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Chapter 3– Deliberation
I have come to the conclusion that politics is too serious a matter to be left to the politicians.
-Charles de Gaulle, 20th Century Politician from the Earth-Relic
“. . . complete control over Pathros, as a Sovereign State in the Union of the Eleven Stars. You have until the 15th Day of the 10th Cycle. This is for the good of the course of history.”
-The Twenty-Third Historiarch
Lord Executive Dalmer Graham Taynen re-read the last few lines of the Historiarch’s Proclamation, once more, while he waited for the Board of Dukes to arrive. His brow furrowed, reflecting his concentration on the document. As many times as he read and re-read the Proclamation, though, he could not shake off the feeling of shock that accompanied it. It was so unexpected.
Although he had only been Lord Executive for a matter of weeks, now, he had spent his whole life in the courts of House Taynen, observing the workings of the laws and business of Pathros, and of the Union. Never before had he seen something so incredible as this. He struggled to even come up with words to describe the proclamation.
Has the Historiarch gone loony?
The Final Mandate which had been invoked upon the proclamation seemed to validate that thought.
Such a drastic move. . . what could his motives be?
Further contemplation on those matters was interrupted by the opening of the Conference Room doors, and the entrance of the Board of Dukes. The nine men, and one woman, filed in and took their assigned seats around the table. Also present was Dalmer’s Advisor, and brother-in-law, Lord Zeke Bastille, as well as the aging Benjamin Furwillitzer, the Scribe. Noting that everyone was seated and ready, Dalmer opted to begin the meeting, although it was five minutes early.
We’ll get out of here sooner. I can handle that.
“Welcome, everyone,” began Dalmer, his enunciation clear, his tone dignified. “I appreciate your timeliness, and your presence here today. I trust your weekly Board Meeting went well.” An assortment of vocal agreements, ranging from “Indeed” to simple grunts, confirmed that assumption. “If you would, Duke Finnegan, I would appreciate a report on the meeting.”
“Certainly,” complied a balding man who wore a loose-fitting blue suit. As Dalmer sat down, and Duke Finnegan stood up, the young Lord Executive glanced about the table, sizing up the Dukes he had only sat with in Council a few times before. Not one of them was less than ten years his superior, and yet Dalmer was in charge of them all. Stroking his short beard, Dalmer listened as Duke Finnegan gave his report.
“. . . and the final issue we discussed was the recent Proclamation made by the Historiarch.” At mention of the proclamation, most of the Dukes tensed up a bit. Dalmer almost did, as well. “We have determined, Lord Executive, that we would prefer to discuss these matters after the other business we have to go over today.”
“I agree. I have a hunch,” began Dalmer, “that, if we start with the proclamation, we won’t have time to address any of the other matters of business.”
“Thank you, Lord Dalmer. That concludes my report on the Board Meeting we had this morning.”
“Thank you, Duke Finnegan. Now then, let’s begin. Duke Goswin, Let’s start with you.”
For the next several minutes, an older gentleman bored the Lord Executive with a routine report on the current rates of imported goods. Thankfully, the next Duke was a bit more brief with his business, and the trend followed with most of the other Dukes. Duchess Hamblin took a bit longer than the rest, taking the time to give a detailed report on how their few Harvesting Facilities were still far below the average profits for a House with as much prestige as House Taynen.
It was the same thing, every week. Pessimism. Each Duke gave a half-hearted report, filled with nothing but bad news. This was only Dalmer’s fifth week as Lord Executive, but he was already tempted to call it quits. He wouldn’t though. He had known, his whole life, what awaited him when he took his father’s place as Lord Executive. How long had he spent planning what he would do to make things better? How many hours had been spent studying the more successful Houses, and their success? How long had been spent studying the House Taynen that once was? Dalmer wasn’t going to continue in the downward course his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather had been taking. He was going to change things. House Taynen would have honor once again,
But how?
After half an hour, or so, the last of the Dukes finished what was on their agenda, and all that was left to be discussed was the Historiarch’s Proclamation.
“Now, in regards to the Proclamation Concerning the Governing of Pathros. . .” Lord Dalmer hesitated a moment, “I presume each of you have read it over already, and, undoubtedly, discussed it in your Board Meeting.” Dalmer was once again had his assumptions confirmed with an assortment of vocal agreement. “Well then, what do you think?”
For an uncomfortable length of time, the Dukes glanced at each other in an awkward manner. After a painstaking thirty seconds, Duke Mumfrey spoke up.
“Now, Lord Executive, I can assure you that we spent an awful lot of time in deliberation over the matter. We have discussed, at length, what we can expect to result from this Proclamation, as well as what House Taynen can do to to make the best of the situation. . .” Another long, awkward pause.
“And what have you come up with?” Dalmer inquired.
“We think,” interrupted Duke Gammon, “that, quite frankly, this does not bode well for House Taynen.”
Dalmer raised his thick eyebrows, feigning surprise. He knew they would come to this conclusion, but he couldn’t let them know he expected it. The last thing House Taynen needed was another Lord Executive to share their pessimism.
The portly Duke continued, “First off, we do not expect House Taynen to have even a chance of being chosen to rule over Pathros. For the past forty years, this House has seen failure after failure. We have Contracts with only a handful of Minor Houses, and those few aren’t producing much. We have little popularity with the people, even here in our Capital City, New Badris. We don’t even have the forces to protect our transports from the bandits that wait in the murk.”
Thank you, Duke Gammon, for reminding me of all our shortcomings.
“We have absolutely no chance at being selected by the Historiarch. We’re going to have to accept that.” Duke Gammon paused for a moment, staring Dalmer in the eyes, as though he needed to make sure that the young Lord Executive understood. “Second, Lord Executive, we do not see the aftermath of the shift in power promising much, either. With one House in control, we are simply not needed. The new, exclusive Ruling House will, undoubtedly, replace us. Sure, he may keep a few of the Nobles around, to avoid upsetting the populace, but for those of us who are already unpopular, we can be easily replaced with someone who would accept a much lower pay.”
“I don’t,” cut in Duchess Hamblin, “expect to keep my position for another seven months. The soon-to-be Lord Governor, whoever that may be, will waste no time in replacing me with his own nephew, or cousin, or whichever family member begs for a position the most.”
Duke Mumfrey nodded his head in agreement, and motioned with his hand to Lord Bastille. “Indeed, even in our own House, Lord Executive, nepotism is a common practice.”
“I wouldn’t be in this room if it were not,” agreed Duke Fafton, the Lord Executive’s uncle.
Casually stroking his short, dark beard, Dalmer attempted to move the discussion along, “I can certainly see how you can come to these conclusions, my friends, but what do you propose we do about it? We can talk about problems all day, but we will get nowhere if we do not look for any solutions.”
Duke Gammon was eager to continue. “Yes, Lord Executive, we would get nowhere. During our Board Meeting, we evaluated the situation, and took all of our options into consideration. We have found but two options. One, we can stay here, and by the end of the year find ourselves replaced by others. The other option, we can be proactive, and get out of here with what we can.”
Although Dalmer was already certain that he would disagree with this option, he asked, “And how do you propose we do that?”
“In less than two months, according to our sources, the Preservation Clause on the Cortez Asteroid Belt in the Austria-Brazil System will be lifted, and it will be made available for mining. There are at least twenty-three Type A metals to be mined from that belt, and if we hurry, we can get the rights to the best of those asteroids.”
“He’s right,” chimed in Duke Danniver, his nasally voice, as always, leaving Dalmer mildly agitated. “Even though we’re failing, the mere fact that we have been on Pathros, almost since its colonization, makes us big shots to the rest of the Union.”
“We’d have to act quickly, though,” reminded Duke Gammon. “I have little doubt that a few of the other Houses will get the same idea, and opt-in on the Cortez Belt as well.”
Dalmer waited for a moment to respond. He wanted to give them the false idea that he was seriously considering the proposition.
“So,” he began slowly, dragging out the pause before he continued his sentence, “you are suggesting that we leave Pathros? You think we should get out while we still have a chance?”
Dalmer struggled not to sigh as he saw the eager looks on the faces of Dukes. They were so anxious to just give up, and they actually thought that Dalmer would go right along with it.
There’s no hope in them, is there. . .
Dalmer came to his conclusion of what he must do, and, almost to his surprise, it brought instant relief from his worries.
“Very well,” Dalmer pronounced as he stood up. “I will have to take some time to consider what has been said. In the meantime, you are all dismissed, and this meeting is adjourned.”
For a moment, there was silence, save it were the soft clicking of Benjamin Furwillitzer’s duties as scribe. The Dukes each looked at each other, hesitantly, not sure whether this had been a victory for them or not. Duke Gammon let out a muffled chuckle, signaling to the others that, at least, he found it to be a victory, and then stood up, gathering his belongings. The rest of the Dukes followed suit, and it was not long before they were all filing out the door, leaving Dalmer alone with his brother-in-law, Lord Bastille.
Turning his head to face the man who was married to his older sister, Dalmer asked, “Well, what do you think?”
The middle-aged man raised a finger in the air, as he habitual did every time he answered one of Dalmer’s questions. “Well, Dalmer, I can’t say it turned out any different than I expected.” He paused, lowering his one hand and raising the other, finger extended, “Although, I suppose the Cortez Belt caught me off guard. I thought they might suggest the Kalagari Maswa industry.”
Dalmer chuckled, then retorted with sarcasm, “Nonsense! A man of Duke Gammon’s noble bearing would never stoop to such a sorry trade.”
Zeke rolled his eyes, then shrugged. “Well, what do we do?”
“Zeke, I would like you to see to it that all ten of those Dukes are fired. Tonight.”
The Lord Executive’s brother-in-law, after recovering from momentary shock, smiled. “Ah, Lord Executive, it appears that my wife isn’t the only one in her family who isn’t a spineless coward. Delightful!”
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