DIPLOMATIC EFFECTS / CH. 26:TO THE RESCUE
STUDENT DINING ROOM, 8.40AM MONDAY 24TH MARCH 2279
Adam heard a stir going through the dining-room, and looked round to see a group of well-armed police officers, entering the room, flanking the Tsarevna herself. The cleaning lady who did his room pointed in his direction, and the Tsarevna immediately made a bee-line for him.
“Adam Pyotrovich, just the person, it's a shame you left your wrist unit in
your room.” Svetlana said, “Rejoice for lectures today are cancelled. Normal life will resume tomorrow, ish.”
“Imperial highness?”
“Do you need anything from your room? Do be as fast as you can, my Imperial Father wants to talk to you about your petition to the crown.”
“My petition?”
“Wake up, last night you talked to Princess Claire. At breakfast this morning, his Imperial Majesty heard, as did your father's ex-girlfriend, the Tsarina. Well, you learn something every day; apparently your dad dumped my mum just because she was noble, but she'd got over it before she met dad. There will, of course, be a full investigation into the miscarriage of justice, and maybe he'll even apologise to her. Sorry, that was in bad taste. My parents had nothing to do with your father's imprisonment, Adam. It must have been a bunch of self-appointed vigilantes.
“Tonight your father will be taking part in an imperial grand lecture here, assuming he feels up to it. My father and I are relying on you to persuade him to come out of prison before the investigation is over, and convince your mother that this is not the evil plot of a power-hungry maniac, or whatever your father last called Dad. Got it? Now, get a move on, it's going to be a busy day. There's be a submarine parked outside the entrance, waiting for you, on that lovely patch of grass no one's allowed to walk on. Is ten minutes enough?”
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GUILLEMOT ONE, 8.45
The red-faced gate-keeper of the university accommodation block didn't think where Svetlana had parked the submarine was funny.
“I don't care who she is! That lawn has been carefully tended for over a hundred years, and she's dumped that monstrosity on it like it was some kind of vehicle park! That grass is decades of hard work!” he shouted at the heavily armed guard, who was trying not to laugh. “It's not right to destroy stuff just on a whim!”
“I totally agree,” Svetlana said, approaching from behind. “However, the 'monstrosity' as you call it is actually hovering two centimeters above the ground. I sincerely hope that you will find that there is not one blade of grass out of place when I leave. Which ought to be in about ten minutes. I will also state it is not a whim, it is a demonstration.”
“Of unbridled power, yes,” he said, his anger leading him to say things he wouldn't have dreamed of otherwise. Svetlana waved her body guards back.
“No. It is a demonstration that sometimes it takes power to be truly careful, and that if you are able to look closely, you might find not everything is as it seemed before. Please remember that.” She tapped a command on the submarine's controller and walked towards the submarine. Turning, she said, “I hope you notice I am not walking on the grass, not treating your hard work with contempt; there is a forcefield under my feet. Please, try to trust your royal family.” Svetlana then turned to a reporter from the student newspaper that she'd spotted among the onlookers. “Do I see a student reporter? You have an opportunity to request an interview, I wouldn't waste it if I were you.”
Shocked, the reporter gathered her wits and said, “Yes, please!”
“You'd better come aboard then. Take care to come the way I did, the forcefield is only a couple of metres wide.”
On board the submarine, the reporter had another surprise.
“Imperial Father, I present a reporter from the student newspaper whose name I've forgotten, hopefully she'll forgive me that.”
“Hmmm, and I suppose I now need to give her an interview?” The Tsar asked.
“Not if you don't want to. She's only just remembering how to breathe, so I expect she's not going to insist. And I offered her the interview anyway.”
“I see. And what is your name?” the Tsar asked the reporter.
“Alexandra Yurovna, Imperial Majesty.”
“And what are you studying?”
“'Journalism as Education, Advertising and Propaganda', Imperial Majesty,” Alexandra replied, wondering how that would be taken.
“Well, Alexandra Yurovna, do you know how many press interviews I've given in the last decade?”
“No, Imperial Majesty.”
“None. What about the decade before that?”
“I don't know, Imperial Majesty.”
“None. It's about time I gave one, don't you think? But first, what was my impulsive daughter doing out there? Education, advertising or propaganda?”
“She described it as educational, Imperial Majesty.”
“I heard her. What do you think?”
“I wouldn't dare to contradict her Imperial Highness...”
“Not to my face, anyway? I'd much rather you did to my face than behind my back. I'm a firm believer in truth, Alexandra. I think it was probably propaganda in a technical sense, am I right? But in the popular sense that word is often taken as meaning self-serving lies, which makes it easy to misunderstand.”
“You're right, Imperial Highness, on both counts.”
“Were you in the dining room?” Svetlana asked.
“Yes, Imperial Highness. But I didn't hear what you said.”
“Would you like to know that?” the Tsar asked, “or would you like to know what your Tsar is doing sitting in a Mer space-submarine just above a patch of grass that's been unsullied by anyone but the occasional rebellious student and reverent groundsmen since my great grand-father parked a tank on it during the student riots?”
Alexandra scribbled furiously, and said “the latter, please, your Majesty.”
“Since the time of my great grand-father, Russia has been changing, slowly, but surely. During that time, we have also not had a reigning Tsarina, nor any ruler whose faith was as important to them as my daughter's is to her. My great-grand-father regularly had Russian citizens who upset him assassinated. My grandfather, not so many. My father had citizens arrested and tried on his orders, but he did not have them assassinated. Yes, swift justice was applied by the Secret Service, but there are laws regarding that also.
"I hope you see the progression. I have only once personally ordered anyone's arrest. I expect that my daughter will think long and hard before she orders an arrest, and that when she suggests someone's arrest then she will in no way interfere with the legal process, unless to be merciful.
"My great grand-father destroyed a cherished piece of grass here to make a point, my daughter cherishes the grass here to make a different one. Times, in other words, are changing. But not all those changes are positive. One thing that I'm quite sure would never have happened in my great-grandfather's day was people deciding to engineer the arrest of a well-respected intellectual giant in the middle of a speech. I learned this morning that that's what has happened.
“Knowing the intellectual in question fairly well, I strongly suspect that he'll be very tempted to insist on a complete legal declaration of innocence, just to make one of his points. So I'm going, to ask him to forego that pleasure, and we're picking up some more family members for extra encouragement. Hence my daughter asked his son, who indirectly brought it to my attention, to come with us, to reassure his family. Hopefully we can between us persuade his father to leave the prison before legal processes have been completed and address the university this evening.”
“This evening?” Alexandra prompted.
“Today, all lectures have been canceled on my orders. The lecture theatres will be checked by members of the fire service, the electrical inspection bureau, and building inspectors to ensure that there is no issue with any of them that would make it advisable for them not to be used at full capacity. The Secret Service will also be checking them for less likely threats, and making sure that the other inspections are carried out without interference.
“This evening we will be holding a grand lecture concerning recent changes to the law on bribery, corruption and influential connections. Students are invited to pick whichever lecture theatre they feel most comfortable in and expect to find seats in — assuming it passes inspection — and hopefully the video link system will function correctly and all students will be able to attend. There will, of course, be some additional security checks to ensure that nothing distressing occurs.”
“Nothing distressing?” she asked, once again forgetting the honorific.
“Unfortunately, experience has shown that when you bring the whole university together for a grand lecture, some idiots think that should also mean they should bring knives and the like. We don't want any lecture theatres damaged or people hurt.”
“Will student identity cards be checked, your Imperial Majesty?”
“Aren't they normally?”
“Just to make sure you're not in the wrong lecture.”
“I think that is propaganda, Alexandra,” Svetlana said. “If you try sneaking in to a friend's lecture when you don't have one, the machines offer you admittance at a price. A cousin tried it.”
“I anticipate the machines will admit every student and staff member, including non-academic staff of all categories, and if there's space then family members on a pre-arranged basis.” the Tsar said. “I do not anticipate them admitting people with no connection to the university. I also anticipate that a well organised student newspaper will fill in anyone who can't be there. Perhaps even making a recording available to their fellow students?”
“But I expect there'll be a lot discussed that isn't particularly relevant to non-students,” Svetlana added.
“By that do you mean that non-students shouldn't be able to watch, daughter?” the Tsar asked.
“No, just I'm thinking that stuff about what to do if a lecturer asks about connections won't be very relevant to them.”
“But nevertheless interesting to parents.”
“Oh, yes. OK. I just hope your friend Pyotr Yureivich doesn't get too radical.”
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
“Well, I'll tell him I get right of reply.”
“But... you weren't talking to Adam were you? I thought you were talking to the boy beside him! He was the one that sprinted away as soon as you left.” Alexandra
said to Svetlana, then she turned to the Tsar, “You can't know dad, surely?”
“Alexandra Yurovna,” the Tsar said, “Whose patronymic is for her grandfather, in line with your father's self-deprecating radicalism. I should have registered your patronymic and that you have have your mother's eyes. Your father and I have so many years of disagreements over so many subjects, including that one, that I choose to still call him a friend. I imagine it must have been hard at school.”
“Who knows what their class-mate's parents are called, except from their patronymic? It was harder for mother, I think.”
“So, Alexandra, you are torn between being a journalist and a daughter,” the Tsar said, “but of course the journalist in you should also want to accompany us on this trip, should it not? You are welcome to do so.”
“And to write up your piece on the terminal here,” Svetlana added, “if that's easier than your wrist unit.”
Alexandra shook her head in wonder, “You're being so... kind.”
“And yet exercising so much uncaring authority, destroying so many well-laid plans purely for my own convenience and so that Adam and now you do not miss any lectures today. Your father will have a field-day; I'm falling straight into a trap he's laid for me to prove his political point. So, he gets what he wants along with the bonus of freedom, and I get what I want, too.”
“I think he does not want to be in solitary confinement or mother under house arrest, Imperial Majesty.”
“That wasn't in the court ruling,” Svetlana said.
“Mother was tried after father's imprisonment for failing to report him herself.”
“Where do they think they are living?” Svetlana exploded. “Ancient China?”
“I expect they think they are living under laws that were repealed without fanfare by your grandfather, Svetlana, when I was almost your age. If I remember correctly, each law-school was given instructions to excise those laws from their curricula, and each judge then serving was notified. But to avoid the perception that he was softening his approach to dissent, father did not publish a notice in the journal of law.”
“And someone has decided that omitting it was a mistake?” Svetlana asked, aghast.
“Or found an old bit of case-law, didn't find the repeal notice and didn't check the current law. In either case, if those laws have been the basis of your father's imprisonment too, Alexandra, then they have both been imprisoned under a law which does not exist, making it an illegal act. Svetlana, can you let me read the full court proceedings on this thing?” he asked, pointing at the screen in front of him.
“Of course, Father.”
“Sorry I took so long, Imperial Highness,” Adam said, entering the submarine. He stopped short, seeing it wasn't just her on board.
“The law mum's imprisoned under was repealed twenty years ago, Adam!”
“More like thirty,” the Tsar corrected.
“Adam son of the man who dumped my mother as soon as she admitted to being noble, meet my father, who introduced your parents to each other. Please take a seat, lift-off is in about thirty seconds.”
“I don't think I actually introduced them, Svetlana. I did ask her if she'd been talking to him, and suggested she should compare notes. I must admit I was more expecting them to claw each others eyes out and leave me in peace for a bit than fall in love.”
“I recognise the account,” Alexandra said, “but... Mum said it was the baron of Novosibirsk who introduced them.”
“And it never stuck anyone as odd that Novosibirsk is a duchee?” Svetlana asked.
“Not in my hearing. Occasionally I still get messages redirected from the duke; so some people still haven't caught on. Your parents did, by the way, Adam, Alexandra. I don't think they saw the funny side.”
“Dare I ask what funny side?” Alexandra asked.
“Of course you do, or you're no reporter. Don't you think its funny that a theology student should regularly win arguments against a philosophy student who happened to be the future Tsar about how the empire ought to be run? If only he wasn't such an idealist, I'd have given him a job. But because I pointed out to him the position, he refused to apply. Very very opposed to using connections for anything, your father when I knew him, anyway.”
“He still is,” Adam confirmed, “I wonder if he'll forgive me for talking to Princess Claire.”
“That is why we're going to talk to your mother first,” the Tsar said. “Because at least when I knew her she said it was only right and proper for those in authority to use their power to protect the innocent, and that any delay in doing so was wrong. And I've tried to live by that rule, and teach it to my family. I'm glad you did not shy away when you realised you had the power of gaining a hearing with the princess. I understand some people find her a little quick to reach decisions.”
“I haven't noticed that, Imperial Majesty. Well, she decided she wanted to hear more quickly, but she listened carefully to my stuttering explanation.”
“I'm glad to hear that. Is there a lesson for my daughter there too, perhaps?”
“Probably, Father, but at the moment I'm trying to avoid denting mother's balcony.”
“Oh, home already? That's nice.”
Svetlana held the flying submarine steady as her mother boarded.
“My dear, we went to find Adam and accidentally found Alexandra too,” the Tsar said, “They use their grandfather's name as patronym, to confuse the masses.”
“I suspect Pyotr thought that he would one day achieve such infamy that it would be better that way. Are you twins?”
“No, just over a year apart,” Alexandra said.
“And Adam met Claire and Nadiya at church, I understand. Do you have faith?” the Tsarina asked Alexandra.
“My mother smiled and said I shouldn't go asking for trouble when I said that I'd believe in God when we got a family invitation to tea with the Tsar. That was eighteen months ago.”
“It's beef stroganoff tonight, or there's a vegetable curry if that doesn't appeal,” the Tsarina said.
“Mother,” Svetlana said, “Alexandra needs to write up a news report for the student newspaper before it becomes old news.”
“Oh, we'd better let her write then, hadn't we?”
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NEWS REPORT, IMPERIAL UNIVERSITY REPORTER, 9.15AM
Lectures cancelled after Tsarevna's variation on her great-great-grandfather's declaration of war
His Imperial Majesty the Tsar believes all students of university history ought to know that the 'don't you dare walk here' grass outside the accommodation block was last parked on by a tank, driven by the then-Tsar, great-grandfather of the our present ruler, during the student riots about a hundred and fifty years ago. In parking there, the tank smashed to smitheries a statue representing intellectual liberty that had stood upon the carefully manicured grass, and he declared his absolute intolerance to all forms of student liberty that put at risk the stability of the country, calling on the leaders of the student revolt to call for an end to their protests or be buried in the ruins of the building. In those tumultuous times, he didn't care whose ideals or labour got trampled into the dust on the way to peace and stability.
Today, the Tsarevna parked her peace-submarine on the same spot, destroying precisely nothing except the calm temperament of the gate guard. She soon soothed his ire by pointing out that actually, she hadn't parked it on the grass, she parked it over the grass — approximately two centimeters above it. Why? According to his Imperial Majesty, in recognition that times have changed; according to her Imperial Highness, to show that appearances can be deceptive, that she wants peace and trust. Later, she added that she's no desire to smash anything or anyone unless they really need it.
When the Tsarevna invited me on-board for an interview, I was under a number of false assumptions. I assumed that his Imperial Majesty the Tsar was a harsh man, ready to execute judgement against, or perhaps just execute, all who disagreed with him, whose every word was an order. I thought I knew my father was in jail as a dissident, and hoped I wasn't recognised. I imagined that I'd just seen the Tsarevna talking to the young man who'd bolted as soon as she'd left the university canteen, rather than my brother, who'd finished his coffee before carefully returning his tray. I entered the vehicle on the assumption that apart from some body guards, we'd be alone, and I'd get a five minute opportunity to ask her what had brought her to the university, and if I was really brave, why hadn't she been in the news very much recently. His Imperial Majesty hasn't given an interview for at least two decades, he told me. I'm not sure we can count what happened as an interview; I was too overawed to ask probing questions, too shocked at the gentle manner of our absolute ruler. I did forget my manners once or twice to ask for clarification. I didn't get shot, or shouted at, or even warned to be polite. Instead I got answers; kind ones. I was told that today, lecture theatres would be closed while they had the kind of checks for fire-safety, electrical safety and the like that we'd hope they had every few years, but secretly suspect otherwise. I was also told that there will be a grand lecture — where all theatres are linked together by video and audio links. I was told that the subject would be the new law on bribery, corruption and influential connections. Admission will be free to all bona-fide students and staff (including non-teaching staff, groundsmen, and the like), and that on a prior-arranged basis for other people able to claim some link to the university, such as dependant family members. Exact details are probably going to be available via the administration office. Assuming they've learned about it yet.
I also learned that what had scrapped other plans the Tsar had for today was that he'd heard an intellectual giant had been wrongly imprisoned, and the Tsar's response was to go in person, and beg the principled man to leave the prison before due process had declared him innocent. I thought, that sounds like the sort of thing my father might do, insist on law, not on the whim of someone powerful. Then I learned it was my father.
I learned that my mother, under house arrest for the last year, was being held illegally, under a 'law' that has been repealed for thirty years. And that my father, jailed after what his family and friends presumed to be a Secret Service action to shut him up, was equally convicted without proper reference to the law, which gives freedom of speech in intellectual debates such as the occasion of father's arrest. Furthermore he is considered an old friend and intellectual giant by the Tsar, despite his outspoken criticism of the system of absolute rule.
His Imperial Majesty the Tsar, who attended university under the false title of the 'Baron of Novosibirsk', acknowledges that he frequently lost philosophy debates against my father, and on facing my mother in a similar dispute asked if they'd met. Apparently my parents know it was him, but I'd only heard of the Baron, myself. Which goes to show how little we know of our parents, I suppose. Things, as the Tsarevna said, are not always as they seem. Perhaps we think that someone is angry with us, but actually they haven't received our messages. Perhaps we assume they are angry and they're just ignorant because we don't try to contact them.
Perhaps, my father felt that asking for help against trumped-up charges would be using his contact with his Imperial Majesty for self-advancement. I've just checked; His Imperial Majesty says seeking justice is not at all the same as seeking self-advancement.
Some people, the nobles amongst us, have no option but deny who they are or declare their link to royalty every time they give their name. With that, they have the stern duty to make sure that reprimands are given if they notice people around them not being treated fairly. Others among us clamour after powerful connections to make sure we can be treated unfairly, in a positive sense. A few of us think that the connections we have earn us nothing but trouble, such as a Father who has a habit of denouncing the system.
So, why am I airing both what I thought of as my shame and my famous connections? Because I have been given the choice between never writing about when I was invited to interview the Tsar, or becoming known as someone who will fight against injustice wherever I see it. Even if it's in my favour. And reporting injustice is a choice we all face. We all have the ability to wander up to the university office of the Imperial Truthsayers. I've found them a friendly bunch myself, and while we're enjoying their company, any of us can decide we want to tell them something in secret. They'll hear us, if they're truthsayers, and then as we allow them to listen to our thoughts, they'll happily let us make an anonymous declaration which has legal standing. Of course, if anyone tries to abuse the system, that counts as perjury. Let's not do that, OK? Does it sound scary? But just think what a pleasure it would be to study here if we knew everyone's marks were because of what we know, not who. I think the grand lecture might include some surprise speeches along these lines. Well, if I'm right, you heard it here first, but I don't know. I'm not planning to upset my pilot or her parents by being overly nosey. I, my brother and the most powerful three people in Russia are off to get my parents out of jail, oh, and the Tsarina wants to talk about the future of my eternal soul. It had already been hinted that I'd lost my excuse, so I admitted that I once told my mother I'd start to believe in God when the Tsar invited the family over for tea. Apparently it's beef stroganoff or vegetable curry at the palace tonight.
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ANARCHIST COLLECTIVE, 9AM, MONDAY 24TH MARCH 2279
“Hi Squirt, what are you looking wild about?” Yuri asked.
“The Tsarevna was just at the university. The Tsar's just learned about Pyotr Yureivich being in prison. Shockingly, he's apparently an old friend. She is going to release him.”
“Did we know Pyotr Yureivich was in prison?”
“Urm, yeah. Well I did.”
“Any chance you can tell me, Squirt?” Yuri asked.
“Just before going to Atlantis, Spike got a contract on him, recognised his name and persuaded the client to make it a prison sentence rather than a bullet, 'so as not to make him a martyr, and spread his ideas further'. Spike asked Rabbit to con Yureivich into giving a lecture which got him arrested, just as planned. I helped Rabbit find him in the first place. But if he's out of jail, then the client's going to be really unhappy, and probably take out another contract.”
“Hmm. And Spike got left on the pacific coast by the mer. I don't suppose you know who the client was?”
“No. Spike said she recognised him, but I don't know more.”
“So, either you tell your girlfriend your part in getting your hero arrested rather than dead, and see if he can be persuaded to accept protection, or we mount a search for Spike, and see if she'll turn informant?”
“Neither are very likely, are they? You've not heard anything from Spike?”
“No, not her, not the others, either,” Yuri said.
“So they might be dead, or anything,” Sebastian said.
“They might have even turned from their evil ways like the Mer hoped they would. I'll contact Atlantis, just in case the Mer know anything. Let's hope the client isn't stupid enough to launch an attack while the Tsar is still there.”
“The Tsar?”
“The Tsar's diary for the day has been cleared. I expect he's gone to see his old friend.”