by David Weber
Unless he thought it would get him something he wanted…
Burgundy and the King had settled into a slightly desultory conversation about ship sales and Manticoran security by the time Edward had the details worked out. He waited for Burgundy to finish his current point, then cleared his throat. “Your Grace; Your Majesty,” he said. “If I may, I have an idea.”
His father gestured. “Please.”
“Let’s start back at the beginning of the Mars project,” Edward said. “Why was that initiated in the first place, especially given that what Breakwater actually wanted was system patrol craft? Mars was cut up because she had two reactors and two impeller rings, and we can’t build either of those technologies. Every impeller and shipboard reactor in the Star Kingdom has been imported from the League, and they’re damned expensive.”
“Indeed they are,” Burgundy agreed with a wry smile. “We really should learn how to build them ourselves.”
Edward inclined his head. “Exactly.”
Burgundy’s smile vanished. “You’re joking.”
“Not at all,” Edward assured him, stealing a quick glance at his father. The King was watching him closely. “The technology is complex, but well-known. There’s no reason in principle we couldn’t set up our own manufacturing facilities. Once we have those, we can make any ships we want—system patrol craft, miners, merchants, or more warships.”
“With all due respect, Your Highness, this isn’t exactly a new proposal,” Burgundy pointed out. “Dapplelake has suggested it on more than one occasion. The problem isn’t the technical aspects, but the time and the necessary expertise. Not to mention the start-up money.”
“Which we have plenty of,” Edward said. “Manticore, Limited’s reserves are more than enough to cover both the R&D and the actual plant manufacture.”
“Manticore, Limited’s reserves are a year and a half away,” the King reminded him. “The way things are going, even if we sent off for it tomorrow there’s every chance the money would arrive just in time to watch the last battlecruiser being cut up for scrap.”
“And we couldn’t send off for it tomorrow,” Burgundy added. “Not the kind of funds you’re talking about. Not without approval from Parliament.”
“Which is why we need to lay the groundwork first,” Edward said. “What neither of you has said so far, but which all of us are undoubtedly thinking, is that building an impeller manufacturing plant for the handful of ships the Star Kingdom needs would be like creating an automated fifty-ton hammer to crack walnuts. Even at the prices the League charges, it’s still more cost-effective to import the nodes and reactors. But.”
He lifted a finger in the air. “What if we were able to build ships, not just for us, but for the entire region?”
He had, he decided, seen more enthusiastic responses in a fish tank. For a moment both men just looked at him, then exchanged a look between themselves, then turned back to him. “Haven’s already got the infrastructure to do that,” the King pointed out. “But all right, let’s think it through. Assuming we could find the necessary people and train them to this sort of thing, how do you propose to induce our neighbors to buy from us instead of Haven or the Solarians?”
“Step one: we see what’s selling,” Edward said. At least neither of them had dismissed the idea out of hand. “The Secour sale is the perfect opportunity. We send a team to see what Haven’s offering and what the customers are looking to buy. Step two: once we have that, we dazzle them with what we can do. One of our ships, Casey, is supposed to be undergoing a refit, though Breakwater’s interference has kept the work in an on-again, off-again limbo. I propose we not only put the refit on track again, but that we pull out all the stops and make her the most advanced light cruiser anyone in this neighborhood has ever seen. Step three: once Casey is up and running again, we send her on a tour of the region and drum up some business. Part of our pitch will be that, unlike Sol or Haven, we won’t have simply a limited selection of stock ships, but can custom-design whatever the buyer wants. By the time the funds and equipment arrive from Sol for our new node and reactor facilities, we’ll hopefully have enough people trained and enough orders to get the thing rolling.”
“I don’t know,” Burgundy said doubtfully. “Even the best-case scenario will have us in a financial hole for several years. If the orders don’t come in, we’ll never be out of it.”
“Yes, there are risks involved,” Edward said, forcing patience into his voice. Did Burgundy not have even a spark of his old fire left? “But if we don’t move forward, we fade away. If our fathers and grandfathers hadn’t been willing to take risks, none of us would be here in the first place.”
Burgundy’s face was screwed up with uncertainty. “I don’t know.” He lifted a hand toward the King. “Your Majesty?”
“It is a risk,” the King agreed. “But Edward’s right. Like all organisms, we either grow or die.”
“The Lords won’t go for it,” Burgundy warned.
“Not if we feed them the whole thing at once,” the King agreed. “I presume you have a plan to cover that, Edward?”
“I do, Your Majesty,” Edward said. “We propose sending another team to Secour, but we frame it as an enquiry into whether or not there’s a market for used battlecruisers.”
“Is Haven even sending a battlecruiser?” Burgundy asked. “I remember the heavy cruiser Péridot being the biggest thing on the sale list.”
“Doesn’t matter what they’re bringing,” Edward said. “We can still use it as our excuse.”
“At least to Breakwater,” Burgundy said. “But the rest of the Lords aren’t nearly as committed to that course. What would we tell them?”
“You’re right, the BC story should be our and Breakwater’s little secret,” Edward said, frowning with thought.
“We’ve already sent out Diactoros and Perseus,” the King pointed out. “What happens if the Minorcans, say, decide to buy one of the Havenite ships?”
“Right,” Edward said, nodding as he saw where his father was going. “We tell the Lords it occurred to us that we’d sent only one escort ship with Diactoros, and that we wanted to offer an escort to any of the passengers we ferried to Secour who wants to ride home in a new ship.”
“I think we can sell that,” the King said. “And of course, Haven shouldn’t care that we’ve sent two delegations.”
“Not at all,” Edward agreed. “All we have to do is show up and smile.”
“And not tell them we’re hoping to cut into their future business,” the King said pointedly.
Edward winced. “Yes, we’ll want to make very sure that whoever we send doesn’t mention that.”
“Why do any of our people need to know at all?” Burgundy asked. “Can’t they just take detailed notes on the ships being offered?”
“Because they’ll do a better job if they know what they’re looking for,” Edward said. “As a corollary, whatever ship we send has to be loaded with as many experts as we can squeeze aboard without Breakwater and his cronies noticing and getting suspicious.”
“Who are you going to get to assemble this group?” Burgundy asked. “I presume you won’t be doing that all by yourself.”
“No, I’ll definitely need help,” Edward agreed. “First Lord Cazenestro or Admiral Locatelli are the logical choices, but their daily activities are too public. A single red flare, and Breakwater would be all over it. I need someone who’s knowledgeable but farther off Parliament’s radar. That’s why I was thinking Commodore Kiselev.”
“Who’s he?” Burgundy asked.
“The current CO of Casey-Rosewood,” Edward said, “which means he’s pretty much invisible except at budget time. Between the two of us, we know most of the officer corps personally. And with his access to Casey-Rosewood’s records—not to mention the whole range of BuPers’s files—we can also look for talented POs and enlisted to round out the crew.”
“And we sell this to Breakwater as testing the waters for a sale?
” Burgundy wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know. If he catches on to what you’re doing, I’m not sure even your status will be enough to protect you.”
“True,” the King said. “Which is why Edward will be staying completely away from this.”
Edward spun back to his father, feeling his mouth drop open. “What? No.”
“It’s not open to debate, Edward,” the King said firmly. “You can get the ball rolling, but after that you’re out. You’re the Crown, and the Crown has to pick and choose how and where it gets involved in politics.”
Edward hissed softly between his teeth. This was his idea, damn it. Not only that, but this was the best hope for the Navy’s continued survival. He had to be involved.
But he knew an order when he heard one. Besides, frustrating or not, his father was right. “Understood,” he said. “I have business tomorrow at Casey-Rosewood anyway. I’ll speak with Kiselev then and see if he’s game to handle this.”
“And then you’ll return to your ship.”
“I will, Your Majesty,” Edward promised.
“Very well.” The King looked back and forth between them. “Then I believe we’re finished here. Davis, you’ll talk to Dapplelake first thing tomorrow?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Burgundy promised. “I presume I can add your weight to my arguments?”
“Absolutely,” the King assured him. “Make sure he knows his resignation will not be acceptable to the Crown.”
“I’ll do my best.” With an effort, Burgundy worked his way out of the confines of his chair. “But as I said, he’s a very stubborn man.” He bowed to the King, then Edward. “Good evening, Your Majesty; Your Highness”
Edward waited until the other had left the room. “To coin a phrase, Dad, this is one royal mess,” he said.
“You don’t know the half of it,” his father said. “Breakwater was bad enough on his own. But with Winterfall in his pocket—” He shook his head.
Edward frowned. “Winterfall? You’re joking.”
“One would think so, wouldn’t one?” Michael said ruefully. “But whether Breakwater was simply lucky or whether he saw something in Winterfall that no one else did, his new protégé has suddenly blossomed into someone who needs to be watched.”
Edward shook his head. “Sorry, but I don’t see it. He looks to me like just another of Breakwater’s—what did you call them once? Sock puppets?”
“That’s the term,” Michael said. “And I hope you’re right. The Star Kingdom can’t afford another influential politician who truly believes the universe is a safe and cozy place. You can trust Commodore Kiselev?”
“Absolutely,” Edward assured him. “He was my division CO on Bellerophon when I was young and green, and he pretty much took me under his wing. We’d probably have been closer friends if we hadn’t both been making so damn sure we didn’t run afoul of the rules against fraternization. On top of which, of course, was his concern that he didn’t look like he was sucking up to his future monarch.”
Michael nodded. “I remember those letters you sent. I was just wondering if you might have grown apart.”
“In distance, yes,” Edward said. “In attitudes, no. I should have at least a preliminary answer from him before Captain Davison’s knighting ceremony on Sunday.”
“Good.” The King made a face. “Hardly seems something we should be honoring him for, does it?”
“He did save eight civilians,” Edward pointed out. “These days, that all it takes to be considered a hero.”
“I suppose,” Michael said with a sigh. “It’s a shame the geometry didn’t work out for his Tactical Officer’s missile idea.”
“Probably just as well he didn’t try it,” Edward said. “The chances were pretty slim; and even if it had worked, Breakwater would probably have screamed for a demotion on the grounds that he wasted an expensive missile in a non-combat situation.”
Michael snorted. “I still can’t believe that’s an official Defense Ministry policy.”
“Yet another cost-saving measure we can thank Breakwater for.” Edward stood up. “And now, with your permission, I need to go. Cynthia will have the kids in bed by now, and I promised her we’d spend an actual evening together, with grown-up conversations and everything.”
“Of course, and do give her my love,” the King said. “I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this lately, Edward, but I think your grandfather’s stipulation that the Crown be married to a commoner has worked out extraordinarily well in your case.”
“She is a gem, isn’t she?” Edward agreed with a smile. “Give my regards to Mom.”
“I will,” Michael promised. “We’ll see you on Sunday. And let me know how it goes with Kiselev.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Metzger looked up from the tablet to the man gazing stolidly at her from across the desk. “You’ve got to be kidding,” she said.
“Not at all,” Kiselev said, his eyes boring into hers with uncomfortable intensity. “I trust you noticed the part wherein, if you agree, you’ll be promoted to commander and replace Alex Thomas as Guardian’s XO?”
“Oh, yes, I saw that,” Metzger murmured, the universe seeming to spin around her head. It was like a dream come true.
A whole cluster of dreams, actually. To finally make full commander, to be assigned as a ship’s executive officer, and to actually head off on a voyage that would take her outside the somewhat claustrophobic confines of the Star Kingdom—any one of those by itself would have been enough to make her day. Or her week, or her whole year.
And all she had to do was in exchange was do a quiet end run around Parliament and the anti-RMN Lords like Earl Breakwater.
Come to think of it, that actually counted as another plus.
“You’re sure Captain Eigen isn’t going to make a stink about us stocking his ship with new people?” she asked. “Losing his XO and half his officer complement could be taken as a pretty hefty slam.”
“No, no, he’s already aboard with this,” Kiselev assured her. “I take it you haven’t actually met the man?”
“Just briefly, and all at the pleasantries level.”
“Well, you’ll like him,” Kiselev assured her. “He’s sharp and cool-headed, and as passionately dedicated to the Navy and the Star Kingdom as anyone you could find.”
“And apparently doesn’t mind playing his cards under the table.”
“We aren’t doing anything under the table,” Kiselev protested mildly. “Guardian’s XO was slated for rotation to a dirtside command anyway, and most of the other officers who are being swapped out are on equally reasonable career tracks. Breakwater can look as close as he likes, and it’ll still come up looking clean.” He shrugged. “And of course Admiral Locatelli will be there to soothe any questions or concerns that anyone does come up with.”
“Assuming he’s still System CO when the dust settles,” Metzger warned. “From what I hear, Dapplelake’s going through the upper ranks with a torch and pitchfork.”
“Locatelli will survive,” Kiselev said. “Wherever the Phobos communication breakdown happened, it won’t have been at Locatelli’s end. He’s too good an officer to play fast and loose with vital information.”
“Until now,” Metzger murmured.
“Not really,” Kiselev said. “Remember, every scrap of data you collect at Secour will be duly and legally turned over to Parliament. There’s nothing underhanded about this.” He shrugged. “It’s just that Parliament may have a—shall we say—slightly different interpretation of why that data was gathered.”
“Understood.” Not that Breakwater would see it that way, of course. But the ostensible purpose for this trip would play to the Chancellor’s goals, and it was amazing how wishful thinking could distract even the smartest people. “When is this all slated to happen?”
“It’ll be a gradual procedure,” Kiselev said. “Figure three and a half months to get to Secour, with the meeting and sale starting in six, and we have a couple of months to g
et everyone aboard Guardian. Plus a little extra time to let the officers and crew work up before you head off into the universe.”
The last few words came out rather wistfully, and Metzger felt a twinge of guilt. Few of the RMN’s current officers or enlisted had ever been outside the Manticore system, and she could understand Kiselev’s quiet regret that he wouldn’t be going along. “Look at the bright side,” she offered. “If this works, maybe you’ll get to be the one to take Casey around to show everyone in a couple of years.”
Kiselev gave her a lopsided smile. “Is it that obvious?”
“We all want to go,” she said quietly. “I was just lucky in the draw this time.”
“Hardly,” Kiselev assured her. “That idea of yours—that supply missile thing?—was brilliant. I’ve reviewed the data, and I still think Davison should have taken the shot.”
Metzger’s twinge of guilt deepened. She still didn’t know why Davison had insisted on crediting that idea to her instead of Spacer Long, despite her objections. But she and the entire bridge crew had heard him enter it into his log, and they all knew the quiet hell there would be to pay if any of them contradicted his version of events.
She’d heard later that the captain had written a vaguely-worded commendation into Long’s record. Hardly a sufficient acknowledgment for the boy’s ingenuity.
But maybe she could do something right now to help the balance things out. “What about enlisted?” she asked. “You going to leave Guardian’s crew intact, or bring in new spacers and noncoms?”
“It’ll be a mix,” Kiselev said. “Again, we’re looking for people with particular expertise in their areas.”
“And who can keep their mouths shut?”
“Not necessarily,” Kiselev said. “It’ll only be the senior officers who know the real mission. Why, do you have someone you’d like to see aboard?”
“I do,” Metzger said. “Spacer First Class Travis Long.”
“Travis Long?” Kiselev echoed, frowning. Swiveling around in his chair, he started punching keys on his terminal.