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Rebecca twisted the blade. "And I do think it is time—long overdue, in fact—for Captain Gars to receive a promotion."
Gustav burst into laughter. "Scheming woman!" For a moment, he stared at her admiringly. His eyes drifted down to her swollen midsection. "If the child is a girl," he chuckled, "I assume you plan to name her Circe."
Rebecca laughed. After a moment, so did Michael.
The king began stroking his big nose. "Hm. Hm." The stroking stopped. The glare returned.
"But what about this other nonsense!" he snapped. "This preposterous idea that only the lower house—the estate of the commons, if you will!—has exclusive control over taxation and the state treasury?" His voice rose to a bellow: "Absurd! Utterly unreasonable!"
Michael snapped back: "Bad enough I'm willing to give you a stinking House of Lords, just to keep your lousy noble allies! You want the worthless parasites to decide how much they get taxed, too?" His own bellow was as impressive as the king's: "Not a chance! Power must remain in the lower House! Let the damned nobility be satisfied with their frills!"
Bellow.
Bellow.
The king of Sweden roared like a lion, defending the divine right of kings and the principle of aristocratic precedence. The president of the United States snarled like a tiger, insisting on the primacy of the popular will. Royalty must rule, not simply reign! was matched with Millions for defense, not one cent for tribute!
It went on for quite some time. On and on. Several hours, in fact.
Now and again, Rebecca's voice slid through the verbal maelstrom, like a blade between ribs. The roars and bellows would fade, replaced by hms and wellIgottathinkaboutthats, until they resumed their former fury. But, always, the ground would shift a bit.  Outside the library, the vestibule quickly became packed with the other members of the U.S. government. Within an hour, every elected official living in Grantville had arrived at the school. The crowd became so large that it was necessary for most of them to gather in the cafeteria. At periodic intervals, Representatives eavesdropping on the raging quarrel in the library would give hurried reports.
At first, Melissa and her supporters gathered around one table, while Quentin and his faction collected at another. But eventually, as if by unspoken agreement, the two of them met privately in the vestibule.
"I'm worried, Quentin," admitted Melissa. "I think I understand what Mike's trying to do. If the United States is part of some great Confederation of Europe, we'll have breathing room. It'd buy us time to grow and—" She groped for words. "And teach. Instead of turning us into a garrison state."
Quentin nodded. "Yeah. And if I'm following the latest twist and turn in the debate, Mike just got half of Franconia added along with the rest of Thuringia. I think he's shooting for all of it, too." For a moment, his eyes grew a bit dreamy. "Be one hell of an expansion in the market, that's for sure. Every business in the U.S. will start growing by leaps and bounds. The railroads alone—" He broke off, scratching his chin worriedly. "Still—"
"Still—" echoed Melissa. She sighed heavily. "But it sounds like he's trading political principles for military security and economic expansion."
She sighed again. "Well, that's not fair. He hasn't budged an inch on the Bill of Rights. Mike wouldn't. Not on that. But I'm worried he'll give so much else away in return that—"
Quentin snorted. "Mike?" He laughed drily. "Melissa, I used to negotiate contract provisions with that pigheaded SOB. Not to mention about a million grievances."
The mine manager scowled. "I'm not worried about that. Mike negotiates like a pit bull. He'll give you your leg back, sure—after he's swallowed the meat. It's just—" He heaved his own heavy sigh. "Oh, hell. It's just that I'm a conservative, and I don't approve of radical changes. And what Mike's proposing—" He threw up his hands. "I mean—Jesus! I don't care what you call it—a friggin' king?"
For a moment—a rare moment—he and Melissa shared a common outrage and a common opinion. Then, simultaneously, they burst into laughter.
"Well," chuckled Melissa. "Look at it this way, Quentin. If you and I can manage—somehow—to get along, then maybe those two can do the same." She peered through the glass doors of the library. Gustav and Mike were now on their feet, standing nose to nose, roaring and raging and gesticulating wildly.
"Testosterone!" sneered Melissa. Her eyes fell on Rebecca. "Thank God for feminine reason."
Quentin snorted. He began to make some sarcastic remark. Then, as his own eyes fell on Rebecca, the remark went unsaid. The snort became a chuckle. "Believe it or not, I agree with you." Glowering: "Just this once."  It was done. The initial round, at least.