Trekmaster. James B. Johnson

of them on Bearpaw Avenue, TJ saw the grandiose building that housed the Forty. Circular, with stone pillars, it sat upon a low hill where it seemed to lord over its surroundings. The Forty was the sitting body of the major nobles left in Crimson Sapphire. And they also spoke, as representatives, for the few remaining nobility outside of the capital city. TJ, as victor in the Consolidation wars, had stripped titles and property from nobles of vanquished countries and city-states who had opposed him. The nobility of Crimson Sapphire had fared better as a result of being on the winning side. And, TJ admitted, it would have been political suicide to eliminate them. But he had been minutely eroding their power on every occasion he could. And had made no nobles, given no titles.

      They dismounted and the lieutenant and a squad of the palace guard went ahead to announce his arrival.

      TJ, with Summer cavorting at his side, strode confidently up the wide marble stairs and down the corridor to the amphitheater where the nobles had gathered. He had called them into session this morning, allowing time only for notification. TJ wanted the Forty off balance for this meeting. As he entered, he put a scowl on his face and walked purposefully down a ramp to the center of the large room. The other squad of soldiers escorted him. The first squad was already positioned around the upper level. Nobles stood quietly at their places in a semicircle up the dozen levels of seating. TJ arrived at the floor of the chamber and his guards split and turned to face the crowd. TJ walked to the dais in the center. The current president of the Forty, the Lord Mayor of Montreal, knelt before him. Montreal was the closest city to Crimson Sapphire and had been under Shepherd rule before the Consolidation wars.

      TJ paused, looked searchingly at the man at his feet, and turned to look about the room. He said nothing. After he judged the pause long enough to establish his dominance, he indicated the president to rise. TJ did not give the sign for the Forty to sit.

      TJ fixed his gaze on the president’s eyes. “Was it you, Franz?”

      The Lord Mayor of Montreal involuntarily stepped back. TJ’s words were the prearranged signal to his guards. The squad at the top of the room cocked their crossbows. The squad on the floor facing the nobles pulled their war assegais to the ready position. A little drama TJ had designed.

      “No, Your Majesty,” Franz said. He was a man of average height, given to wearing conservative dress. Since TJ had changed the ground rules on the nobility, they had become more business oriented, more involved in the dealings of their holdings, and thus less the deliberative body. They still advised the King, yet he seldom sought their advice. TJ knew his program for the nobility was working—since they had stopped interfering with government so much and started directing their own businesses, most of the nobility had become wealthier and their holdings had increased. TJ was confident that as long as the profits held or rose, he had effectively severed the nobility’s authority and thus decreased their power. Now he had only to deal with them as a formality—or as merchants. Franz fidgeted and obviously felt he had to say something. “Does Your Majesty suspect us of complicity in the assassination attempt?”

      “I suspect everybody, Franz, you in particular. Would you have my throne?”

      “No, Sire, I....”

      “Or would you rather have electricity and aircars—or own the rights to some new technology?” He scanned the room. “What is it to be, Franz? Make your choice now. Do you want to try for my crown, or do you wish to be one who controls commerce to and from Bear Ridge? I suspect the landholders and industrialists in this room won’t be able to count their profits.” TJ saw that Franz was shaking off the intimidating effects of the Gyrenes.

      “Our position is well known, Majesty, we are with you.”

      “Is it now?” TJ asked. Franz was obviously smart enough to see through TJ’s anger. He continued on the principle of “kick ’em while they’re down” and said, “Let the word go out, then, that those who oppose me shall be held to account, and swiftly removed. Their holdings liquidated and given away to middle level management people, holdings broken so that they could never again be identified as once great and large. I don’t understand you Forty. There is an emergence of middle-class business people, farmers, men of vision who are growing with the times—and consequently encroaching on your profits. You should be tending business and protecting yourselves from this economic onslaught—not plotting and gabbing like old women here in these outdated rooms. And the only way you are going to beat your rising competition is to beat them under my rules. Keep ahead of competition. Get the new technological franchises. Will you remain here broken men, or will you be in the forefront of expansion? You, you Forty, think long and hard, for there is thin ground underneath you.” TJ paused for effect. He knew the simplistic terms he used weren’t all that true. The Forty could do away with him and still gain Federation entry. Yet he hammered his point in further. “Opposition, I can and will break. Including you. The only power base you actually retain is an economic one. And that, right now, is insufficient to overthrow me and my family.” Abruptly he stopped and, hands on hips, glared around the room from face to face.

      He knew what most of them were thinking. They should have thwarted him when they could, before he had consolidated what he had won in battle. They had laughed at his seemingly outrageous governmental reorganizations. They had laughed when he had abolished all previous national boundaries and drew arbitrary lines on maps to establish ethnarchies. And then he had appointed his own men, strangers to those ethnarchies, as province chiefs or ethnarchs. The geographical and demographical arbitrary boundaries, the nobility and former rulers had learned to their displeasure, totally changed the land. Different peoples were thrown together. Ethnic groups, religious groups, geographical groups all found themselves mixed economically and politically. Thus none could agree sufficiently with each other to form formal opposition to the King and his reorganization. Previous neighbor nations found themselves split in many ways, joined obscenely with portions of others which all managed to completely dissolve any regional loyalties. And with the new organization and the dreaded taxmen, TJ knew he had the odds designed in his favor. In the short few years since, he had insured against returning to the old ways.

      TJ knew that they, the smart ones, were aware that this was his most devious and complete triumph. “Franz, you might think about retiring and letting your sons take over.” Summer cartwheeled for emphasis. “I will have no opposition. And I will have the name of the one who hired the assassin. My wrath will descend on any group I think had a part in the plot. Pass the word.”

      “It shall be done, Majesty.”

      “Another thing.” TJ changed the timbre of his voice to a more conversational tone. “This woman, the Federation envoy. I’ve told everyone involved to be completely open with her. Tell her anything she wants to know.”

      “Yes, Sire.”

      “Do so with temperance. For instance, she need not know about your dialogue here today.” He scratched under his beard. “Nor of any skeletons buried. Nor of any opposition to our proposed Federation membership. Is that understood?”

      TJ heard no dissenting voices—as he expected. Most of the nobles present would protect what little power and authority they retained. Undercutting them and their authority was neatly done, he admitted. Yet, the possibility that a disgruntled faction threatened him still existed. Some must wish to return to the old days before Consolidation, others simply wanted more power. TJ knew that historically the nobility had gradually taken over from monarchies and then succumbed themselves to emerging merchant classes. TJ had simply accelerated the process. But he held power for himself, always scheming to prevent any group from making him either a figurehead or unnecessary at all. A hidden reason he had so designed the confusing bureaucratic organization was to protect himself and the crown. He had built the system so that one-man rule was necessary. He did not fear a planet-wide revolt as the memories of the long Consolidation wars still lingered. And his changes came just slow enough to keep from causing unrest and trouble, and fast enough to keep his potential enemies off balance.

      That is until the plunge for entrance into the Federation.

      The people did not seem to dislike his rule either. For the moment they were safer since there was no war. Taxes were less, crime was down—a fairness doctrine seemed