She noticed that people quieted as she passed their Tables; a few even spoke her name. She ignored them, walking as Miranda would have walked, cool and serene. She knew movement would draw attention, and movement like this—nonthreatening, calm—would compel by its contrast. The noise had lessened considerably by the time she got to the lowest level.
Pearsall was wringing his hands, his face pale. Brun smiled at him, and held out her hand. “May I try, Ser Pearsall?”
“It’s—it’s hopeless,” he said. “You’ll have to call in the security to clear the chamber.”
“Possibly,” Brun said, “but it’s worth a try, isn’t it? We haven’t had to clear the chamber in ninety odd years.”
He handed her the gavel and stepped back. Brun flicked on the Speaker’s mic and glanced around. Most of the arguers were at least glancing her way now and then to see what was happening, but they weren’t ready to pay attention. She reached into the recess under the podium where—as Kevil had told her—a loud-hailer was stowed for emergencies, should the power go out. She picked it up.
“Stop this nonsense.” The roar of the loud-hailer silenced them all for a critical moment, as they tried to figure out who held it and what was happening. Brun blinked the lights, and spoke more calmly, but still in the loud-hailer. “We have serious issues to discuss—and I mean discuss, not have screaming tantrums over.”
“Who told you—!” began Oskar Morrelline.
“Sit down, Ser Morrelline, and be quiet. If you wish to be recognized, you will request it with your button.”
“You—” he glared at her as if he would leap down three tiers and knock her to the ground, but men on either side of him pulled him back to his seat, whispering urgently in his ears.
“Thank you,” Brun said. She put down the loud-hailer and set the Speaker’s mic to a medium volume. “I see many lights are lit. Please wait your turn; please limit what you have to say to factual information or a brief expression of support or opposition to the topic.” She took the lights in order, according to the computer’s log.
The first to speak, having pressed their buttons before the uproar, now had trouble remembering what they had wanted to say. Brun waited for them, not rushing them. By the time ten had spoken, the others were all settling down, like a team of restive horses that now felt an experienced hand at the reins. She was careful not to grin, not to let them see the triumph she felt. She went on being calm and cool and perfectly fair until even the Consellines were able to leave off sarcasm and discuss the issues. She had seen her father do this often enough. Boring them into good behavior, he’d called it.
When the debate on Ageists and Rejuvenants heated up again, Brun stepped in.
“This is an important issue. We must come to some new understanding of how to constitute our government. But right now, at this time, we need to make sure we have a government, and a polity to govern. We have heavily armed warships roaming around inside our borders, any one of which could hold a planet hostage. Suppose one or a group of them decided to take over a colony world? Some colonies do not even have efficient communications access out of their own system. You know more and more of your children have been going to the colonies—do you want to deliver them to slavery?”
“No . . .” came a murmur.
“Most of us here own stock in, if we don’t completely own, the trading consortia that move our goods from place to place. What will piracy do to our profits?”
A thoughtful silence.
“What we must do is secure our borders, and rid ourselves of the menace of these mutineer ships. We don’t want them defecting to the Benignity or the Bloodhorde—”
“No one would go there—”
“No? Why not? If they are, as Minister Solinari says, part of a cult of strength-through-killing, isn’t this just a sophisticated version of the Bloodhorde’s beliefs? I can see a mutineer or so running to the Bloodhorde—and then teaching them how to maintain and use the advanced technology of the ships they stole. I can also see the Benignity being extremely upset with us for being so careless.”
Another thoughtful silence.
“So—you think we ought to do what?” That was Ronnie’s father.
“First give Fleet our support, as Minister Solinari said, to put down the mutiny and secure our borders. When we’ve done that—which should not take long—then we need to deal with these other issues. We need to reassure our neighbors that we are not planning to encroach on them. We need to find a way to open opportunities to more of our citizens—to the young, now kept from advancement by their elders who have rejuved repeatedly, and to those not in the Great Families—to the many people now shut out from all decision making.”
“What? You’d let outsiders into the Grand Council?”
“Not outsiders. People who have been in our polity for generations . . . just ignored. But this is for later discussion. Right now, I’m calling a vote on Minister Solinari’s request that investigation be deferred, and support be given to the Regular Space Service.”
“You can’t do that.”
“I just did.” Brun smiled at Cerion Conselline. “Ser Conselline, we all know that the chamber dissolved into disorder, into name-calling and useless arguments. It was necessary to restore order, and I did that. In doing so, I took over the authority to decide what issues would come up—and right now, I’m calling for a vote. You can criticize me later, but at this moment you will vote or abstain.”
Brun stood there, unmoving and silent, as the votes began to trickle in. A flurry of “no” from the main Conselline Seats, a scattering of “yes” from minor houses, then a block of “yes” from the Barracloughs. Another cluster of “no” from several minor families among the Consellines. She’d hoped for a bigger margin; this would be down to the wire. Suddenly she noticed a scurry of movement among the younger Consellines. Votes began to change. She held up her hand. Everyone sat back and watched.
“Excuse me,” she said, her eyes on the display, not on the Conselline tables. “I notice votes changing—this is legal, but I want to be sure that the individuals changing their votes do so willingly and not under any duress.”
“They’re changing your way,” Oskar said.
“That’s not the point,” Brun said. “I’m not here to win; I’m here to see that you all have the opportunity to vote your true convictions. May I have affirmation?”
One of the young Conselline men stood up; Brun nodded. “I’m changing my vote on my own, ’cause I think it’s about time we had some young leadership.”
Two others rose and without waiting said, “What Jamar said.” Brun nodded again, and waited until all the changers had spoken. Cerion and Oskar were white around the mouth but said nothing more.
When all the votes were in, Fleet had its support, with over two thirds of the votes. Brun turned to Solinari. “Ser Minister, we trust you will convey to Fleet our full support.”
“Yes, sera.” He did not grin, but his eyes twinkled at her.
In the next hours, days, weeks, Brun struggled to convince the Seats of the Great Families of the need to expand the franchise and find a way to organize a society that would be, in the long run, comprised of near-immortal individuals. Fleet’s success against the mutineers helped her; as the news came in about the destruction of the mutineer flagship and the other mutineer ships, her prestige grew. When Fleet reported on the fate of Harlis Thornbuckle, other Families who had considered treating separately with the mutineers changed their minds and this also increased her influence.
The young people, those who had not rejuved yet, understood the problems of rejuvenation clearly, though they were less receptive to bringing in non-Family representatives.