A Forest of Stars - Kevin J. Anderson [25]
“It is best for you to be both, King Peter.” The benign-looking Teacher compy was one of many built to accompany the first generation ships as they left to search the stars. OX now served the Hanseatic League in the training of Great Kings. “But there is more to your role than that. The people must believe in you.”
Peter smiled. “All right, then. Let’s go and be seen on our way to the situation room.”
As Raymond, he had grown up with a close-knit but poor family. Scraping for every spare credit, he had worked odd jobs, talked with street vendors, gotten to know the everyday men and women whose lives attracted no notice.
Those people were the King’s genuine subjects, but Basil didn’t factor them into his grand plans. The Chairman excelled in seeing how jigsaw pieces fit together, but he had no comprehension of the smaller scale of life. He didn’t know any real people, only political projections and general economic concepts. It made him a good businessman, but not a leader who inspired loyalty…
With OX at his side, Peter made his way down a wide hall. He smiled at a middle-aged Hispanic woman polishing an alabaster bust of King Bartholomew. “Hello, Anita.” He looked at the statue’s perfect facial features. “Do you think old Bartholomew really looked like that, or do you suppose it’s an idealized portrayal?”
She beamed at his notice. “I…I suppose that’s the way he looked to the sculptor’s eye, Sire.”
“I bet you’re right.”
He and OX continued down the passageway to the polished wooden doors of a former library, now converted into a situation room. It had once been filled with old books, so fragile that they could no longer be read. Now the shelves were covered with filmy display screens.
Tactical officers and advisers met regularly to study Hansa colonies, known positions of Ildiran ships and the EDF fleet across the ten spacial grids. Though never formally invited to these meetings, Peter made a point of joining them every week. None of the experts inside the situation room would turn him away—unless the Chairman ordered it. But Basil would never make a scene. As the King and OX entered, the older man made only a slight acknowledgment from his overstuffed leather chair.
Inside the converted library, the court green priest Nahton sat attentively beside a spindly gold-barked treeling, ready to receive telink reports. News also came from regular mail drones, which could travel far on minimal ekti. In addition to delivering messages and transporting data among Hansa worlds, mail drones often took survey images that documented cities and populations to keep the colony database up to date.
“Still no word from the Dasra reconnaissance fleet, Mr. Chairman,” said Admiral Lev Stromo. “It’s now a week overdue.”
A group of EDF ships had been dispatched to a gas giant in another attempt to establish negotiations with the hydrogues. It was an obvious public relations gesture, not expected to generate any tangible results. The enemy aliens had so far ignored or rebuffed all peace overtures.
Basil grumbled. “I knew we should have sent a green priest along for instant communications, but we didn’t have any to spare.”
Nahton sat unruffled, paying no attention to the implied criticism.
Military advisers and colony specialists went over the updates, projecting a complex mosaic of civilization. Currently, there were sixty-nine signatories to the Hansa Charter and a handful of satellite colonies and uncataloged camps. After the strategists had discussed known changes in ship deployment, technicians modified the images to reflect the best-guess situation in the Spiral Arm.
Peter studied the details, attempting to draw his own conclusions.
Nahton curled his fingers around the treeling’s thin trunk and connected his mind to the worldforest. From around the Spiral Arm, scattered green priest observers disseminated their reports, which he now accessed. The priest’s brow wrinkled, and dark tattoo lines compressed together on his face. When he finished, Nahton’s face