Part IV
"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." - Sir Edmund Burke
Chapter 16
Buckingham Palace
London
United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland
13 February 2016 S.E.C
3 December 3058 I.S.C.
The Palace dining room was fully lit up with a multiple course meal laid out on the table, mostly of European foods with a serving of Russian-made caviar. The meal was to welcome a dignitary to London, accompanied by a similarly-ranked UN one, and George VII had insisted on it as a matter of tradition. He sat at the head of the table, adorned in royal uniform, every bit the image of a sovereign, albeit one without an iota of real power. Brown eyes peered out at the assembled guests and attendants at the table, including the pair of Clan Elementals standing guard at the main door with a Palace Guard and a VdO bodyguard to either side. George was about one hundred and eighy four centimeters in height, with a thin frame that had been quite solid in his youth but was now growing weaker with age. The burden placed on his shoulders by the current predicament of his nation was evident in his wrinkled face and fatigued expression, which he could not hide with any success. His hair had even begun to fall out, leaving a portion of his scalp visible and surrounded by wisps of white hair.
Seated to his immediate right was his daughter, Margaret Anne, the one remaining light in his life. Margaret's mother, George's beloved late wife, had died bearing the girl into the world, and she now lived as the one balm to that twenty-six year old pain. He could not bear to part with her and was overjoyed that she had refused to follow her brother into treason and exile. Margaret was now in a glittering blue dress, cut above her cleavage and leaving her shoulders and arms bare, with small sparkles that shined as various light came across them. Her healthy brown hair was cut long, down past her shoulders, and left loose as a little sign of defiance to protocol that would demand a bow or ponytail in the hair. Her shoulders were smooth in surface aside from where her shoulder blades were visible through her flesh. Her slender left arm hung low with equally slender fingers gripping a cup near the edge of the table. Her right hand gripped a golden fork with a piece of meat on it. While the dress covered the rest of her one hundred and seventy-five centimeter tall body, it was a snug enough fit that it flattered her flat stomach and the sharp curves her breasts formed on her chest. Nothing was visible below the table. She looked toward George with blue eyes, the eyes that many years before had belonged to her mother at that age, and gave him a cold look. She does not like these guests, he said to himself.
To the other side of him sat a man who made George's spine shiver. Reinhard von Krager eyed his daughter with his own cold blue eyes and gave George the unpleasant feeling that the most feared man in the world, aside from Giuseppe himself of course, was lusting for his little girl. "Field Marshal von Krager," George began in his proper English accent, "does the meal please you?"
"Certainly, Your Majesty." Von Krager took his eyes off George's beloved Margie and turned them toward George. A chill shot up through the King's spine at the evil glint that seemed a constant within von Krager's eyes. "Galaxy Commander Corbett, I take it you appreciate this fine meal as well?"
Seated down from von Krager was Galaxy Commander Brendan Corbett, the commander of the Smoke Jaguar Clan's forces on "New Terra", who gave a stiff nod. "Aff, I have never tasted finer. I thank you for your hospitality, King George."
Not using 'Your Majesty' was a faux pas, but George let it slide. Brendan Corbett did not seem like the kind of man whom one scolded with impunity, and even if his own cold glares and haughty nature were not enough to intimidate someone, the two and a half meter tall Elementals at the door certainly were.
Seated beside Margaret was Andrew MacPherson, the leader of the pro-Giuseppe Social-Democrats and George's current Prime Minister. George found he missed his former PM, the respectful Alexander Maxwell-Fyfe, when dealing with this undeserving prat. Andrew MacPherson was violently socialistic, a devout believer in Giuseppe's plan for the world, and hated George with every ounce of his soul. He had called before the war for the monarchy to be dissolved, and would undoubtedly renew that call with Giuseppe if George or his daughter made any slipups. He already lorded it over them, pointing out that George's former heir and son James was now a traitor and rebel, and like all rebels who defied the New Order, would be dealt with harshly when the time came. A slim man with dark red hair which had an occasional strand of black to it as a result of certain types of light, MacPherson had begun growing a beard lately, for what reasons George could not begin to guess. His dark brown eyes made George think of a tiger, ever watchful and ready to devour his prey at a moment's notice. And considering just how many MPs had "disappeared" after this man's takeover.... one could not help but feel dread.
"You are welcome, Galaxy Commander," replied George. He took another bite of his meal while he noticed Margaret looking back at von Krager. Her own blue eyes, usually quite brilliant and gentle in their gaze, had gone cold. She had also noticed von Krager's look. "I hope the accomodations I made for your forces here in the capitol were sufficient?"
"Most sufficient. We will begin work on the laser emplacements soon."
"Laser emplacements?", Margaret asked in her elegant soprano voice.
"That is classified material, Your Royal Highness," von Krager answered in Corbett's stead. "It cannot be discussed in your presence."
"Their existance or their location?"
A sly grin crossed the evil man's face. "We care nothing for others knowing they exist, only for knowing where they are. We would not want your traitorous kin to try and attack our allies, would we?"
Margaret did not answer. She probably had none, George considered. Looking to change the subject, George looked down to Corbett and asked, "Galaxy Commander, would you be desiring anything more during your stay?"
"Neg, the accomodations you have arranged are gracious enough." Corbett looked off into the distance and gave George the distinct feeling he did not want to be here.
"I hear," MacPherson began, "that the rebels have been receiving BattleMechs of their own. How is that possible? Where would they hide them?"
George thought of the possibility, but did not vocalize it. When MacPherson had showed ignorance of the Loch Ness facility built earlier in the century, he had believed it to be false ignorance at first, but then realized that what few records to be had on the place and it's existance were likely destroyed on Alexander Maxwell-Fyfe's order when the British Government was... changed. "Changed" sounded better to George's ears than "taken over" even if the latter was truer.
As for George, he considered his knowledge of the base and MacPherson's ignorance to be an advantage that was savorable.
"We will find out sooner or later," remarked von Krager. "It does not matter in the long run. They are a small force, unable to sustain their power outside of the perimeter they hold in Scotland. A perimeter that shrinks every time we make a sustained effort against them. They will eventually break."
"Perhaps if we offered amnesty to some of the defectors," George said, "they might surrender willingly. Enough to break the rebels' backs."
"No." MacPherson leveled a harsh gaze at George. "They have been given all the chances they deserve. There will be no mercy."
"The Chairman agrees." Von Krager placed his fork on his plate. "Even his patience is limited. Even if they surrendered, the rebels could never be trusted with freedom. And to let them get away with their defiance would only encourage further defiance. No, they must be punished. Severely."
Margaret stood from the table, having finished her plate. "Father, excuse me, but I think it best if I am not here, that way you may discuss matters with your guests that you cannot with me." It was a lie, and George knew it. Margaret's fists were balled up. She was trembling with anger and hiding it rather well.
"Very well." He waved her away. "I will come by and see you later."
Margaret went straight out the door, met by her VdO "bodyguard" at the other side. George turned back to the table.
"You should good care of Margaret, Your Majesty," MacPherson said with contempt. "Be mindful that she does not follow in her brother's steps, because if she does, your line ends."
"I do not desire to hear your threats, Prime Minister."
"They are not threats, they are promises. Giuseppe may have been fooled into believing you loyal, but we have not been." MacPherson put his hands together. "If you make any move against us, Margaret will suffer."
George could only laugh bitterly. To actually pretend he could thwart them. He didn't know whether he should be flattered or annoyed. "I think, Mister MacPherson, you would do well to remember that most of our problems, including my son's popularity among some of the people, stem from your own heavy-handedness with the citizens."
"The people must be kept in line. They must know the penalty of rebellion."
"The people must also be cared for, as is our duty. Our duty, Prime Minister. Yet you seem more preoccupied with your own power and luxury."
"You would do well to remember your own position, George!", MacPherson shouted in return. "One word to Giuseppe and you and your daughter will be out on the street or in a jail cell!"
"That is enough, Minister!", von Krager said harshly. "You do your King a disservice! He has been loyal in deed if not in thought, and he has followed all instruction without reservation. No matter what you may desire, the people of this country who are not against us are loyal to him. To him. Not you! We do not wish for you to turn Britain into another Russia, MacPherson, that could be fatal to our war plans." Von Krager glared at the Scotsman across the table. "And, do not think that the Chairman and I were pleased when you performed your own purges of your opposition without our consent. You were lucky we did not find someone more suitable to our cause after the fiascos you caused. I would suggest you tread carefully."
"Yes, Marshall," MacPherson answered sullenly.
"Now, on to other matters." Von Krager began speaking of the various domestic and international situations and the subject quickly changed.
Margaret's fists were tightly clinched as she stomped through Buckingham Palace to her living area. To her right, maintaining a calm pace and yet keeping up with her, was Leutnant Drago Lupescu. He was a young man, younger than her, and a rather devout follower of Giuseppe. Drago was tall, nearly six feet six inches in height, weighing over two hundred pounds and strongly built. His blond hair was closely cut around his scalp, reminding Margaret of her nephew Edward, with a pair of dark brown eyes that were cold and unemotional. The light blue uniform of the Verteidiger der Ordnung unnerved Margaret, but there was nothing she could do about it. Drago was very proud of his affiliation. He believed that he was truly a part of something that would bring eternal peace and happiness to mankind. And she had learned not to bother debating it. For he was a fanatic, and as with all fanatics, he could not change his mind but would never change the subject.
She did not speak to him during the walk to her living area. Stepping first into her living room, he did not react to the loud sounds made by a video game that was being played on Margaret's television. It was a PlayStation 2 game, one who's name Margaret could not recall at the moment. Upon entering she looked at the figure who was seated on the couch.
Claudia Wadsworth was a homeless girl when Margaret found her, a street rat who starved between the occasional charity of a few pounds and those who took advantage of her situation for their own personal pleasure. Claudia was a lovely young girl, nineteen now, and the one person Margaret could talk to freely. A mane of wild red hair flowed over her shoulders and down her back, which was mostly bare as she was only wearing a pair of white underwear and a red bra. She had a healthy body of five feet nine inches height, smooth skin and prominent breasts that were about half a cup size larger than Margaret's. She turned her smaller head and Margaret and Drago could see her round face. Her brown eyes had a slight hint of Oriental heritage, with some slimness in the eye shape, with a small nose and prominent lips. Her skin was as white as could be without appearing pale or otherwise unhealthy. With a cheery Londoner accent she greeted Margaret. "How was dinner?"
"Nice and uneventful," Margaret lied. "You finished your studies for the day?"
"I did." Now it was Claudia's turn to lie. Despite Margaret's prodding, she did not study nearly as often as she should. Margaret blamed herself mostly.
"Ah." Margaret saw right through the fabrication and couldn't help but smile. Claudia was the little sister she never had and no matter what the girl did, she couldn't help but love her in that fashion. "You're still not a very good liar, Claudia."
"I try." Claudia looked past Margaret at Drago, who was appraising her with his cold eyes. "Hello Drago."
"Good evening, Lady Claudia."
"His manners are improving," Claudia said to Margaret. "If he's coming in I'll go get dressed."
"Oh, do not worry about it." Drago stepped back out of the door. "I will be going now, Princess Margaret. The Oberst desires my presence. You shall be fine?"
"Yes. You can go." Margaret closed the door on Drago, perhaps a bit too fast, and looked back to Claudia. "Finally, alone."
Claudia stretched out on the chair. "Did you see the way he looks at me? It creeps me out."
"I would feel the same." Margaret thought back, for a moment, to how von Krager looked at her. It sent a shiver up her spine. "You know, Claudia, you could do worse than Drago."
The younger woman gave Margaret an angry glare. "What?! What makes you say such a silly thing?!"
Margaret drew in a sigh and sat down. "Claudia, we can't protect you from MacPherson forever. If you're with someone from the VdO, though..."
"I'd rather let MacPherson take me," Claudia said in retort.
"You're sometimes too stubborn for your own good," said Margaret with an exasperated tone. "I'm going to be in the tub." She walked out of the living den, the sounds of Claudia's video game following her until she entered her expansive bedroom and went on to the bathroom, the closed doors muffling the sound. She turned on the water for the large tub and added a skin conditioner to it. Returning to her bedroom, she removed her dress and the nylons and underwear she had underneath. She returned to the bathroom in the nude and eased herself into the waiting tub, now topped with a bubbly surface. The warm water and the conditioner in the water, meant to repair her skin from it's daily damages, made her moan softly from the relaxing sensation it created. Her body tingled and she began to drift off into sleep. Her last words with Claudia sprung back in her mind.
Claudia had been the daughter of Timothy Wadsworth, a Social-Democrat member of the House of Commons. Her family had been staunch Giuseppe supporters, but also monarchists, and this is where they got in trouble. After the Kingdom went over to the UN, MacPherson forced through the remains of Parliament a bill to draft British youth for the UN war effort. Among those who were taken were Peter Wadsworth, Claudia's twin brother, and Gerrard Matheson, her boyfriend and lover. They both died in China. As a response, Wadsworth had begun a movement within the Party to remove MacPherson, whom he blamed for his son's death, but as the movement gained steam MacPherson sent in the VdO units placed under his command by von Krager and abducted all of his opponents and their families. Claudia had been the only one of her family to escape, hiding on the streets until Margaret stumbled into her in the winter of 2014, beaten and bloody after some violent transients had objected to her using their steam vent. Margaret had taken pity on her, and in the Christmas spirit, had taken her in. MacPherson had been outraged, and demanded the girl's arrest, but George declared Claudia his ward and convinced Giuseppe and von Krager that the young girl posed no threat. MacPherson had not taken that defeat well, but he had not been given a choice anyway.
MacPherson. The name filled Margaret with anger and fear. He had completely usurped British democracy and subverted it to the will of Giuseppe, and had done all this for the sake of his own power. She hated him. And she feared him. Rumors filled the streets about the VdO and what they did to prisoners. There were claims of prisoners being subjected to continuous torture and humiliation, or druggings. Some even claimed the VdO destroyed the souls of their victims and made them into pro-Giuseppe automatons. Of course, these were just rumors, denounced as "Resistance propaganda" by MacPherson.
It was still enough to send a chill up Margaret's spine.
Margaret's eyes closed. Time became immaterial. She found herself drifting in darkness, relaxed, tired, existing just for the sake of the rest she felt within. In a life full of stress, her very life hanging on a slim thread that was Giuseppe's tolerance, only here could she forget it all and feel at peace.
That peace was disturbed by a gentle disturbance of the water. Margaret opened her eyes and wearily moved her stiff neck. To her left was Claudia, undressed with her underwear still around her ankles. A white towel had been wrapped around her flowing red hair. Her left arm was pulling out of the water. "You've been in here for two hours," Claudia said to her in an irritated tone.
"I want to be here all night," replied Margaret.
"Can I join you, then? I'd like a bath too."
"Fine, fine." Margaret shrugged. She didn't really mind having Claudia with her, and the tub was large enough. Any natural modesty about nudity was alleviated by their being of the same sex and the layer of opaque soap on the surface of the water. "Did you finish your work?"
Claudia made a larger disturbance as she lowered her one hundred and fifty pound body into the liquid. The soap parted for her, and moved back over the surface as she was submerged in the water. Claudia moaned loudly. "Wow, this feels good. Water's still warm."
"Portable heater," Margaret remarked. "You didn't answer me. Your work?"
"Finished the essay on British tax practices in the post World War Two period," Claudia replied. "I've started on the essay about Hegelian theory and how it corresponds to Karl Marx."
"Professor Maxwell expects both next week. You know that, right?"
"Of course." After a short pause, Claudia changed to what was a subject of greater importance. "You told me I should get to know Drago. Knowing that the VdO caused my brother and my Gerry to die, you still asked me that." She shook her head. "Why?"
"For your protection, as I said. In case something happens and my father loses what little influence he has." Margaret shifted her position in the tub, getting stiff from having laid there for so long. "MacPherson considers you an embarrassment. He'll do anything to get at you."
"And you too. Margaret..." Claudia looked around nervously. "Do you think we're being listened in on? Or watched?"
What a foolish thing to say. Of course they were listening. Margaret wanted to say so, but she preferred to make the VdO believe she was still a blissfully ignorant woman with all looks and no brain. "Don't be so paranoid," Margaret replied in response. "They wouldn't dare invade my privacy like that." She rolled her eyes toward Claudia. "Do you think MacPherson is that bad as to plant recorders in my own bathroom? What do you think Father would do if he found out?"
Any other person might think Margaret was confident in her father's power and VdO respect for her position and privacy. But Claudia knew her. She nodded in understanding. "Well, maybe you're right," Claudia said. "Drago is kind of handsome, I suppose."
"Of course I'm right." Margaret grinned. "And a young girl such as yourself would be popular with the other VdO youths. They might even let you know a bit more about the world than anything you get from the news. And you've always been an inquisitive one. Knowledge, protection, just be with Drago and you'll get all of that."
"Let me think about it, then." Claudia looked unconvinced, but she knew what Margaret was hinting at. Knowledge is power, Claudia reminded herself. To know what your enemy knows and to keep your enemy in the dark about what you know is to win.
The glint in Claudia's eyes also told Margaret that she had gotten the drift. Before he fled, Margaret had promised James she would help him in any way she could. He told her not to risk herself, but she couldn't stand by and do nothing as their people were made into slaves for Giuseppe's Empire.
So she would watch and wait. She and Claudia would work toward getting to know their enemies. They would smile, and they would listen, and when the time came, they would act.
Margaret could not help herself as she felt a cold hand grip her heart. Fear began to set in, reminding her that if she acted against the UN, it could cost her all that she had. It could cost her the freedom she had, and even her life. But she had a responsibility, one her father had told her off long ago when she was but a young girl. She had, at the age of eight, mocked a schoolmate who was a commoner. She had reminded all that she was a princess and they had to obey her. It had been foolish, and the press had made a scandal of it. George, however, had not punished her directly. He had looked down at her, frowned, and brought her aside, to share with her "something important".
You are of the Royal Family of Britain, Margie, his stern voice echoed in her mind. You are a Princess of this Kingdom. That does not mean you can boss around your playmates. No, your heritage is not a toy to be played with and flaunted, but a responsibility God has charged you with. He expects you to do your duty to the people we call subjects, to represent all that is good and honorable in the British people. To be a standard which others can look up to.
Why did God do this to me?, she had asked in return. What did I do to be punished like this? Why do I have to do this? Why can't I be a normal girl?
God does not give us burdens we cannot bear, had been the answer. He has a plan in store for all of us, and I believe, His plan for you may be great. Just remember who you are, Margie. Remember that you carry the honor of our people upon your shoulders, and that whatever you do, your actions must bring them honor and respect, and never misfortune. That is your duty. Do it, and God will see you through all of the problems you have in life, just as He has done for me.
Since then, Margaret had always followed her father's words, even when it seemed that he had ceased to. She knew in her heart that George was doing what he thought had to be done to protect his subjects. But that didn't mean that she had to do the same. Giuseppe had to be stopped. And she would do whatever she could to ensure it happened.
"Drago is nice," Claudia said, as if to convince herself that she could do what she was thinking. "It'd be nice to have a boyfriend again. Even one who has trouble thinking on his own."
Margaret was obligated to smile. Good girl, Claudia. Now let's just hope we keep ourselves out of trouble or we might find ourselves visiting your parents, wherever the hell that Giuseppe had them sent.