing over an antagonistic cluster of sharp stones, making a loud sloshing sound as the flow was tossed around. “I’d appreciate knowing what it would take to bring you in.”

Gerhard nodded slowly, appreciative they were using straight talk for once. It didn’t happen often between senators. “Everyone is concentrating on the agency and constructing scoutships right now, which is understandable. However, it is the view of the Democratic Republic that the formation of a navy is almost inevitable.”

“We concur with that.”

“If a navy is formed, flying scouting and even attack missions will only be a part of its duty, it must defend the Commonwealth as well. Sheldon has a monopoly on the ships and their FTL technology which we would not dream of challenging; but planets and cities will need heavy fortifications, that is where we envisage our role to lie.”

“You would be happy backing the agency formation on that understanding?”

“Yes, we would.”

“That would mean lining up with Doi.”

“Like you, we acknowledge she has weaknesses, though like her strengths, none of them are particularly remarkable. I suspect history will regard her tenure as simply adequate. The age of great statesmen and women is long behind us, nowadays we just compromise our way through life. The Democratic Republic can live with that.”

“Good call by Gerhard,” Gore acknowledged. The data flow engulfing him began to flash like a thunderstorm as his virtual hands rearranged packages and icons for long-term positioning in the Democratic Republic of New Germany.

“He’s a professional,” Thompson said. “The DRNG realizes the agency will go ahead, they just want a way in. A late opening is better than none at all.”

“I wonder what the Sheldons will make of that.”

“They’ll accommodate it. They know damn well they can’t expect the entire agency budget for Augusta. That’s why they sent Campbell, he’s fourth generation, he probably won’t even have to refer back to Nigel for anything that comes up this weekend.”

“We’ll find out soon enough. It’s the crux meeting next.”

Patricia was invited to the study first. Gore’s retinue had done what they could to make the room more welcoming. A real log fire was burning away in the grate, helping to banish the afternoon’s chilly breeze. The ancient brown leather chesterfield sofas had been arranged in front of the hearth. A table standing in the middle held pots of tea and coffee, as well as plates of muffins and cookies, filling the air with a pleasant aroma.

She accepted a bone china cup of tea and sat opposite Gore. She wasn’t particularly unnerved by him, she’d spent enough time with the superrich to know what they wanted above all else was a show of respect. His gold face, however, was disturbing; most of her life was spent judging and responding to expressions. Gore offered her little clue about his emotions.
That’s if he has any,
she thought.

“It looks like the Democratic Republic will be backing Elaine,” Gore said.

Patricia kept herself as immobile as she could, though it was difficult. The relief she felt at hearing of Gerhard’s support was enormous. When she thought of all the time spent lobbying him, the team of researchers analyzing what they could do to bring him on board. Now just half a day spent with the Burnellis and another Big15 was supporting Elaine. For over a year, Patricia had been frantic with worry about how few of the Intersolar Dynasties they’d managed to gather in their favor. “That’s excellent news, sir.”

“You haven’t heard their price, yet.” Gore went on to explain what assurances she’d have to give the DRNG senator before the end of the weekend. “But the real key is Sheldon,” he said. “This agency and everything it will lead to is your first way in. I know you’ve been courting that dynasty for over three years now.”

“They have proved somewhat reluctant,” she acknowledged.

“Ha!” Gore’s shiny gold lips parted in a recognizable sneer. “Nigel hates careerist politicians, comes from his right-on youth I expect. That’s why he’s kept you dangling. But he’s learned to be a pragmatist over the centuries. And now you can offer him something. It is possible for him to maneuver his own candidate into the presidency, even at this late date. However, that would cost a lot of time and effort, and create antagonisms. Now with you, that wouldn’t even register, but the Intersolar Dynasties and Grand Families would be pissed with him. That, he does care about. So be what he wants, and you’ll have no opposition. Are you prepared to do that?”

“We can take Augusta’s requirements into account during the campaign.”

Gore stared at her for a moment. “There is only one requirement right now: money. You’ll be embarking on a campaign that will ultimately raise taxes. That’s never going to be popular.”

“I understand.” Patricia hesitated. “Won’t you be hit by taxes?”

“If we paid any serious ones, we probably would be.”

One of Gore’s overlarge, dark-suited bodyguards led Campbell into the study. He smiled pleasantly at Patricia as he sat beside her.

“You two kids play nice now,” Gore said.

The study fire had burned down low when Justine and Thompson came in. Two of the house staff were clearing away the paraphernalia of afternoon tea under the cautious gaze of the bodyguards. Gore took a couple of pine logs from the wicker basket at the side of the hearth and dropped them into the cast-iron grate, which kicked up a small cloud of sparks from the bright pink embers.

“It’s going to work,” he told his two children. “Sheldon will back Doi’s candidacy.”

“What did that cost her?” Justine asked.

“Billions,” Gore said. “In taxpayer money. Even I was surprised by what she offered for the starflight agency’s first budget.”

“She’ll look for a jumper to introduce the bill, someone who’s leaving the Senate,” Thompson said. “If Patricia’s got any sense she’ll try and get the President to introduce the agency formation bill into the Senate himself. That way, Doi won’t get the blame when the budget is announced.”

“She’ll get blamed when the navy starts up,” Justine said.

“If we need a navy, no one is going to question the cost.”

“Christ, she might even make a second term.”

“Did you tell Campbell we want to shift the agency base to High Angel?” Thompson asked.

“No. Someone else can do our dirty work.” Gore looked at Justine. “I thought your ex would fit the bill.”

She groaned and flopped down into the chesterfield. “Why him?”

“That way we can offer Buta the new High Angel shipyard assembly contracts. It fits perfectly. Sheldon will know he’s got to accommodate everyone else.”

Justine glanced at her clock display. “All right. We’ve got an hour before predinner cocktails. I’ll sound him out.”

“I thought you’d talked to him already today?” Thompson asked.

“Yes, but that was about Abby. She’s being a problem.”

“Is she all right?” Gore asked. “I haven’t received any information.”

The immediate interest amused Justine, he really was protective of the family, especially the direct lineage. “This wouldn’t reach you. We were just talking about which university she’s going to. I wanted Yale, she and her mother would like Oxford, and Rammy favors Johannesburg.”