by David Weber
Ingrid had a point about how badly the Liberty Committees might have wanted a peek inside Attorney General Boyagis’s files. And he didn’t think for a moment that Makiko Allerton would have condoned any illegalities on behalf of herself or her anti-referendum crusade. The truth was, he didn’t have a clue as to who it might have been, and he was just as happy it wasn’t a federal matter—which meant it wasn’t his—until and unless the system authorities requested the Gendarmerie’s assistance.
Which they wouldn’t do now if the Spíti tēs Gerousías was burning down with the Senators inside it, he thought sourly. Never thought I’d see something like this, and I wish to hell I wasn’t seeing it. But, damn it, it’s time to fish or cut bait.
Up until very recently, Lawrence Kourniakis had never wondered whether he saw himself first as a Hypatian or as a citizen of the Solarian League. Those identities had been identical, as far as he was concerned. But now, since this whole confrontation with first the Manties, then the Republic of Haven, and now even Beowulf…
If not for Beowulf, he’d probably still be inclined to give the Ministry of Information and the anti-Manty newsies the benefit of the doubt. Certainly all this nonsense about centuries-long Mesan conspiracies sounded like either the ravings of a lunatic or pure fiction. But he knew too many Beowulfers. For that matter, his wife’s family was from Beowulf, and one of his uncles had married a Manticoran. He’d found it difficult to recognize any of his in-laws in the imperialistic, warmongering monsters the newsies were portraying. Of curse, he’d also been prepared to admit that he’d never made a close study of Manticore’s relations with the League or of any possible Mesan conspiracies. But he’d viewed Felicia Hadley’s fiery denunciations of the “Mandarins” from the floor of the Legislative Assembly itself, and the worm of doubt had crept into his heart as she hammered the League’s foreign policy.
Maybe it wouldn’t have if he hadn’t spent fifteen years seconded to Frontier Security before he returned to Hypatia, married Angela, and settled down. Most of those years had been out in the Protectorates, and he hadn’t liked what he’d seen there. He hadn’t liked the kind of deals he’d seen between corrupt Solarian transstellars and the local OFS commissioners. The sort of deals which lent a damning edge of plausibility to Manticore and Haven’s claims about Mesa. He hadn’t liked the façade democracies, or the way OFS propped up local despots and dictators, regardless of their human rights policies, as long as they kept the fee schedules moving. And he hadn’t liked the way the League had operated to suppress any local opposition to those despots and dictators.
He’d told himself those sorts of operations were Frontier Security’s business, not the Gendarmerie’s, and there’d been a lot of truth to that. But nobody could witness it without being touched by it, and he’d still felt…dirtied by some of the things he’d witnessed. Some of the things in which he’d been forced to participate, if only at second or third hand.
Things that had left a scar.
And that scar was what had tipped him from ambivalence over secession into full-bodied support for it. People could argue all they wanted to that that conversation between Malachai Abruzzi and Nathan MacArtney had had never been serious. That it had been no more than venting, driven by their intense frustration as the Manticore Crisis escalated. But the fact that they’d said the words at all had reminded Major Lawrence Kourniakis of the things the Solarian League—his Solarian League—routinely did do in the Protectorates. And when he added that to the way the Mandarins and their surrogates had torn into Beowulf—accused it of treason, for exercising its legal rights where the Beowulf Terminus was concerned and probably saving hundreds of thousands of Solarian lives into the bargain—he’d realized he didn’t really have to leave the League.
The League had already left him, long ago. His League had died somewhere out there in the Protectorates, and all the referendum represented, really, was the formalization of the death certificate.
He inhaled deeply, shook his head, and returned to his paperwork.
Proedrikḗ Katoikía
City of Vivliothḗkē
Hypatia System
“I have to say that while I’m very relieved to see you, your timing may be just a bit too expeditious, Admiral,” System President Adam Vangelis said as he stood and walked around the desk to shake Rear Admiral Kotouč’s hand. “We didn’t expect you for another full-day or so.”
“I’m pleased to be here, and I hope I can be of service, Mister President,” Kotouč replied a bit cautiously as he shook the proffered hand.
He felt awkward out of uniform, and he’d wondered why the President’s message had asked him to travel on a government-chartered, civil registry shuttle and wear civilian attire for his visit to the Proedrikḗ Katoikía. He’d wondered if Vangelis’s request was a bad sign when the message was delivered, and the last thing he wanted to discover was that it had been.
“As for our arrival time,” he continued, “my orders were to make the most expeditious passage I could. Is there some reason I shouldn’t have?” He shook his head. “My instructions are to assist you in any way I can, and I’m afraid I’m not sufficiently familiar with the local political scene to be aware of any…timing issues. Ms. Goode’s done her best to bring me up to speed on Hypatian politics, and I viewed her reports with great interest on our way here, but I’m sure you understand that I haven’t had time to develop any sort of inside perspective.”
“Of course you haven’t!” Vangelis shook his head and smiled at the silver haired woman who’d accompanied Kotouč into his office. “It’s remarkable that Kay’s developed such an excellent understanding of Hypatia in the short time she’s been here. I’ll allow her, oh, eighty hours, let’s say, to instill that same understanding in you.”
“As always, Mister President, your generosity awes me,” the Honorable Kay Goode responded in a pronounced Sphinxian accent, and the treecat on her shoulder bleeked a laugh.
“And that’s enough lese majeste out of you, too, Dizzy!” Vangelis said, shaking an index finger at the ’cat…who seemed mightily undismayed by the admonition. Goode reached up and stroked his ears gently, shaking her head, and Vangelis chuckled.
Kotouč didn’t know Goode personally, but he knew quite a bit about her, including the fact that she was distantly related to both Klaus Hauptman—the connection was very distant there—and also to Honor Alexander-Harrington, through the Zivoniks, one of the oldest families on Sphinx. He also knew she’d lost her husband and, although the Goodes as a family hadn’t been hit nearly so hard as the Harringtons, several other close family members in the Yawata Strike. He doubted anyone would have realized that, given her serene expression, but no one who’d viewed her situation reports from Hypatia would make that mistake. The lava behind those gray eyes burned hot in those reports, and he’d wondered, viewing some of them, if she saw the Solarian League more as an enemy in its own right or as no more than an obstacle between her star nation and the people who’d murdered so many of its citizens.
He suspected it was the latter…and that her priorities only added a finely distilled vitriol to her hate and loathing for the Mandarins.
Whatever her feelings, and however much of them she’d revealed in her reports to her Manticoran superiors, he was sure she’d kept them under control here in Hypatia. She was Sir Anthony Langtry’s special envoy to Hypatia, and everyone knew that as soon as the referendum’s outcome was announced she would take off her special envoy’s hat and replace it with that of the Star Empire of Manticore’s Ambassador and Minister Plenipotentiary to the System Republic of Hypatia. It probably wouldn’t change her personal relationship with Vangelis—which was obviously very good—a bit, but the legal implications of naming an ambassador to a newly independent star nation which had been a founding member of the Solarian League would not be lost on the galaxy at large.
“In the meantime, Admiral,” Vangelis continued, ushering both of his guests over to stand at the office’s floor-to-ceili
ng windows, looking out across the Proedrikḗ Katoikía’s beautifully landscaped grounds, “I didn’t mean to imply that your arrival is in the least unwelcome. I don’t believe I’m going to need your assistance to maintain order here in Hypatia.” He smiled just a bit crookedly. “I’m sure there’s going to be some ‘buyer’s remorse.’ There always is, even in decisions nowhere near as monumental as this one! And the minority who opposed secession—it looks like around twenty-one percent actually voted against it—may produce a certain…restiveness. Overall, though, I’m not anticipating any significant domestic unrest.”
“I’m relieved to hear that, Mister President.”
Kotouč gazed out at the lacy, feathery leaves of the native trees along the ancient stone wall separating the Proedrikḗ Katoikía—the President’s House; and the admiral hoped Vangelis wouldn’t be offended when he used the Standard English translation instead of mangling the Greek—from a broad, smooth avenue. Hypatia was old enough that Vivliothḗkē had been built without counter-grav, and the original architecture had been lovingly preserved. The Old Town was walled about with the monolithic towers of a later tech base, but building codes had pushed them far enough from the ancient heart of the city to prevent the kind of overshadowing effect he’d seen on too many other planets.
“I’m relieved to hear it,” he repeated, “and that assessment accords pretty well with what Representative Lambrou and Representative Tsakabikou predicted during the voyage from Beowulf. A little better than Mr. Lambrou predicted; not quite as rosy as Ms. Tsakabikou expected.”
“I’m sure it does,” Vangelis said a bit dryly. Kotouč raised an eyebrow, and the president chuckled. “Brad’s been more of a ‘wait-and-see-how-it-all-works-out’ type from the beginning, Admiral. Sofronia…not so much.”
“I’d have to say that fits my own observation of Ms. Tsakabikou,” Kotouč acknowledged.
“I’m sure it does.”
Vangelis stood between the two Manticorans—at 165 centimeters, he was shorter than either of them—looking out the window for several seconds. Then he drew a deep breath.
“I’m more concerned about the non-Hypatians here in the system, Admiral,” he said, turning to look at Kotouč. “In particular, Rupert Chernikov—he’s the Managing Director for Alexandria Belt Extraction Industries—fought the referendum tooth and nail. I’ve always gotten along well with Rupert, on a personal basis, but that doesn’t mean as much as it used to, after what happened to Sandra Crandall and Massimo Filareta. And not just for people from outside the system, either. Makiko Allerton and I have been friends since we were kids, and she’s scarcely speaking to me these days.”
Regret darkened his brown eyes, but he went on levelly.
“I don’t want to think Rupert would try any kind of actual sabotage, and it’s not like we’re one of the Protectorates. Alexandria Extraction’s majority-owned right here in Hypatia, with less than a quarter of the voting stock held by out-system interests, and even if he was inclined to try something like that, ninety-five percent of ABEI’s employees are Hypatian. I can’t completely rule it out, though, and the fact that his employees are Hypatian, doesn’t mean all of them supported the referendum.
“There are other assets and operations here in the system, however, that are owned primarily by one of the transstellars who’re likely to think secession doesn’t bode well for their long-term economic interests. My local law enforcement people are keeping an eye on all of the perspective problem children we’ve been able to identify, but it’s been my experience that it’s seldom the problems you see coming that do the damage. I assume it’s that way in military operations, as well?”
“Oh, I think you could safely say that, yes, Mister President,” Kotouč agreed. “Naval officers hate surprises, for a lot of reasons.”
“Well, I don’t really anticipate any armed resistance or major sabotage. What I’m more concerned about are people carrying tales to the League out of school, so to speak, and we’ve got a lot of privately owned hyper-capable ships here in Hypatia. There’s no way we could keep someone from running to Old Chicago with the outcome of the referendum, and I’m fairly sure someone already has. I know.” He waved one hand. “The results haven’t been officially announced yet, mainly because we’re still counting some of the absentee ballots from the belter habitats.” He shook his head. “That’s where our more anarchistic citizens hang out. The dinosaurs in some of those habitats still use paper ballots.”
Both of Kotouč’s eyebrows arched this time, and Vangelis snorted.
“The good news, from our perspective, is that they’re even more…irritated with Old Chicago than most, so the only question is how much they’ll inflate the margin of victory. But it’s been my administration’s policy from the beginning that we won’t certify the result of the referendum until every single voter’s been given ample opportunity to cast his or her ballot and have it counted.” The president’s expression sobered. “I very much doubt that early victory projections would actually have suppressed the vote against secession, but I didn’t intend to let that happen. Nothing is going to taint this referendum or its results, Admiral. This is the kind of decision where a decent respect for history requires that it be arrived at openly, honestly, and transparently.”
“I agree entirely, Mister President,” Kotouč said, and Goode nodded. Her reports had prepared Kotouč for a system chief executive who took his responsibilities seriously, and everything he’d seen since arriving in Hypatia only confirmed that impression.
“The bad news is that we’re still at least a day-half from actually certifying the count,” Vangelis continued, and Kotouč nodded. At just over forty hours, Hypatia’s planetary day was longer than the planetary days of most colonized planets, and its inhabitants had divided it into more manageable-sized “day-halves” and “full-days”—or, more commonly, simply “halves” and “fulls.”
“I’d just as soon keep your arrival under wraps until those last ballots come in and get counted,” Vangelis continued. “My official position—and my personal promise to Senator Allerton and her supporters—has been that no foreign warship will enter Hypatia orbit until the final vote’s been certified by the Department of State and the Supreme Court.”
“I wasn’t aware of that, Sir,” Kotouč said. “My orders were to proceed to Hypatia as quickly as possible to provide security here in the system after the referendum. And I’m afraid neither Mister Lambrou nor Ms. Tsakabikou warned me about your ‘dinosaurs’ and any delays in the vote tally. I can understand why it might not have occurred to them to mention it, but I’d assumed the result would have been announced no later than yesterday.”
“I realized that as soon as you turned up.” Vangelis nodded briskly. “And certainly no one’s faulting you or your people for how quickly you got here! For that matter, none of your ships are in Hypatia orbit, are they?”
“No, Mister President, they aren’t,” Kotouč acknowledged. And now I understand why System Traffic Control sent us to the Alexandria Belt rather than to Hypatia, too.
Fortunately, the Alexandria Belt was an inner-system belt, between Hypatia and its G4 primary but less than a full light-minute from the capital planet. The shuttle flight from Phantom’s current orbit to Vivliothḗkē Field had taken less than two hours.
“I know it’s inconvenient,” Vangelis said, “but I think it’s important that I keep my promises. The real reason I asked you to come visit me today—and to come in what I believe you Navy people call ‘mufti’—was to explain why we’re keeping your arrival under wraps and won’t be having any formal dinners to welcome you to Hypatia for the next half-day or so.” He smiled. “I didn’t want you thinking it was because you were unwelcome!”
SLNS Camperdown
Task Force 1030
Solarian League Navy
“Do you think they’ve announced the outcome yet, Admiral?” The Honorable Madhura Yang-O’Grady asked as the lift car slowed.
“I’m afra
id your sources are probably better where that’s concerned than mine are, Ms. Yang-O’Grady,” Hajdu Gyôzô replied. Which self-evident fact, he reflected, she should already have possessed.
“I know.” Yang-O’Grady’s tone carried a hint of apology as the lift car doors opened on the passage outside SLNS Camperdown’s flag briefing room. She was almost eighteen centimeters shorter than Hajdu, with green eyes, a dark sandalwood complexion, and naturally crimson hair which was quite striking, and he suspected that under more usual circumstances, she had a lively sense of humor.
“I believe that question comes under the heading of making inane conversation as a way to distract myself and keep my brain from wearing any more holes in itself,” she added, as if to confirm his suspicion.
“I see.” Hajdu’s lips twitched. “In that case, Ms. Yang-O’Grady, I am enchanted to have been of service.”
“Thank you.”
Yang-O’Grady rewarded him with a smile, but there was a tautness—a darkness—behind her amusement. Given the nature of her assignment, a certain tension was not simply understandable but to be expected, Hajdu thought. In fact, only a moron—which Madhura Yang-O’Grady manifestly was not—wouldn’t have been worried as hell by the job she’d been handed. But this seemed to go farther, he thought, and wondered about its possible implications for their mission.
They reached the briefing room hatch, and Hajdu courteously waved her through it. The command structure for their current operation was…complex. As Innokentiy Kolokoltsov’s personal representative, it was Yang-O’Grady’s job to convince the Hypatia System Unified Government to renounce the results of its referendum if, as all reports indicated was inevitable, the decision to secede had been sustained. It was Hajdu’s job to float ominously in the background, lending weight to Yang-O’Grady’s arguments. Unless and until Yang-O’Grady failed in her own mission, that was all he was supposed to do.