"Blast it, you're getting far too good at this proclamation business," he muttered.

Berry restrained her smile. Indeed, she even managed to keep her face stern and solemn. "You still haven't agreed to the other. I know you, Jeremy. You don't forget things. You also keep your word. So the only reason you haven't given me an answer is because you're stalling. You've stalled enough. I want an answer. Now."

He made an exasperated little gesture. "Will you cease and desist with this Catherine the Great imitation? I wouldn't mind, if it were a bad one."

This time, she couldn't help but smile a little. But all she said was: "Now."

"All right!" he said, throwing up his hands. "You have my agreement. My word, if you will. Any stinking lousy Mesans who choose to remain on the planet can do so. No repercussions, no discrimination against them, nothing."

"You have to stop calling them 'stinking lousy Mesans,' too. Those who remain behind are now simply Torches."

Jeremy's lips quirked. "I still think 'Torches' is a silly expression."

"It's better than 'Torchese,' which sounds like a breed of dog," she replied firmly. "And stop changing the subject."

"A tyrant! A veritable tsarina!" He glared at Web Du Havel, standing to her left. "It's your fault. You created this Frankenstein's monster."

Web smiled, but made no reply. Berry decided that she'd probably been imperious enough, and it was time for royal wheedling. Teenage queen style.

"Oh, come on, Jeremy. There aren't that many, first off. And almost half of them live in that one settlement that the slaves themselves protected. They're nothing but biologists, for pity's sake. According to the reports I've heard, they didn't even realize where their contract was going to wind up placing them. And, after they got here, they were too engrossed in the fascination of their work to pay much attention to anything else. If nothing else, we can use their talents. They brought their whole families with them, they've now been here for years, and this is their home. That's enough. The same's true, one way or another, for all the others who want to stay. Which, as I said, isn't more than a few hundred anyway."

Now, imperiously again: "So the issue is settled. You agreed."

Jeremy took a deep breath, then nodded. Then, after glancing at the assembly building and seeing the last of the survivors passing through the doors, he shrugged. "As you say, it's settled. And now—Your Majesty—I need to be off. Cassetti's coming down tomorrow for his precious little 'victory tour' and I need to make sure my, ah, not-entirely-respectful Ballroom detachment has a proper attitude about their duties."

"I though the Solarians were providing Cassetti's bodyguard?" asked Du Havel.

Jeremy's lips quirked. "Oh, they are. Quite a sizeable one, in fact, with none less than Major Thandi Palane in charge of it. Her last assignment, before her resignation takes effect. But it seems the honorable Ingemar Cassetti feels that a native contingent is needed as well. Apparently the man has firm opinions on the subject of his own security and prestige."

After Jeremy was gone, Berry smiled up at Du Havel. "What do you think, Web? Is my 'Catherine the Great' impersonation really all that good?"

"It's pretty impressive, as a matter of fact. But..."

He studied her for a moment. "I'm glad it's just an act."

She made a face. "So am I. Even leaving aside what Ruth told me about the rumors concerning her sexual habits."

Web grimaced. "The famous horse? That's almost certainly a legend invented by her enemies. Not that Catherine was exactly what you'd call fastidious in her personal habits. But that wasn't really what I meant. I'm not worried about you, actually. I'm concerned about how your new people decide to look upon you. Especially in light of the poll taken yesterday."

The proposal to make the new star nation of Torch a constitutional monarchy, with Berry as the founding queen, hadn't been voted on by the populace yet. Nor would it be, for several more weeks, to allow everyone scattered across the planet time to ponder the matter. But Web had taken an initial poll the day before, using standard techniques which usually gave good results. He'd been a bit shocked when he saw the results. Eighty-seven percent in favor, with a margin of error of plus-or-minus four percent.

He hadn't expected better than seventy percent, he'd told Berry. He wasn't sure yet, but he thought two factors had made the difference. First, the enthusiastic recommendation of the thousands of ex-slaves from the Felicia , who were quickly spreading across the planet as the new government's informal organizing cadre. Second—perhaps even more importantly, and certainly something he hoped was true—because now that the slaves had sated their initial bloodlust, they were a little shaken themselves at the experience. Berry's holo image had been broadcast widely across the planet's com web. Her real one, since the weeks aboard Felicia had also been used by Erewhonese biotechs to reverse the nanotech disguise. And if there was any human image Web could imagine that might help people claw their way out of a pit of rage and hatred, it was that calm, intelligent-looking, pretty young girl's face. It was simply impossible to look at Berry and think her a threat or a menace, to anyone.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked.

"Let's put it this way. There will be a strong impulse—especially given your own capabilities, which are becoming increasingly clear to me—for your new nation to want to call you, as time goes by, 'Berry the Great.' "

She made a face, as if she'd bitten into something sour. "Oh, yuck . Between exercise and taking lessons from you—and trying to stagger along under the weight of 'the Great'?" She practically whined the next words: "How am I supposed to get a boyfriend , in all that? And what kind of screwball would he be, anyway?"

Web grinned. "Oh, you'd manage, I don't doubt that. But—being honest—that's the least of my worries. Mainly, you need to be careful about it because the truth is, judging from the historical record, that monarchs who go down as 'the Great' are usually a mixed blessing for their nations. As a rule, so obsessed with what they considered 'victories' and 'triumphs' that they left a pretty impressive butcher's bill behind."

"Not my style at all," Berry said firmly, shaking her head. "So what should I shoot for, Web?" With a half-giggle: " 'Berry the Sweet'?"

Web almost seemed to giggle himself. "Hardly that! A good monarch can't afford to be too gentle, either. No..."

His eyes ranged the landing field, looking beyond the first shuttles starting to take off to examine the lush, green terrain of Torch beyond. It was a rich landscape, almost steaming with potential wealth.

"I'll tell you what to shoot for, girl. Mind you, it'll take decades to get there. Long, slow decades, where a new people has time to settle into itself. Relax, if you will. And part of that relaxation—no small part—simply coming from steadiness and stability. Shoot for that. Aim that high. Aim for the day to come when they call you something which precious few monarchs in the long history of the human race have ever been called. Far fewer, when you get down to it, than have been called 'the Great.' "

He brought his eyes back to her. "Nothing complicated, nothing fancy. Just... 'Good Queen Berry.' That's all. And that'll be enough."

She thought about it, for a while. "I can do that," she pronounced.

"Oh, yes, dear one. I know you can."