The Ashes of Worlds - Kevin J. Anderson [188]
No matter. Basil wasn’t going to like what Peter showed him, no matter how it was served up.
Admiral Willis shook her head. “Arriving in a little shuttle like that? He must be damned sure you won’t shoot at him, sire.”
“And we won’t. He knows that.”
Estarra had joined the King to watch the diplomatic craft make its way from General Brindle’s Juggernaut over to theirs. The Chairman intended to dock aboard the Jupiter in half an hour — significantly earlier than their agreed-upon time — and expected to be received without delay.
“Basil can rattle his saber all he wants, but it’s just empty noise. He doesn’t know that his bargaining chip has no value.” Peter took Estarra’s arm in his. “Admiral, we won’t be needing our scheduled banquet after all. Can you provide a secure conference room? Nothing fancy — in fact, make it pointedly not fancy.”
“We’ve got plenty of empty rooms. There’s even the brig if you like.” Two of the bridge officers let out snickers, which they quickly covered.
“I’d prefer something closer to the shuttle deck. Let’s not keep the Chairman here any longer than is absolutely necessary, regardless of what he’s got to say.”
Willis selected a small mess hall just down the corridor from the bay where the shuttle would be landing. Accompanied by OX, Peter and Estarra went to the room, where crewmen were rapidly cleaning and straightening up as best they could.
“Please escort the Chairman here as soon as he disembarks,” Peter said. “I have no idea what sort of staff he’ll bring along, but I want at least one guard for each of his. At a minimum, two Confederation soldiers to be stationed outside this door.”
A few minutes later, an impatient-looking Basil Wenceslas was shown into the mess hall. He hadn’t bothered to bring a single guard or adviser.
Arrogant indeed, Peter thought.
Or he wanted the discussions to be completely private.
Though Basil maintained a businesslike demeanor, Peter knew the man well enough to detect subtle changes in his mannerisms. The Chairman seemed a bit ragged around the edges, even stressed. He frowned with disapproval at their surroundings. “A lunchroom? That’s how you receive me?”
“Forget the pomp and ceremony, Basil. Let’s get down to business.” Peter calmly sat in a hard resin chair, facing his old mentor, his current nemesis. “Are you releasing Patrick Fitzpatrick and his wife, as I requested?”
“That would be a good opening gesture,” Estarra added. “We would rather have asked King Rory in person, but you seem to have left him back on Earth.”
Ignoring Estarra, Basil gave Peter a withering look. “Did you really think I would bring the King here, where your Confederation mercenaries could just seize him? Don’t be naïve.”
“It’s pointless for us to butt heads this way. Speak your piece, Basil.”
The Chairman placed an elbow on the mess hall table, after glancing down to make sure the surface was clean. With his other hand he removed a sheaf of printouts from his inner jacket pocket. “I have genetic comparisons here, since I assumed you would demand them. It’s proof that Rory is your brother, but I suspect you already know that.” He narrowed his gray eyes. “What happens now is up to you. I can arrange an accident for him, even an assassination, and blame it on Freedom’s Sword.” He seemed to like the idea. “I’ve got no qualms against killing him if you don’t behave.”
“Behave? What does that even mean?” Peter couldn’t believe the Chairman was still treating him like a frightened child. Basil Wenceslas had regressed a great deal.
“It means you will abdicate. You will stop this ridiculous insurrection that weakens the true government of humanity. You will dissolve the Confederation so that the scattered colonies and Roamer clans come back into the fold of the Hansa, where they belong. And you will agree to it now, before we end this meeting.”
Peter let out a sigh. “Is that all?” He tapped the printouts.