Forms of government change. Long ago James Burnham, following Hobbes, pointed out that while it is easy to convince people that government is valuable, it is not quite so obvious that any particular form of government is best. The belief that fifty percent plus one will best look out for the interests of the whole is as much a myth as the Divine Right of Kings, and certainly no more compelling than the notion that the state may be best placed in the hands of those educated to the task. Alexander Hamilton, himself "the bastard son of a Scots peddler," argued for a strong hereditary component to the United States Constitution on the grounds that an aristocracy would look to the future and not merely to the next election. Clearly he expected an open aristocracy which could be entered on merit, but he was not shy in defending hereditary rights for those who had won admission.
By the Twentieth Century it had been repeatedly proved that the qualifications required to obtain the office of chief of state were not optimum for actually performing the job; and this regardless of whether the state was a constitutional republic like the United States, or the kind of revolutionary anarchy favored by its southern neighbors. . . .
If the ancients from Aristotle to Machiavelli were agreed on one thing, it was that when a state required strong armed forces for its survival, those armed forces had better be commanded by a single person; that the political crimes of one bad ruler were infinitely preferable to the dangers of dividing military command. Better Tiberius than a committee. The first two hundred years of the United States of America seemed to disprove that thesis, partly because prior to 1950 the United States would never have dreamed of keeping a large army in time of peace, and even had it done so, that army would have been conscripts, not long service volunteers.
The events of the Twenty First Century demonstrated that the ancients may have been wiser than the moderns thought . . .—From Utopia to Imperium: A History of Sparta from Alexander I to the Accession of Lysander,
by Caldwell C. Whitlock, Ph.D.
(University of Sparta Press, 2220)
Interdiction: The CoDominium Grand Senate has always reserved the right to declare an interdiction of space travel to or from any solar system or body therein, as punishment for actions contrary to laws which the Grand Senate regards as outside the jurisdiction of even sovereign planets. The most usual cause for such action is an attack on CoDominium citizens, particularly on Fleet personnel, or a violation of the Laws of War (q.v.). Many independent planets regard interdiction as an intolerable infringement of their sovereignty, and an attempt to reduce them to the quasi-satellite status of most Earth governments.
It is noteworthy that interdiction has never been attempted against a planet with significant naval strength . . .
But perhaps naval warfare best illustrates the effect of both permanent and contingent factors in limiting the scope, intensity, and duration of operations. Specialized warships are probably quite recent in origin. The first navies may have been antipiratical in purpose, though there are grounds for thinking that the advantages conferred by the ability to move forces along rivers or coasts first prompted rules to maintain warships. But at any stage of economic development, navies have always been expensive to build and have required handling by specialized crews. Their construction and operation therefore demanded considerable disposable wealth, probably the surplus of a ruler's revenue; and if the earliest form of fighting at sea was piratical rather than political in motive, we must remember that even the pirate needs capital to start in business.
—John Keegan "The Parameters of Warfare"; MHQ: The Quarterly Journel of Military History,
Vol 5:2, Winter 1993
The house stood on large open grounds. The entry drive led past a gatehouse manned by Royal Regiment soldiers, and through a small grove of elm trees. Beyond that was half an acre of well tended grass leading up to the Georgian style house. The porch was as large as many military houses.
Hal Slater answered the door himself, and waved his visitors inside. "Come in, please, Colonel Karantov. Welcome to my home. I think you met my wife some years ago?"
"Welcome, Boris," Kathryn Slater said. She wore a simple black dress of elegant design, with a firestone pin. Her earrings flashed with a shade of green that could only have been greenfire; it was clear that Kathryn Malcolm Slater was not worried about money.
"Mrs. Kathryn Slater, General Slater," Karantov acknowledged. "I present Captain of Fleet Clayton Newell."
Newell, like Karantov, wore civilian clothing, and there was nothing to indicate that they were two of the highest ranking CoDominium officers in the Sparta system. Karantov kissed Kathryn's hand, and after a moment Newell did likewise.
Hal Slater leaned on his cane to bow stiffly, and ushered them across the entry hall toward the rear of the house. "We're meeting in my study," Slater said. "It's as secure as the Legion can make it."
"I would say trustworthy, then," Karantov said.
Captain Newell stopped in the entry hall and looked around the room, at the parquet floors, columns and mirrors, original paintings on the walls. Twin curved staircases led up to a musician's balcony above the entry. "Very nice," he said.
"Mostly Kathryn's design," Slater said.
"Impressive," Newell said. "And very lovely."
"Thank you," Kathryn Slater said. "Hal was offered an official residence as Commandant of the War College, but we decided we'd rather build our own. We've lived so many places, and this will probably be our last."
"You are pleased to live on Sparta, then," Boris Karantov said.
"Very. I don't think anyone has ever appreciated us quite so much. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll leave you to your work," Kathryn said. "You won't be disturbed. Pleased to meet you, Captain Newell."
Hal Slater led the visitors into his study. Karantov and Newell went into the room and stopped short at the sight of several others already there. Karantov bowed stiffly. "Your Highness. I expected to meet you, of course. But—Anatoly, Samuel, you I do not expect."
"I'll explain," Hal Slater said. Russians never consider a meeting friendly if it doesn't open with a drink. "But first, may I get you anything? I've let the servants go for the day, but we have just about anything you would like."
"Cognac, perhaps," Karantov said.
Hal opened a paneled cabinet and poured brandy from a crystal decanter into small glasses which he handed around to everyone. They all lifted them formally. "To Sparta," Slater said.
Boris Karantov looked quizzically at Slater, but raised his glass and drained it. "Sparta, then." After a moment Captain Newell did the same.
"Excellent cognac," Karantov said. "Terran?"
"Yes, from the Crimea," Hal said. To Russians, all brandy is cognac no matter where it comes from. "Do you care for more?"
"Not just at moment."
"Please, be seated," Slater said. "I believe everyone has met? We will have one more visitor—ah, I believe that's him now." Hal left, and came back a few moments later with Dr. Whitlock.
"Dr. Caldwell Whitlock. You'll remember him as a political consultant to Colonel John Christian Falkenberg. Dr. Whitlock is now also in the employ of the Dual Monarchy. Dr. Whitlock, Colonel Boris Karantov, CoDominium Fleet Marines. Fleet Captain Clayton Newell, CoDominium Navy. Captain Anatoly Nosov, formerly of the CoDominium Navy, retired, now a Captain of the Royal Spartan Naval Reserve. Captain Samuel Forrest, also retired as a Captain of the CoDominium Navy, now Rear Admiral, Royal Spartan Naval Reserve. And of course you know Crown Prince Lysander. Caldwell, we just toasted Sparta's health."
"We'll say I join you in the sentiment," Whitlock said. "Highness." Whitlock bowed slightly, and turned to the others. "Gentlemen, I'm proud to meet y'all."
"Also in the employ of Sparta," Karantov said. "May I ask, Doctor, to whom do you give primary loyalty?"
"There's no cause to choose," Whitlock said. "No conflicts."
"None at all?" Karantov frowned. "Interesting." The study was large and comfortable, lined with book cases. The furniture was leather, massive couches and chairs. Everyone found a seat. "Pleased you could all come," Hal Slater said. "I hope no one will think I am rude if we plunge right in."
"Please do," Fleet Captain Newell said. "I confess I am intrigued to learn that two of my former shipmates are now officers of the Royal Spartan Navy. Matter of fact, I didn't know Sparta had a navy." If you listened closely you could still hear a bit of American New Englander accent in Newell's careful speech. "Doubtless all will be explained."
"I could have introduced them as Citizen Nosov and Citizen Sir Samuel Forrest," Slater said carefully. "Citizenship was bestowed with their naval commissions, and His Majesty was pleased to confer the Order of the Golden Fleece on his new Admiral."
"Ah," Newell said. "And this offer—it is an offer, isn't it?"
Lysander smiled slightly. "It is indeed, Fleet Captain. The Kings in Council have authorized extending Citizenship to CoDominium personnel willing to serve the Dual Monarchy. And honors, as deserved, of course."
"I see," Newell said.
"To be brief," Dr. Whitlock said, "we can offer commissions, and generous pay to our Navy Reserve, leastwise to those who join up early, being as how we don't have much Navy. Citizenship. Land. Damn good pensions, and a chance of honors, on retirement from the Spartan Navy." He looked at Karantov. "We can use experienced Fleet Marines, too."
"You have naval personnel but not ships," Newell said carefully.
"Well, that's right just at the moment," Whitlock said. "But you know how things are back around Earth. That could change pretty fast. You never know what happens to ships when a fleet starts coming apart."
"Or where Sergei Lermontov orders ships to go," Karantov said. "I take it I am included in offer?"
"Well, yes," Hal Slater said. "You'll need a place to retire in a few years anyway, Boris. Your family is already here. You can retire from the CD any time you like, and take service with the Royal Spartan Navy. And if the CD stops your pension, we'll pay it. In addition to your Spartan pay, of course."
"Is this the deal you have, Samuel?" Newell asked.
"Yes." Samuel Forrest was a big man, large enough that he must have had difficulty getting around in CD warships without bashing his head. "They guaranteed our CoDominium pensions. Did quite a bit better than that, actually. Certainly better than I expected."
"What do you want from us, Samuel?"
"We like it here," Forrest said. "The only thing wrong with Sparta is the war. Dr. Whitlock—"
"Well, everybody knows the war would end like that—" Dr. Whitlock snapped his fingers "—if the CoDominium fleet did its proper job of intercepting arms smuggling into Sparta. That and protecting our observation satellites. Give us our satellites and stop the enemy bringing in weapons, and we'll finish the war right enough."
"I see," Newell said. He looked significantly to Karantov, then back to Lysander. "You do understand, Your Highness, that we are not in command here? Commodore Guilford does not want to be committed, to either side. He turns a blind eye to the smugglers. To his credit, he has not given Bronson's people direct assistance."
"Merely stops the rest of y'all from doing your jobs," Whitlock said. "Well, thank the Deity for small favors even so. But gentlemen, not to rush you, but where the hell did you think of running to when the CoDominium breaks up?"
Karantov inhaled sharply. "You use strong words."
"Situation calls fo' strong words," Whitlock said. "You got to be hearing the same things I am. So many factions in the Grand Senate nobody can get a coalition together. Budget crisis in the United States. Political crisis in Russia. Already had one mutiny in the fleet, ship's crew didn't want to be transferred." Whitlock shrugged. "That's what we know about. Now, here we got a good planet, stable government that wants y'all, wants y'all enough they're willing to give you some land, pay good money, and guarantee your CoDominium pension to boot—I don't need to tell you, if there ain't no CoDominium there ain't likely to be no CoDominium pensions. So you got all this you can look forward to."
"And all you want is—"
"All we want," Prince Lysander said softly, "is for you to do your duty. You have the reputation of men of honor, and you have done your duty to the CoDominium. Now—now you have a duty to civilization. Make no mistake, gentlemen. We're going to win this war, and once we have won it, we will take measures to see we are never again dependent on anyone else for our protection. We will have a Navy."
"And y'all can be part of building it," Whitlock said. "You could start in any time. And of course if you retire here, it makes sense to keep this place as healthy as possible. It's goin' to be your home, so the sooner this war is over, the better for everybody—including you."
"Da," Karantov said. "But Highness will excuse me if I say we do not see you wish to win this war." He shrugged.
"That can be remedied," Lysander said. He stood, and the others scrambled to their feet although there was no need to. "If that is your objection, I think it will be met soon enough. Dr. Whitlock, you have full authority to negotiate for me," Lysander said. He bowed slightly. "I'll leave the specifics to Dr. Whitlock. But rest assured, rest assured, gentlemen, we do intend to win this war, and we will do whatever we must do. Whatever we must do. Good afternoon."
"Our Prince has grown a very great deal," Dr. Whitlock said softly after Lysander left the room. Everyone nodded.
"Negotiate," Boris Karantov said.
Caldwell Whitlock smiled broadly. "Negotiate indeed." He nodded to Slater, and Hal went to the bar and poured their glasses full of cognac again. Whitlock passed them out. "Now, what y'all want is homes, good land, good positions for your families. Education for your children and grandchildren. Let me point out, gentlemen, that one, two, maybe five percent of the developed land on Sparta belongs to rebels. Worth a whole lot. All that will come to the government when we win. We have land, honors, titles, a decent place to live. We need a navy." He raised his glass. "Here's to you."
Karantov looked to Newell, then back to Whitlock. "Falkenberg makes no mistake in choosing you as his representative," he said. "I have always thought to retire to raise horses, perhaps sail small boats on a suitable lake. What say you, Captain Newell? Lord Admiral Newell has a pleasant sound. As does Baron Karantov. To Sparta."
Clayton Newell looked at the others, then around the room. He hesitated for a long moment before he spoke. "You speak for both Falkenberg and the Dual Monarchy." Whitlock nodded. "Which means you speak for Lermontov and the Grants, even if you do not acknowledge that."
"Oh, I reckon I can say I do," Whitlock said. "Long as it's strictly among us friends. Blaines too, for that matter. But you will understand, Captain, what with the communications difficulties, sometimes we don't have orders, but we still got to act."
"And you have that authority?"
"We really are layin' all our cards on the table," Whitlock said. "Well, it's this way. Colonel Falkenberg values King Alexander and Prince Lysander a lot, and of course anything purely havin' to do with Sparta is goin' to be decided by the Spartans. Anything else is sort of up to me, and Lieutenant Colonels Slater and Owensford, acting collectively."
Newell sat in an overstuffed leather chair. "And you see no conflict of interest? Between Lermontov's interest and Sparta's?" He looked to Forrest and Nosov. "Nor do you?"
Samuel Forrest shook his head. "Not really. You have to be aware that King Alexander has been a Lermontov ally for a long time. Right now, under the CoDominium Treaty, Sparta isn't even supposed to have a foreign policy, let alone a navy, so how can there be a conflict over external matters? But the simple answer is that King Alexander and Prince Lysander are aware of the situation, and they've left Dr. Whitlock to negotiate for them, so they must not see much conflict."
Newell stared at each one in turn for a long time, then contemplated his still full glass. Finally he said, "Clearly Boris is convinced that your Prince Lysander, and all of you, may all be trusted." He spoke slowly and carefully, measuring every word. "I will confess, what we hear from Earth is alarming, and little would surprise me. War, a coup by Admiral Lermontov, perhaps more likely a coup against the Grand Admiral. No one knows what to expect." He shrugged. "Look, I find your offers attractive, I'd be a fool not to. But what happens if you don't win? Suppose Boris and I help you, and you lose? We'd be gambling everything."
"We are now," Hal Slater said carefully. "We don't intend to lose."
"No one does," Newell said. "But it's not entirely in your power. You must know what you're up against. Bronson's got money, power, ambition. He has his own shipping line, and enough money to arm those ships. You could win your war, and still find this planet destroyed, with no CoDominium force to avenge you."
"Which is why we need a fleet," Samuel Forrest said. "It need not be a large fleet, just enough to take on armed merchant men. A squadron would do. I believe there is a squadron here, now." He raised his glass. "To Sparta."
Anatoly Nosov stood and held out his glass for a refill. "Let us be specific. You have four warships here. One is frigate Volga, Commander Vadim Dzirkals, very much a Lermontov supporter. One is cruiser Vera Cruz, your own, and we presume your officers will follow as you lead. One is frigate Kirov; I do not know Commander Chornovil, but I understand he is intelligent, and certainly he was promoted by Lermontov. More to the point, four of his bridge officers formerly served with me in Moscva. Fourth is destroyer Aegir, with American commander. I believe Captain Forrest knows him—"
"Harry Clarkson," Forrest said. "A Townsend man, but I think most of his wardroom has other sentiments."
"A fleet," Karantov said. "Perhaps sufficient no matter what Bronson sends."
"You're suggesting mutiny," Newell said. His eyes darted around the room.
"I suggest nothing," Nosov said. "But it is very much possible that soon there is no CoDominium, and it is to advantage of us all that we consider possibilities." He raised his glass. "To Sparta."
"If there is no CoDominium, those with control of naval power will have great power indeed," Newell mused. "Much could be done with a squadron of warships. Not just here."
"Well, I suppose," Dr. Whitlock said. "But then there's this. One time, Napoleon was admirin' his troops on parade. 'See the bayonets of my Guards, how they gleam,' he said. And Talleyrand said, 'You can do anything with a bayonet, Sire, except sit on it.' I'd think the same thing might apply to your warships, Captain. You can blow hell out of a planet, but where you goin' to set down? You want to face the kind of war the Spartans have been fighting? Spend your lives wondering when someone's going to kill your family? Long time ago, a man named Ortega y Gasset pointed out, rulin's not so much a matter of an iron fist as it is of a firm seat." He raised his glass. "To Sparta."
"I will drink to Sparta," Newell said. "And perhaps when Spartans have achieved that firm seat, we will continue this discussion. Until then—" He raised his glass. "To Sparta."