The Dreeson Incident(61)

The USE's Senate was a peculiar institution, as things presently stood. Something of a cross between a "senate" as normally understood—by Americans, at any rate—and a House of Lords. Each province and imperial city got one seat in the Senate, but the seat had to be taken by whoever was that province or city's "head of state." That meant, for instance, that Ed Piazza sat in the national Senate by virtue of having been elected president of the State of Thuringia-Franconia. But, of course, since most of the provincial heads of state in the USE were hereditary positions, that meant the Senate was a heavily aristocratic institution.



Just to add the icing to the cake—and the cherry—there was the charming twist that Gustav II Adolf, in addition to being the emperor of the United States of Europe, was also two of its senators. Two, not one. He was officially the heads of state of both Pomerania and Mecklenburg, having appointed himself the duke of both provinces when he conquered them.



"As for Otto," Mike continued, "in some ways, he is pretty stodgy. All other things being equal, he'd normally be more inclined toward the Crown Loyalists. But all thing are not equal, not even close. First and foremost, Otto's an architect and he positively adores this city, now that Gustav Adolf gave him free rein to build it up as he likes."



"So?"



Francisco and Mike chuckled simultaneously. "Hell, figure it out, Frank. Magdeburg was sacked less than five years ago. It was only rebuilt this quickly because of us. And who do you think Otto has the most confidence will keep it from being sacked again? Us—or that feckless pack of squabbling noblemen and guildmasters around Wilhelm Wettin? The same people who didn't do squat to protect the city last time around."



Mike swiveled his chair and hazed out the window. "Have you given any thought to your own situation, after the election, Francisco?"



"Yes, of course." Nasi hesitated, then chuckled. "Amazingly, though—I am hardly what you'd call indecisive, as a rule—I haven't been able to come to any conclusions."



Mike smiled, still looking out the window. "Hard to give it up, isn't it?"



"Excuse me?"



"Power. Influence." Stearns waggled his hand. "And—at least for people like you and me—I think what's probably even harder is giving up the game itself."



He swiveled his chair around. "Fortunately, however, the game itself is one thing the loser in an election does not have to concede. Keep in mind, though, that all this may be irrelevant in your case. Wilhelm may want to keep you on in your current position."



Francisco shook his head. "You don't really believe that. I certainly don't. And it doesn't matter, in any event. Even if Wettin offered to retain me in my current post, I would decline."



"Why?"



Nasi looked at Stearns squarely. "It is perhaps finally time to say this aloud. I have become quite loyal to you, Michael. Even to your political program, although most of my allegiance is personal. I would find it difficult—impossible, really—to serve Wilhelm Wettin in this same capacity. I don't dislike the man. I don't even distrust him, within limits. He's simply . . . not you."



Jackson grinned. "He has that effect on people, doesn't he?" He hooked a thumb at Stearns. "It's why I soldiered on as his secretary-treasurer after he got elected president of our mine local."



"Well, thanks," Mike said. "But you don't need to feel any obligation, Francisco."



Nasi laughed. " 'Obligation' is not really the word. The truth is, I enjoy working for you. First, because I've discovered that I am quite good at this work. Secondly, because I've eventually concluded—quite to my surprise—that I think the work itself is worth doing. No small leap of faith, that, I assure you. Not for a man like me, raised in the environs of the Ottoman court."



Mike smiled. "It must have been a switch, going from a prospective courtier in the Turkish empire to the spymaster of a rabble-rouser."



"Yes. On the other hand, it's a lot less dangerous."



Jackson looked startled. "Since when is being a rabble-rouser less dangerous than being part of the establishment?"



"When the establishment in question is that of Istanbul, a lot safer," said Nasi. "I hate to think what percentage of the sultan's advisers wind up at the bottom of the sea with a garrote around their neck. The odds of surviving are no better than our odds in the upcoming election—and no one expects us to actually lose our heads as a result."



"No—but it's not a possibility to overlook, either," said Mike. "In this day and age, politics is very much a contact sport. About the only difference here in the USE is that we wear gloves. It can still get very rough."