It galled Judit to no end, watching Saturday’s election results come in from all points of the Republic. It had been five long, ugly days. Fortunately, she had a closed door and a private office. And the government was only a caretaker today, tasked with keeping the lights on, but not making any significant decisions until the election was certified.
Most ridings had not been in any doubt, the result of local influences, popular senators, and voter inertia. Still, her margin of control had been thin to begin with.
If current trends held, she would lose her majority.
Not as badly as some had predicted, but still. Enough.
Late-breaking votes usually went for stability. Many had. And news leaking out had confirmed that the war with Fribourg was effectively over, and that Jessica Keller was going off to rescue the Imperials from something worse at the head of a newly-constructed fleet.
That had helped.
But not enough.
Her party would still be the largest in the Senate, barring odd, post-election maneuvering, or the rise of an unforeseen personality cult. Tad’s party had regained some of the seats they had lost in the Tennerick Affair, but not enough.
And she still thought of it as HIS party, even though he had stepped down from operational control following the previous elections, five years ago. Stepped down, and taken possibly the second-most-important job in the government: Chairman of the Senate Select Committee for the Fleet of The Republic of Aquitaine. Civilian control of the Navy itself.
An aide knocked quietly at the door, and then opened it a moment later.
“Your lunch date has arrived,” he said simply, waiting for her nod before opening it the rest of the way and ushering Tadej Horvat into her office.
Judit suppressed the scowl that lurked. She had known Tad for nearly two decades. Respected him. Liked him.
Trusted him.
She closed the binder on her desk and checked the antique clock over his left shoulder as he sat down in the comfortable chair she kept for visitors.
Silence.
She studied his face closely, saw the years finally etching themselves, in spite of everything Tad had done to pretend to be young forever.
“What do your spies say?” Judit asked.
“Forty-six percent, forty-one, seven, three, one, and a handful of leftover oddballs,” Tad replied evenly, as if unsurprised at where the conversation had begun, or where it was headed. “Rigid enough that you will not be able to form a stable government, with the various ideologues involved. I would be even worse off, trying to replace you.”
“Hung or minority?” Judit asked.
Either option sucked to put it bluntly, but the alternative was six months of maneuvering to try to form a new government, before inevitably failing, then having to call a second election and hope for better results.
Tad drew a heavy breath. He was a big man, tall and impressive with a leonine mane of thick, white hair that made him look august rather than merely old.
“Years ago, I made Nils Kasum, and more importantly, Jessica Keller, a promise,” he said, impersonating a desert holy man with his tone.
Judit listened closely. There had only been rumors about that private conversation, up until now, so she was aware of how small a circle of people must have had access to this information, to keep it secret this long.
“And today, we are about to send Jessica off to war again,” Tad continued. “The old government supported it enthusiastically enough to fund a crash construction project with emergency funding.”
Judit nodded as he paused, unwilling to interrupt his flow before he got to the juicy bits.
“It would send entirely the wrong message now, to pull the rug out from under her feet by not voting to send her off, something neither a Hung Parliament nor a Minority government has any duty to take up.”
Judit raised her right hand, palm up, as if to ask “What, then?”
“I have spoken with my people, privately,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “We are prepared to support your government from all votes of no confidence for at least eighteen months, and negotiate certain things ahead of time, so that you will not fail to govern. Aquitaine will remain strong.”
“A War Government, then?” Judit asked. “A Grand Coalition for the period of the emergency. Not much changing, but your full, patriotic support?”
“Just so, madam,” Tad replied, seriousness itself.
“What did you promise Keller?” she asked, awestruck that one of the greatest political animals of the era was willing to lie down with the lambs peacefully, if just for a short nap.
“She told me that with the government’s support, my support, she could win the Great War, Judit,” he replied. “Sat right here in this chair, while I sat in that one, and told me she could do it. And then she went and did the damned thing.”
Judit nodded, privately shocked beyond all words. There had been a similar conversation later, over Thuringwell. And a similar promise kept.
“And now Buran, Senator?” Judit asked.
“Are you willing to bet against that woman, Premier?”
No. No, she was not. Only fools would do that. Jessica Keller, and Lady Casey with her, might be fighting Buran, but they would likely completely overturn Fribourg in the process.
She held out a hand. Tad shook it.
Promise kept.
Judit took her own deep breath and pushed back her chair to rise.
“A celebratory lunch, Tad?” she asked.
“Indeed,” he agreed. “Hopefully not a last meal for the condemned.”