by David Weber
"You're suggesting they lied about it?" Theisman said, giving Sanderson exactly the same sort of look Pritchart was working so hard at not giving him.
"I'm suggesting that they certainly may have," Sanderson replied. "I don't know that they did. I also don't know that they didn't, and if they're thinking in the direction Arnold seems to be suggesting, then obviously the temptation to cast their own actions in the most favorable possible light would have to be strong. And a 'request' from Lynx would be a marvelous pretext."
"But why should they feel any need for pretexts?" LePic demanded.
"I can think of at least one reason," Giancola said reasonably. The Attorney General looked at him, and the Secretary of State shrugged. "Whatever we may think about what they're doing, I can guarantee you the Solarian League isn't going to be particularly pleased about this. And the Solarians are huge believers in 'self-determination.' "
"Sure they are!" Theisman snorted bitterly. "Until they're the ones doing the expanding, that is."
"I can't argue with you there," Giancola said. "In fact, I don't think anyone could. But what matters is that their public support for the concept would make it more difficult for them to object to the Manties' actions if the Star Kingdom can convince Solly public opinion Lynx really did ask to be annexed."
"That's all a bit too Machiavellian for me," LePic said.
"Maybe it is," Giancola said easily. "But any way you want to look at it, High Ridge and Descroix are pretty Machiavellian, you know. Or do you think they've been dragging out the negotiations on the occupied systems solely out of the goodness of their hearts, Denis?"
"Of course not," LePic growled.
"If they're willing to use those negotiations for domestic advantage, I see absolutely no reason to believe they'd be unwilling to think the way I've just described about expanding into the Talbott Cluster," Giancola pointed out.
"That would be bad enough," he said, "but I'd have to say that I wouldn't be enormously concerned if they were solely interested in Talbott. After all, that would be taking them directly away from our own territory and our own sphere of interest. Unfortunately, the way it looks to me is that their attitude towards Talbott is simply symptomatic of their attitude towards expansion in general. And if that's actually the case, then we're entirely too close to them for my peace of mind. Especially while they're still occupying Republican territory."
* * *
"Damn, but he's a smooth bastard," Theisman sighed. He and LePic sat in Pritchart's office several hours later. Beyond the huge windows, the glittering lights of night-struck Nouveau Paris blazed like multi-hued jewels, but none of them were particularly in the mood to appreciate their beauty.
"Yes, he is that," Pritchart agreed. She leaned back in her outsized chair and closed her eyes wearily. "And he's getting better at it," she told the ceiling beyond her lids.
"I know," LePic said. His tone was harsh, and he shrugged his shoulders irritably when Theisman looked a question at him. "He gives me the creeps," the Attorney General said. "I know he's smart, and a lot of what he says makes sense. Too damned much sense, I sometimes think, especially when I'm feeling particularly pissed off at the Manties. But there's too much going on under the surface. He reminds me of Saint-Just."
"That may be going a little further than I'm prepared to," Theisman said after a moment. "I don't doubt that he's a lot less scrupulous than the image he likes to project, Denis. But compared to Saint-Just?" He shook his head. "I don't think he's even in the same league for sheer sociopathy."
"Not for lack of ambition, though!" LePic snorted.
"Unscrupulous, yes," Pritchart put in, opening her eyes and letting her chair come back outright. "But I think Tom has a point, Denis. Arnold is undoubtedly willing to do a great many things to further his ambitions, but I don't see him being willing to do something like detonating a nuclear device in the middle of Nouveau Paris."
"I only hope you're both right and I'm wrong," LePic told her. His phrasing didn't make her particularly happy, given who Walter Trajan and Kevin Usher both reported to, but she became even less happy when he continued. "In the meantime, though, did you two notice Sanderson?"
"Yes, I did," Theisman said, and grimaced. "I think we're in the process of suffering another defection."
"And unless I'm very much mistaken, he's gaining more ground in Congress, too," Pritchart observed. It was her turn to grimace. "So far, pushing High Ridge and Descroix in the treaty negotiations is still working more in our favor than against us where congressional support is concerned, but dear Arnold is proving more resilient than I'd like. The way he sees it, I stole his thunder by taking 'a firm hand' in the peace talks. So he's busy trying to return the compliment by viewing with even more alarm where the Manties are concerned. And do you know what the real hell of it is?"
She looked at both of her allies, who only shook their heads.
"The real hell of it," she told them softly, "is that he's so damned convincing that I'm not sure I don't agree with him sometimes."
* * *
"Thank you for the dinner invitation, Mr. Secretary. As always, the meal was delicious."
"And also as always, Mr. Ambassador, the company was excellent," Arnold Giancola said graciously.
Yinsheng Reinshagen, Graf von Kaiserfest, Andermani Ambassador to the Republic of Haven, smiled at his host. This wasn't the first private dinner he'd enjoyed with the Havenite Secretary of State, and he didn't expect it to be the last. Officially, it was a working dinner between two diplomats to discuss closer trade relations between the reborn Republic and the Empire. Kaiserfest rather admired that justification. Giancola's prior treasury experience made it even more believable . . . and also explained why he should feel no need to include representatives of the Commerce or Treasury Departments. It was an admirable cover to keep any potentially irritating witnesses away, and to make certain that it was maintained, Kaiserfest had actually agreed to quite a few trade concessions.
Giancola knew precisely what the Andermani was thinking, because he'd taken some pains to insure that Kaiserfest would think just that. But what the Ambassador didn't know was that the cover story they'd agreed upon was also the reason Eloise Pritchart thought Giancola was meeting with him.
"Well," Kaiserfest said now. "Excellent as dinner was, I'm afraid I'm due at the opera in two hours."
"Of course." Giancola picked up his brandy snifter and took an appreciative sip, then lowered the glass and smiled. "Basically, Mr. Ambassador, I only wanted to take the opportunity to reiterate my government's position that we share a certain commonality of interest with the Empire. Obviously, while our negotiations with the Manticorans are still in progress, we're not in a position to lend public support to your government's efforts to resolve your own . . . difficulties with them in Silesia. For that matter, until we've settled our own business with them, our official support for your interests would probably actually be counterproductive.
"Nonetheless, and without wishing to appear overly dramatic, my government is well aware that, in the words of the old cliche, our enemy's enemy is our friend. Both the Republic and the Empire would find it advantageous to . . . decrease the Manticorans' ability to meddle in our internal affairs and legitimate security interests. With that in mind, it seems to us that it would only be reasonable for us to coordinate our efforts in that direction. Discreetly, of course."
"Oh, of course," Kaiserfest agreed. He sipped his own brandy, letting the rich, fiery liquor roll around his mouth, then nodded. "I understand completely," he said then. "And I agree."
"You also understand, I trust," Giancola said seriously, "that although we intend to lend the Empire all the support we can, it will be necessary for our public stance to be somewhat different. Much as I've come to value our friendship, Mr. Ambassador, it would be naive for either of us to pretend that anything other than real politik is involved here."
"Of course not," Kaiserfest agreed once more.
"Unfortunately, my
own star nation is still in the grip of a certain revolutionary fervor," Giancola observed. "That sort of enthusiasm is an uncomfortable fit for the pragmatic requirements of effective interstellar diplomacy. Which, of course, is the reason President Pritchart and I may find ourselves forced to make certain public statements which could be construed as criticisms of the Empire's Silesian policy. I trust that you and the Emperor will both understand why we find it necessary to cover our true policy with a certain degree of disinformation."
"Such a situation isn't completely unknown to us," Kaiserfest said with a thin smile. "And as you yourself have observed, our . . . pragmatic interests make us logical allies—for the moment, at least—whatever public rhetoric may be forced upon you."
"You're most understanding, Mr. Ambassador."
"Merely practical," Kaiserfest assured him. "I will, of course, inform His Majesty of our conversations."
"Of course," Arnold Giancola told him with a smile. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
Chapter Thirty Seven
"So, have you had any other thoughts about what they're likely to find?" Alistair McKeon asked.
He and Honor stood in the lift car, accompanied by Alfredo Yu, Warner Caslet, Captain Sampson Grant, Nimitz, Mercedes Brigham, Roslee Orndorff, Banshee, and—inevitably—Andrew LaFollet, while the light dot of the car sped across the schematic of HMS Werewolf. They were on their way to a meeting which Alice Truman really ought to have been attending, as well. At the moment, however, Alice was busy coordinating the redeployment of the system reconnaissance platforms . . . in no small part as a direct result of the events which had prompted the meeting.
"The reconnaissance platforms?" Honor asked.
"What?" McKeon blinked for a moment, then chuckled. "Sorry. I can see why you thought that was what I was asking about, under the circumstances. But I was actually referring to what we were talking about last night." She looked at him, and he shrugged. "Call it a way of distracting myself."
"A fairly futile one," she observed.
"The best distractions are," McKeon replied cheerfully. "If you can answer the question once and for all, it stops being a distraction, doesn't it?"
"Did I ever tell you that you're a peculiar person, Alistair?"
Orndorff, Grant, and Brigham grinned at each other behind their superiors' backs. Yu and Caslet, on the other hand, were sufficiently senior to chuckle openly, and Nimitz bleeked a laugh of his own.
"Actually, I don't believe you ever did," McKeon replied. "But all gratuitous insults aside, my question stands. What do you think they're likely to find?"
"I don't have the least idea," she said frankly. "On the other hand, whatever it is, they've undoubtedly found it by now. It's just going to take a while for the news to reach us."
"We are sort of on the backside of nowhere," McKeon agreed more sourly.
Which, Honor reflected, was certainly the truth in a lot of ways. McKeon's question had brought that back into clear relief, whether that was what he'd intended to do or not. They'd received word only two days ago that HMS Harvest Joy had been ordered to depart the Manticore System via the newly discovered Junction terminus, but that message had required over three standard weeks to reach them. It would take just as long for any report of what the survey ship discovered at the terminus' far end to make the same trip . . . which was also true of any other message it might occur to the Admiralty or High Ridge Government to send them.
Not that either of those august entities had so far evinced any interest in communicating with something as obviously unimportant as Sidemore Station.
"I don't have any idea what Zachary and Dr. Kare are likely to find," she told McKeon, "but I hope whatever it is doesn't distract the Government even more from our situation out here."
"Um." McKeon frowned. "I understand what you're saying, but I think it's a bit of six of one, half a dozen of another. We're not getting any support or guidance, but they're not screwing the situation up still worse, either."
Yu started to say something, then visibly changed his mind. Other people felt less constrained by tact, however.
"Admiral McKeon may have a point, Your Grace," Brigham offered diffidently from behind them. Honor looked over her shoulder at the chief of staff, and the commodore shrugged. "It's not fair for them to dump the responsibility for making policy, as well as executing it, on you," she continued. "But given the kind of policy they seem to delight in making, the Star Kingdom may be better off if something does distract them for the duration."
"I take your point—yours and Alistair's both," Honor said after a moment. "But I think this is probably something we shouldn't be discussing even 'in the family.' " She knew Yu and Caslet well enough to feel no discomfort at saying such a thing in front of them, and Grant, Yu's chief of staff, was an old-school Grayson; it was impossible to conceive of him ever telling tales out of school. Besides, the three of them were family themselves, by adoption, at least, and she gave the them a smile as she went on. "There's no point pretending we're not all concerned over the lack of new instructions, and I don't see any way to avoid speculating on why we're not receiving any. But I'd very much prefer for us to minimize discussion of how stupid we think our existing orders are. I don't expect either of you to tell yourselves to stop thinking about it, but, frankly, we've got more than enough distrust and resentment floating around the staff without our adding fuel to the fire."
She held Brigham's eye for a moment, then swept her gaze over Orndorff and McKeon, as well, waiting until each of them had nodded.
McKeon started to say something more, but then the lift car arrived at its destination. The door hissed open, and he shrugged, with a crooked grin for the distraction, and stood back to follow Honor out into the passageway.
* * *
Andrea Jaruwalski and George Reynolds were waiting in the briefing room when Andrew LaFollet poked his head through the hatch to give the compartment his customary once over. A tallish, fair-haired senior-grade RMN captain and an unusually youthful Sidemorian lieutenant commander were waiting with the staffers, and LaFollet let his eyes linger on them for just a moment, as if committing their faces to memory. Then he withdrew into the passage once more, and permitted Honor to lead the rest of her small party through the hatch.
Her juniors came to their feet respectfully, and she waved them back into their chairs as she headed for her own place at the head of the table. McKeon seated himself to her right, with Orndorff to his own right, while Yu and Caslet sat to her left. Brigham found her own chair between Jaruwalski and Reynolds, and Honor waited a moment longer while the two treecats settled down on the tops of their people's chair backs, then turned her attention to Jaruwalski.
"Are you and George ready for us?" she asked.
"Yes, Your Grace," the operations officer replied.
"Then we might as well get started."
"Yes, Your Grace," Jaruwalski repeated, and nodded to Reynolds. "Go ahead, George."
"Certainly, Ma'am," the staff "spook" said, more formal than usual in the presence of outsiders. Then he cleared his throat.
"First, allow me to present Captain Ackenheil."
"Of the LaFroye, I believe?" Honor said, raising one eyebrow at the captain.
"Yes, Your Grace," Ackenheil replied.
"That was a nice piece of work with Wayfarer," she complimented him. "Very nice. I could have wished we hadn't taken a slaver who was a namesake for one of my old ships," she grimaced, "but liberating almost two hundred slaves is more than enough to make up even for that. My report on the incident strongly commends you and your people for the job you did."
"Thank you, Your Grace. We couldn't have done it without the intelligence Commander Reynolds provided, though."
The captain was obviously extremely curious about just how that intelligence had been developed, but he showed no disappointment when Honor failed to enlighten him. He hadn't really expected her to . . . and she had absolutely no intention of telling him that she strong
ly suspected the information supporting Operation Wilberforce had come from a proscribed band of terrorists via a security firm on permanent retainer to a recently elected Member of Parliament.
"A successful operation is always the result of a lot of people pulling in the same direction at the same time, Captain," she told him instead, "and you and LaFroye were the ones at the sharp end of the stick. " Not to mention being the ones whose careers would have gone down the toilet if our information had been wrong. "In addition, your capture of the Wayfarer has given our intelligence on slaving operations in the Confederacy what may turn out to be an even bigger boost than any of us had expected. Under the circumstances, you and your people deserve the credit for a job very well done."
"Thank you, Your Grace," Ackenheil repeated, and then gestured to the young woman at his side. "Please allow me to introduce Lieutenant Commander Zahn, my tac officer."
"Commander," Honor nodded to the Sidemorian officer. "And if I remember correctly, your husband is a civilian analyst attached to the Sidemore Navy."
"Yes. Yes, he is, Your Grace." Zahn seemed astonished that the station commander had made the link, and Honor hid a small smile at her reaction.
"Well, Captain," she said, returning her attention to Ackenheil, "I understand Commander Reynolds dragged the two of you aboard the flagship to tell us what the Andies have been up to."
"Actually, Your Grace," Reynolds told her, "it was Captain Ackenheil who came to us." Honor glanced at him, and the intelligence officer shrugged. "As soon as I heard what he had to say, though, I knew you'd want to hear it firsthand, without waiting for his report to wend its way through the normal channels."
"If your brief summary of it was as accurate as usual, then you were certainly right," she told him, and looked back at Ackenheil. "Captain?" she invited.
"If you don't mind, Your Grace, I'll let Commander Zahn describe what happened. She was on Tactical at the time."
