A Call To Arms: Chapter Nine

    Lisa Donnelly had called from the shuttle landing field to let Travis know that she was ready to come pick up her dog, and to make sure he would be home.

    Travis was home, was ready, and had nervously paced exactly one hundred seventy-four circuits around the room by the time the door chime finally rang.

    To his relief, the anticipated awkwardness didn’t materialize. Lisa walked in with a smile and a casual greeting, and then dropped into a crouch and whistled for Crumpets. By the time the Scottie came racing from the bedroom on her little legs, and she and Lisa had had their joyous reunion, any hint of discomfort had long since passed.

    And if it hadn’t, Lisa’s next smile would have done the trick. “Thank you so much, Travis,” she said, standing up again with the dog resting in the crook of her arm. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

    “It was no trouble,” Travis assured her. “Crumpets is a great little houseguest.”

    “Well, good guest or not, I owe you one,” Lisa said. “Thanks again.”

    “No problem,” Travis said, bracing himself. “Um…you might not know, just coming in today, but there’s supposed to be an announcement from the Palace in about — ” he checked his chrono ” — an hour. If you leave now, you may not get home in time to watch it live. You’re welcome to wait and watch it here if you’d like.”

    “That’s all right — if I don’t make it I can listen in the car,” Lisa said. “I don’t want to impose.”

    “You’re not imposing,” Travis assured her, trying to keep the sudden desperation out of his voice. He’d been preparing for this moment — and thinking of ways to prolong it — practically since Damocles left Manticoran orbit. “I’ve got some strawberries fresh from this morning’s farmer’s market, and I was going to make some chocolate fondue to dip them in. And you can tell me about Casca while we wait for the broadcast.”

    “Oh, Casca was a trip and a half,” Lisa said soberly.

    “In a good way, or a bad way?”

    “Definitely the bad way.” She hesitated. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you any of this — it’s not exactly classified, but Captain Marcello wanted it kept as quiet as possible. But with your sideways way of thinking — and you do know how to keep a secret. The Phobos thing showed that much.”

    “Uh-huh,” Travis said, a twinge of guilt pulling at him. He had not, in fact, entirely kept his role in that incident secret. He’d blabbed that one critical detail to his half-brother, Gavin.

    At the time, of course, he’d been frustrated and aching and fully intending to leave the Navy once his five-T-year hitch was up.

    He’d never known what use Gavin had made of that indiscretion. He’d expected it to come back to haunt him, though, and had walked on eggshells for several months afterward, waiting for the inevitable official fallout.

    No such fallout had ever come. But that didn’t mean he didn’t occasionally still feel it looming silently over his head.

    Regardless, he’d learned his lesson. Whatever Lisa told him would stay strictly between them. Especially if it meant spending a few more minutes with her this afternoon.

    “Why don’t you go into the living room and sit down?” he suggested. “I’ll go get the fondue going.”

    “Let me come help,” Lisa volunteered. “Years of eating fondues, and I’ve never yet seen anyone set one up.”

    “You may be disappointed to find out how incredibly simple it is,” Travis warned.

    “I’ll take my chances,” Lisa said. “Come on. Let’s melt some chocolate into submission, and I’ll tell you all about Casca.”

    Winton family dinners, Edward reflected, didn’t happen very often anymore. And the depressing fact was that when they did they were far too often of this sort.

    Bleak. Painful. Quiet.

    Heart-rending.

    He looked around the table, trying to envision how his family had looked in happier times. But for some reason, his brain found it impossible to bring up those images. All he could see was what was, with perhaps a shadowing of what was to come.

    At the head of the table sat his father, King Michael, eating mechanically, his gaze a million light-years away. Beside him was his wife Mary, her own gaze alternating between her husband and the plateful of food she was barely picking at. At Edward’s own sides were his wife Cynthia and his son Richard, neither of whom were making any more headway on their meal than anyone else. On Cynthia’s other side was their daughter Sophie, who was probably trying harder than anyone else in the family to exude some cheerfulness, and failing miserably.

    And directly across from Edward was his sister Elizabeth.

    Edward was trying hard not to look at her. Probably everyone at the table was, if only from a desire to offer her whatever degree of privacy they could while sitting bare meters away. But perversely, and despite his best intentions, Edward found it impossible to keep his eyes turned away for long.

    There was just something about widow’s garb that irresistibly drew people’s attention.

    In her place, Edward reflected, he probably would have opted to skip this event entirely. No one would have blamed her. The King certainly hadn’t commanded her presence.

    But Elizabeth had a strength of will far beyond Edward’s own, as well as a stubborn streak a kilometer and a half wide. Both qualities had driven him crazy in the past, back when he was the teenaged heir to the Manticoran Throne and she was just a smart-mouthed kid who felt it was her sacred duty to keep her half-brother from feeling too comfortable.

    The two of them had butted heads countless times over the years. But there’d never been any doubt in his mind that she loved him dearly, just as there was never any doubt that he loved her.

    And now, to see her sitting there like a bag of broken glass…

    Perhaps sensing his troubled gaze, she looked up from her plate. Their eyes met, and for a brief eternity a wordless flicker of empathy and understanding flowed between them. Then her eyes closed in a slow blink, and when they opened again the moment had passed. She was again his younger half-sister, a wounded bird, standing defiantly against the pain. “It’s all right, Edward,” she murmured, just loud enough for him to hear. “It’s not about me. Not today.”

    Edward nodded. Understanding or agreement, she could take it whichever way she wanted.

    He looked his attention to the three children seated on her right and left. They, too, were trying to be brave and grown-up. But to him they looked like baby chicks huddled beneath their mother’s wings. They hadn’t been present at the horrific hunting accident that had taken their father, so unlike Elizabeth they wouldn’t have those images etched eternally across their retinas.

    But they would never forget the day they’d been given the news. They would never forget the words their grandfather and grandmother had used in that terrible and life-changing moment.

    Just as Edward himself would never forget his own ill-considered and morbidly prescient words bare weeks before the tragedy.

    Mary and I will be watching them, the King had said, referring to Elizabeth’s step-children as she and her husband Carmichael prepared for their Sphinxian hunt.

    So trading off a potential mauling versus guaranteed and unabashed spoiling? Edward had flippantly replied.

    He hoped desperately his father hadn’t repeated those words to Elizabeth. Bad enough that he would have to remember them the rest of his life. It would be too much to bear if he knew Elizabeth would also associate her husband’s death with her half-brother that way.

    “Edward?”

    The word, crashing in upon the silence, was startling. But Edward had had words unexpectedly thrown at him by senior officers over the years, and his body managed not to flinch. “Yes?” he answered, looking up.

    His father was gazing at him from the head of the table, his eyes older and wearier than Edward had ever seen them. “It’s time,” the King said gently. “We need to get ready.” He nodded to Edward’s son. “You, too, Richard.”

    Edward gave his sister one last glance as he rose from his seat, feeling as he did so his wife Cynthia’s brief reassuring squeeze on his arm. “Yes, Sir,” he said.

    It’s not about me. Elizabeth’s quiet words echoed through Edward’s mind as he and his father left the dining room and made their way down the Palace hallway. She’d been right. Tonight was about their father, and about the future of the entire Star Kingdom.

    Edward swallowed hard. God help us, he prayed silently. God help us all.

    “Hurry up, Gavin,” Breakwater snapped from across the room. “We’re going to be late.”

    “Yes, My Lord,” Winterfall said, peering into the mirror and making a small adjustment to his jacket. He could understand the Chancellor’s impatience; it wasn’t often these days that King Michael asked to address a session of the House of Lords. And it was practically unheard-of for him to ask that the session be broadcast live.

    Naturally, Breakwater suspected something underhanded was about to happen. And given that today was also supposed to be the day that the first two of the Pegasus-class corvettes would be formally handed over to MPARS, the focus of the Chancellor’s suspicions were leaning that direction.

    Winterfall wasn’t ready yet to buy into Breakwater’s current conspiracy thoughts. Certainly not about the corvettes and MPARS. For one thing, the Navy didn’t have a whole lot of wiggle room in that deal, especially given that the King had officially signed off on it. For another, there was no way Michael would be crazy enough to try to renege on the arrangement in full sight of God, Parliament, and the entire population of Manticore.

    In fact, especially given that the Palace had announced Crown Prince Edward would also be there, there was only one possibility Winterfall could see that would jibe with Breakwater’s fears.

    And that possibility was a frightening one. If the King had decided that MPARS was chipping too strongly at the RMN, what better solution than to take control of the service away from the Exchequer and make it into its own, independent department? And if he did, who better to hand it off to than his own Navy-trained son?

    That scenario apparently hadn’t occurred to Breakwater, and Winterfall had no intention of bringing it to his attention. Still, it was the most likely possibility he’d come up with. And of course, by making the announcement as publicly as possible, the King would give Breakwater a choice: sit silently by in apparent assent, or go ballistic in full view of the entire Star Kingdom.

    Winterfall didn’t know what was about to happen, or what Breakwater was going to do in response. But no matter what went down in the next few minutes, Winterfall was determined that he himself would come out looking as good and as professional as possible.

    “Gavin?”

    Winterfall gave his neck scarf one final pat. “Yes, My Lord,” he said. “I’m ready.”

    “Are you ready?” King Michael asked.

    Edward gave a final tug at his collar. “Almost,” he said. “Just one more minute.”

    “One more minute?” His father gave him a small smile. “Really, Edward. That was the same line you gave me when you were eight and were trying to stall your way out of something you didn’t want to do.”

    “Consistency is a virtue,” Edward said reflexively, his mind still back in the dining room.

    “Only if you’re consistently right,” Michael countered. “Otherwise, it’s the granddaddy of all vices.” He paused. “She’ll be all right, Edward,” he said more quietly. “She’s strong, and she has all of us to help her get through it. The more important question is whether you’re going to be all right.”

    Edward looked sharply at him. Was his father really going to bring up those horribly ill-advised words?

    No, of course not. He was merely referring to the next few minutes.

    And to the many, many minutes beyond.

    “I’ll be fine,” he said. “You’ve prepared me well. Despite my best efforts to the contrary.”

    “You did fine,” Michael assured him. “It just took you awhile to hit your stride.” He raised his eyebrows. “Do try to hit it a bit faster this time.”

    “I will,” Edward promised. He hesitated. “They’re not going to like this, you know.”

    Michael shrugged. “Some won’t. At least not at first.”

    “Chancellor Breakwater?”

    “His was one of the names that came to mind,” Michael agreed. He shifted his shoulders. “And with that, I believe your minute is up.”

    Edward forced a smile. “Which was your consistent line,” he reminded his father.

    “You asked for a minute; I gave you a minute,” Michael said with another smile. “The art of compromise.” He sobered. “Just remember that compromise never means giving away your core values. Ever.”

    “I know,” Edward said softly.

    “Good.” Michael straightened up —

    And suddenly, he was once again King Michael, ruler of the Star Kingdom of Manticore. “It’s time. Let’s do this.”

    He headed across the Royal Sanctum toward the door. Edward followed.

    Wondering if the collar would be less uncomfortable if it wasn’t for the lump in his throat.

    “Wow,” Travis said when Lisa reached the end of her story. “That was…just wow. You’re all lucky someone didn’t get killed.”

    “Someone did get killed,” Lisa reminded him.

    “I meant someone from Damocles,” Travis said hastily, feeling his face warming.

    “I know,” Lisa said. “Though from what Commodore Henderson told us about General Khetha, I don’t feel as sympathetic as I did at the beginning.”

    “They’re sure that was who it was?”

    “Very sure,” Lisa said. “Once they knew his ship had been stolen, and found out from the people at his mansion exactly who had gone missing, they knew who to test for. After that, it was just a matter of putting together enough surviving DNA for a positive ID.” She took another strawberry from the bowl Travis had placed in front of her end of the couch, which she’d been mostly ignoring while she told her story. “And of course, once the police pulled up what they knew about the Canaan situation, and what he’d done before he was kicked off the planet, they wrote the whole thing off as revenge.”

    “I don’t believe it,” Travis said. “There’s something else going on.”

    “See, that’s what I thought,” Lisa said, her face brightening. “But Henderson and Nabaum — that’s the police lieutenant who handled the case — seemed to think that was all it was. They said it wasn’t for any of the treasure he stole, because the mansion wasn’t touched, and he didn’t have anything in banks or safe-vaults.”

    “That they know of,” Travis pointed out. “Maybe he had something stashed away and the killer needed an access code or something.”

    “His people say no,” Lisa said. “Though of course they could be lying through their teeth.”

    “Yeah,” Travis said, searching for a different topic. Talking with Lisa was always enjoyable, but he’d hoped to avoid talking shop tonight. “Speaking of teeth, you may have noticed that Crumpets has a new chew toy.”

    “Yes, I did,” Lisa said, reaching down and retrieving the half-eaten hybrid of colorful cloth and more durable rawhide. “Did she lose the old one, or just eat it wholesale?”

    “Good question,” Travis said. “I’m guessing the latter, since I’ve searched this place fore to aft and haven’t found any trace of the old one.

    Lisa waved a hand at the couch she was sitting on.

    “Did you look between the couch cushions? Not under the couch, but between the cushions?”

    For a moment Travis stared blankly at her. How in the world would a dog that size –?

    “No, I didn’t,” he confessed, standing up. “Uh…”

    “Allow me.” Smiling, Lisa stood up, made a magician’s abracadabra gesture, and lifted up the cushion she’d been sitting on.

    And there it was. Slightly more bedraggled than the last time Travis had seen it, but it was indeed Crumpets’ old chew toy.

    “I’m not even going to ask,” he said.

    “Probably just as well,” Lisa said, replacing the cushion and resuming her seat. She wiggled the toy at Crumpets a moment then tossed it over her head, sending the little animal scurrying after it. “Our best guess was that she liked smelling it nearby when she was on the couch with us.”

    “Ah,” Travis said, feeling his throat tighten. Our. Us. How did Lisa’s ex always manage to intrude on these conversations? “Well, I guess now she’s got two of them.”

    “Trust me: a dog can never have too many chew toys,” Lisa said. “You have any idea what this big broadcast is about?”

    “Nope,” Travis said, watching as Crumpets trotted back with her newly-rediscovered treasure. She settled down at Lisa’s feet and started gnawing it. “I was hoping you might.”

    Lisa shook her head.

    “Not a clue.”

    There was a chime from across the room, and the vidscreen came on. “Ah — here we go,” Travis said, swiveling around in his seat.

    “You’ll see better from here,” Lisa suggested, pointing to the other end of the couch.

    “Thanks,” Travis said. Feeling a little odd, he got up and sat down near her. Not too near, of course, but not so far away as to be insulting.

    On the screen, King Michael stepped to a podium adorned with the Royal Seal of the House of Winton. Dressed in his full regalia of state, he looked every millimeter a monarch.

    “My people,” he said into the pair of microphones on the podium, his voice deep and confident.

    And yet, behind the richness of his tone, Travis sensed a hint of weariness.

    “Citizens of Manticore, Sphinx, and Gryphon; Members of Parliament; My Lords and Ladies.”

    There was every reason for him to be weary, of course. The daily wrangles with Parliament; the decisions necessary to keep the Star Kingdom running smoothly; not to mention the continual squabbles for power between the RMN and MPARS.

    “In the eighteen years that I’ve been privileged to be your king, the Star Kingdom of Manticore has experienced unprecedented growth. We’ve continued to move along the path of recovery from the devastation of the Plague, and with the additional citizens who have come to us via the assisted immigration program we have become a stronger and more vibrant society. The Royal Manticoran Navy has guarded us against external threat, while the Manticoran Patrol and Rescue Service has risen to the challenge of securing the safety of travel within our borders.”

    The image went to split screen, the second image showing a slow pan across the assembled Lords. Chancellor Breakwater was prominent among them, his face studiously neutral. Two seats down from him, Travis spotted his brother Gavin, wearing the same expression.

    “We have begun building our own merchant marine, and our industrial capacity continues to flourish. You have worked together with fortitude and patience, and I have no doubt that we have a bright future ahead of us.”

    “But that future will not be mine to oversee.”

    Travis felt a sudden tightness in his chest, the weariness in the King’s face suddenly taking on an ominous edge. Was he ill? Discouraged?

    Dying?

    “For reasons which must remain private, I have decided that I can no longer lead the Star Kingdom of Manticore. Accordingly, I am today declaring my abdication from the Throne in favor of my son, Crown Prince Edward.”

    Travis felt his eyes widen with disbelief. King Michael was abdicating? Beside him, Lisa said something shocked-sounding under her breath. Travis barely even noticed.

    “I have no doubt that he will lead you with dignity and strength, and I know that you will accept him with the same loyalty and honor you have always shown me.

    “Thank you, and may God be with you all.”

    With that, he stepped away from the podium.

    And was gone.

    For a long moment, Travis just stared at the screen. The camera belatedly turned to follow the King — the former King — from the stage and into the wings, then shifted back to a view of the Lords.

    They looked as stunned as Travis felt.

    King Roger had died in office. So had his daughter, Queen Elizabeth. Travis had grown up assuming that was the way of things, that Manticoran monarchs gave their entire lives for their people and for the crown. The king is dead; long live the king.

    Now, without warning, all that had changed. The Star Kingdom was entering uncharted territory.

    And Travis had never been good with uncharted territory.

    “Travis?”

    He started, turned to look at his side. Lisa was still sitting there, gazing at him with what looked like concern on her face. “You all right?” she asked.

    Travis forced a nod. “Sure,” he said. “It’s just…that was about the last thing I expected.”

    “You and the rest of the Star Kingdom,” Lisa said darkly. She nodded at the TV. “Looks like Crown Pr — like King Edward is going to speak.”

    Travis looked back. With his father now gone from the stage, Edward had stepped to the podium. In the background behind him was his son, Richard Winton, resplendent in his black and gold Academy cadet uniform.

    Only now they were King Edward and Crown Prince Richard.

    Travis took a deep breath. He’d survived uncharted territory before. He would survive this one, too.

    Lisa had set Crumpets down on the couch between them. Absently scritching the dog behind her ears, Travis braced himself for this new and unexpected future.