At All Costs

by David Weber

  "Dearly beloved," Telmachi said to them, "you have brought this child here to be baptized; you have prayed that our Lord Jesus Christ would receive him, would release him from sin, would sanctify him with the Holy Ghost, and would give to him the kingdom of heaven and everlasting life.

  "Do you, therefore, in the name of this Child, renounce the devil and all his works, the vain pomp and glory of the world and all covetous desires of the same, and the sinful desires of the flesh, so that you will not follow, nor be led by them?"

  "I renounce them all," the godparents replied in unison, "and by God's help, will endeavor not to follow nor be led by them."

  "Do you believe all the articles of the Christian Faith, as contained in the Apostles' Creed?"

  "I do."

  "And will you be baptized in this Faith?"

  "That is my desire."

  "Will you obediently keep God's holy will and commandments, and walk in the same all the days of your life?"

  "I will, by God's help."

  "Having now, in the name of this Child, made these promises, will you also on your part take care that this Child learn the Creed, the Lord's Prayer, and the Ten Commandments, and all those things which a Christian ought to know and believe for his soul's health?"

  "I will, by God's help."

  "Will you take care that this Child, so soon as he may be sufficiently instructed and of an age to reaffirm these vows in his own right, and of his own will, be brought before the Bishop or Reverend to be confirmed by him?"

  "I will, by God's help."

  "Oh merciful God, grant that as Christ died and rose again, so this Child may die to sin and rise to newness of life. Amen.

  "Amen."

  "Grant that all sinful affections may die in him, and that all things belonging to the Spirit may live and grow. Amen.

  "Amen."

  "Grant that he may have power and strength to have victory, and to triumph against the devil, the world, and the flesh. Amen."

  "Amen."

  "Grant that whoever is here dedicated to You by our office and ministry, may also be imbued with heavenly virtues, and everlastingly rewarded to Your mercy, oh blessed Lord God, who lives, and governs all things, worlds without end. Amen."

  "Amen."

  "The Lord be with you."

  "And with you."

  "Lift up your hearts."

  "We lift them up to God."

  "Let us give thanks to our Lord God."

  "It is meet and right to do so."

  "It is very meet, right, and our bounden duty, that we should give thanks to You, Oh Lord, Holy Father, Almighty and Everlasting God, for Your dearly beloved Son, Jesus Christ, for the forgiveness of our sins, did shed out of His most precious side both water and blood, and gave commandment to His disciples, that they should go teach all nations, and baptize them in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Receive, we beseech You, the supplications of Your congregation. Sanctify this Water to the mystical washing away of sin, and grant that this Child, now to be baptized therein, may receive the fullness of Your Grace, and remain always in the number of Your faithful children; through the same Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom, with You, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, be all honor and glory, now and forever. Amen."

  "Amen."

  Telmachi reached out, and Raoul stirred, rolling his head as the Archbishop took him into his arms and looked once again at the godparents.

  "Name this Child."

  "Raoul Alfred Alistair," Elizabeth Winton replied clearly, and Telmachi bent to the font, cupping up some of the water in his palm. He poured it gently over Raoul's dark fuzz of hair, and the baby promptly began to wail.

  "Raoul Alfred Alistair," Telmachi said through Raoul's lusty protests, "I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

  "Amen."

  * * *

  "I've been wondering what to get Raoul for a christening gift," Elizabeth III said quietly to Honor as they walked out of the cathedral onto its well guarded front steps.

  "You already gave it," Honor said, equally quietly, turning to look at her Queen.

  "I did?" Elizabeth quirked one eyebrow.

  "Yes, you did." Honor smiled. "It should be arriving in Nouveau Paris in about three more days."

  "Oh. That." Elizabeth couldn't quite restrain a slight grimace, but Honor only nodded.

  "I can think of much worse christening gifts than a peace treaty ending an interstellar war, Elizabeth."

  Chapter Fifty

  "It's on, Tom."

  Thomas Theisman looked at the smiling face on his com and felt himself smiling in response.

  "The official reply is here?" he asked, and Eloise Pritchart nodded.

  "The dispatch boat got in about five hours ago. The Manticoran delegation will meet us on Torch in two months. We'll have to depart in about three weeks-twenty days, to be precise-to meet them."

  "That's wonderful, Eloise!"

  "Yes, it is," Pritchart agreed, but then her face sobered. "In a way, though, it's even worse."

  "Worse?" Theisman repeated, surprised.

  "I've got to sit down across the table from a woman who detests everything she thinks the Republic of Haven stands for and somehow convince her to make peace with the people who attacked her star nation on my personal orders." She shook her head. "I've had easier chores in my life."

  "I know," he replied. "But we've got to try."

  "We've got to do more than try, Tom." Pritchart's expression firmed up, and she shook her head again, this time with a completely different emphasis. "I'm coming home with a peace treaty. One way or the other. Even if it means telling Elizabeth what we suspect about Giancola."

  "Are you certain about that? About telling her, I mean? It could blow up in our faces, you know. We've all heard about her temper, and if anyone ever had a right to be pissed to the max, she does. If she finds out we let Giancola manipulate us, especially after we accused her government of being the guilty party, Lord only knows how she may react."

  "She's going to find out eventually, anyway," Pritchart pointed out. "And as you suggested, Harrington's going to be present. Hopefully, she really will have a moderating influence. But I actually suspect the treecats are going to be even more important, assuming the Manty reports on their capabilities are accurate. I think I'm willing to take a chance on telling her the truth, as long as I can do it face-to-face, with the treecats there to prove to her that I am telling the truth."

  "I hope you haven't mentioned this particular brainstorm to Leslie?" Theisman's smile was only half humorous, and Pritchart chuckled.

  "She's unhappy enough about going to Torch for the summit in the first place. I don't think she needs to know exactly what sort of diplomatic faux pas I'm prepared to commit if it seems necessary after we get there."

  * * *

  Admiral Sir James Bowie Webster, Baron of New Dallas, and the Star Kingdom of Manticore's ambassador to the Solarian League, regarded his morning's schedule with scant favor.

  "This is goddamned ridiculous," he grumbled to Sir Lyman Carmichael, his assistant ambassador.

  "What's ridiculous?" Carmichael responded, as if they hadn't had this identical conversation every Monday morning since Webster's arrival on Old Earth.

  "This." Webster thumped a rather large fist on the hardcopy printout of his agenda, then opened his hand and waved it around his palatial office. "All this crap! I'm a naval officer, not a frigging diplomat!"

  "Traditional prejudices aside," Carmichael replied mildly, "a career in diplomacy isn't quite the same as seeking employment in a brothel. And don't-" he raised an admonishing index finger as Webster opened his mouth "-don't tell me that's because whores have more principles!"

  "All right, I won't. Especially," Webster grinned, "since you already appear to realize that yourself."

  "One of these days," Carmichael promised him. "One of these days."

  Webster laughed and leaned back behind
his desk.

  "Actually, my cousin, the Duke, would be better at this than I am, Lyman. You know that as well as I do."

  "I've had the pleasure of knowing your cousin for many years now," Carmichael said. "I have immense respect for him, and he really is a skilled diplomat. Having said all that, I truly don't think he could do the job you've been doing."

  "Now that," Webster said, " really is ridiculous!"

  "No, it isn't. Your status as a naval officer, especially one who's held the offices you've held, is part of the reason, of course." Carmichael smiled. "One reason the Star Kingdom's traditionally assigned military officers and ex-military officers as our ambassadors to the League is the fact that they have a certain fascinating effect on Solly politicos. They don't see very many real military people at this level, and that rather blunt directness you Navy types seem to acquire contrasts quite nicely with the mouthfuls of platitudes and careful political maneuvering they're accustomed to.

  "But mostly, in your case, to be honest, it's the fact that you don't lie worth a damn, Jim."

  "I beg your pardon?" Webster blinked, and Carmichael chuckled.

  "I said you don't lie worth a damn. In fact, you're so bad at it that the two or three times I've seen you try, the people you were talking to simply assumed you were deliberately pretending to lie in order to make a point."

  Webster regarded him narrowly, and Carmichael shrugged.

  "You're simply an honest man. It comes across. And that's rare-very rare-for someone operating at the level you currently are. Especially here." Carmichael grimaced. "There's a taint of decadence in the air here on Old Earth, which may be why honesty's so rare. But whatever it is, they don't really understand you, in a lot of ways, because you do come out of the military, and very few of them do. But when you say something, personally or as the Queen's representative, they're confident you're telling them the truth. At the moment, especially with the dispute over our correspondence with the Peeps and the shenanigans in the Talbott Cluster, that's incredibly important, Jim. Don't undervalue yourself."

  Webster waved one hand, as if he were uncomfortable with Carmichael's explanation.

  "Maybe," he said, then shook himself. "Speaking of the Peeps, how do you feel about this summit meeting Pritchart's proposed?"

  "I was surprised," Carmichael admitted, accepting the change of subject. "It's a very unusual departure, especially for the Havenites. In fact, it's so unusual, I'm inclined to think she really must be serious."

  "God, that would be an enormous relief," Webster said frankly. "I don't like this Talbott business. There's more going on than we think. I'm sure of it. I just can't put my finger on what it is. But it's there, and I can't shake the feeling that in the long run, it may be even more dangerous to us than the Peeps are."

  Carmichael sat back in his chair, even his trained diplomat's face showing surprise, and Webster barked a harsh laugh.

  "I haven't lost my mind, Lyman. And I'm not blind to the current military situation-trust me on that one. But the Republic of Haven is small beer compared to the Solarian League, and if Mesa-and you know as well as I do that Terekhov is right about Mesa's involvement-can maneuver Frontier Security into doing its dirty work, the situation will be a thousand times worse. And the Sollies are arrogant enough that a lot of their so-called political leaders wouldn't even care."

  "You're probably right," Carmichael said, forced to concede the point, however much he disliked doing so. "But you seriously think there's more to what's going on in Talbott than Mesa's traditional efforts to keep us as far away from them as possible?"

  "Look at the scale of their effort," Webster said. "We're talking billions-lots of billions-of dollars worth of battlecruisers. Somebody ponied up the cash to pay for them, not to mention obviously orchestrating the efforts of OFS, local terrorists, and an entire star nation as a proxy. That's a huge effort, and it's also more direct then Mesa or Manpower have been in the last couple of centuries. Hell, since Edward Saganami!"

  "But couldn't that simply be because of how threatening they find our proximity and because they know how distracted by Haven we are? I mean, they know we don't have a lot of resources to commit against them."

  "I'm convinced that's an element in their thinking," Webster agreed, "but they're still coming further out of the shadows-not just with us; with the Sollies, as well. They're running the risk of coming to the surface, and they've always been bottom feeders before." He shook his head. "No. There's a whole new flavor to this one, and that makes me nervous."

  "Now you're making me nervous," Carmichael complained. "Can't we just deal with one crisis at a time?" he added rather plaintively.

  "I wish." Webster drummed on his desk for a moment, then shrugged. "Actually, I suppose we are, assuming this summit idea produces something. And in the meantime, I'm afraid it also means we have to make nice with the Peep ambassador and his people, at least in public."

  "Well, we'll have the opportunity tonight," Carmichael said philosophically.

  "I know," Webster said glumly. "And I hate the opera, too."

  * * *

  "Are we ready?"

  "Yes." Roderick Tallman thought of himself as a "facilitator," and he was good at his job. Despite the fact that he was required to maintain an extremely low profile because of the nature of the things he "facilitated," there was always work waiting for him, and he knew without any sense of false modesty that he was indispensable.

  "The money's in place?"

  "Yes," Tallman said, managing not to sound wearily patient. He did know how to do his job, after all. "The credit transfers have been made and backdated, and I handled the computer side myself." He smiled and shook his head. "The Havenites really ought to hire a good Solarian firm to update their systems security. It shouldn't have been this easy to hack."

  "Count your blessings," his current employer said sourly. "Their accounting software may be vulnerable, but we've tried about four times to break into their other secured files without much luck. Actually, I suspect you got into their banking programs from the Solly end, didn't you?"

  "Well, yes," Tallman admitted. "I invaded their interface with their banks."

  "That's what I thought." His employer shook her head. "Don't take this personally, but a lot of Sollies make some rather unjustified assumptions about their technological superiority. One of these days, that may turn around and bite all of you on the ass. Hard."

  "I suppose anything's possible." Tallman shrugged. It wasn't as if anyone could threaten the League, after all. The very idea was preposterous.

  "Well," his employer said, "if that's all taken care of, I suppose you'd appreciate your fee."

  "You suppose correctly," Tallman told her.

  "The most important thing of all," she said, not hurrying to hand over the untraceable hard copy bearer bond certificate, "is that this particular manipulation be completely untraceable. The only place it can lead is back to the Havenites."

  "I understood that from the beginning." Tallman leaned back slightly in his chair. "You know my reputation. That's why you came to me in the first place, because my work is guaranteed and I've never had a client burned. Trust me, if they track this one back, they'll even be able to identify the terminal in the Embassy where the transactions were supposed to have been entered."

  "Good!" She smiled. "That's exactly what I needed to hear. And now, for your fee."

  She reached into her smartly tailored jacket, and Tallman let his chair come back fully upright, reaching out his hand-then froze in shock.

  "Wh-?" he began, but he never finished the question, for the pulser in her hand snarled. The burst of darts hit him at the base of the throat and tracked upwards across his neck and the left side of his face, with predictably gruesome results.

  His employer grimaced with distaste, but she'd been careful to sit further back than usual. She was outside the splatter pattern, and she dropped the pulser on the desk, straightened her jacket fastidiously, and let herself out of
the office. She walked down the hallway and took the lift to the parking garage, where she climbed into her air car and flew calmly off. Five minutes later, she landed several miles away from the late, lamented Tallman's office building.

  This parking garage was in a much less desirable part of town. Most of the vehicles parked here were old, battered. The sort of things youth gangs looking for a quick credit would turn up their noses at.

  She parked her own new-model, expensive sports vehicle in a stall beside one such battered, grimy air car, and climbed out into the shadows. She looked around carefully, then took a small handset from her pocket and pressed a button. Her face seemed to ripple and shudder indescribably, and her complexion-not just on her face, but everywhere-shifted abruptly, darkening and coarsening, as the nanotech which had coated every millimeter of her body turned itself off. The invisibly tiny machines released their holds, drifting away on the morning breeze, and in place of the rather tall, blonde woman who had murdered Roderick Tallman, there stood a dark-faced man, slightly below the average in height, with a wiry, muscular build and a bosom.