by David Weber
"As a matter of fact," she went on, putting her fears into words openly for her staff, "I think the Government's confidence in its ability to 'manage' the Republic—" and through it, the domestic situation, she carefully didn't say "—is deteriorating. Thomas Theisman's announcement didn't help in that regard, but the most recent mail from home is full of op-ed pieces on President Pritchart's 'hardline' position in the treaty negotiations, too." She shook her head. "I don't know how whatever Harvest Joy discovers is going to affect the Government's thinking, but unless something changes radically, I think High Ridge is going to become more and more fixated on the Republic. I don't think he has the attention to spare for something as 'unimportant" as Silesia."
"So what do we do?" McKeon asked.
"We do the best we can," she said bleakly. "Our orders are still to protect Silesian territorial integrity—assuming that 'Silesia' and 'territorial integrity' aren't contradictions in terms. So we'll do our darnedest to somehow pull that off. But you're right about the way this latest incident ups the ante, Alice. And the more I think about it, the more I don't want any of our other captains left to dangle all alone the way Ackenheil found himself in Brennan."
She turned to Yu and Caslet.
"Alfredo, I want you and the Protector's Own to maintain an even lower profile. If the Andies already know you're here, well and good. But if they don't, I think it's suddenly become more important to have an extra pulser hidden up our sleeve than to try to discourage whatever they're up to." She snorted harshly. "Given Ackenheil's report, I'm very much afraid that it's too late to do any 'discouraging,' anyway."
"You think they've made up the mind to pull the trigger, My Lady?" Yu seemed relieved to be thinking about possible Andermani aggressiveness instead of the tension between the Star Kingdom and his ex-homeland.
"I think they've made up their mind what they're going to do," Honor corrected. "In fact, I think that's the reason Rabenstrange is coming out here. That may include pulling the trigger, or it may simply include a continuation of this escalation of incidents in hopes we—or the Government—will decide the game isn't worth the candle and get out of their way without the unpleasantness of a war. But whatever it is, I think I'm coming to the conclusion that I'd prefer to be able to administer a salutary shock to them at a moment of my choosing, if I can, and you and the Protector's Own are my best chance to do that."
Yu nodded, and Honor turned to Brigham and Jaruwalski.
"In the meantime, I want the two of you to lay out a new patrol schedule. With the Grayson units here to bolster our position in Marsh, I think we can free up more of our Manticoran screening units for detached service, so I want the patrols beefed up. Set it up so that none of our ships are operating as singletons. I want at least two units in any single star system, and I want them in regular communication. I want the Andies to know that if something goes wrong, we're going to have a witness on the spot to get the news to us as soon as it can get back to their own HQ. And for that matter, knowing that she has support handy ought to make any of our captains feel a bit less lonely and a bit more confident."
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The icon of the dispatch boat from Sidemore was still accelerating steadily away from Jessica Epps when Erica Ferrero assembled her senior officers in her briefing room.
They gathered there just a bit apprehensively, because the captain's temper had been uncertain of late, courtesy of IANS Hellbarde. They knew Ferrero had recently dispatched another formal report to Duchess Harrington, protesting Kapitän zur Sternen Gortz' provocative behavior. That report had been intended primarily for the duchess to use as the basis of a fresh protest to the Andermani Empire, but some might have thought its language a bit on the intemperate side. It was entirely possible that the dispatch boat had delivered an observation to that effect from the station commander.
One look at Ferrero's expression, however, swiftly disabused them of that concern. The captain's blue-green eyes glowed with an eagerness they hadn't seen in quite some time, and she waved briskly for them to take their seats so that they could get started.
"All right, People," she told them, once all of them had settled into place. "It seems we have a little job to do for the Duchess." She smiled thinly. "One I think we can all look forward to with a certain anticipation."
She entered a command into her terminal, and a holo schematic of a star system appeared above the briefing room table.
"The Zoraster System, Ladies and Gentlemen," she announced. "Not all that close to Sidemore, but not that far away, either." In fact, it was little more than twenty-four light-years from the Marsh System in the Posnan Sector. It was also one of the wealthier star systems in the sector.
"What, you may ask, is our interest in Zoraster?" the captain continued, and paused expectantly. Most of her officers had seen her in this mood at least once or twice before, and Lieutenant McClelland chirped up obediently.
"All right, Ma'am. What is our interest in Zoraster?"
"I'm glad you asked that question, James," she said with a chuckle. Then she sobered. "I'm sure all of you remember Captain Ackenheil's interception of that Solly slaver."
"Yes, Ma'am. The Wayfarer, wasn't it?" Commander Llewellyn asked.
"Exactly, Bob." Ferrero nodded. "Well, it seems some of Wayfarer's crew decided that they preferred to assist the forces of goodness. I suspect that someone on the Duchess' staff took the opportunity to point out to them that turning Queen's evidence was one way to mitigate the penalty for slaving."
A nasty chuckle ran around the briefing room. Only Llewellyn and Ferrero herself had ever actually participated in the interception of a slaver, but all of them had seen reports, just as all of them knew the trade was particularly lucrative in places like Silesia. There was so much corruption, so many opportunities to operate under the protection of conveniently bribable officials, that the Confederation was a perfect transshipment point for someone like Mesa to make contact with its buyers. No one in Jessica Epps' company was going to waste much sympathy on anyone who chose to participate in the slave trade.
"At any rate, Lieutenant Commander Reynolds, the Duchess' staff spook, was able to generate a little more information for Operation Wilberforce, and that's what makes Zoraster of interest to us.
"It seems that Governor Chalmers has an understanding with certain individuals involved in the slave trade. As a matter of fact, the good governor, according to Commander Reynolds' source, is the majority owner of an orbital 'recreation' habitat in the New Hamburg System. One which apparently requires regular replenishment of its . . . staff."
All temptation towards humor disappeared when Ferrero mentioned New Hamburg. Like Mesa itself, New Hamburg was an independent star system which had declined to sign any of the international accords which outlawed genetic slavery. Sixty-nine T-years before, New Hamburg had been forced—primarily by the missile tubes of the Royal Manticoran Navy—to "voluntarily" sign a treaty outlawing participation by its citizens and starships in the interstellar genetic slave trade, but the institution itself remained quite legal within its territory. Prior to the Havenite war, the RMN had made it its business to maintain sufficient patrol strength in New Hamburg's vicinity to make the importation of slaves a very risky business, indeed. Largely as a result of that pressure, the system's infamous "recreation habitats" had fallen upon hard times, but they'd made a substantial comeback when the demands of the war against Haven had diverted the anti-slavery patrols.
"According to Commander Reynolds' information," Ferrero went on in a flatter, harder voice, "Chalmers has recently taken receipt of approximately three hundred fresh slaves for delivery to New Hamburg. They arrived aboard a Solarian-flag freighter about two months ago, and they're due to be picked up by a New Hamburg-flag merchie sometime within the next couple of weeks. Under the terms of the treaty with New Hamburg, we have the authority to stop and search New Hamburg's vessels anywhere, and our instructions from the Duchess are to do just that."
; "I would assume that under the circumstances we're not going to be able to expect any cooperation out of the local Silly authorities," Lieutenant Commander Harris observed.
"I think that's probably a safe assumption, Shawn," Ferrero agreed in a dust-dry tone.
"That's going to make intercepting the New Hamburger harder," the tac officer thought out loud. "Just spotting her is going to be hard enough."
"Might not be as difficult as you're thinking," Llewellyn pointed out. "Zoraster is better off than a lot of the star systems out here, but we're not talking about someplace like New Potsdam or Gregor. There shouldn't be more than three or four—half a dozen at the most—hyper-capable merchies in-system at any one time."
"Agreed, Sir," Harris replied. "On the other hand, though, there's only one of us."
"And we can only be in one place at a time," Ferrero agreed. "Fortunately, we have one more minor advantage, courtesy of Commander Reynolds." They all looked at her expectantly, and she showed her teeth in an expression no one would have been likely ever to confuse with a pleasant smile. "It would appear that Governor Chalmers is also familiar with the terms of our treaty with New Hamburg. Which is why the ship he's expecting will arrive squawking the transponder code of an Andy merchant ship."
"That," Llewellyn said thoughtfully, "could be a bit of a problem, Ma'am, given how tense things are out here right now."
"I'm sure that's why Chalmers picked an Andy code." Ferrero nodded. "No Manticoran's skipper in her right mind is going to want to provoke any incidents by stopping Andy merchant shipping. Unfortunately for Governor Chalmers, if Commander Reynolds' information is correct, he's chosen the wrong ship this time."
"What do you mean, 'wrong ship,' Skipper?" Lieutenant McKee asked.
"Chalmers is going to be expecting a ship identifying herself as the Andermani merchant ship Sittich. There happens to be a ship of that name on the Andermani merchant registry. But that Sittich is a four-megaton Spica-class bulk carrier. The Sittich Chalmers is expecting is a two-megaton tramp. We don't have her class or any detailed sensor info on her, but we do have a complete fingerprint on the real Sittich from Gregor Astro Control, and it's less than six months old. So if we see someone squawking Sittich's transponder code and she doesn't match our filed sensor data, then I think we can be fairly confident we've got the right target. And if Commander Reynolds' informant was telling him the truth, our Sittich is not only going to be outfitted as a slaver, she's going to have at least some slaves actually on board. Zoraster is her last stop before she heads back to New Hamburg, and she's supposed to have picked up consignments in at least two other star systems."
"What if this informant, whoever he is, is feeding us false information, Skipper?" McClelland asked. Ferrero looked at him, and he shrugged. "As you say, we're not exactly on the best terms with the Andies just now. What if someone's trying to set us up to stop one of their merchies expressly to create an incident?"
"I suppose the possibility exists," Ferrero acknowledged. "But if that's what someone's trying to do, whoever it is picked a particularly stupid way to go about it, James. First of all, they picked the name of an Andy ship we happen to have good sensor data on, which means we should at least be able to avoid stopping the real Sittich even if she should somehow happen to appear in this particular system at this particular time. Of course, there's no way a crewman on a Solly freighter could have known that would be the case. So it's at least remotely possible that he just picked a name out of a hat and dogged out on his choice. But think about it. Wayfarer's entire crew was caught in the act of slaving. Every one of them is liable to execution. So whoever gave Commander Reynolds this information has to be aware that if it turns out to be bogus, and especially if it creates an incident between us and the Andies, any deal that might have saved him from the hangman goes right out the airlock."
McClelland considered that. After a moment, he nodded slowly, and Ferrero nodded back.
"All right, James. I want a course for Zoraster plotted soonest. Shawn, I want you and the exec to sit down and plan exactly how we're going to do this. Obviously, I don't want Chalmers to know we're in the system. The first thing he's going to do if he knows we're there will be to warn his accomplices. If he's smart, he'll also be doing his best to keep us tied up in official red tape or using his own system security ships to shadow and harass us, trying to keep us distracted. So we'll go in stealthy and stay that way."
"Aye, aye, Ma'am." Harris frowned thoughtfully. "Can I deploy perimeter platforms on the way in?"
"I'd prefer not to," Ferrero said after a moment. "We don't have any idea what kind of sensor suite our target may be carrying. It's remotely possible that they could spot the regular platforms, and unless we were in exactly the right place, we couldn't count on intercepting them before they broke back out across the limit and disappeared into hyper again. More to the point, Chalmers' system security units might spot them and warn our friends off."
"That's going to make things a little tougher, Skipper," Llewellyn pointed out for the tac officer.
"It is," Ferrero conceded. "But remember, we're hunting a merchie here, and there's only one habitable planet in the system. I don't think even Chalmers is going to want to risk parking that many slaves aboard one of the orbital refineries or fabrication platforms, and, by the same token, he's not going to want to try to hide them aboard one of the normal transient lodging habitats. That means our target is going to have to make contact with the planet, or at least one of the orbital warehouses where Chalmers can be confident of avoiding unwanted eyes, to pick up her 'cargo.' "
"So if we stay close enough to the planet, we should be able to get a good sensor look at anything coming close enough for a pickup." Harris nodded. "I can work with that, Skipper. Staying stealthed that close without being picked up ourselves won't be easy, even against Silly sensors, but I think we can hack it as long as we keep the wedge strength down."
"And if we catch her that deep into the system, there's no way she'll be able to outrun us back to the hyper limit," McClelland put in.
"Exactly," Ferrero agreed.
"Question, Skipper," Llewellyn said. "Do we want to intercept her inbound, or outbound?"
"Um." Ferrero rubbed her chin, frowning thoughtfully. "Outbound," she decided. "We could nail the ship on either leg, especially if Commander Reynolds' information about her already having slaves on board is accurate. But I want Chalmers, too, if we can get him. And our best shot at that is to intercept 'Sittich' when she has slaves we know are bound for his 'recreation' habitat."
"Understood." Llewellyn gazed at the system schematic for a few seconds. "It's going to increase our exposure to the Sillies' sensor platforms, but not by all that much. And I hate to say it, but I'd really prefer to intercept her as far from whatever defensive systems Zoraster may have as we can. Chalmers would have to be a lunatic to fire on a Manticoran warship, but given the official penalties for slaving even here in Silesia, I'd just as soon not tempt him."
"I'm glad you're thinking that way, Bob," Ferrero told him. "On the other hand, you're talking about Silly weapon systems." She chuckled nastily. "I almost wish he would be stupid enough to try to nail us with that obsolescent crap. Shawn's missile crews could use the exercise!"
* * *
"Have you been informed as to the content of this note, Mr. Ambassador?" Elaine Descroix asked coolly.
"Only in the most general terms, Madame Secretary," Yves Grosclaude, the Havenite ambassador to the Star Kingdom, replied. It might strike some that having any discussion with an ambassador from a nation with which one was officially still at war was . . . unusual, because it was. But Secretary of State Giancola had argued that more direct contact at a somewhat higher level than the teams deadlocked on the actual treaty negotiations would be helpful. In Descroix's opinion, there was some doubt as to just who it would be helpful for, but High Ridge had decided that it would be a fairly innocuous concession which would play well in the court of public opinion
. Which was how Yves Grosclaude had become Haven's officially accredited "special envoy" (accorded the "courtesy" title of Ambassador solely as a gracious gesture towards the Republic, of course) to the Star Kingdom of Manticore.
As always, he and Descroix were punctiliously correct.
"And were you informed as to when Secretary Giancola anticipates a reply?"
"No, Madame Secretary. I was simply instructed to request a formal reply at the Star Kingdom's earliest convenience."
"I see." Descroix smiled. "Well, I assure you, Mr. Ambassador, that we will indeed reply at our earliest . . . convenience."
"We could ask no more," Grosclaude replied affably, with a smile as obviously false as her own. "And now," he continued, "since I've discharged my mission here, I will take up no more of your valuable time."
He rose with a slight, formal bow, and Descroix stood behind her desk to return it. She made no move, however, to escort him from her office, and he smiled again, this time as if in some obscure form of satisfaction at the deliberate slight.
She watched the door close behind him, then sat back down and turned her attention back to the text on her display. It was no more palatable on closer examination than it had been when she first glanced at it, and she allowed her anger to show now that she was once again alone in her office.
She read through the entire note, slowly, one phrase at a time, and her lips grew thinner and her eyes colder with each sentence.
* * *
"I don't believe I care for Pritchart's tone," Baron High Ridge observed coldly.
"And you think I do care for it?" Descroix demanded. Then she snorted. "At least you didn't have that jumped up Dolist Grosclaude in your office handing his frigging note to you."
"No," the Prime Minister agreed. "I've had to endure three interviews with him, and that's quite enough, thank you."
"I wish three interviews were all I'd had to put up with," Descroix replied. "But that's neither here nor there. What's important is the note itself. She's getting more and more hardline, Michael."