by David Weber
"That's straw number one. Straw number two is the name of the one officer our sources have been able to identify as being closely associated with whatever 'Bolthole' is since Theisman's little revolution. I believe you know her."
"I do?" Honor was startled and it showed.
"Oh, indeed you do," Benjamin said with something almost like grim amusement. "Her name is Vice Admiral Shannon Foraker."
"Oh, my God." Honor abruptly sat all the way back in her chair. "Foraker? You're sure?"
"We can't be one hundred percent positive. All we can say for certain is that her name appeared on the promotion lists, that we haven't been able to find her anywhere else, and that at least two separate sources within the Republic have suggested that where she disappeared to is wherever 'Bolthole' hangs out." The Protector shrugged. "There's no possible way to confirm it, but if I were a secretary of war who had some sort of high-cost project in applied research and development going on somewhere and I had someone of Foraker's demonstrated abilities to put in charge of it, I know what I'd be doing with her."
"You and I both," Honor agreed feelingly. She shook her head. "You're right. That's a much scarier possibility than some sort of tussle with the Andies over Silesia. But I can't believe Thomas Theisman would be a party to renewing hostilities! He's too smart for that."
"I'd tend to agree with you. But President Pritchart is more of an unknown quantity, and even if she weren't, it's possible you and I would both be wrong about Theisman. Even if we're not, neither he nor Pritchart is operating in a vacuum."
"No. And even if they were, it would make perfect sense for them to be looking for ways to offset our tactical advantages. In fact, they'd be derelict in their duty if they weren't looking for them."
"Absolutely. That's what has me and Greg so worried. Well, that and the fact that so far no one—including our sources—has seen a single improvement in their pre-truce hardware. It's been the better part of four T-years, Honor. Do you really think that much time could have passed without a navy which knows exactly how badly outclassed it was by Eighth Fleet introducing even one new weapon improvement?"
"No," Honor said quietly, and kicked herself for not having wondered the same thing already as she read Jurgensen's confident reports about the technological gap between the Star Kingdom and the Republic.
"That's the real reason Wesley and I have been continuing to push the naval budget so hard," Benjamin told her. "We're beginning to catch some fairly powerful opposition, especially in the Keys, but we're determined to go right on building up the Fleet as long as we can. The problem is that we estimate we can only keep it up for another two T-years, three at the outside. After that, we'll simply have to cut back on our building programs. We may even have to suspend them entirely."
Honor nodded. Altogether too many of the Star Kingdom's politicians shared the Government's ill-concealed opinion that Benjamin's obsession with continuing to build up the Grayson Navy now that the war was 'over' was a reflection of megalomania on his part. After all, no single-planet system like Yeltsin's Star could possibly match the sort of fleet a star nation like the Star Kingdom or the Republic of Haven could build. But Benjamin hadn't seemed to realize that, and the GSN was up to a strength of very nearly a hundred ships of the wall. Not only that, virtually all of them were SD(P)s. And that didn't include the CLACs which had been built or ordered from Manticoran yards to support them. Only the vast increases in onboard automation which had been accepted in the newer designs made it possible for Grayson to man its new construction, even with all of the demobilized Manticoran naval personnel it had managed to attract and even with the scandalous, steadily increasing number of women entering the planetary work force. But she hadn't needed Benjamin to tell her that the financial strain of that continued buildup was ruinous.
"Have you shared this information with Jurgensen?" she asked after a moment.
"We've tried to," Benjamin said bitterly. "Unfortunately, he seems to suffer from a bad case of 'not made here' where anything he doesn't want to hear about is concerned."
"And he's not going to want to listen to me, either," Honor observed.
"I wouldn't imagine so," Benjamin agreed with mordant humor.
"Of course," she went on, thinking aloud, "the most likely explanation for why we haven't seen any new hardware in the Peep fleet is that they haven't managed to produce it in useful quantities yet. One thing I do feel certain about where Thomas Theisman is concerned is that he's not likely to make the mistake of introducing it in dribs and drabs."
"Which only means that when he does get around to introducing it, he's going to do it in style," Benjamin pointed out.
"You do have a way of coming up with pleasant prospects, don't you, Benjamin?"
"I try. And while I hesitate to mention it, there's another one I suppose I ought to bring up." To Honor's surprise, he sounded almost hesitant, and Nimitz pricked his ears as both of them tasted a certain unhappiness—almost a sense of betraying a confidence—in his mind-glow.
"Which is?" she prompted gently when he continued to hesitate, and he sighed.
"None of this is official," he warned her, and waited for her to nod in understanding. "With that understood, I probably ought to tell you that we've been picking up a few worrisome diplomatic indicators. More like hints, really."
"Hints about what?" she said when he paused once more.
"About Erewhon," he said finally. "You know they were almost as angry as we were about High Ridge's unilateral acceptance of Saint-Just's truce offer, of course."
Honor nodded again. In fact, Benjamin was probably understating the Erewhonese reaction—not least because Erewhon had been forced to live under the shadow of Peep conquest for far longer than Grayson had. The fact that the Erewhonese government had elected to cut its treaty relationship with the Solarian League in order to sign on with the Manticoran Alliance had only exacerbated that anger, too. The perception had been that it had sacrificed a longstanding security arrangement with the most powerful political and economic entity in the history of the human race in order to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Manticore only to be stabbed in the back by its own treaty partners.
"Well, neither Greg nor I have any proof of it, but in the last few weeks, we've started picking up hints that Erewhon is . . . rethinking its relationship with Haven."
"Rethinking?" Despite herself, Honor's voice sharpened, and her eyes narrowed. "Rethinking it how?"
"Remember that this is at least ninety percent conjecture from very limited evidence," Benjamin cautioned her, and she nodded again, with just a hint of impatience.
"Bearing that in mind," the Protector went on then, "what seems to me and Greg to be happening is that the current Erewhonese president and his cabinet believe Pritchart and Theisman are genuine about their intention to resurrect the Old Republic. And that they've genuinely renounced the Legislaturalists' and the Committee's expansionist foreign policy. Erewhon's a lot closer to the Republic than it is to Manticore, as well. And unlike us, it controls a wormhole junction of its own which connects it—and anyone it allies itself with—directly to the Solarian League."
"You're suggesting that Erewhon might be considering a . . . closer relationship with Haven?" Honor said sharply, and he nodded.
"As I say, we have no proof of it, but we've been conducting quiet, one-on-one negotiations with several of the Alliance's smaller members." She regarded him intently, and he shrugged with a curious mixture of apology and irritation. "No one's interested in sneaking around behind the Star Kingdom's back, Honor. Not really. But let's face it. Thanks to High Ridge's idiotic foreign policy, the Alliance is in serious disarray at the moment, and we've been doing our best to try to put out the various fires before they get entirely out of hand and bring the entire structure down."
"I see." Honor understood exactly what he meant, and she felt a dull throb of shame at the thought of how hard Benjamin had obviously been working to preserve the vital alliances High Ridge eq
ually obviously never wasted a single night's sleep worrying about.
"At any rate," Benjamin went on after a moment, "some of the things the Erewhonese ambassador's said in those discussions sound a lot more like the sort of temporizing and qualifying that usually go on between states that don't entirely trust one another—or who have something to hide—than the way allies are supposed to speak to each other. I don't think it's his idea, either. I think he's acting on formal instructions from his government, and that makes me wonder just why they're holding not just the Star Kingdom but all of us at arm's length. And one possibility which suggests itself to me is that they might be considering jumping the other way."
"My God, but I hope you're wrong!" Honor said fervently after two or three heartbeats. "After Grayson, Erewhon has the largest navy in the Alliance."
"And access to all of our new hardware," Benjamin pointed out grimly. Honor inhaled sharply, and he shrugged. "Their industrial base isn't as good as ours is because it was never as completely modernized and overhauled as ours was. But at the very least, they have examples of everything short of Ghost Rider—and some of that technology, too, I think. And if the Peeps get a chance to reverse engineer that . . ."
Honor shivered as the possibility Benjamin had just evoked blew through her bones like the breath of space itself.
"I was going to try pressing the Admiralty to increase the force levels they're projecting for Sidemore Station on the basis of your first little bombshell," she told him after a long, thoughtful moment. "Now I'm not at all sure that would be a good idea. Not if the Peeps—I mean, not if the Republic —is likely to be taking the wraps off something Shannon Foraker came up with after they gave her a big budget to play with! And if there's even the possibility that you're right about what the Erewhonese might be considering, that only makes the situation even worse."
"I'd have to agree that thinning out the RMN even further probably wouldn't be a very good idea," Benjamin conceded. "I hate to admit it, but even though our navy is almost half the size of the Star Kingdom's active fleet, we're not the ones that exercise a deterrent effect. Everybody keeps their eye on Manticore; we're just the 'plucky little scrapper' that plays backup to the Royal Navy." Honor looked at him in quick alarm, but he shook his head. "That wasn't resentment talking, Honor. It's just the way things are, and it would be unreasonable to expect that perception to change this quickly, no matter what's happening to the relative size of our fleets. The important thing is that when it comes to the perception game, the size of the RMN's deployable assets matters a lot more than the size of the GSN."
"I'm afraid you're right," she said. "Mind you, I doubt that anyone who's had the personal pleasure of tackling a bunch of Graysons would make that particular mistake, but that's not really the point."
"No, it isn't. But it may be that there's a corollary to it that we ought to be considering."
"What sort of corollary?" she asked.
"Well, if no one's going to worry a lot about the size of our fleet, then maybe the solution to your problem in Silesia is to find you some reinforcements from here. Sending off Grayson ships isn't likely to encourage any sense of adventurism among the Peeps, but their arrival in Silesia might be enough to make Gustav think twice."
"Wait a minute, Benjamin! Given how shaky things are between Grayson and the Star Kingdom right this minute, just how do you think the Alliance's domestic opponents are going to react if you start sending your navy off to pull Manticore's chestnuts out of the fire?"
"Who said anything about the Navy?" Benjamin asked her with a lurking smile.
"You did!"
"No, I mentioned 'Grayson ships.' I don't recall having said a single word about regular naval vessels."
Honor's eyes narrowed, then widened in sudden surmise, and he nodded with a chuckle.
"I'm not going to send a naval detachment to serve under a Manticoran admiral on an RMN naval station, Honor. I'm going to send the Protector's Own on its first major interstellar deployment and training cruise under the direct supervision of its permanent commander, Steadholder Harrington."
"You're out of your mind! Even if that sort of legal fiction was going to do you a bit of good when the Opposition gets hold of this in the Keys, think about the possible consequences. If it does come to a shooting situation with the Andies, then you're going to get Grayson involved in it right alongside the Star Kingdom. And I can tell you that the IAN's always been a much tougher proposition than the Peep Navy ever was!"
"Do you really think that matters?" The brief flash of amusement had faded from Benjamin's eyes, and he shook his head wearily. "Baron High Ridge is an idiot, Honor. You and I both know it, just as we both know he's so obsessed with domestic political maneuvering that he's almost completely oblivious to the potential interstellar disaster we both think he's courting. But the Star Kingdom is still our natural ally, and if the worst happens, Manticore's going to find itself under different management very quickly. If the Star Kingdom goes to war, whether it's with the Andies or the Havenites, we have no realistic choice but to support it, because without the Star Kingdom, Grayson and every other member of the Manticoran Alliance become the natural targets of any aggressor. Which means that I find myself in the unenviable position of being forced to watch High Ridge's and Janacek's backs when they're too stupid to even realize they need watching!"
"I hadn't thought of it from just that perspective," Honor admitted. "But even if you're right, there's going to be heavy domestic political fallout from this, and you know it."
"I'll deal with that as it arises," he told her flatly. "And if the Opposition wants a fight, I'll give it one it won't enjoy. Besides, I may have to watch High Ridge's back, but at least I can do it by watching the back of someone I actually like, as well. So don't argue. It won't do you any good, anyway. If you're stubborn, I'll just send Alfredo along with orders to make an extended 'courtesy visit' to Marsh."
"You would, wouldn't you?"
"Damn straight I would." He laughed suddenly. "And compared to some of the other problems I've got, fixing this one is pretty straightforward!"
"If you think this is straightforward, I'd hate to see what you think is complicated!"
"Don't worry, you'll get to see exactly what I'm talking about after supper tonight."
"What devious thing are you up to now, Benjamin Mayhew?" Honor demanded.
"Not a thing," he assured her. "But it seems that Abigail Hearns graduated from Saganami Island this past Fall, and while it may have escaped your notice, Rachel just had her sixteenth birthday. And guess who wants to follow in Steadholder Denby's daughter's footsteps?"
"Oh, dear." Honor felt her mouth quiver, but managed somehow not to laugh. Nimitz, on the other hand, couldn't quite suppress a bleek of amusement, and Benjamin gave him a disgusted look.
"All very well for you and your six-footed friends," he told the treecat severely. "As a matter of fact, Hipper's been less than helpful about the whole thing."
"I can see where the timing might be less than ideal," Honor said carefully. "But she does have a point, Benjamin. Abigail did very well at Saganami, and I think Rachel would do even better. And it's not as if she were your heir. There's Bernard Raoul and Michael still between her and the succession, even if the Keys were prepared to accept a female Protector. Which you and I know very well they're not."
"I know. I know! And Cat and Elaine are busy telling me exactly the same thing, although at least they don't do it in front of Rachel, thank God! For that matter, I have to admit, speaking as the Protector of Grayson and not a nervous father, that under other circumstances it might be a wonderful idea. But at this particular moment, with relations as strained as they are and as much resistance as there is in the Keys to any closer accommodation with the Star Kingdom, sending the Protector's oldest daughter off to enroll in the RMN's naval academy could be a recipe for disaster."
"I can understand that. But even if you sent her off at the earliest age the Academy would adm
it her, she'd have to be at least seventeen T-years old, and that gives you a year to work with. A lot of things could change in that much time."
"But a lot of things might not change," Benjamin shot back. "And if they don't, if it's still politically unfeasible to send her to the Academy, I don't want to be in the position of having told her she could go and then breaking my word to her. I've never done that before, and I don't want to start now, even if it's because a reason of state gives me no choice."
"That's because of the good father in you," she told him gently, and smiled. "Tell you what. I'll have a talk with her tonight after supper, if you'd like. I know Rachel well enough to know she's been keeping an eye on what's happening politically in the Star Kingdom, whether she'll admit it to you and her mothers or not. She has to realize political factors are driving your decisions right now in a lot of ways . . . some of which are going to impact on her personally. Still, she may take it better from me than from you if I point out how unpleasant it is being used as a soccer ball by a bunch of cretins like High Ridge, Solomon Hayes, and Regina Clausel and then explain as gently as possible why it simply may not be possible to send her to Saganami next year. After all, you're her father, and there have to be some authority issues tied up in that for any teenager. I, on the other hand, am simply Aunt Honor, and if any glamour attaches to 'Admiral Harrington,' maybe I can put it to good use with her."
Chapter Nineteen
"Take a look at this, Jordin."
Jordin Kare looked up from his own terminal and pivoted his work station chair in Dr. Richard Wix's direction. Wix was a strawberry blond, with a somewhat shaggy beard, a mustache several shades lighter than his hair, and quite a reputation as a hard-partying sort. Indeed, he rejoiced in the nickname "Tons of Joy Bear," although Kare wasn't quite sure where the "bear" part of it came in. On the other hand, when he wasn't establishing himself as the very soul of conviviality, Dr. Wix was also an extremely competent astrophysicist. Perhaps even more important, he possessed that unique intuitive sense which spotted data correlations almost more by feel than by analysis.
