A Rising Thunder-ARC (22 page)

“You know,” she said, a bit pointedly, “bashing people for past or present political affiliations isn’t the reason we’re here tonight, Madeline. Or I was under the impression it wasn’t, at any rate. Minerva?”

She turned to Minerva Prince, who with Patrick DuCain, co-hosted the awesomely popular and long-running
Into the Fire
. The syndicated show was only one of the flood of programs trying to cope with the bombshell revelation of Eloise Pritchart’s presence in the Manticore Binary System, but it had the highest viewership of them all.

“You’re right, of course, Rosalinda,” Prince replied. “On the other hand, you know Patrick and I usually let our guests have at least some voice in where the discussion goes.”

* * *

“That’s true enough,” Emily agreed, smiling more broadly at Honor. “All that blood in the water’s just what their ratings need!”

“I remember,” Honor said feelingly, recalling her own
Into the Fire
appearance, when she’d been beached by the Janacek Admiralty. “And they’re not above steering their guests’ ‘voices’ when the water isn’t sufficiently chummed, either.”

* * *

“At the risk of undermining my own reputation as a troublemaker,” Abraham Spencer said from the HD, “I suggest we all hang up our partisan political axes for the moment and concentrate on our official topic.” The photogenic (and incredibly wealthy) financier smiled charmingly. “I know no one’s really going to believe I’m not hiding in the underbrush to bash someone over the head myself when the moment’s ripe, but in the meantime, there
is
this little matter of the Empress’s proposed treaty with Haven. And that other minor revelation about the ‘Mesan Alignment.’”

“You mean that
so-called
revelation, don’t you?” Mallory snorted. “It’s not as if anyone’s offering the kind of evidence we could take to court!”

“Whether the allegations are accurate or not, there’s not much question about their explosiveness, Kiefer,” DuCain pointed out.

“Assuming anyone in the entire galaxy—outside the Star Empire, at least—is going to believe in this vast interstellar conspiracy for a moment,” Davidson riposted. She gave Alverson a scathing look. “Especially given the open ties between certain members of Parliament and the Audubon Ballroom.”

It was Alverson’s eyes’ turn to narrow dangerously at the obvious shot at Catherine Montaigne, but Richter intervened before he could fire back.

“You might be surprised how many people will believe it, Rosalinda,” she said coldly, reaching up to stroke her dark blue hair. That hair hadn’t been dyed or artificially colored; it was the legacy of a grandparent who’d been designed to the special order of a wealthy Solarian with idiosyncratic tastes in “body servants.”

“I won’t say the devil is beyond blackening,” she continued, “but I will say that anyone who looks at Mesa with an open mind has to admit the entire star system, not just Manpower, has never given a single, solitary damn what the rest of ‘the entire explored galaxy’ thinks of it.”

“You know my own feelings where the Ballroom is concerned, Rosalinda,” Spencer put in, his expression turning hard. “No matter how much I sympathize with genetic slaves and detest the entire loathsome institution, I’ve never sanctioned the sort of outright terrorism to which the Ballroom’s resorted far too often. I’ve never made any secret of my feelings on that subject. Indeed, you may recall that little spat Klaus Hauptman and I had on the subject following the liberation of Torch.”

One or two of the guests snorted out loud at that. The “little spat” had taken place right here on
Into the Fire
, and the clash of two such powerful (and wealthy) titans had assumed epic proportions.

“But having said that,” he continued, “and even conceding that this information appears to have reached us at least partially through the Ballroom’s auspices,
I
believe it. A lot of odd mysteries and unexplained ‘coincidences’ suddenly make a lot more sense. And as Madeline says, if any star system in the galaxy is corrupt enough to have given birth to something like this, it’s sure as hell Mesa!”

“And on that basis we’re supposed to believe there’s some kind of centuries-long conspiracy aimed at us and the
Republic of Haven
out there?” Davidson rolled her eyes. “
Please
, Abraham! I’m entirely prepared to admit the Mesans are terrible people and genetic slavery is a horrible perversion, but they’re basically nothing more than examples of the evils of unbridled capitalism. And, no, I’m not saying capitalism
automatically
produces evil ends. I’m simply saying that where Manpower is concerned—and looking at all the other transstellars headquartered in Mesa with it—we’re talking about something that makes the worst robber barons of Old Terra’s history seem like pikers. People like that don’t try to destabilize something like the Solarian League when they’re doing so well swimming around in the corruption of its sewers!”

“Then why do
you
think President Pritchart made this unprecedented, dramatic voyage to Manticore?” Prince asked, and Davidson turned back to the hostess with a shrug.

“There could be any number of reasons. It’s even possible—however unlikely
I
think it is—that she genuinely believes Mesa is after both of us. On the other hand, I think it’s also possible she and her intelligence types, possibly with the cooperation of the Audubon Ballroom and its…allies”—she pointedly avoided looking in Alverson’s direction—“concocted the entire story. Or least
embroidered
it, shall we say?”

“For what possible reason?” Spencer demanded. Davidson looked at him, and it was his turn to shrug. “As Kiefer himself pointed out a moment ago, the Republic’s standing with us against the
Solarian League
. Could you possibly suggest any logical motive for people we’ve been fighting for twenty years to suddenly decide, completely out of the blue, to get between us and something the size of the Sollies at a moment when we’re more vulnerable than we’ve been in over a decade? Forgive me if I seem obtuse, Rosalinda, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out why any Machiavellian worth his—or in this case,
her
—‘I-am-devious’ Evil Overlord’s badge would do something that stupid!”

* * *

“I believe Abraham, to use Hamish’s delightful phrase, is about ready to rip someone a new anal orifice,” Emily observed.

“Odd,” Honor said, “I don’t seem to recall his using those two words.”

“That’s because he doesn’t,” Emily replied with a smile, then elevated her nose with a sniff. “
I
, on the other hand, am far more genteel than he is.”

“That’s one way to describe it.”

“Hush!” Emily smacked Honor on the head with her working hand. “I want to see if Rosalinda has a stroke on system-wide HD.”

“You
wish
,” Honor muttered.

* * *

“I just acknowledged that Pritchart might genuinely believe all this,” Davidson told Spencer tightly. “I think there are other possibilities, as well—convincing us we’re both on someone else’s ‘hit list’ in order to extort such favorable peace terms out of us comes to mind, for example—but of course she could really believe it. Which doesn’t mean someone else hasn’t sold her a fabricated bill of goods and used her to sell it to
us
. You just mentioned the Ballroom. Surely if it would benefit anyone in the galaxy for us and the Republic to turn on the Mesa System with everything we’ve got, it would
have
to be the Ballroom and its ideological allies, don’t you think?”

“That’s the most paranoid thing I’ve ever heard!” Alverson snapped. “And I can’t
believe
the mental hoops you’re willing to jump through to avoid admitting even the possibility that this McBryde might conceivably’ve been telling the truth! For that matter, the treecats verify that Dr. Simões, at least, definitely
is
telling the truth. Which means—”

“
If
you’re prepared to take the treecats’ word,” Mallory interrupted. Several of the others looked at him incredulously, and he scowled. “What I mean is that we’ve had plenty of experience with people who’ve been brainwashed—or simply
misled—
into genuinely believing something that’s demonstrably false. So far as I’m aware, not even the treecats’ most fervent champions have claimed they can know when that’s the case. Suppose for a moment Rosalinda’s right about someone like the Ballroom wanting to fabricate a story like this. I’m not saying that’s necessarily what happened; I’m just asking you to consider the possibility. In that case, knowing you were going to have to sell your story to the Star Empire, wouldn’t it make sense to brainwash your ‘star witness’ into absolutely—and
honestly—
believing what you’ve primed him to tell us?”

“Oh, for the love of—!” Richter began.

“And, on that note, we have to go to break,” Prince interrupted, smiling brightly at the camera while DuCain struggled mightily not to laugh. “Don’t go away!
Into the Fire
will be back in just a few moments to continue this…lively exchange.”

June 1922 Post Diaspora

“I want him hammered so hard even
Sollie
s have to get the message that this…is a
war
—
their
war—and that wars have consequences!”

—Admiral Lady Dame Honor Alexander-Harrington,

Steadholder and Duchess Harrington

Chapter Twelve

“Well,
this
is unexpected.”

Admiral Stephania Grimm, Manticoran Astro Control Service, looked at Captain Christopher Dombroski and cocked her head.

“Since this is all you’re showing me,” she continued, without looking away from him as she twitched a thumb at the terse message he’d relayed to her display, “and since you’re a reasonably competent sort, I assume you queried them for additional details and they declined to provide them?”

“That’s about right, Ma’am. They were polite, but they wouldn’t say a word about who they’re sending. They just repeated that they’ll be inserting ‘an unscheduled diplomatic courier’ into the queue. They
did
apologize for any ‘inconvenience,’ but that’s about it. Given everything that’s been happening, I thought I should call it to your attention.”

“I see.”

Grimm looked back at her display. A little explanation would have been nice, she reflected, but it was hardly his fault he didn’t have one.

Dombroski’s official title on the Junction Astro Control Service’s organizational chart was “Senior Officer, Traffic Management Division.” That made him responsible for imposing order upon thousands of Junction transits, and his usual, unflappable composure had begun to fray. Grimm wasn’t even tempted to hold that against him given how hectic his task had become. First there’d been the torrent of recalled merchantmen. Then, as Lacoön
Two
hit its stride, there’d been the scores of Solarian-registry vessels—most with indescribably irate skippers—who’d suddenly discovered they were going to have to make it home the long way. And as if
that
hadn’t been enough, there’d been the need to accommodate the movement of all the warships and mobile repair platforms the Navy was juggling in the Yawata Strike’s wake.

No, it was no wonder Dombroski looked a little stressed these days.

She frowned, trying to parse the message’s officialese. On the face of it, it was simple enough, but there’d just about been time for news of Eloise Pritchart’s presence on Manticore—and of the bombshell she’d brought with her—to get back through the Junction to the people who’d sent it.

And
that
suggests it’s anything
but
‘simple,’
she thought.

“All right, Chris,” she said finally, “I’ll see Mount Royal’s informed. At least they gave us a couple of hours’ warning before they jumped the queue.” She shrugged philosophically. “I know it’ll complicate things, but it shouldn’t make
too
many waves.”

“Ma’am, they’re supposed to tell us about this kind of thing a hell of a lot further ahead of time.” There was a lot of irritation in Dombroski’s voice. “They
know
that, and I doubt it just slipped their minds.”

“I’m aware of that, Chris,” Grimm said patiently, reminding herself of the strain under which he’d labored of late. “There’s no legal
requirement
for them to warn us, though, whatever the customary procedures may be.”

She gave him a pointed look. If he wanted some official protest, he wasn’t going to get one, however much she sympathized. She held his eyes until she was sure he’d gotten the message. Then she shrugged again.

“I admit it’s a violation of good manners,” she told him a bit wryly, “but we have to assume they have their reasons. And even if they don’t, Beowulf does happen to be a sovereign star nation.”

* * *

“I don’t understand why
I
have to be here,” Honor Alexander-Harrington complained. “I’ve been away from Trevor’s Star way too long already.” She crossed restlessly to a window, gazing out across the landscaped Mount Royal grounds. “Alice is on top of things, but I shudder to think about everything that can still go wrong on that front. And Hamish’s delightful phrase about excreting bricks is probably a pretty fair description of how ACS is going to react when Theisman starts bringing two or three hundred
Republican
podnoughts through the Junction!”

She heard the plaintiveness (it would never have done to call it
petulance
) in her own voice and grimaced. Alice Truman, the CO of Task Force 81 and Eighth Fleet’s second in command was fully capable of handling things in her absence, and she knew it. In fact, if she’d wanted to be honest, what
really
ticked her off was that she’d far rather be at White Haven than here in Landing. Not that she had any intention of admitting that to a living soul.

“If I could tell you why you’re here, I would.” There was a certain tartness in Elizabeth Winton’s response. “Unfortunately, I’ve already told you everything I know. Beowulf’s specifically requested your presence, but their note’s remarkably short on details. It doesn’t say why. It doesn’t even say who. It just requests you be here to meet this ‘special embassy.’” The empress’s eyes narrowed. “If I were a betting woman, I’d be willing to wager it has something to do with relatives of yours, but that’s solely a guess, Honor.”