We Few

He and Despreaux boarded the shuttle in silence, and they were halfway through the flight back to the admiral's warren before Roger shook his head.

"Do think it's right?" Roger asked. "Sreeetoth? That I create chaos wherever I go?"

"I think it's hard to say," Despreaux replied. "Certainly there is chaos wherever we go. But there's usually some peace, when we're done."

"The peace of the grave," Roger said somberly.

"More than just that," Despreaux said. "Some chaos, to be sure. But an active and growing chaos, not just some sort of vortex of destruction. You... shake things up."

"But Sreeetoth is right," Roger noted. "There's only room for a certain amount of shaking up in any society that's going to be stable in the long-term."

"Oh, you generally leave well enough alone, if it isn't broken," Despreaux argued. "You didn't shake things up much in Ran Tai. For the rest, they were places that desperately needed some shaking. Even K'Vaern's Cove, where you just showed them they needed to get off their butts, and how to do it. It's not easy being around you, but it is interesting."

"Interesting enough for you to stay?" Roger asked softly, looking over at her for the first time.

There was a long silence, and then she nodded.

"Yes," she said. "I'll stay. If it's the right thing to do. If there's no serious objection to it, I'll stay even as your wife. Even as—ick!—the Empress. I do love you, and I want to be with you. Sreeetoth was right about that, too. I don't feel... whole when I'm not around you. I mean, I need my space from time to time, but..."

"I know what you mean," Roger said. "Thank you. But what about your absolute pronouncement that you'd never be Empress?"

"I'm a woman. I've got the right to change my mind. Write that on your hand."

"Okay. Gotcha."

"I'm not going to be quiet," Despreaux warned him. "I'm not going to be the meek little farm girl over in the corner. If you're going off the deep end, I'm going to make that really, really plain."

"Good."

"And I don't do windows."

"There are people for that around the Palace."

"And I'm not going to every damned ribbon-cutting ceremony."

"Agreed."

"And keep the press away from me."

"I'll try."

"And I want to get laid."

"What?"

"Look, Roger, this is silly," Despreaux said angrily. "I haven't been in bed with a guy—or with a female, for that matter—in nearly ten months, and I have needs, too. I've been waiting and waiting. I'm not going to wait for some damned matrimonial ceremony, if and when. And it's not healthy for you, either. Parts start to suffer."

"Nimashet—"

"We've discussed this," she said, holding up her hand. "If you're going to have a farm-girl as your wife, then you're going to have to be willing to have one that's clearly no virgin, if for no other reason than that she's been sleeping with you. And we're not on Marduk anymore. Yes, I'm one of your guards, technically, but we both know that's just a job description anymore. I guess I'm one of your staff, but mostly I'm there to keep the peace. There's no ethical reason, or moral one, come to think of it, why we can't have... relations. And we're going to have relations, if for no other reason than to take the edge off you. You're like a live wire all the time, and I will ground you."

"You always have grounded me," Roger said, patting her hand. "We'll discuss it."

"We already have," Despreaux said, taking the patting hand and putting it in her lap. "Any further discussion will take place in bed. Say 'Yes, Dear.'"

"Yes, Dear."

"And these tits are new, so they're still a bit sore. Be careful with them."

"Yes, Dear," Roger said with a grin.

"My, Your Highness," Julian said, looking up as a whistling Roger walked into the office he'd set up. "You're looking chipper today."

"Oh, shut up, Julian," Roger said, trying unsuccessfully not to grin.

"Is that a hickey I see on your neck?"

"Probably. And that's all we're going to discuss about the evening's events, Sergeant. Now, what did you want to tell me?"

"I've been looking into the information the Alphanes provided on our Navy dispositions." Julian was still gri

"And?" Roger prompted.

"Fleets can't survive indefinitely without supplies," Julian said. "Normally, they get resupplied by Navy colliers and general supply ships sent out from Navy bases. But Sixth Fleet is right on the edge of being defined as operating in a state of mutiny, with everything that's going on. So Navy bases have been ordered not to resupply its units."

"So where are they getting their supplies?" Roger asked, eyes narrowing in interest as he leaned his shoulders against the office wall and folded his arms.

"At the moment, from three planets and a station in the Halliwell Cluster."

"Food and fuel, you mean?" Roger asked. "I don't see them getting resupply on missiles. And what are they doing for spares?"

"Fuel isn't really that big a problem... yet," Julian replied. "Each numbered fleet has its own assigned fleet train service squadron, including tankers, and Sixth Fleet hasn't been pulling a lot of training maneuvers since the balloon went up. They haven't been burning a lot of reactor mass, and even if they had been, feeding a fusion plant's pretty much dirt cheap. I don't think Helmut would hesitate for a minute when it came to 'requisitioning' reactor mass from civilian sources, for that matter.

"Food, on the other hand, probably is a problem, or becoming one. Missile resupply, no sweat, so far—they haven't expended any of their precoup allotment. But spare parts, now. Those are definitely going to be something he's worrying about. On the other hand, you and I both know how inventive you can get when you're desperate."

"'Inventive' doesn't help if a capacitor goes out," Roger pointed out. "Okay, so they're getting resupplied by friendly local planets. What's that do for us?"

"According to the Alphanes, Helmut's supplies are being picked up by three of his service squadron's colliers: Capodista, Ozaki, and Adebayo. I was looking at the intel they have on Sixth Fleet's officers—"

"Got to love their intel on us," Roger said dryly.

"No shit. I think they know more about our fleets than the Navy does," Julian agreed. "But the point is, the captain of the Capodista is one Marciel Poertena."

"Any relation to... ?"

"Second cousin. Or once removed, or something. His dad's cousin. The point is, they know each other; I checked."

"And you know Helmut."

"Not... exactly. I was one of the Marines on his ship, once upon a time, but there were fifty of us. We met. He might remember me. Then again, given that the one time we really met met it was for disciplinary action..."

"Great," Roger said.

"Who the messenger is isn't really that important," Julian pointed out. "We just need to get him the message—that the Empress is in trouble, that the source of the trouble is provably not you, and that you're going to fix it."

"And that if we can't fix it, he has to disappear," Roger said. "That we're not going to crack the Empire over this. Anything is better than that, and I don't want him coming in after the fact, all guns blazing, if we screw the pooch."

"We're going to have a civil war whatever happens," Julian countered.

"But we're not going to Balkanize the Empire," Roger said sternly. "He has to understand that and agree. Otherwise, no deal. On the other hand, if he supports us, and if we win, he has his choice: continue in Sixth Fleet until he's senile, or Home Fleet, or Chief of Naval Operations. His call."