Uncompromising Honor - eARC

by David Weber

  “What?!” Lochen’s head whipped around and she stared at Robin. “Patricia Givens got in and out of Shuttlesport without our catching even a sniff of it?! Holy Saint Francis, Chris! If I had balls, the home office would cut them off when it finds out we missed that!”

  “Got right by me, too, Boss.” Robin shook his head helplessly. “I mean, she is a spook, and a good one. I guess it’s not too surprising that—”

  “And you expect the home office to accept that line of reasoning?” Her expression was skeptical, to say the least.

  “Well, no…”

  “As I say,” Barregos continued, saving Robin from any further response, “I was rather surprised to see Admiral Givens in my office. Not, however, as surprised as I was by what she’d come to tell me and why the Grand Alliance had believed her message was sufficiently important to be carried by someone I would have to take seriously.”

  Both reporters’ eyes snapped back to the governor’s face, and he shook his head slowly.

  “Admiral Givens message was simple. The Star Empire of Manticore had become aware of what could only be described as a ‘false flag’ operation directed against it by the same entity they believed was responsible for the ‘Yawata Strike’ on the Manticore Binary System. In effect, someone else claiming to be Manticore was promising naval support—which he, she, or they had no intention of providing—to local resistance or opposition groups in order to foment violent rebellions against Solarian authority or interests in as many star systems as possible. The aim, she said, was to brand the Star Empire with responsibility for provoking bloodshed—bloodshed that would produce millions of deaths—as a cynical maneuver whose avowed purpose was to divert Solarian naval power from the direct confrontation with the Alliance. I’m sure all of you can imagine how the Federal Government would respond to that, but this, clearly, was also aimed directly at the Core World person-in-the-street, who would—quite reasonably—see it as a vile and treasonous ploy, only to be expected out of a star nation he’s been told has raw, imperialistic designs on every star system within its reach. And, in addition to the fury the operation’s instigators were certain it would provoke in the League, they intended to destroy Manticore’s diplomatic reputation with everyone outside the League, as well. After all, what star system or star nation could ever trust the word of someone who’d deliberately provoked violence and open warfare in so many systems and then stood by and done nothing as the people they’d promised to assist were crushed by the local authorities, with or without League assistance?”

  Robin’s mouth had dropped open. Now it closed with a snap, and his eyes flared as he realized just how disastrous the consequences of the strategy Barregos was describing would have been for Manticore and its allies.

  “Given the fact that Admiral Givens hadn’t simply come to me in person but had brought with her conclusive proof of her own identity and a direct message from Queen Elizabeth which, unlike the one ‘Ellingsen’ had claimed came from Foreign Secretary Langtry, was in the Star Empire’s official diplomatic encryption, I had no choice but to believe she was a genuine messenger for Manticore…and that ‘Ellingsen’ was not. That whoever was behind ‘Ellingsen’—and Admiral Givens made it clear that the ‘Grand Alliance’ believes that that ‘whoever’ is this ‘Mesan Alignment’ they’ve been warning us about for some months now—they were prepared to see our entire sector rise in violent rejection of the Solarian League and be destroyed when the Solarian Navy responded in force, we called for the help we’d been promised…and absolutely no one came. That was what Ellingsen’s masters, whoever they are, wanted to see happen here in Maya.”

  He paused to drink more water, and this time Robin couldn’t look away to see how Lochen was reacting. The quiet sound of the glass, when the governor set it back down, seemed deafening.

  “Then, just over two weeks ago,” he resumed, “Mister Ellingsen and a companion returned to Shuttlesport for the purpose, as they thought, of confirming our readiness to act as they’d suggested and to finish coordinating the promised ‘naval support.’ They were, needless to say,” this time his smile was a scalpel, “somewhat surprised when I ordered them taken into custody, instead. However,” the smile disappeared, “we were surprised when the two of them promptly died right there in my office. According to our forensics experts, both of them died of completely natural causes…within less than a half minute of one another. And the minor shipping disaster which many of you may recall occurred at about that same time was the transport which had brought them to Smoking Frog blowing itself up in orbit. Twelve of Admiral Roszak’s Marines had just completed a lengthy ballistic free flight to board that vessel in an effort to take its crew into custody. All of them—” his eyes were bleak “—died in that explosion. Their next of kin have been or are in the process of being informed of the sacrifice those men and women made for all of us.”

  He inhaled deeply and squared his shoulders.

  “I’ve given you this lengthy explanation in order to set the context for what I am about to announce. This is not a decision I’ve taken lightly, nor, to be totally honest, one which I began considering only in the last few months. It represents a response to a storm I’ve seen gathering for many T-years. I would never have predicted the form in which it’s finally arrived, but I’ve believed—for a long time—that a storm like it was inevitable. And because it was inevitable, it was my responsibility to prepare against it, which I have done, with the able assistance of Admiral Luis Roszak and a handful of other courageous people. I do not put the measures we’ve prepared into action lightly, but I believe I have no option other than to do so.

  “Understand me, Ladies and Gentlemen of the press, all of you watching this at home. I do not know—I think no one knows—whether or not the ‘Grand Alliance’ is correct about the existence of this ‘Mesan Alignment.’ On the face of it, it seems preposterous, ridiculous—impossible! But despite that, someone whose purposes are clearly inimical not just to the Star Empire of Manticore, or to the Republic of Haven, but to everyone, has attempted to draw us into an act of sector-wide suicide. Whether we call that someone the ‘Mesan Alignment’ or simply ‘Parties Unknown’ does not matter. What matters is that the forces trying to rip apart the entire explored galaxy have just proved even more dangerous than any of us had dreamed. And the fact that the people responsible for this have demonstrated such reach, such audacity, seems to me to clearly confirm that whatever we may think of the Manticorans’ identification of their foe, they’ve been absolutely accurate from the beginning about the existence of that foe and the way in which the Solarian League has permitted itself to be manipulated by it. What I’m telling you tonight, Ladies and Gentlemen, fellow citizens, is that Manticore has been telling the truth and that some dark, malign force has set itself the task of destroying not simply the Star Empire and its Allies but anything else—incuding the entire Solarian League—which could possibly stand in the way of its own plans, whatever those plans may ultimately be.

  “And that our Federal Government is doing precisely…what…it…wants…us…to…do.”

  The last half-dozen words were spaced out and heavy. He let them fall into a fresh pool of silence, and Robin swallowed hard.

  “They are so never going to believe this in Old Chicago,” Lochen murmured as the governor paused once again. “Never!”

  “Maybe not,” Robin conceded. Then he turned to look at her, his eyes level. “But do you believe it?”

  She looked back at him for five or six breaths, then her shoulders slumped.

  “Yes,” she half-whispered. “God help me, I do.”

  “Then that’s two of us,” he said almost compassionately. “I—”

  “When I realized that,” Barregos resumed, snapping their eyes back to the display, “when I realized the government in Old Chicago was proceeding step-by-step towards the cataclysm our common enemy has designed for all of us, I knew what I had to do. Not without fear and trembling. Not without deep regret. N
ot without realizing how those who disagree with me will construe my actions, my decisions. But while the opinions of others matter, they do not—they cannot—dictate my actions. The only forces that can do that—the three judges to whom I appeal—are history, my own conscience, and the will of the citizens of the Maya Sector.

  “And that is why I stand here tonight to announce that I am withdrawing the Maya Sector from its relationship with the Solarian League, effective immediately. All organs of the federal authority in the Sector now pass under local control. I appeal for calm, cooperation, the preservation of records, and the orderly continuation of our judicial, legislative, and regulatory procedures. As of tonight, however, the Maya Sector will become the Mayan Autonomous Regional Sector, an independent association of sovereign star systems.”

  Robin shook his head in disbelief. In the entire history of the Solarian League, no sector governor had ever declared himself in open rebellion against the federal authority in Old Chicago. The repercussions of Oravil Barregos’s decision would rival—might well exceed—those of Beowulf and Hypatia’s decision to vote on secession, because Barregos was venturing into totally uncharted waters. Beowulf and Hypatia had at least the letter of the Constitution on their side, whatever the League judiciary might ultimately decide.

  All Barregos had was moral authority.

  “My friends,” the governor said, as though he’d heard Robin’s thoughts, “no OFS-governed sector has ever before withdrawn from its relationship with the League, and so there is no legal precedent, either way, for my decision. I have no idea how the Federal Government will respond to it, although—” he actually smiled ever so slightly and shook his head “—I would be astonished if it’s reaction is good. That, however, concerns me far less than your reaction. I’ve recorded and transmitted a message to every star system in the sector, summoning representatives of their system governments to Shuttlesport. I realize we already have delegates from those systems here in Smoking Frog, but I feel this steps far beyond any decision those men and women could have imagined they would be asked to make when they were sent here to help regulate trade and arbitrate civil suits. As such, I think it fit and proper that delegations specifically empowered to grapple with it should be sent here to do precisely that.

  “When those delegations convene in Shuttlesport, I will lay all of my evidence, all of the reasons for my decision, before them. I will ask them to confirm my actions…or to reject them. Should they choose to renounce my decision, full responsibility for my actions will fall upon me, not the men and women of the Maya Sector. If, however, as I hope they will, they ratify my decision, then you and I, your wives and husbands and children—all of us—will have embarked upon a journey countless other men and women have made throoughout human history. We will have taken our destiny into our own hands and told anyone—Solarian, Manticoran, unknown enemies, anyone—that we will chart our own path, make our own decisions, and that we will never be anyone’s tool again. I know it’s a frightening thought. I know many of you will find it difficult to agree with me. But I have no choice. I have responsibilities, obligations, duties which require me to choose a path, and so, I’ve chosen. In the ancient words of one of the leaders of one of Old Terra’s great reform movements, ‘Here I stand. I can do no other.’”

  He paused, looking into the camera for endless silent moments, then drew a deep breath and nodded.

  “Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said, and his image disappeared.

  Admiralty House

  and

  Harrington House

  City of Landing

  Manticore Binary System

  “Sorry I’m running late,” Honor said as Spencer Hawke followed her through the door and peeled off to park himself beside it. “Last-minute details.”

  Commodore Mercedes Brigham followed Hawke, her personal tablet tucked under one arm, and Lieutenant Commander Tümmel brought up the rear.

  “I can’t imagine how anything like that could happen to someone with as much free time as the CO of Grand Fleet,” Thomas Theisman said, pointing at the open chairs opposite him.

  “There is a special place in the infernal regions for someone who makes mock of a subordinate’s difficulties.” Honor frowned repressively as she took one of the indicated seats and Nimitz draped himself comfortably across its back. Brigham took the chair beside hers, while Tümmel found a seat among the rows of aides, staffers, and other flag lieutenants parked well back from the table in the outsized conference room.

  “‘Subordinate’?” Theisman widened his eyes at her.

  “I,” she pointed out, “am not the Chief of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Unlike someone else I could mention—in fact, unlike three someone elses I could mention—I am but a humble fleet commander.”

  Theisman snorted, although—technically, at least—she was right.

  It had taken a while to get the Joint Chiefs formally organized and stood up. It was fortunate their improvised, interim arrangements had worked as well as they had, but nothing the size of the Grand Alliance could operate that way indefinitely. There were too many entirely legitimate differences of opinion and emphasis, and not simply in terms of strategy or tactics. Some body—some organization—had to be formally in charge of ironing out those differences, and thus the Joint Chiefs had been born.

  He wondered if Judah Yanakov was as pissed off as one Thomas Theisman by the form it had finally taken.

  Behave yourself, Tom, he scolded mentally. Somebody has to do it, and you knew damned well it was going to be you from the Republic’s side. If you didn’t want the job, then you should’ve stayed an honest spacer and never dipped your toe into the cesspool of politics. And at least you know you’ve got a competent replacement. Not to mention the fact that Pascaline’s a lot less likely to shoot you now that she’s been let out of jail!

  He chuckled to himself at the thought, but he wasn’t sure it was entirely facetious. Admiral Pascaline L’anglais had commanded the Republic’s Capital Fleet because she was, in his opinion, one of the best flag officers—quite possibly the best flag officer, after Lester Tourville—the Republic had. If anybody was suited to command Task Force 2, Grand Fleet’s Havenite component, it was L’anglais, especially since Tourville had been sent off to reinforce Michelle Henke’s Tenth Fleet. In fact, she’d been supposed to command it from the beginning while he returned home to run the Department of War. Regrettably, from her perspective, his presence as Grand Fleet’s second in command had been required for the confrontation with Filareta, which had delayed her own arrival.

  She’d reached Manticore belatedly just over a month ago, and she and Honor had created a crisp, professional relationship based on their respect for one another’s competence. It was, unfortunately, true that L’anglais wasn’t entirely comfortable with the Republic’s alliance with Manticore. She understood its necessity, and she wasn’t a Manty-hater, but she found it difficult to put a lifetime’s hostility between the two star nations completely behind her. On the other hand, Theisman had no qualms about her loyalty or her ability to take orders despite any private reservations she might cherish. She’d been the first Peoples Navy task force commander outside the Haven System to declare her support for the old Republic after he’d shot Oscar Saint-Just. As for the rest of her qualifications…

  Honor’s probably right that, bright as treecats are, they aren’t necessarily the best judge of human tactical ability, but they pegged Pascaline perfectly when they decided to call her “Warrior.” She’ll hold up her end when the time comes.

  And her arrival had freed him for other duties…damn it.

  The Joint Chiefs of Staff consisted of himself, Sir Thomas Caparelli, and High Admiral Yanakov, who had (not without obvious grumnpiness) transferred command of Task Force 3, the Grayson component of Grand Fleet, to Alfredo Yu. Each of them had an Assistant Chief of Staff, in his case that was Rear Admiral Alenka Borderwijk, who’d received a long overdue promotion to qualify her for the slot. The posit
ion of Chief of the Joint Chiefs rotated among Manticore, Haven, and Grayson on a monthly basis, which was rather more frequently than he’d originally hoped for. He’d been afraid that frequent a turnover would lead to all sorts of slippage and minor but irritating sources of friction, and so it might have, if not for Admiral Allen Higgins. He held the non-rotating post of Vice Chief of Staff, and it was his responsibility to maintain cohesion and continuity.

  Theisman had been impressed by his competence, but he also understood why Caparelli, White Haven, and Honor had unanimously nominated him for that position rather than for fleet command. Part of it was his undoubted and indisputable ability. He was one of the most brilliant and well organized flag officers Theisman had ever met, and those two qualities didn’t always travel together. But he’d also been the Manticoran commander when Operation Thunderbolt rolled over Grendelsbane Station.

  It was Higgins who’d been forced to destroy twenty or thirty years of Manticoran investment and building capacity—not to mention the ships under construction in it—when the Royal Manticoran Navy learned the hard way that the Republic of Haven had acquired multidrive missiles of its own. The board of inquiry had endorsed his actions in the strongest possible terms, but that hadn’t prevented Higgins from feeling he should have done a better job. That he should somehow have anticipated Havenite MDMs and found a way to prevent the destruction of his own SD(P)s and the sprawling base when not another soul in the Manticoran Navy or its intelligence establishment had even suspected what Shannon Foraker had been up to at Bolthole.

  Then there’d been the Yawata Strike. The most devastating attack in the history of space warfare.

  And Allen Higgins had commanded Home Fleet.

  There hadn’t been one damned thing he could have done about that attack, but it had been like watching Grendelsbane over again, only on an infinitely worse scale, and it had…broken something inside him. Theisman was no treecat, but he didn’t need to be one to understand why the ’cats had christened him Shadow Heart, and he suspected Higgins’s treecat partner, Sorrow Hunter, was what the ’cats called a mind-healer. He hoped so, anyway. Higgins was a good man…and the only person in the entire galaxy who blamed himself for what had happened.