“Actually, I do,” Bill admitted, blinking. “But our media is probably going to disagree. Which means they will foment a political crisis out of it, for the ratings if nothing else.”
“Which is why they are going to be carefully controlled,” Queen Sicrac said. When she’d said it there was a squeal Bill had come to recognize as humor. “But subtly. Your media is lazy; they tend to stay near the best restaurants. Given the traveling conditions on this world, I do not see many of them straying much beyond the capitol even if I permit it. And your liberals are enamored of the ‘noble savage’ concept. We will show them the kindly agrarian society of Cheerick, the happy harvesters in the fields. The clean skies, the happy workers, the wonderful environment. We will provide them with… stringers, I believe the term is. They will gather the ‘real’ news and it will be news that we carefully feed them, just as insurgents and dictators did on your world. We are, of course, establishing manufacturing centers. But We are requiring them to be well away from the Looking Glass. And We have started a program to move the unemployed of the capital to Chakree, which is our primary factory center, to become the workers in the factories. I intend that by the time your press comes to this planet, they are going to find nothing but fuzzy little rodents that look cute and are having a lovely time under their benevolent queen.”
“Ouch,” Bill muttered. “How long do you think that will hold?”
“About five years,” Queen Sicrac replied, adding a nose wrinkle that was the equivalent of a shrug. “But that’s long enough for some of the technology to take hold and it gets us past the initial crisis. And, as I said, your press is most remarkably lazy. There is only one gate on this planet and for the time being I intend for that to be the only gate. Give them a good story, and I intend to give them many good stories, and they will remain near the Looking Glass and their supply of… scotch and vodka, yes? In the meantime, the stringers I provide will bring them the videos of battles to overthrow vicious dictators, crying Cheerick children liberated from the lands of my enemies, kindly Cheerick liberators. Oh, I will throw in the occasional negative story about my own country, but with luck I’ll come off smelling like a rose.”
“And the Alliance?” Bill asked.
“I have also studied the reports you brought in about the Dreen,” the queen said. “And studies of the effect of the war on your planet. As I said, much much much reading. I will support the Alliance as sturdily as possible, because although we are not in the direct path of the Dreen to your world, we are high on the list after you fall. One of the requirements that I’m building into the alliances is supplying fighters for the dragonflies. Since we control the methods of production for them, and for the Demons — although I try to downplay that to my new friends — it is simply a matter of getting trained fighters to control them. We receive enormous payment for each dragonfly and rider. I don’t intend to cut off my source of funding for the many programs I have going.”
“You’ve got a lot on your plate, Your Majesty,” Bill admitted.
“I had able advisors when you first arrived,” the queen said. “I admit that they are getting stretched. I’m always looking for good material. Care for a job?”
“No, but thank you,” Bill said.
“Pay’s good,” the queen pressed. “Living conditions are excellent. I regret I cannot offer you concubines, however. Interspecies and all that. The offer is extended to Miss Moon as well, of course.”
“I enjoy what I’m doing at the moment, Your Majesty,” Miriam said, dimpling. “I, too, must respectfully pass.”
“Captain Weaver? You’re sure? I can see about arranging concubines.”
“Again, I too must respectfully pass,” Bill said.
“Oh, well, offer is open,” the queen said. “You can send the message to your President and thus to the Alliance that as long as I can hold this lash-up together, the queen of Cheerick is your ally and all that. So anything that they can do on their end to try to give me some breathing space would be heartily appreciated. Because if I have to deal with labor organizers and the Communist Party, not to mention transnational progressives, the Earth media and the French, then I’m going to be hard put to supply space fighters.”
“I’ll ensure that they get that message loud and clear, Your Majesty,” Ambassador Cookson said. “In fact, I will include those words, precisely, in my report.”
“Very good,” the queen said. “You have things to do, I have things to do, and things to read, so I’m afraid this audience must end. Good luck on your next voyage. What is the mission?”
“Looking for an extinct race that had advanced technology,” Bill said. “Some of it is still around; the drive in our ship for example. We’re hoping we can pick up some more bits in a particular region of space.”
“Hopefully Lady Che-chee will be of use,” the queen said, waving at the door. “Now I really have to get back to paperwork.”
“Thank you for your time, Your Majesty,” Ambassador Cookson said, backing to the door.
“Just go ahead and walk out,” the queen said. “All this backing and scraping gets tiresome.”
“How do we know if this is edible?” Machinist Mate Second Class Kulpa asked, looking at the fruit.
“It is,” Gants replied, sucking his teeth. “When the Blade was refitting here we practically lived on that stuff. It’s not bad, but you can have it.”
The two machinists had been given a three-hour shore leave and had barely made it past the market that had sprung up by the ship. When the Cheerick heard that the humans were being permitted to visit, they had swarmed out in huge numbers for a glance at the aliens and to make money off of them.
“We don’t have any of the local money,” Kulpa pointed out.
“They mostly barter,” Gants said, shrugging and holding up a necklace. “You think Vonn would like this?”
“It’s pretty,” Kulpa admitted. “What the hell do I offer?”
“Got any idea how much nickel content there is in a nickel?” Gants said. “Like, none. But it’s still worth more than that fruit to that vendor. Copper’s like hard currency to them. Show them something with actual silver or gold in it and they’ll freak out; they won’t be able to change it. These people are poor, man.”
Kulpa fished in his pockets and came up with a handful of change. He handed over a few pennies and after considering them carefully the Cheerick handed over the fruit. It looked a bit like an orange but when Kulpa pulled off the rind he found the interior to be more similar to a pear. The taste wasn’t like anything he could describe, sort of vaguely pineapply.