by David Weber
"The question in my mind," Emily said thoughtfully, "is whether he genuinely believes Hamish is also the father of your child, Honor, or if he included the linkage only as a way to remind his readership about his earlier allegations about the two of you. Does he know something, or is he simply using innuendo to take a swipe at the three of us because of what we did to him last time around?"
"I think he either knows, or strongly suspects," Honor said. Then she shook her head. "No, I think it has to be 'strongly suspects.' The only way he could know would be if he'd somehow managed to obtain a genetic comparison of the child and Hamish, and if Illescue isn't his source, then I don't see any way he could have done that."
"That's a good point," Hamish agreed. "And I'm inclined to agree with you. Which leads to another point." He grimaced unhappily. "You've been spending an awful lot of time at White Haven whenever you're on-planet, Honor. It's not going to take a hyper-physicist to figure that out. And the fact that we were accused of being lovers when we weren't isn't going to help us very much now that we are. So whether he openly suggests I'm the father or not, the suggestion's going to be out there very soon, if it isn't already."
"I suppose I could try staying away," Honor said slowly, her expression much unhappier than his had been.
"No, you certainly can't," Emily said tartly, and shook her head. "You two should never be allowed out in a social situation without a keeper!" Both of them looked at her, and she snorted derisively. "If you suddenly stop visiting your friend Emily after Hayes' little bombshell, the only conclusion anyone is going to be able to draw is the correct one-which is the last thing you want at this particular moment, don't you agree, Honor?"
"Well, yes, but-"
"But me no buts," Emily interrupted. "Besides, in the final analysis, since we've always intended to eventually admit Hamish's paternity, we can't stand up and call Hayes a liar. He's a cretin, a sneak, and a treacherous little worm, but this time, at least, the one thing he isn't is a liar. If we call him one now, it's going to create all sorts of problems when we finally come forward. And unless we're prepared to do that, suddenly changing your habits would be the same thing as admitting he's hit the nail on the head... and that you're trying to pretend he hasn't."
"So what do we do?" Honor demanded.
"Nothing," Emily said flatly. The other two looked at her incredulously, and she flipped her working hand in her shrug equivalent. "I didn't say I liked the idea. It's just that the best of the several bad options available to us is simply to ignore it. Honor's going to be going back off-world tomorrow, and the sort of newsy who'd be interested in following up on a story like this is going to find it pretty hard to get to her when she's back with Eighth Fleet. And much as I hate playing on the 'poor invalid' stereotype, it does offer me a certain amount of protection from the same sort of intrusiveness. Which means the only one who's likely to be stalked over this is you, Hamish."
"Gee, thanks for the warning," he said glumly.
"You're a politician now, not a mere admiral," his wife told him. "That makes you fair game, and by now you ought to have at least some notion of how the rules work."
"No comment?"
"That will probably work for anything from your official press secretaries. After all, even if Hayes is right, it's a personal matter, not something government spokespeople should waste time and effort on. It won't work for you, though. If someone manages to corner you in a personal interview, you're going to have to come up with something better, or you might just as well go ahead and tell them you're the father."
"And your suggestion is?"
"I think your response ought to be that if, in fact, Duchess Harrington is having a child tubed, and if she's declined-at this time-to disclose that child's paternity, that's certainly her right, and you have no intention of speculating about it."
"And if they ask me point-blank if I'm the father?" Hamish waved one hand in a gesture of intense frustration. "Damn it, I am the father, and accident or not, I'm proud to be!"
"I know you are, sweetheart," Emily said softly, eyes luminous as she laid her working hand on his forearm. "And if they do ask you point-blank, the one thing you can't do is lie. So my suggestion would be that you laugh."
"Laugh?"
"As naturally as you possibly can," she agreed. "I know your thespian skills leave a bit to be desired, dear, but I'll help you practice in front of a mirror."
There was actually a twinkle in her eye, and he made a face at her.
"But," she continued more seriously, "that really is your best response. Laugh. And if they continue to press, simply repeat that you have no intention of speculating, and that you believe Honor's obvious wishes in this matter ought to be respected by everyone. You, at any rate, intend to respect them just as thoroughly as you would if you were the father."
"And you really think this is going to work?" he asked skeptically.
"I never said that," Emily replied. "I just said it was our best option."
Chapter Twenty-Five
"Do you want me to do anything about this... person while you're away, My Lady?"
Miranda LaFollet sat at her desk in her Jason Bay office, and when Honor poked her head in the open doorway, her "maid" held up a 'fax viewer between thumb and forefinger with the expression of someone who'd just found a dead mouse in her soup.
"And just what did you have it in mind to do about Mr. Hayes?" Honor inquired mildly. "This isn't Grayson, you know, Miranda."
"Oh, I certainly do, My Lady." Miranda's mouth twisted in distaste, and Farragut, her treecat, made a soft hissing sound from the perch beside her chair. "Freedom of the press is a wonderful thing, My Lady. We have it on Grayson, too, you know. But this Hayes person wouldn't care at all for what his brand of 'journalism' would get him back home."
"Sounds like a very free press to me," Honor observed." Not that I don't think Mr. Hayes would look ever so much better with a couple of broken legs. Unfortunately, if that were a practical solution to the problem, I'd already have taken care of it myself."
"There's always Micah," Miranda pointed out. Micah LaFollet, her youngest brother, had just turned twenty-six. Young enough for third-generation prolong and blessed with adequate diet and medical care since childhood, he towered more than fourteen centimeters taller than his eldest brother, Andrew. Despite his formidable height (he was actually five centimeters taller than Honor herself), he looked much younger than his age to Grayson eyes, but he was already in the final stages of armsman training, and he had a pronounced case of hero worship where Honor was concerned.
"No, there isn't always Micah," Honor scolded. "He's not an armsman yet, and he's overly enthusiastic. Besides, assault with violence is a felony here in the Star Kingdom, and unlike your older brother, he doesn't have any sort of diplomatic immunity."
"Well, then surely there's something Richard could do about him." Miranda kept her tone light, trying to pretend she was no more than half-serious, but Honor tasted the white-hot rage just below the younger woman's surface.
"Miranda," she said, stepping fully into the office, "I truly, truly appreciate how angry you. How much you-and Andrew, and Simon, and Micah, and Spencer, and Mac-all want to protect me from this. But you can't do it. And while Richard's a very good attorney, Solomon Hayes has spent decades figuring out exactly how close he can sail to outright libel without quite crossing the line into something actionable."
"But, My Lady," Miranda protested, abandoning her pretense of humor, "word of this is going to get home to Grayson. It's not going to matter much to our steaders, but that midden-toad Mueller and his loathsome bunch are going to try as hard as they can to hurt you with it where the conservatives are concerned."
"I know," Honor sighed. "But there's not anything I can do about it at this point. I'm getting out of town and away from the newsies myself by going back to the Fleet, but I've sent letters to Benjamin and Austen, warning them about what's coming. That's about all I can do at this point."
> Miranda looked rebellious, and Honor smiled at her.
"It's not like I've never had anyone taking shots at me in the 'faxes before," she pointed out. "And so far, I've managed to survive, however little I've enjoyed the experience, sometimes. And...."
She paused for a moment, then shrugged.
"And," she confessed, "I'm not being quite as blas‚ about this entire thing as you seem to be assuming. Trust me, Mr. Hayes is going to come to regret this particular... endeavor."
"My Lady?" Miranda perked up noticeably, and there was a slight, edge to her voice. An edge accompanied by the sort of look a Grayson nanny might employ when not one of her charges seemed to know anything about how that dead sandfrog had miraculously materialized in the nursery air purifier.
"Well," Honor said, "I just happened to run into Stacey Hauptman at lunch yesterday, and somehow or other the conversation turned to journalism. And it seems Stacey has been considering venturing into that area for some time. She told me she thinks she might begin by buying the Landing Tattler-just to get her toes wet, you know. Sort of explore the possibilities. And I think she might also have said something about making it her business to-how did she put it? Oh, yes. Making it her business to 'clean up the professionalism of Manticoran journalism generally.'"
"My Lady," Miranda said in quite a different tone, her gray eyes twinkling suddenly. "Oh, that's evil!" she continued with deep satisfaction.
"I never suggested that she take any action whatsoever," Honor said virtuously, "and no one could possibly accuse me or any of my retainers of taking any sort of action, either. I will confess, however, that I find the prospect of Stacey Hauptmann taking personal aim at Mr. Hayes... profoundly satisfying. It won't do much to undo what he's already done, but I feel fairly confident we won't be hearing from him a third time."
"And you were just suggesting the Grayson press might incorporate a few journalistic constraints."
"Even in the Star Kingdom, Miranda, private citizens-as opposed to governmental agencies or public bodies-are permitted to make their displeasure known, so long as they violate no laws or civil rights. Which, I assure you, Stacey has no intention of doing. Or, now that I think about it, any need to do."
"Oh, of course not, My Lady!"
* * *
"I want to know who leaked this, and I want to know yesterday."
Dr. Franz Illescue's voice was flat, almost calm, with a lack of emphasis and exclamation points which rang alarm bells in every member of the Briarwood Reproduction Center's senior staff.
"But, Doctor," Julia Isher, Briarwood's business manager, said cautiously, "so far, we don't really have any evidence it was one of our people who was responsible."
"Don't be stupid, Julia. And let's not pretend I am, either," Illescue said in that same almost-calm tone, and Isher winced.
Franz Illescue could be an unmitigated pain in the ass, and despite the very nearly half-century he'd spent getting the worst of his natural aristocratic arrogance knocked out of him, there would always be that core of implicit superiority. That unassailable knowledge that he was, by the inevitable process of birth and the natural working of the universe, inherently better than anyone around him. Despite that, however-or possibly even because of it-he was normally very careful to observe the rules of courtesy with the "little people" with whom he came into contact. On the rare occasions when he wasn't, it was a very, very bad sign, indeed.
"One of 'our people,' as you put it, most definitely was responsible," he continued after a heartbeat or two. "Whether someone deliberately sold the information to this... this... individual Hayes or not, that information had to come from someone inside the Center. Someone with access to our confidential records. Someone who, if he or she didn't deliberately sell the information was still criminally-and I use the adverb advisedly, in light of our confidentiality agreements with our patients-negligent. Someone who either gossiped about it where he or she shouldn't have or allowed someone else unauthorized access. In either case, I want his-or her-ass. I want it broiled, on a silver platter, with a nice side of fried potatoes, and I intend to see to it that whoever it was never works in this field-or any other branch of the medical profession-in the Star Kingdom again."
More than one of the staffers seated around the huge table blanched visibly. Illescue had still to raise his voice, but the temperature in the conference room seemed to hover within a degree or two of absolute zero Kelvin. Some of those staffers, like Isher herself, had been with Illescue for twenty T-years or more, and they had never seen him this incandescently angry.
"Doctor," Isher said, after a moment, "I've already initiated a review of everyone who had access to Duchess Harrington's records. I assure you we're doing everything we possibly can to determine how that information got out of our files and into Mr. Hayes' hands. But so far our security people, some of whom are very well versed in forensic cybernetics, are coming up completely blank. I asked Tajman Meyers-" Meyers was the Center's head of security, who was absent from this meeting only because he was out personally heading the investigation "-if we need to bring in someone else, like the Landing PD. He says our people are probably as good as most of the LCPD's investigators, but he also agrees that if you want to bring in a completely outside team, he'll cooperate fully."
She met Illescue's hooded, basilisk gaze levelly.
"The truth of the matter is, though, Sir, that we may never be able to identify the individual responsible. As you say, it could have been a case of idle gossip. Or, of course, although I don't like to think any of our people would violate our trust that way, someone could have deliberately handed the information over. In either case, however, my personal feeling is that it was almost certainly done verbally, with no written or electronic record. Which doesn't leave us very much in the way of clues."
Illescue looked at her, eyes cold, his normal, reassuring physician's personality noticeably in abeyance. The fact that he knew she was right only made him still angrier.
"I want a list of every name of every member of our staff who had access to both Duchess Harrington and Countess White Haven's files," he said, after a moment. "Everyone-physicians, nurses, technicians, clerical staff. As a general rule, I don't much care for witch hunts, but I'm going to make an exception in this case." He looked around the conference room and showed his teeth in an expression no one would ever mistake for a smile. " To be perfectly honest, I'm looking forward to it."
* * *
"Jesus, Julia," Martijn Knippschd muttered softly as he walked down the hall beside her, "I've never seen him that mad!" He shook his head. "I mean, this is terrible, sure. I agree, and not just because of the way it violates Duchess Harrington's confidentiality. It leaves us covered with crap here at the Center, too. But, let's face it-this really isn't the first time we've had an information leak. And that talk of his about 'witch hunts'-!"
"It isn't just talk, Marty," Isher said, equally quietly. "He means it. And if he does find out who's responsible...."
She shrugged, her expression bleak, and Knippschd shook his head.
"I believe you. I just don't understand why."
Isher looked at him for a moment, clearly considering whether or not to say something more. Dr. Martijn Knippschd was, in many ways, her equivalent on the medical support side of Briarwood's operations. He wasn't one of the Center's partners, but he was directly responsible for overseeing the labs' physical operation and directing the technicians who worked in them. And unless something very unexpected happened, he would be Briarwood's newest junior partner within the next three T-years.
"It's... personal this time," she said finally. "Dr. Illescue has something of a history with the Harringtons."
"I had the impression he'd never met the Duchess before she became a patient," Knippschd objected.
"I didn't say he had a history with her, Marty. He has one with her parents, and it's personal, not professional. I'm not going to go into any details, but suffice it to say that if there are any two phys
icians in the entire Star Kingdom who he'd crawl across ground glass to avoid giving a reason to fault his professional conduct, it's Alfred and Allison Harrington. Worse, I think he's afraid they may believe he let the information out himself."
"That's preposterous!" Knippschd was genuinely angry. "He can be a royal pain, but I've never met a physician who takes his professional, ethical responsibilities more seriously than he does!"
"I agree," Isher said mildly. "And I didn't say I think the Harringtons are going to believe anything of the sort. What I said was that he's afraid they may. And that, Marty, is why I am delighted that I, for one, am not the person who actually did spill the beans to Solomon Hayes."
The two of them walked along in silence for another few moments, and then Isher chuckled humorlessly.
"What?" Knippschd asked.
"I was just thinking. He says he wants whoever it is broiled, right?" Knippschd nodded, and she shrugged. "Well, I wonder if he'd let me at least light the fire for him when the time comes?"