Shadow of Victory

by David Weber

  “Eventually, though, this war between Manticore and the Solarian League is going to end, one way or the other. Personally, I suspect the Manticorans are going to do far better out of the peace terms and postwar power arrangements than anyone in the League could possibly have expected four or five T-months ago, but the League will still exist. So will many of the transstellars, although I imagine more than a few will go to the wall and that many of those that don’t will still be…radically, downsized, let’s say. I don’t know about Iwahara, but Frogmore-Wellington will almost certainly be one of the survivors—cut down to size, reduced in power, but still there. And thanks to the komáři and the malfeasance of Cabrnoch and his cronies—and, I’m afraid, your own modest efforts—Chotěboř doesn’t—and won’t, for quite some time—have the domestic capacity to effectively develop the Kumang System’s resources.

  “So here’s what I’m prepared to offer you. The leases your employers currently hold will be…amended to assign them to a new legal entity. We’ll probably call it something like Kumang Enterprises or Chotěboř, Incorporated, and both Frogmore-Wellington and Iwahara will be represented within it, with shares representing their relative pre-amendment positions in Kumang. However,” his gray eyes bored into Sabatino, “the Chotěbořian government will hold a majority shareholder position in the new entity. This time, it will be a genuine partnership, Karl-Heinz. One which will provide our extra-system partners a reasonable return on their investment but which will also consider the economic interests of Chotěbořans and prevent the sort of slash-and-burn rape Solarian transstellars have practiced in the Verge far too often.

  “In effect, I suppose what I’m offering you is a soft landing—a soft landing not just for your employers, but for you personally. I’m sure they’re going to be furious about what’s about to happen out here. I’m sure their head offices will be incensed about the hit their bottom line’s going to take. But in the end, they’ll find themselves in a far stronger position than they would if we simply nationalized the leases…or transferred them to one of the Manticoran cartels. They’ll probably make at least half the profit they would have otherwise, and they’ll reap the benefit of goodwill when I announce their voluntary acceptance of the new lease terms. And you’ll be the man who salvaged so much of their position here in Kumang by recognizing the wisdom of compromising rather than backing some sort of forcible suppression of the legitimate system government which would ultimately backfire disastrously. And it would backfire, Karl-Heinz. Unless Manticore is completely defeated, it’s not going to permit the imposition—or re-imposition—of League protectorates or client states this close to Talbott, and you know that just as well as I do.”

  He sat back in his chair with a smile as a liveried staffer wheeled in the coffee cart. Silence hovered while the young man poured cups all around, set out creamer and sugar on the coffee table, then withdrew wordlessly. Šiml picked up his cup and sipped, then lifted an eyebrow at Karl-Heinz Sabatino.

  He said nothing, and Sabatino took a long swallow of his own coffee. Then he sighed, leaned back with the cup and saucer in his lap, and shook his head.

  “I should never have decided to bribe you,” he said wryly.

  “On the contrary, I’m the best investment you ever made,” Šiml chided with a broader smile. Then he allowed the smile to fade a bit. “Whoever was sitting in the President’s chair, the Manticorans would have been here today anyway,” he said seriously. “I expect Cabrnoch would’ve addressed their arrival a little differently, but as soon as Verner and OFS were removed, Chotěboř would’ve had a few things to say to him. Judging by his actions three T-months ago, the bloodshed to get rid of him would make the Velehrad Riots look like a children’s quarrel in a sandbox, and I don’t think you even want to contemplate what would’ve happened to Frogmore-Wellington and Iwahara down the road from that. As it is, you stand to get the credit for helping ease him out of office, you get the credit for all that philanthropic effort you put behind Sokol—for which, by the way, I thank you—and you’ll get your out-system bosses’ credit for salvaging so much of their position in Kumang.” The President actually chuckled. “From where I sit, you’re likely to make out even better under the new arrangement than the old!”

  “Aside from a certain chagrin over how neatly you manipulated me, at least,” Sabatino observed.

  “Well, yes. Aside from that,” Šiml conceded. “I did warn you, though, that I had no intention of coming to any bad ends…and”—those gray eyes were on Sabatino’s face once again, but this time there was an undeniable warmth in their depths—“I also said I had no intention of forgetting who made this all possible.”

  Silence fell once again as Sabatino sipped more coffee. Then he leaned forward to set saucer and cup carefully on the table between them.

  “Well,” he said with a small, whimsical smile, “I suppose you’d better trot out that dotted line you need signed.”

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  “It’s good to see you, Walter,” Luiz Rozsak said as Oravil Barregos escorted the fourth (and very unofficial) member of the triumvirate which governed the Republic of Erewhon into his kitchen. He climbed off his barstool and offered his hand. “How are things back home?”

  “Lively,” Walter Imbesi said, shaking his hand and smiling. “Your message threw a cat right into the middle of the pigeons, and then Delvecchio delivered Empress Elizabeth’s message.” He shook his head with a chuckle. “I don’t think I’ve seen Fuentes, Havlicek, and Hall that excited—and scared—over anything since Theisman launched Operation Thunderbolt!”

  “I trust they’re at least a little less worried this time?”

  “Well,” Imbesi took one of the other stools at the kitchen bar as Barregos settled beside him, “I think it’s safe to say they’d rather be back on the Manties’ side than on the other side, but they’re—”

  He paused and sniffed.

  “That smells delicious, Luiz…as usual. What is it?”

  “Pad Thai,” Rozsak replied. “Actually, I’ve been waiting to put it together until we saw the whites of your eyes and all you’re smelling right now is the prep work. Wait’ll I put it on your plate!”

  “With bated breath…and lots of salivation,” Imbesi assured him with a smile, then turned back to Barregos and the thread of their conversation.

  “The truth is,” he said in a much more serious tone, “they know the Manties, they trust the Manties—now that Janacek’s dead and High Ridge is in prison, anyway—and they know what the Royal Navy can do. But they’re still nervous about defying the League—openly, I mean—this early. This much acceleration of the timetable makes them…anxious. And the notion that this Mesan Alignment’s taking an interest in our neck of the galaxy doesn’t make them any happier.” He snorted. “Any Erewhonese gets nervous when he doesn’t know who all the players are. Makes it hard to calculate the odds and slip in the dagger—figuratively speaking, of course…these days—at the right moment.”

  “I can understand that,” Barregos said with feeling. “In fact, I worry about exactly the same sort of timing issues. A lot.” He shook his head. “But if Elizabeth and Pritchart are ready to provide the levels of support they’re talking about, the risks from our side will actually be a lot lower.”

  “That’s my thinking, too,” Imbesi agreed. “And Fuentes zeroed in on that aspect like a laser. Hall’s a lot less enthusiastic, but then he’s always been ambivalent about our ‘special relationship’ with Maya. Havlicek’s the swing vote on this one, and I’m afraid Alessandra’s still not one of Manticore’s greater admirers. Frankly, I think that’s because her family’s financial interests got hurt worse than most when they jacked our Wormhole transit fees. She understood why they did it—intellectually—and realized the retaliation could have been one hell of a lot worse, but she’s still the sort who takes that kind of thing personally.”

  “Ms. Havlicek takes a great many things personally,” Rozsak put in dryly from the cooktop as h
is wok began to make interesting sizzling sounds.

  “Yes, she does,” Imbesi agreed with a chuckle. “That doesn’t mean she doesn’t have good instincts, though. And although I strongly suspect she may be the only woman in the entire galaxy who can hold a grudge longer than Elizabeth Winton, she also has a very good brain that she uses more often than other people I could mention. As a result of which—” he paused just perceptibly, looking back and forth between his hosts “—she’s in favor.”

  Oravil Barregos had played high-stakes politics for far too many years to exhale a noisy sigh of relief, but his posture relaxed ever so slightly and he smiled. Then he shook himself.

  “She’s on board with including Torch, as well?”

  “That’s stickier,” Imbesi admitted. “She’s never had the emotional investment in Torch—or the opposition to genetic slavery in general, I’m afraid—that Fuentes and I have. We don’t have genetic slavery in Erewhon, and I think she and Tomas both think that makes it someone else’s problem. What Mesa already tried to do to Torch is a factor in her thinking, too, since we’re inclined to think it had to be this ‘Alignment’ that pulled off the Yawata Strike.”

  “Jiri and I agree with you on that,” Rozsak said, “and so do Brent Stephens and Richard Wise.” The admiral shrugged. “It obviously wasn’t Haven, there’s no way in the galaxy it was the League—not with the tech it took to make it work—and we don’t see anyone else sticking knives in the Manties’ backs. So she and Hall are worried about Erewhon’s getting the same treatment?”

  “That’s exactly what they’re worried about.” It was Imbesi’s turn to shrug. “Personally, I think Mesa would probably have higher priorities—like hitting Nouveau Paris, for example. Let’s be honest here. Impressive as our naval building capacity’s become for a single-system star nation—thanks in no small part to your investment, Oravil—we’re nowhere near the military threat of someone like the Manties or Haven or even Grayson. If that ‘ghost fleet’ plans on blowing up any more star systems, I doubt we’d be high on the list, however visible we might make ourselves by breaking their kneecaps locally. They’re…a little less convinced of that.”

  “I can understand that, I suppose.” Barregos said, and cocked an eyebrow at Rozsak. “Luiz?”

  “Something to think about,” the admiral agreed through a fragrant cloud of steam as he added the sauce to the noodles, eggs, green onion, bean sprouts, and chicken. “On the other hand, I think the Manties are right about how the—‘ghost fleet,’ I think you just called it, Walter?—got in to attack them in the first place, and on how to keep it from happening again. That’s why they’ve put together a sensor shell around their inner system—and to cover Nouveau Paris, too—that relies on active systems and pays a lot more attention to non-gravitic passive platforms, as well. It’s the first stage of what they call ‘Mycroft.’”

  “Yes.” Imbesi nodded vigorously. “I’m not sure I understand Mycroft fully, and I’m damned sure Tomas doesn’t. I’m not positive about Alessandra, but I think it’s probably what tilted her towards the ‘yes’ side of the vote.”

  “They want to keep the hardware tightly held, at least for now, and I can certainly understand that,” Rozsak said, stirring the wok’s simmering contents. “But they’ve been pretty good about sharing the system’s capabilities, and as I understand them, it should provide pretty good security against another Yawata Strike. Essentially, what they’ve done is to take the networked system-defense platforms and missile pods Foraker came up with for the Havenites, couple them with God’s own holy horde of additional sensor platforms, add FTL transmission to the sensor and fire control net, and replace the regular missile pods with those God-awful FTL-commanded MDMs.” He grimaced. “Believe me—nothing their sensors get a whiff of is going to last long enough to launch any missiles, Walter.”

  “It was my impression that their thinking is that the missiles themselves were deployed quite some distance—possibly several light-minutes—from their actual targets and came in unpowered on ballistic profiles,” Imbesi pointed out.

  “And that’s undoubtedly what happened.” Rozsak nodded and removed the wok from the heat. “I don’t care how good their super-secret drive technology is, they would not have wanted a fleet capable of firing that many missiles swanning around the Manticore Binary System. Way too much chance of something getting picked up, no matter how hard to see their drive is. But one or two small, very stealthy ships with the same sort of drive would be a very different proposition, and they have to’ve gotten some sort of targeting array in-system. Something had to update those birds after that long a ballistic flight. In fact, the Manties detected an encrypted transmission from what was almost certainly exactly that sort of array just before the attack missiles came into attack range. They think—and I agree—that the transmission was most likely from an unmanned platform that self-destructed after serving its purpose, and they’ve nailed down a pretty firm locus for where it was transmitting from. But as I just said—and as Admiral Givens pointed out to me when we discussed this—getting that sort of platform into position required them to penetrate the system in the first place. They may’ve gotten away with it using one or two ships when no one knew to be watching for them; they won’t find it very easy to do a second time.”

  He began ladling the pad Thai onto the plates laid out on the bar.

  “Something else she pointed out to me was that the Yawata Strike was so overwhelmingly successful only because no one saw it coming. They’ve analyzed the actual number of missiles—including those ‘graser torpedoes,’ or whatever the hell we decide to call them in the end—and the Alliance could have launched several times that many birds from a single squadron of SD(P)s. If the Manties’ defenses had been active, or if they’d even had time to interpose the impeller wedges of their standby tugs to protect the space stations, the way doctrine specified, the damage would’ve been enormously lighter. So their thinking is that with the additional warning their new, denser short-range sensor shell’s likely to provide, and with the higher readiness state they’ve adopted—permanently—for their antimissile defenses, any future attack using the same technique would be relatively ineffectual. And if the bad guys want to come dance with them in an attack that doesn’t incorporate that lengthy ballistic flight, they’ll be just as delighted as hell to set up the dance floor. Trust me, they want these people.”

  “And they’re prepared to supply that—all of it, including the sensor shells—to us?” Imbesi asked.

  “They are.” Barregos picked up his chopsticks as Rozsak set the wok aside and settled back onto his own stool. “They won’t be able to provide it immediately. They’re still in the process of emplacing it in Beowulf. For that matter, they don’t have it fully in place even in Manticore. But Beowulf and Haven are churning out the platforms in enormous numbers. Admiral Givens’ estimate is that they can have their own capital systems outfitted with the all-up Mycroft within the next sixty T-days or so, and Erewhon, Maya, and Torch could be covered in another couple of T-months, given how their production rate’s ramping up. They’ll be able to provide similar protection to all of the other star systems in the Maya Sector within an additional four T-months. And, as she pointed out, it’s highly unlikely the Alignment has a ‘ghost fleet’ strike force already organized to go after you or us. It’ll take time for them to decide we might be worth hitting, and coupled with the relatively lower priority they’d give to hitting us as opposed to the Alliance, the threat to our infrastructure and populations has to be minimal, Walter.”

  “I don’t think anyone in Erewhon’s especially happy about even minimal chances of something with the casualty totals the Yawata Strike produced,” Imbesi said somberly. “Despite which, I’ve been authorized to sign on the dotted line if you can convince me the risk is manageable.”

  He looked back and forth between his hosts for a long, silent moment, then shrugged and reached for a fork.

  “I won’t say you’ve comp
letely persuaded me…yet. But you’ve definitely made a good start in that direction. I’m going to try to remind myself that I need to be a hard sell specifically because my natural inclination is to get behind this and push, you understand.”

  “Of course we do,” Rozsak said, eyeing the barbarism of Imbesi’s chosen eating implement with scant approval. “On the other hand, we’re pretty good salesmen. Especially when we genuinely believe all of our selling points.”

  “Then I’ll try to listen with an open—if skeptical!—mind,” Imbesi assured them both as he dug his fork into the pad Thai. He chewed, then swallowed.

  “Delicious, Luiz!” He grinned. “I see you understand the finer points of negotiating.”

  SEPTEMBER 1922 POST DIASPORA

  “So I’m giving you an opportunity to save your people’s lives. You have ten minutes to strike your wedges and surrender. At the end of that time, I will open fire once more. If I do, I doubt there will be many survivors.

  “The decision is yours, Admiral.”

  —Captain Prescott Tremaine,

  Royal Manticoran Navy,

  CO, Cruiser Division 96.1.

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  “I cannot believe this shit!” Kevin Haas snarled.

  “And what ‘shit’ would that be?” Janice Marinescu replied, turning her float chair to face him. “Let me rephrase that. What ‘shit’ are we talking about this time?”

  “This!” Haas jabbed a furious finger at the display in front of him. “That idiot Charteris is asking questions.”

  “Crap.” Marinescu’s expression was one of profound disgust, but she didn’t look very surprised. “I knew that one was going to be trouble. Something about that bitch’s attitude when I collected her and the other bleeding hearts just set my teeth on edge from the get-go. One of those goody-goodies who don’t want to know a damned thing about people who do the real work. I don’t suppose there’s any reason he should be any different from her. In fact, that’s why I asked you to keep a personal eye on him.” She shook her head almost resignedly. “What kind of questions is he asking?”