by Дэвид Вебер
"That actually fits in with what we've seen so far, assuming what's been happening to the Manties is actually part of this strategy McBryde described to Cachat and Zilwicki," LePic acknowledged with a thoughtful expression. "They've got pieces in motion all over the board, but when you come right down to it, aside from the actual attack on the Manties' home system, none of it's required a lot of manpower"—he winced at his own unintentional double entendre but continued gamely—"or military muscle of their own . In fact, almost all the movement we've seen could have been produced very economically. Get to Byng and Crandall, and maybe one or two of the Kolokoltsov group, then add somebody around your level in the military, Tom, and you get the fleet movements that brought the Manties into conflict with the Sollies. And then momentum—Solly arrogance, the inherent corruption of the League's system, the lack of meaningful political control, the competition between Frontier Security satrapies, the desire for revenge because of the way the Manties had humiliated them militarily—pushes things along with very little additional effort on your part. Meanwhile, you concentrate your intensive efforts somewhere else—organizing whatever was in some of those 'bargaining points' McBryde was hanging on to to encourage Cachat to get him out—where informed cooperation is critical to your final strategy."
"Which brings us back to Nouveau Paris," Pritchart said grimly.
The others looked at her, and she barked a metallic, snarling laugh.
"Of course it does! For that matter, Tom, you and I have already discussed this, in a way. If McBryde was telling the truth about the existence of this 'assassination nanotech' of theirs, I think we finally know what happened to Yves Grosclaude, don't we?" She showed her teeth, and this time the glare at the backs of her eyes burned like a topaz balefire. "Frankly, it ties in rather neatly with the only bits and pieces of forensic evidence Kevin and Inspector Abrioux managed to come up with at the time. And just why, do you think, was this 'Mesan Alignment' kind enough to provide Arnold with one of its most closely held, top secret toys? Remember what you were just saying about sleepers, Tom? And that little comment of yours, Denis, about producing movement economically?"
The others were staring at her in shock, and she wondered why. From the instant she'd heard about McBryde's description of the new Mesan nanotechnology, she'd realized what had happened to Grosclaude. And if one of this 'Alignment's' critical objectives was the destruction of both the Star Empire of Manticore and the Republic of Haven, what better, more elegant way to go about it than to send them back to war with one another?
"It makes sense, doesn't it?" she pressed. "They played us—me— by having Arnold doctor the diplomatic correspondence. Hell, they may've had someone at the other end doing the same thing for High Ridge! No one's seen hide nor hair of Descroix ever since the wheels came off, now have they? And then, when we figured out what Arnold had done, they played Elizabeth by convincing her we'd killed Webster and tried to kill her niece exactly the same way the Legislaturalists killed her father and Saint-Just tried to kill her! God only knows how many millions of civilians and spacers—ours and the Manties'—these . . . people have gotten killed over the past eighty T-years or so, and Elizabeth—and I—both walked straight into it when it was our turn!"
The president's rage was a bare-fanged, bristling presence in the office now. Then Theisman raised one hand in a cautionary gesture.
"Assuming a single word of what McBryde told Cachat and Zilwicki is true, you may well be right, Eloise," he said quietly. "In fact, assuming there's any truth to it, I think you almost certainly are right. But at the same time, it may not be true. I don't know about you, but there's a part of me that would really, really like to be able to blame all the people we've killed—and the people we've had killed on our own side—on someone else's evil machinations instead of our own inherent ability to screw up. It may be that that's what happened. But before we start operating on that assumption, we've got to find some way to test whether or not it is."
"Oh, I agree with you entirely, Tom," Pritchart said. "At the same time, though, I think we've already got enough, what with the records Cachat and Zilwicki brought home of the Green Pines explosions and how they don't match the Mesa version, what Simхes can tell us, what our own scientists can tell us about his new drive claims, to justify very quietly reaching out to Congress."
Theisman looked distinctly alarmed, as did LePic. Trenis and Lewis, on the other hand, were obviously trying very hard not to look alarmed. In fact, they were trying so hard—and failing so completely—that the president chuckled much more naturally.
"I'm not planning on talking to anyone unless Leslie, Kevin Usher, and probably you, Tom, all agree that, whoever it is, she's at least her own woman. And, trust me, I'm thinking in terms of a preliminary security vetting God might not pass! And I'm certainly not going to bring anyone like McGwire or Younger in on this until and unless we feel absolutely certain McBryde's and Simхes's information is credible. But if we do come to that conclusion, this is going to change every single one of our foreign policy assumptions. That being the case, I think we need to start doing a little very careful, very circumspect spadework as soon as possible."
May, 1922 Post Diaspora
"If the Solarian League wants a war, the Solarian League will have one."
—Queen Elizabeth III of Manticore
Chapter Forty-One
"Good morning," Albrecht Detweiler said, looking into the camera. "I know it's only been a couple of weeks since we last met, but since then, we've received confirmation the Sollies are going to employ Filareta as we'd hoped."
He paused, reflecting on just how disastrous it could be if the message he was recording fell into someone else's hands. The odds of that happening were literally too minute even to be calculated, or he would never have recorded it in the first place, of course. Only eleven copies of it would be made—one for each of the "Renaissance Factor's" heads of state, on high-security, DNA-coded chips—and each of them would be transported by streak boat in locked, dead-man's switch-controlled, self-destruct-equipped cases for hand-delivery by the Alignment's most trusted couriers. Every precaution for transporting secure information which had been developed during six centuries of successful conspiracy and covert operations had been integrated into the conduits connecting his office to the message's recipients. If anyone had managed to compromise one of those conduits, the entire strategy was doomed anyway, so there really wasn't much point resorting to circumlocution to keep any unauthorized souls who might hypothetically see it from figuring out what he was saying.
"Assuming he manages to meet the specified movement schedule," he went on after a moment, "he should reach Manticore almost exactly three T-weeks from today. Although he's probably clever enough to have at least a few suspicions about how Crandall came to be placed where she was, which means he's probably cherishing a few second thoughts about his own relationship with Manpower, there's not much wiggle room in the orders Rajampet and the Security Board have cut for him. And it's clear from those orders that they've bought into the theory that Manticore's 'mysterious attackers' must have pretty thoroughly gutted the home system's defenses."
Profound satisfaction glittered in his eyes with the last sentence. Getting that particular "conclusion" into the SLN's thought processes had been simpler than he'd expected, although the latest reports from both Collin and Franklin indicated that was going to get harder in the next few months. Well, it wasn't as if that hadn't been anticipated all along. As the catastrophic scope of ONI's threat appreciation failures was driven home in gutted starships and dead spacers, even Solly admirals were bound to realize a thorough housecleaning of their intelligence services was in order. It would be interesting to see if the present senior officers at ONI and OpAn were publicly scapegoated or simply shuffled out to pasture, but it was inevitable that more competent successors (after all, there couldn't be any less competent successors) would replace them.
"So, unless something totally unanticipated ha
ppens—which, of course, is always possible, unfortunately," he continued. "Filareta will follow his orders and demand Manticore's surrender. At which point, the Manties will refuse and he and most of his superdreadnoughts will get exactly the same treatment Crandall got at Spindle. And if it should happen that restraint seems likely to rear its ugly head at the critical moment, we've taken a few precautions to . . . help the situation along, let's say. "
He paused again, smiling thinly.
"Frankly, it seems most likely to us from our sources in Old Chicago that if, in fact, Filareta gets himself as thoroughly smashed as Crandall did, the follow-up wave Rajampet is currently planning will get put on indefinite hold. There has to be a limit to how many superdreadnoughts even the SLN is willing to pour down a rat hole, after all.
"Even if that happens, however, we have . . . arrangements in place to see to it that at least a dozen members of of the Assembly will demand explanations. There's even a possibility—which, to be honest, I find particularly delicious—that Beowulf will be leading the pack. At the same time, we'll be sending the execute order to our first wave of 'spontaneous uprisings' against Frontier Security and its tyrannical ways. When that happens, it will be time for the Factor to come out into the open."
His expression turned much more intent, and he leaned slightly forward, towards the camera.
"The groundwork is all in place, and, so far, things have gone very much as planned. There's always room for that to change, though, and it's critical the next stage be properly handled. With only one or two exceptions, all of your first wave 'annexations' should be programmed to welcome the Faction's protection, but those exceptions—if they arise—are going to have to be very carefully approached. I know we've talked about this, but let me re-emphasize that even though we've picked all of these systems because of their potential industrial and economic contributions, it's absolutely essential that the Faction be seen as a beneficial, voluntary association. So, if it turns out any of your targets are unwilling to voluntarily join, accept that. There'll be time to add them later, and for the immediate future, it's much more important that all of you are self-evidently acting solely in self-defense in the face of the chaos and anarchy spreading steadily through the Shell and Verge."
He paused again for emphasis, then settled back in his chair more comfortably.
"I'm perfectly well aware that all of you already knew all of that." He smiled slightly. "Put it down to the executive producer's last-minute, pre-curtain anxiety. Or, more likely, envy." His smile grew broader. "All of you are going to be operating openly from here on out. I've just discovered exactly how much I wish I were doing the same thing, and it turns out I'm not quite as philosopical about it as I thought I was. So, what I suppose I'm really doing here, is nagging all of you over the details out of sheer frustration."
He allowed his smile to grow broader still, then shrugged.
"But, while I'm nagging, let's go over a couple of my concerns about our potential problem children. Clinton, I know you and Prince Felix have been friends for years, but our latest analysis is that the Siegfried Parliament is likely to balk, at least initially, when you invite Felix to join the Factor. It looks to us like an alliance—for now, at least—is likely to emerge between the most conservative of his nobles, because they're afraid of losing the power they already have, and of the growing Siegfried industrial class, which is afraid of seeing the rules change just when it's on the brink of acquiring significant political clout. The thing that worries me about it is that you and Felix are so close. I think he's likely to try to force the issue, and our analysts' opinion is that there's about a forty percent chance he'd fail. On the other hand, the very nature of the alliance we're afraid of means it's ultimately going to come apart as the nobility's and the industrialists' interests diverge or even come into direct conflict. The steady worsening of the situation around them is going to have an effect, as well, so according to those same analysts' projections, the chance that Siegfried will ultimately request annexation by the Factor rises to well above ninety percent if we indicate we're prepared to accept their decision against joining—for now—gracefully. So, I think you're going to have to handle your impulsive old fencing partner rather delicately. The invitation has to be extended, but you need to stress to him that—"
* * *
"Well, I suppose word had to get out eventually," William Alexander said glumly.
He and his brother sat at the poolside, watching Honor Alexander-Harrington swim laps. The Earl of White Haven nursed a stein of beer, and his blue eyes were more than a little anxious as he watched his wife swim with such single-minded determination and dolphin-like grace. She'd always loved to swim, but her sheer focus, the way she lost herself in the physical exertion as if it were a way for her to simply shut down her mind, was new for her. It was something he'd never seen out of her before, and it worried him more than he was prepared to admit. Worried him almost as much as the nightmares he wasn't supposed to know she was having. For that matter, Nimitz was sprawled across the seat of the lawn chair next to his, and from the way the 'cat's eyes followed Honor, Hamish knew Nimitz was concerned about her, as well.
Although, the earl admitted, probably not for the same reasons. Nimitz didn't like Honor's sorrow, or her dreams, or—especially—her gnawing anxiety over her father's lingering grief, but the treecat had no qualms at all about what she intended to do about the attack on Sphinx. In fact, he agreed with her, with every fiber of his being. Nor did he doubt for a moment that she would succeed. Hamish, despite a much more realistic grasp of the military realities, had discovered he shared Nimitz's confidence, but he was much more deeply concerned about the ultimate price she might pay to achieve that success.
And it's eating you up inside to realize how much she's still hurting , he admitted to himself. You have to wonder if all the vengeance in the universe is ever going to fix that.
He shook that thought aside and looked at William.
"Do we have any idea how it leaked?" he asked.
"Not really." Baron Grantville shrugged, then sipped from his own glass of iced tea. "It came from somewhere on Beowulf, though. I suppose it's possible Patricia Givens' source leaked it deliberately, although I can't imagine why. Or it may just be that some Beowulfan newsy picked up on something coming out of Sol. Anyway, the cat's out of the bag, unless we want to be stupid enough to try and deny it."
"That would be outstandingly stupid," White Haven agreed.
"I know. In fact, if it hadn't leaked on it's own, we'd have had to break the news ourselves before much longer. So, in a way, it's only forced our hand a bit earlier than we'd planned. But that still leaves the question of exactly what we do about it."
"Do about it?" White Haven repeated, arching one eyebrow in obvious puzzlement. "Do about what?"
"About how we respond publicly," Grantville explained with more than a hint of exasperation. "Specifically, about why it came in the form of a leak instead of from us. You know how critical it is that we—"
He paused suddenly, eyes narrowing in abrupt suspicion, then snorted at his brother's quick grin.
"I suppose you think you're clever, Ham?" he said witheringly.
"Maybe not, but at least I've got a sense of humor," White Haven replied.
"That's one man's opinion."
White Haven chuckled. It really hadn't been all that funny, but anything that could amuse William even briefly was worth it at the moment.
"How are we going to respond?" he asked rather more seriously.
"You'll find out at nineteen-hundred, local," William told him. "That's when Elizabeth is going live system-wide."
* * *
Elizabeth Winton's expression was solemn as she looked out of HD displays throughout the entire Manticore Binary System while the totally unnecessary official introduction came to an end.
It wasn't as if anyone was going to fail to recognize her, even though as a general rule the Queen of Manticore seldom addressed all her
subjects at the same time. In fact, these days she couldn't. She couldn't even simultaneously address all of the subjects of the "Old Star Kingdom," far less the entire Star Empire, since no one could drive a signal through a wormhole junction to Trevor's Star or the Lynx Terminus. Normally, when she spoke publicly at all, it was to relatively small gatherings—at "town hall meetings," civic organizations, charitable associations, and similar events. Clips of her remarks from those occasions, and sometimes even entire speeches, were frequently rebroadcast, but the tradition was that the reigning monarch did not engage in partisan politics. Everyone knew she (or he) really did, given that the monarch was acting head of government as well as head of state, but not in the rough-and-tumble of political strife. Which meant the prime minister was the usual face of Her Majesty's Government, except on particularly critical occasions.
Like tonight's.
"Good evening," she said quietly. "I'm speaking to you tonight because the Star Empire—our Star Empire—faces what is undoubtedly the greatest challenge and threat in our history."
She paused and reached up to gently touch the ears of the treecat stretched across the back of her chair, letting that sentence settle into her subjects' minds. Then she lowered her arm, folded her hands together on the antique desk blotter in front of her, and continued unflinchingly.
"The events of the past fifteen T-months have been the most traumatic period in the lives of every man, woman and child of the Old Star Kingdom of Manticore. No one could have imagined in her worst nightmares the sequence of events which began with the Battle of Monica, then continuted through the proposed summit meeting between myself and President Pritchart, then the assassination of Admiral Webster thirteen months ago, and the simultaneous attack on Queen Berry of Torch and my own niece. Then came the Battle of Lovat, one T-year ago—a decisive victory . . . followed less than three T-months later by the Battle of Manticore, with all the millions of dead and shattered ships which were left in its wake. And no sooner had we begun to recover from that desperate struggle, then we found ourselves plunged into a fresh confrontation—this time with the Solarian League itself—at New Tuscany. All of you know what happened when Admiral Josef Byng treacherously, and cravenly, massacred three ships of our Navy—three destroyers , fired upon by seventeen Solarian battlecruisers when they hadn't even raised their wedges or sidewalls. And all of you know what happened when Countess Gold Peak arrived at New Tuscany to demand an explanation and an accounting."