Manticore Ascendant 3- A Call to Vengeance

by David Weber

  “Yes, Ma’am,” Travis said, unstrapping and pulling himself over behind her chair. At least whatever Kane was about to say, whatever outrage he might be about to dump on them in regards to the scrubbed battle data, the entire watch wouldn’t get to hear it.

  He settled into position, and Clegg tapped the key. The display cleared, and Kane’s face appeared.

  Travis frowned. If the Andermani was angry, it certainly didn’t show.

  “Captain Clegg,” he said, “I would very much like to thank you for the generosity and completeness of the information packet you shared with me. I’m sure that when you integrate our two sets of data, you’ll see several interesting correlations between what you’ve discovered here in Silesia and what we already knew. I’m confident that will be very valuable to both of us in our missions.

  “I didn’t anticipate the full depth of some of your more, shall we say, unofficially gathered information.” He smiled faintly, inclining his head. “Very efficiently done. My congratulations to those involved.

  “But far and away the most useful of all is the tactical data on the attack. Additional congratulations are in order for whoever prepared it. It must have been quite a challenge to excise so much background data while at the same time preserving the details of the battle.” His smile grew both more pronounced and more ironic. “I rather wondered how your Commander Long would approach that aspect of the exchange.”

  For a fleeting instant Travis wondered if Clegg would turn her head to look at him. She didn’t.

  Kahkitah’s smile faded. “I don’t know whether or not you’ve had a chance to look at my Tarnung data file. I suspect not, with your attention on your overt mission to Saginaw. But I urge you to do so as soon as you can. It contains a list of ship profiles, both physical and electronic and gravitic, and includes sensor recordings of what might have been one of Gensonne’s ships. One of those recordings, which came from the same star system where the picture of Gensonne which I showed you was taken, is particularly interesting, because that ship is effectively identical with Tamerlane’s flagship.”

  Travis huffed out a silent breath. So there it was. Tamerlane and Gensonne—

  “Which I believe conclusively demonstrates that your Tamerlane and my Gensonne are indeed the same individual,” Kane continued. “Which that means you and I—and the Star Kingdom and the Empire—share a common enemy. Which brings me to the most important reason for this transmission.”

  He paused. Again, Clegg kept her eyes on the display.

  “It is unlikely that Hamman and Casey will cross paths once again,” Kane said. “However, I can reveal to you now that there are other Imperial vessels in Silesia seeking Gensonne. If, should you encounter any of them, you would be good enough to share an additional copy of your data with them, I would be extremely grateful. Furthermore, sharing a recording of this message will constitute my authorization, as a member of the SMS reserve, for them to cooperate fully with you. That cooperation includes reasonable joint military support against Gensonne, should the opportunity arise.”

  Clegg stiffened in her chair. Travis could still only see the back of her head, but it didn’t take any skill at body language to see that she was as astonished by the offer as Travis himself was.

  “This man is a danger to my Emperor, a danger to your Star Kingdom, and—based on the information already available to us—a mass murderer,” Kane said, his voice going cold. “He is, in fact, a criminal against humankind in general, and my Emperor would account it an honor to assist anyone in his destruction.

  “Thank you again, Captain Clegg, and good hunting to you. Kane out.”

  The transmission ended. For a long moment neither Clegg nor Travis said anything.

  Travis wasn’t sure, at this point, if there was anything to say.

  “Orbit achieved, Captain,” Woodburn announced.

  His voice seemed to break a spell. “Thank you,” Clegg said.

  “And may I remind the captain that she has a dinner engagement in three hours,” Woodburn added.

  “Thank you,” Clegg said again. She took a deep breath.

  And finally turned to look at Travis. Her face was composed, but there was a glint in her eye that Travis had never seen there before. “Have my shuttle ready in one hour,” she added to her XO. “Until then, I’ll be in my office. Commander Travis, you and Chief Townsend are invited to join me.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The House of Lords, like any other living, breathing thing, had its moods.

  Sometimes it was angry. Sometimes it was smug. Occasionally, as when it sat helplessly on the sidelines during the Battle of Manticore, it was fearful.

  Today, as near as Winterfall could judge it, the mood was anticipatory.

  The problem was he couldn’t see anything that was driving it.

  There were no major votes on the day’s agenda. No one had announced a forthcoming bill. None of the usual firebrands were slated to address the assembly, Breakwater included.

  So what were they all anticipating?

  He puzzled at it most of the morning, checking news feeds and screening associates who also had their ears to the ground. None of them had the slightest clue. Most of them hadn’t even noticed the calm-before-the-storm feeling.

  It was after lunch before he finally realized that what he’d thought was a general mood was really only Breakwater’s mood, and the mood of his inner circle.

  A circle which, on this point at least, apparently didn’t include Winterfall.

  That was new. And it bothered him more than he wanted to admit. For years he’d been Breakwater’s chief confidant, sounding board, ally, and trusted errand runner. Or at least, so he’d thought.

  Maybe it had all been a lie. Maybe Breakwater played that same game with everyone else, giving each of them the impression that he or she was the most important person in his circle.

  In years gone by, Winterfall reflected, he might have spent the rest of the day brooding about it. But not now. Breakwater was a master of redirection; and if Winterfall’s exclusion from the joke was significant, the more significant question was what the Chancellor was anticipating in the first place.

  And so he resumed his digging…and finally, finally, came up with at least a possibility.

  Joshua Miller, MP from Friedman’s Valley, was scheduled to address the House of Commons within the hour.

  That alone probably wouldn’t have caught Winterfall’s eye except that he vividly remembered Miller’s last speech. It had been a detailed, acerbic, and mostly accurate castigation of the Lords for some of their votes on the Navy, MPARS, and the Star Kingdom’s defense in general.

  Winterfall had spent some time afterward going back over Miller’s record. What he’d discovered was a slowly but steadily growing strength of rhetoric and support over the man’s six T-years in the Commons. He’d been a rallying point for those who felt the Lords had regained too much of the power the Commons had once wielded, as opposed to those members who simply enjoyed the stature afforded by the letters MP attached to their names. That group was usually content to draw their pay without having to take any serious responsibility for anything.

  And then, a little over three months ago, Miller had gone silent.

  There’d been some quiet speculation at the time, mostly in the Commons, as to what had happened. Some thought he’d been bought off; others thought he’d recognized the futility of railing against the dominance of the Lords and given up; others wondered if he’d suddenly developed a health problem. But the theories had all evaporated, and eventually the whispers had been buried beneath newer and more interesting gossip and forgotten.

  Only now Miller was headed back to the podium. Was he planning to say something that would seriously rock the boat? And if so, what about his speech had caught Breakwater’s eye?

  Winterfall had switched his search to Breakwater’s old files when he noticed something odd. Not only had Breakwater had been closely following Miller’s public c
omings and goings, but he’d had the same virtual trailing going on with six other men, as well. One was another MP, but the other five were private citizens. Reasonably prominent men, but private citizens nonetheless. Ten more minutes of searching failed to find any obvious link between them.

  So what was Breakwater’s interest?

  The other lesson Breakwater had hammered into him over the years was that there was a time for subtlety and a time for bluntness. With Miller’s speech less than ten minutes away, it was time for the latter.

  If Winterfall had been summarily dropped from Breakwater’s close-associate list, the word hadn’t made it to his secretary. Angela merely nodded a silent greeting as Winterfall strode across the outer office and pushed open the door.

  The whole group was there: Breakwater; Ross Macinroy, Earl Chillon; Maria Stahlberg, Baroness Castle Rock; and Yvonne Rowlandson, Baroness Tweenriver, all gathered in the conversation area around a large display Breakwater had set up. All four of them looked up with varying degrees of surprise at Winterfall’s entrance. “Gavin,” Breakwater said, half rising before sitting down again. “We weren’t expecting you this afternoon.”

  “My apologies, My Lords; My Ladies,” Winterfall apologized as he walked over to them. “But I thought we should all be together to hear what Joshua Miller has to say.”

  A look of consternation flashed across Breakwater’s face before he could smooth it over. “Of course,” he said, gesturing to an empty seat beside Castle Rock. “Please join us.”

  “Or not,” Tweenriver said disgustedly as she gestured at the display. “Looks like he’s canceled.”

  Winterfall followed her pointing finger. A young woman was walking toward the Commons podium, the caption identifying her as Sarah Tonquis from White Sand. The rest of the caption, listing the speech lineup for the rest of the afternoon, made no mention of Miller.

  “Well, that’s useful,” Chillon growled. “Any idea what he was going to say?”

  “If we knew that, we wouldn’t have had to listen to him,” Breakwater pointed out, his eyes still on Winterfall. “You’re probably wondering why you were excluded from our session today.”

  “Yes, My Lord, I was,” Winterfall said, trying to read the Chancellor’s mood. He didn’t seem angry that Winterfall had tumbled to the private get-together, or even that he’d chosen to crash it.

  “It was no reflection on you, I assure you,” Breakwater said. “Well, perhaps a bit. But only as to your ability to act outraged on command.”

  “To act outraged?” Winterfall echoed, letting his volume rise and his pitch grow deeper and darker. “To act outraged? You think I’m just going to stand here and let you meet behind my back? I have rights, My Lords—do not ever think I don’t.” He paused, then raised his eyebrows. “Was that sufficiently outraged, My Lord?”

  Breakwater smiled wryly. “Touché, Gavin. Very well. What do you want to know?”

  “Let’s start with seven names,” Winterfall suggested. “Jeremy Miller, Jacques Corlain, Placido Amadeo—”

  “Where did you get those names?” Chillon demanded.

  “Earl Breakwater has been watching them and their movements,” Winterfall said. “Which I assume you all already know.”

  “What we know isn’t the question,” Chillon said. “I asked how you knew.”

  “From my files, of course,” Breakwater said. “Relax, Ross—Gavin’s done enough work for me over the years that I’ve given him complete access.” He smiled faintly. “Well, mostly complete. The answer, Gavin, is that those seven men are the names on a list the late Prime Minister Burgundy put together for the Queen.”

  “And the list was for…?”

  “We don’t know for sure,” Breakwater said. “But we know he was going to suggest some possible suitors for her. Almost certainly this is at least the start of that list.” His lips compressed briefly. “There are indications he was working on it when he had his fatal heart attack.”

  “I see,” Winterfall said again, his mind racing in at least three different directions. “How do you know about the list?”

  “Please, Gavin,” Breakwater said with another smile. “I do have other sources besides you and the others in this room. The point is that we do have it.” He gestured to the display. “And we were wondering if Miller was going to make some sort of announcement related to it today. Apparently not.”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m still confused,” Winterfall said. “Why does the Queen need a list of suitors in the first place? I mean, why does she need a list from Burgundy or anyone else? Can’t she come up with names on her own?”

  “My Lord, this may not be the right time,” Castle Rock warned.

  “It’s all right, Maria,” Breakwater soothed. “Now that Gavin knows, he might as well know everything.” He again gestured Winterfall to a seat. “We have a potential crisis facing us, Gavin. And as you know, in any crisis there are points to be made and points to be lost.

  “The crux of the matter is this. Queen Elizabeth II has no heirs to the throne. To obtain an heir obviously requires her to have a child; and the Constitution states that the father of that child must be a commoner.”

  “Yes, I understand all that,” Winterfall said. “There are certainly enough rumors flying around on the subject. But I also understand she was still in mourning for her late husband. Again, it seems to me this is something she should be able to do on her own, and in her own timing.”

  “We disagree,” Breakwater said. “Our position is that, given the uncertainty of the future—a fact that was so recently underlined by the sudden deaths of her brother and niece—she can’t risk putting off this obligation indefinitely.”

  “It’s only been a few months,” Winterfall pointed out.

  “You’re not thinking this through,” Chillon said, his tone going a bit more severe. “Aside from the practical reasons, there are political gains to be made from this situation. We want to make sure we’re the ones who benefit.”

  “Exactly,” Breakwater said. “We foresee her taking one of three options. First, she will bow to our pressure and choose one of the men on that list as her new husband. That gains us little directly, but does set a precedent in her mind toward accepting advice and direction from us, which can’t help but strengthen our position. Second, she will defy the call for remarriage, at which point we will declare her out of compliance with the Constitution and introduce a bill to return King Michael to the throne.”

  “Can he even do that?” Winterfall asked, frowning. “I thought abdication was permanent.”

  “Since it’s never been done before, we don’t really know,” Breakwater said. “Hence, the bill’s introduction. This case is somewhat better, because we already know how easily Michael can be controlled and manipulated. Or third, Elizabeth will ask for a Constitutional amendment to allow her to use her late husband’s frozen sperm to conceive a child. That’s the best case of all, because she’ll need our support to get the supermajority of both the Lords and the Commons she’ll need to pass such an amendment.”

  “Support she’ll need to pay for,” Tweenriver said.

  “In one form or another.” Breakwater cocked his head. “Your job, Gavin, was to be the one who would stand before the Lords in outrage at the Queen’s presumption in defying the Constitution. Since we weren’t certain—before now,” he added dryly, “of your histrionic abilities, we thought it best if there was some genuine surprise behind your speech.”

  “I see,” Winterfall said, carefully filtering the outrage out of his voice. This wasn’t just some other Lord or Cabinet Minister or industrialist they were talking so calmly about manipulating. This was the Queen. The Queen. “Does she have a deadline to make a decision?”

  “Not yet,” Breakwater said. “I’m going to wait another four or five weeks, make sure that the sympathy bump her brother’s death gave her has well and truly worn off. After that, I’ll deliver her a quiet ultimatum: betroth herself, or we’ll publicly declare her out of c
ompliance and force a decision.”

  “Do we have enough support to make that stick?”

  “We’ve been counting potential votes,” Castle Rock said. “A bit tricky when we can hardly broach the true subject of the question. But we think we do.”

  “And the Commons?” Winterfall persisted.

  “The least of our considerations,” Chillon said, waving a hand in dismissal. “There will be some token opposition, but in the end they’ll fall into line like always.”

  “Unless Elizabeth chooses either Miller or Corlain as consort,” Castle Rock said. “That may endear her to them somewhat. But that kind of sentimentality fades quickly. And as I said, that would establish the precedent of her bowing to our demands.”

  “You have to understand, Gavin, that Elizabeth is still a bit of an enigma,” Breakwater said. “We have to learn more about her if we’re going to know how to work her in the future. This heir business, besides the fact that it’s vital to the future of the Star Kingdom, is the perfect hammer. Seeing which way the nail bends will show us how best to use the next hammer that comes into our possession.”

  “Of course, My Lord,” Winterfall said. “So I’ll eventually be giving the key address. What can I do until then?”

  Breakwater glanced around at the others, his eyebrows raised. “Anyone?”

  “I think everything’s under control at this point,” Castle Rock said. “We’re mostly into waiting mode right now.”

  “In fact, going about your other business is probably the best thing you can do,” Chillon added. “The less you’re seen meeting with any of us, the more believable your outrage and passion will be when you mount that podium.”

  “Agreed,” Breakwater said. “Thank you for coming, Gavin. I’m sorry we weren’t able to tell you before, but I admit I’m rather impressed that you were able to sniff this out. Well done.”

  “Thank you, My Lord,” Winterfall said. “And again, my apologies for intruding. I’ll take my leave now.”