by David Weber
Of course, she admitted, the Star Kingdom was already in possession of all of those systems . . . not to mention all of the other systems currently in dispute, including the Tequila System, less than fifty-five light-years from the capital system itself. And Tequila was one of the systems she was not prepared to leave under Manticoran control.
The Manticoran Alliance actually controlled a total of twenty-seven star systems which were technically claimed by the Republic of Haven. Six of those twenty-seven were effectively uninhabited; most of them had boasted naval bases, which explained the Alliance's original interest in them, but possessed no habitable planets to attract civilian development. Another three had been sufficiently recent acquisitions of the People's Republic to leave the local inhabitants with an extreme dislike, even hatred, for anything coming out of the Haven System, regardless of any reforms which might have occurred there. Those three had already expressed their firm intention to seek annexation on the pattern of Trevor's Star, and Pritchart was prepared to let them go. The readopted Constitution gave them the right to do that, and even if they hadn't, she would have been perfectly willing to use them as bargaining chips. Assuming the Star Kingdom had shown any desire to bargain.
It was the other eighteen star systems under Manticoran occupation that created the stumbling block. Each of them, for its own reasons, was of special importance to the Republic. In most cases, those reasons were economic or industrial, but some of them were critically placed for military bases which would either protect the heartland of the Republic . . . or provide a highway for its invasion. And most, though not all of them, had been member systems of the PRH long enough to think of themselves as Havenite territory, whether they were entirely delighted by the prospect or not.
The biggest problem was that at least three of them—Tahlman, Runciman, and Franconia—did not so regard themselves and had no desire to return to Havenite control. Two or three more were probably wavering, but the majority appeared to prefer the notion of being restored to the reformed Republic to ongoing occupation. In fact, a half dozen of them were obviously eager to rejoin the rest of the Republic before they missed out on the opportunities presented by the political and economic renaissance it was currently enjoying.
Those were the star systems Pritchart was unwilling to supinely yield to the Star Kingdom. She recognized that Tahlman, Runciman, and Franconia were going to require special handling, and it was entirely possible that in the end she would have to reluctantly allow them to go their own way. If it all possible, she preferred to do that by seeing them as independent single-system star nations in their own right rather than as additional Manticoran bastions so deep in Republican territory, but if she absolutely had to, she would agree to their voluntary annexation by the Star Kingdom. The return of the others to Republican sovereignty, however, was not negotiable.
A point Elaine Descroix and Baron High Ridge seemed determined to ignore.
"If they aren't listening to what we say," Pritchart told her Secretary of State, "then it's up to us to find a way to . . . get their attention."
"That's precisely what I've been saying for some time now," Giancola observed mildly, while inside he savored the delicious pleasure of watching her move in the direction of his piping.
"At the same time, Madame President," he continued in a more somber tone, "I think we might want to exercise a little caution in precisely how we go about 'getting their attention.' "
"I thought you were in favor of finding ways to turn the screws on them," she said, eyes narrowed, and he shrugged. That was before it became your policy, he thought. And truth to tell, he was still perfectly willing to do just that, as long as it could be done on his own terms.
"In many ways, I still am in favor of being as firm as possible," he said aloud, choosing his words carefully while he wondered if Eloise Pritchart had ever heard of an ancient, obscure Old Earth folktale which had always been one of his own favorites as a child.
"However," he continued, "I believe our most recent offer was just about as explicit as it could possibly have been. Both in terms of what we were willing to concede, and in terms of what we clearly were not willing to concede. And in the clear implication that our patience isn't unlimited." He shrugged. "Speaking as the Republic's Secretary of State, I would be most hesitant to become even more openly confrontational."
Please, he thought, managing somehow not to smile. Oh, please, don't throw me in that briar patch!
"Firmness," Pritchart said, "isn't necessarily the same thing as being 'confrontational.' "
"I didn't mean to imply that it is," he lied. "I'm simply saying that I don't see any way to make our position clearer without explicitly telling the Manties we're prepared to resort to military action if our demands aren't met."
"I don't think we're so far along that our only options are to accept something like Descroix's meaningless response or go to war, Arnold," Pritchart said frostily, her eyes hard. It was interesting, she thought mordantly, the way that Giancola the firebrand had suddenly cooled off when the polls showed she was the one garnering public support for "standing up" to the Star Kingdom.
"I'm sorry if you think that was what I was saying," he replied, his expression a carefully crafted blend of frustration and mild disappointment even as a voice deep down inside was exulting Gotcha! "All I'm saying is that we've already made our feelings and our position amply clear. Obviously, the Manties haven't been impressed by that, however. So it seems to me that if we intend to continue to press them for concessions in the negotiations, we have to find some way other than still more diplomatic exchanges to increase the pressure on them. I probably overstated my position by mentioning military action, but let's be honest. What means do we have for exerting more pressure besides the potential threat of a resumption of hostilities?"
"I think we've already made them fully aware of that threat's potential," Pritchart said. "I see no reason to escalate tensions by waving the Navy in their direction even more explicitly. But I do intend to continue to press them on the diplomatic front. Do you have a problem with that?"
"Of course not," he said in a voice which implied exactly the opposite. "Even if I did, you're the President. However, if you—I mean, we—intend to maintain the diplomatic pressure, I believe we have to pursue all other avenues, as well. Which is why I would like to very strongly urge once again that we announce the existence of our CLACs, as well as the SD(P)s."
"Absolutely not," Pritchart said, then grimaced mentally. Her refusal had come out rather more forcefully than she'd intended. Partly, she suspected, that was because she was trapped between Thomas Theisman's position and Giancola's and resented it. The fact that Theisman was a friend while Giancola was something else entirely only made her resentment worse.
And, she reminded herself yet again, another part of it stemmed from her growing tendency to see anything Giancola suggested as a bad idea simply because it had come from him.
"No," she said in a calmer tone, and shook her head. "I'm not prepared to override Tom Theisman on that—not yet. But I do intend to reply to Descroix in no uncertain terms."
"It's your decision to make," Giancola conceded unhappily. Really, he reflected behind the cover of his frown, this was turning out to be even easier than he'd expected. It was like the old fables about "leading" a pig by tying a string to its hind leg and pulling in the opposite direction from the way you wanted it to go. The last thing he wanted at this point was for someone in the Star Kingdom to wake up too soon to the reality of the military threat it faced, and telling it about the CLACs was likely to accomplish just that.
"Yes," Pritchart told him, looking him straight in the eye, "it is my decision, isn't it?"
* * *
"The President is on the com, Sir."
Thomas Theisman looked up from the holo map floating above the conference table at Captain Borderwijk's announcement. His senior aide tapped her earbug lightly, indicating how she had received the information, and he managed no
t to frown. It wasn't easy. Normally, he was delighted to talk to Eloise Pritchart. Unfortunately, he knew who she'd been scheduled to meet with this afternoon.
"Thank you, Alenka," he said, instead, then glanced at the planners gathered around the map with him. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I'll leave you and Admiral Trenis to continue your discussions with Admiral Marquette. Arnaud," he turned to the Chief of Staff, "I'll go over your conclusions with you this evening."
"Yes, Sir," Marquette replied, and Theisman nodded to his subordinates, then turned and headed down the hall to his own office. Borderwijk followed him as far as the outer office, then peeled off to her own desk. His personal yeoman started to stand, but he waved the woman back into her chair and sailed on into his sanctum sanctorum. The attention light was blinking on his com terminal, and he drew a deep breath, then sat down in front of it and pressed the acceptance key.
"Hello, Eloise," he said when Pritchart appeared on the display. "Sorry it took me so long to take your call. I was down the hall with Marquette and the joint planning staff."
"Don't apologize," she told him. "After the conversation I've just endured waiting a few extra minutes is a small price to pay for the pleasure of talking to someone I want to talk to."
"That bad, was it?" he asked sympathetically.
"Worse," she assured him. "Much worse." Then she sighed. "But if I'm going to be honest, Tom, I suppose I have to admit part of it was how much I hate hearing Arnold say anything I might find myself forced to agree with."
"I don't see why that should bother you," Theisman said with a snort. "I haven't agreed with anything the son-of-a-bitch has said in the last two T-years!"
"I know you haven't. But you're the Secretary of War; I'm the President. I can't afford to indulge myself by rejecting the position of any Cabinet secretary out of hand just because I don't like—or trust—the person advocating it."
"No, I don't suppose you can," he said just a bit contritely, acknowledging the implicit rebuke.
"Sorry." She grimaced. "I didn't mean to take it out on you. But now Arnold is telling me that he thinks it would be . . . inadvisable to be any more 'adversarial' then we already have in our negotiations with the Manties."
"Giancola said that?" Theisman blinked.
"More or less. I don't know whether he's serious, or whether he's trying to talk me out of it because of the shift in my favor in the opinion polls. The problem is, that much as I'd like to, I don't think I can just dismiss his official concerns out of hand."
"Because you think he wants to make them part of the record in case you do dismiss them and it blows up in your face?"
"I'm sure that's part of it. But let's face it, Tom. Neither one of us may like him very much, but that doesn't make him an idiot. Basically, he's arguing that if we want to keep the pressure on the Manties, we have to be a bit more explicit about the steel fist inside our silk glove."
"If you're about to say he still wants to announce the existence of the CLACs," Theisman broke in, "I'm still firmly opposed. Shannon's people have managed to get nine more of them into commission, with complete LAC complements. The longer she has to get still more of them commissioned—and to work up the ones she has—before the Manties know they even exist, the better."
"I understand your position, Tom," she said patiently. "And I told him I wasn't going to override you. But that doesn't mean I can completely ignore what he was saying. I've done just about everything short of hitting Descroix over the head with a club, and she still doesn't seem to realize we're serious. It's going to take something fairly drastic to get through to her, I think. The sort of language diplomats don't usually use with one another."
"Is that really wise?" he asked.
"I don't know whether it is or not," she said snappishly. "I only know that if I'm going to continue to pursue any sort of diplomatic resolution with people so damned stupid they don't even recognize the kind of danger they're walking straight into—and taking the rest of us into with them, whether we want to go or not—then I need a big enough hammer to get their frigging attention!"
Theisman managed not to wince visibly, but it wasn't easy. Pritchart's growing exasperation with both Giancola and the Star Kingdom had worried him for months. Which, he admitted, had been just a little hypocritical of him when he'd been even more exasperated with both of them than she'd been. But as she'd just pointed out, she was the President. He wasn't. In the end, her anger was far more dangerous than his.
"If we're not going to announce the CLACs," he said carefully, "then just what sort of hammer did you have in mind?"
"I'm going to tell them it's time to fish or cut bait," she said flatly. "I want at least some concession, some forward movement, out of them. And if I don't get it, then I intend to recall our negotiators from the so-called peace talks for 'consultations' here in Nouveau Paris. And I'll keep them here for months, if I have to."
"That sounds just a little drastic," he observed. "I'm not saying it's unjustified, or even that it might not be a good idea, in the long run. But if you do it, especially in the wake of how recently we've admitted Bolthole exists, it's really going to ratchet up the pressure. Maybe further than anyone wants it ratcheted."
"I'm fully aware of that possibility," Pritchart assured him. "I don't think the situation is likely to get out of hand—not quickly, anyway. There's too much inertia on the other side. But it's possible I'm wrong about that. Which is the real reason I commed you."
She held his eyes for perhaps three heartbeats, then asked the question.
"How are your war plans coming?"
"I was afraid you were going to ask that." He sighed.
"I wouldn't if I had a choice."
"I know. I know." He drew a deep breath. "Actually," he admitted, "they're coming along better—if that isn't an obscene word to use, under the circumstances—than I'd anticipated."
"Oh?"
"The more we've looked at it, the more evident it's become that Case Red is our best option. I don't like that, in some ways, because of the mindset it engenders in my planners. And in myself, if I'm going to be honest." He frowned. "I'm happier thinking in offensive terms, of making an enemy respond to my actions, and I worry sometimes that it predisposes me towards the most aggressive solution to a problem."
"I don't think anyone who knows you is ever going to confuse you with a bloodthirsty maniac, Tom," Pritchart told him.
"As long as I don't do it myself," he replied wryly. She snorted, and he shrugged.
"With that said, though, I really believe our best chance would be an early, powerful offensive. It would give us our best opportunity to recover the occupied systems and to neutralize their ability to do anything about it, at least in the short term. Hopefully, that would provide a breather, during which diplomacy might actually accomplish something. And if that doesn't happen, at least we'd be as advantageously placed as possible if we're forced to fight it out to the end after all."
"How close are we to being ready to do that if we have to?"
He regarded her expressionlessly for several seconds.
"That depends," he said finally. "In the narrow technical sense, we could launch the operation tomorrow. And assuming our assumptions are valid and that the Manties didn't do anything drastic to change the operational parameters before we actually kicked off, I'd say we'd have at least a seventy or eighty percent chance of pulling it off."
"That good?" Pritchart sounded surprised, and he frowned.
"Let me point out that that's just another way of saying I estimate that even if all our assumptions are sound, there's still a twenty or thirty percent chance of getting our asses kicked."
"Hardly the resounding confidence of a committed militarist," the President observed with an almost-chuckle.
"If you wanted a committed militarist, you should have fired me," Theisman told her. "In my considered opinion anybody who actually wants to go to war is a lunatic, and that's especially true when we've just managed to somehow stave off
complete military defeat as recently as four or five T-years ago. Eloise, I have to encourage aggressive thinking in my planners if I'm going to have any realistic prospect of winning a war with the Manties and their allies. But the truth is that even if we win, our problems won't be over unless we're willing to try to conquer the Star Kingdom outright. And even if we hurt them as badly in the opening stages as I think we could, any actual conquest is going to be bloody, expensive, and very, very ugly . . . while any sort of occupation on the old Legislaturalist model would be a whole lot uglier than that. Not to mention completely unworkable in the long run. I really cannot over emphasize my opposition to resuming active military operations if there's any possible alternative."
"I appreciate that, Tom," she told him quietly, impressed by his obvious sincerity. "And the fact that I know you feel that way is the exact reason—one of many—I would never dream of replacing you with someone else."
"It's my job to advise you on all the reasons not to go to war as well as to figure out how to fight the damned thing if it happens anyway," he replied. "And while I'm thinking about reasons not to do it, don't overlook the potential cost to our relations with other star nations."
"I haven't overlooked it," she assured him. "We've gone a long way towards recovering from the damage the Parnell Hearings did to our public image in the Solarian League. Their newsies have given full play to our domestic reforms, and I've exchanged several very friendly notes with the League's President. For that matter, we've been making ground steadily with our closer neighbors. They're no more blind to which side has been dragging its feet in our talks with the Star Kingdom than we are, and the fact that we've been willing to go on talking—especially since it's become common knowledge that we have the military potential to pursue other options if we chose to—has worked very strongly in our favor. I don't have any desire to throw all of that away. But we have got to get these talks off of dead center, and not just because Arnold is making himself such a pain. We have a moral responsibility to the people who want to return to our citizenship. And, for that matter, we have a moral responsibility to the people who don't want to do that—a responsibility to resolve their uncertainty once and for all."