In Fire Forged

by David Weber

  “Do we have any more information on him?” she asked after a moment.

  “Not a lot, Ma’am.” Nairobi shrugged slightly. “We’ve got some boilerplate bio, but not any real details.”

  “I see.”

  Nairobi’s reply was scarcely surprising. ONI did its best to keep tabs on the Confederacy Navy’s senior officers, but trying to keep up with all of them was a daunting task. Besides, more and more of the RMN’s intelligence capacity was being consumed by its far more important concentration on the People’s Republic. Much as Honor would have liked to, she couldn’t really fault that prioritization, but it was making things even more difficult for starship commanders assigned to commerce protection duties here in the Confederacy.

  “Very well, Florence. Go ahead and put him through to my display.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  An instant later, a gray-eyed man in the uniform of the Silesian Confederacy Navy appeared on Honor’s com display. His dark blond hair was going noticeably lighter at the temples, which suggested he was probably first-generation prolong. In which case, he was probably about Honor’s father’s age.

  “Good afternoon, Sir,” she said politely. “How may I be of service?”

  “Good afternoon, Commander,” the blond-haired man replied after the inevitable light-speed lag. “I’m Commodore Mieczyslaw Teschendorff, and my flagship’s tactical section has informed me you appear to have a prize in company. Which led me to wonder if there might be some way the Confederacy Navy and I might be of service to you?”

  Honor kept her eyes from widening, despite Teschendorff’s unusually direct manner. Relations between the Royal Manticoran Navy and the Confederacy Navy were often strained, in large part because many of the Confederacy’s naval personnel deeply resented Manticore’s long-standing tradition of “interfering” here in Silesia. Unlike some Manticorans, Honor had always found that perfectly understandable. No doubt a great many of those who resented Manticore’s presence were indeed—as the majority of her own fellows were automatically wont to opine—in the pockets of the very pirates, smugglers, and slavers they were supposed to be hunting. But even (or especially) those officers who were doing their level best to discharge their own and their service’s responsibilities were bound to resent the way Manticore’s intrusiveness underscored their inability to deal with their star nation’s internal problems. The fact that quite a few Manticoran officers, over the years, had made that same point to them in thoroughly undiplomatic terms didn’t help, she was certain, yet even if every Queen’s officer had been a paragon of diplomacy (which they weren’t, by a long shot), they would still have been—by their very presence—a crushing indictment of the Confederacy’s internal corruption and the CN’s ineffectuality.

  That inevitable tension between the Confederacy Navy and the RMN had produced quite a few testy exchanges over the years. What it had not produced was a tendency for CN officers to go out of their way to be any more helpful to the Manticoran interlopers and they absolutely had to be.

  Nor, for that matter, she thought, would very many Confed Navy tactical sections have realized so quickly that Hawkwing was accompanied by a prize ship. Hawkwing hadn’t informed system control of Evita’s status when she checked in with the STC, and she hadn’t said a single word to this Feliksá. Even granting that the cruiser’s tac people had been sufficiently on their toes to notice Hawkwing’s arrival in the first place (which had scarcely been a given), deducing that the merchant vessel with her was a prize wouldn’t necessarily have followed. The logical conclusion upon detecting a Manticoran destroyer in company with a freighter would have been that the destroyer was escorting the freighter, not that she’d captured it.

  Unless, of course, she thought rather more grimly, they recognized the freighter’s emissions signature and already knew she was a pirate. Which raises the interesting question of exactly how they’d know that, doesn’t it, Honor?

  “I appreciate your courtesy, Commodore,” she said out loud, “but I believe we have the situation under control. We’ve already notified system control of our arrival, and we’ve been cleared for planetary approach.”

  She sat in her command chair, waiting while her transmission crossed the light-seconds to Feliksá, and then while Teschendorff’s response crawled back to Hawkwing.

  “I assumed you would have, Commander,” the Silesian said then. “On the other hand, we both know how warships can find themselves…tied up while planet-side authorities deal with all the legal formalities. If, as I suspect is the case, you intend to lay charges against your prize’s crew for piracy, you could find yourself anchored here in Saginaw for quite some time. I, on the other hand, as a senior officer of the Confederacy Navy, could take them off your hands immediately. In which case, you wouldn’t have to spend any additional time here in-system waiting for the wheels of justice to turn.”

  Honor had her expression well in hand, but she found herself wishing fervently that she and Teschendorff were face-to-face, where Nimitz could sample his emotions. The treecat was an all but infallible lie detector, although his inability to manage human speech meant there were often times she had to guess about exactly what his reaction to someone meant. Fortunately, they’d been together for the better part of a quarter T-century, so she’d had lots of practice. Unfortunately, not even Nimitz could parse someone’s emotions from the other end of a com link two light-minutes long.

  On the face of it, Teschendorff’s offer could be no more than the sort of courtesy a senior officer could be expected extend to a visiting naval officer who’d happened across criminals operating on the senior’s astrographic turf. And he certainly had a point about how many days—or weeks—a warship could find herself rusting away in orbit while she waited for planetary legal personnel to get around to collecting all her evidence and taking all the relevant statements. But this was Silesia. Altogether too many of the Confederacy Navy’s senior officers were prepared to go much further than simply turning a blind eye to the operation of pirates in their bailiwicks. From her own experience, Honor figured the odds were at least even that what Teschendorff really wanted was to collect “her” pirates so he could…release them back into the wild as soon as he’d seen Hawkwing’s back.

  It was always possible she was doing him a disservice, but she wasn’t inclined to bet anything valuable on the possibility. Besides, there were those orders about cooperating with Governor Charnowska.

  “I deeply appreciate the offer, Sir,” she lied pleasantly through her teeth, “but I’m afraid my instructions from my own Admiralty are fairly specific.” That much, at least, was actually the truth. “In particular, the Confederacy government has informed Her Majesty’s Government that it wishes to pursue a closer integration of our operations here with your civilian legal authorities.”

  She decided to let him speculate on just how those instructions of hers might envision bringing that about, and waited for his response. Four minutes later, the image on her display frowned very slightly, then smoothed its expression and shrugged.

  “In that case, Commander Harrington. I wish you the best of luck. Governor Charnowska and Admiral Zadawski do have a reputation for moving expeditiously in cases like this, so perhaps you won’t be tied up here in Saginaw as long as you might be elsewhere, after all.”

  Teschendorff paused for a moment, as if on the edge of terminating the conversation, then smiled slightly, although it didn’t seem to Honor that the expression managed to reach as high as his eyes.

  “Feliksá’s just completed some overdue repairs to her forward impeller ring, Commander,” he said. “We’re conducting trials and letting the builder’s reps be sure everything is where it’s supposed to be before heading back to our own station. It’s probably going to take us at least a few more days. Perhaps we’ll run into one another on Jasper.”

  “Perhaps so, Sir,” Honor replied courteously.

  “Well, on that note, Teschendorff, clear,” the commodore said four minutes la
ter, and her display blanked.

  * * *

  “Thank you for seeing me so promptly, Your Excellency,” Honor said as Sector Governor Charnowska’s aide ushered her obsequiously into the governor’s office. Her guide, Honor reflected, should have had “Flunky” embroidered across the back of his tunic in fluorescing letters.

  “Thank you for coming planet-side to see me so promptly, Commander Harrington,” Leokadjá Charnowska said graciously, holding out her hand as she stood and walked around the end of her enormous desk to greet her visitor.

  The aide disappeared as if by magic, and the governor didn’t appear any more displeased by that than she was, Honor reflected, studying the other woman unobtrusively. Charnowska made quite a striking first impression. She was a good twelve or thirteen centimeters shorter than Honor, with dark red hair, large, intense brown eyes, and a graceful carriage, and her smile was as gracious as her tone.

  “Under the circumstances, Ma’am, I thought I should make my manners as soon as was convenient for you.” Honor hoped Charnowska didn’t realize her own smile was more than a little forced. She didn’t like politics even in the Star Kingdom; in no small part, she admitted to herself, because she didn’t understand politics. And she liked them even less when she found herself forced to interact with foreign politicians, particularly at such a high level.

  On the other hand, it comes with the white beret, doesn’t it? she reminded herself sardonically.

  “ ‘Under the circumstances,’ Commander?” Charnowska repeated, quirking one eyebrow and tilting her head slightly.

  “Yes, Ma’am. When my ship first arrived on station, Admiral Zadawski informed me you were out of the system, which, obviously, made it impossible to pay a courtesy call on you before I had to leave again to begin checking in on Manticoran business and shipping interests in the area. I regret that, especially since my instructions from the Admiralty lay particular emphasis on the desirability of fully cooperating and coordinating my own operations here in protection of Manticoran commerce with the sector’s civilian government.” She gave a deprecating smile. “I think one of the things my superiors had in mind when those instructions were issued was for me to make certain I wasn’t stepping on anyone’s toes.” She allowed her smile to disappear and shrugged ever so slightly. “I’m sure no one here in the Confederacy needs to be reminded that there have been too many instances in which Manticoran naval officers have—unintentionally, of course—irritated or offended your authorities by taking…unilateral action to resolve problems they’ve encountered. My orders make it quite clear that my superiors desire me to avoid following those unfortunate examples.”

  Honor felt vaguely ill at her own mealymouthed platitudes. In a general sense, there was nothing wrong with what she’d just said. In fact, it was what a naval officer of a foreign power ought to be saying—and doing—when she found herself operating in the sovereign territory of another star nation. Unfortunately, that assumed the star nation in question was able (or willing) to exercise an effective police power in its own star systems.

  “I see.”

  Charnowska gazed at Honor for a moment, then nodded towards the huge, panoramic windows of her office, inviting the Manticoran officer to accompany her as she strolled across to them. She folded her hands behind her, gazing out across the capital city of Onyx, while Honor stood a respectful pace behind her and to the right.

  “I’m pleased to hear what you’ve just said, Commander,” the governor said. “I happen to be one of the Silesians who believe we ought to be cultivating closer—or perhaps I mean more cordial—relations with the Star Kingdom. As you say, there have been entirely too many past instances of irritation and offense—going both directions, I’m sure,” she added just tardily enough to make it clear she meant exactly the opposite. She turned her head and smiled at Honor. “I think it’s time the Confederacy and the Star Kingdom turned over a new leaf, and I’d be delighted for that process to begin right here in Saginaw.”

  “Thank you, Your Excellency,” Honor murmured.

  “And, in connection with that, are there any service needs your ship might have?” the governor inquired.

  “We would like to take on some fresh foodstuffs, Your Excellency. And while we’re in Saginaw, I’d like to give my people an opportunity for liberty here on Jasper.”

  “Of course, Commander!” Charnowska’s smile was both broader and more genuine than it had been. “I’m certain the port’s entertainment facilities would be delighted to separate your spacers from any loose currency they might have weighting down their pockets.”

  “That is the way it seems to work, Ma’am,” Honor agreed with a smile of her own.

  “Very well, I think we can consider that agreed to. Is there anything else I can do for you today, Commander?”

  “No, Your Excellency.” Honor bowed slightly. “There are some additional matters which will have to be dealt with, of course, but I’m sure Admiral Zadawski and I can handle them without involving your office. And, of course, I’ll hold my officers and personnel in readiness for any additional testimony or statements which may be required.”

  “Testimony or statements about what, Commander?” Charnowska asked, turning to face her fully with what certainly looked like an expression of genuine puzzlement.

  “About the crew of the Evita, Ma’am.”

  “Of the Evita?” Charnowska’s look of puzzlement deepened. “What are you talking about, Commander?”

  “I’m sorry, Your Excellency,” Honor said. “I assumed Admiral Zadawski had already informed your office. The Evita is a Silesian-registered freighter—although I’m quite confident her papers are false—which Hawkwing took in the act of piracy in the Hyatt System. We brought her in with a prize crew on board late yesterday, your time. And, in accordance with my instructions, I handed her and the prisoners over to Admiral Zadawski. Well, actually,” she corrected herself scrupulously, “I informed him of the circumstances and that I would hand her and her crew over to the local authorities with considerable relief as soon as it was convenient for him to put his own people on board.”

  “Well,” Charnowska said rather tartly, “I’m pleased you’ve brought this up, Commander, because no one else has informed me of the situation. I suppose it’s possible the message simply hasn’t reached me yet, but from what you’ve just said, should I assume it has not yet been ‘convenient’ for Admiral Zadawski to relieve you of your responsibility for this vessel?”

  “Ma’am, I didn’t mean to sound as if I were criticizing the Admiral.” Honor hoped she sounded at least a little more sincere than she actually felt. “It’s not as if it were any sort of emergency, after all. My people have the situation aboard Evita under control. I would like to get them back aboard ship, and, obviously, to hand this responsibility over to your people, but it’s not going to hurt us any if it takes another day or two.”

  “Perhaps not, but it’s a poor way to reward your cooperation with us,” the governor said. “I assure you, Commander—your people will be relieved of their responsibility for this ship as soon as possible.”

  * * *

  “Oh, stop being so grumpy, Stinker!” Honor said.

  The cream-and-gray treecat stretched out along the back of the chair across the table from her only regarded her through grass-green eyes and flirted the very tip of his tail. Nimitz had not been overjoyed by her decision to leave him aboard ship during her courtesy call on Sector Governor Charnowska.

  “Not everyone is delighted to see a treecat coming along on official port visits,” Honor continued, leaning back in her own chair and folding her arms. “I explained that to you. Again.”

  Nimitz made the soft sound that served him in place of a sniff of disdain, and Honor felt her lips twitch.

  “You’re not going to make me feel guilty about it, you know,” she told him firmly. “I’ll take you with me if I get back down there for something less official, but without the governor’s specific invitation—or permissi
on, at least—I’m not taking you to any meetings with her. It’s just one of those rules you and I have to put up with sometimes.”

  The slight flattening of Nimitz’s ears made his opinion of “those rules” clear. And, although Honor had no intention of admitting it, she tended to agree with him. Not only that, but she very much wished she’d had him in range to sample Charnowska’s emotions during their conversation. After all the years they’d been together, he understood Standard English better than many humans she’d met. They’d also evolved their own set of signals, and she’d learned to read his reactions and body language with remarkable acuity, as well. The insight that gave her into the emotions of others had served her well upon occasion, and she wished she’d had it with her earlier today.

  She started to say something else to the ’cat when a soft, musical chime sounded and she pressed the admittance stud, instead. Her briefing room door slid open, and Rose-Lucie Bonrepaux, Hawkwing’s senior steward, stepped through it. Chief Steward Bonrepaux was a few years older than Honor, with sandy hair, brown eyes, an oval face, and a pronounced Havenite accent. Her parents (both engineers) had managed to refugee out of the People’s Republic when Bonrepaux was less than five years old, and they’d settled in the Star Kingdom. The entire Bonrepaux family had the fierce immigrant loyalty and patriotism that often put nativeborn Manticorans to shame, and although the steward was a tiny woman—a full dozen centimeters shorter than Honor—she was also an elemental force of nature when it came to running the destroyer’s food services organization.