“But if the programmer had the challenge, knew the computer code, he could cause the ‘target’ to enter it?” Rabenstrange asked, eyes narrow.
“Probably. Well, possibly, anyway.” Honor shrugged. “We’re shooting in the dark, Chien-lu. As you say, we’ve had more time to think about this and more complete information, but without the kind of specifics McBryde either never had or at least never gave us, all of this is theoretical.”
“Understood.” Rabenstrange leaned back in his armchair once more, right hand stroking Nimitz’ spine, and grimaced. “Understood, but it poses almost as many questions as it ‘theoretically’ answers, doesn’t it?”
“You might say that.” Honor smiled without a trace of amusement. “On the other hand, I personally think Dad’s onto something. If they could actually reach into someone’s mind and memories with this stuff, they wouldn’t need assassins. They could simply program people in key positions—like a prime minister or a president—to start doing whatever it was they wanted them to do. Or they could simply have targeted someone else on Imperator, someone besides Tim, who had access to a fusion reactor or a hyper generator or any of a dozen other critical systems I can think of right off hand. Someone who could have destroyed the entire ship, not just killed me. But getting anyone into a position to do any of that, to initiate the proper procedures, would have required access to information the programmer didn’t have and couldn’t build into the muscle memory transfer.”
“I don’t know how much confidence I’m prepared to invest in that, but it sounds reasonable,” Rabenstrange said thoughtfully.
“Well, one thing we do know is that treecats can sense the moment in which whatever it is kicks in,” Honor said. “And the ’cats have volunteered to help protect ‘their two-legs.’ I don’t know how well we’d do at convincing one of them to relocate all the way to New Potsdam, though. To be honest, I think separating any ’cat not bonded to a human living in New Potsdam from the rest of his or her clan would cause the ’cat severe mental distress, so I’m not at all sure we could or should ask it of them. On the basis of what they’ve already volunteered, though, I’m confident we could provide a treecat early warning system for any Andermani flag officer or ambassador”—she smiled lopsidedly at him—“here in the Star Empire or serving with our fleet anywhere.”
“I see.” Rabenstrange looked down at Nimitz, still stroking the treecat’s fluffy pelt, and nodded. “Some of my fellow Andermani may have a little trouble with that, I’m afraid. They don’t know any treecats the way I’ve come to know Nimitz, and they’re likely not to understand why Elizabeth can’t send all the ‘pets’ she wants to the Empire. His Majesty, on the other hand, probably will understand.”
“You think so?”
“I’m almost certain. I’ve discussed Nimitz with him often enough for him to grasp that treecats are just as much sentient beings as humans are, at any rate. And all well-deserved traditions of Andermani imperial arrogance notwithstanding, we do understand that we can’t always compel the free citizens of someone else’s star nation to do what we want.”
“I’m relieved to hear that. One of the things I’ve been worrying about, to be honest, was whether or not our ‘refusal’ to send ’cats to the Empire would be seen as some sort of deliberate slight or maneuver. Or as if we’re ‘holding out’ to try to compel the Empire to do what we want.”
“Oh, believe me, it will be seen as exactly that by all too many members of our aristocracy!” Rabenstrange snorted. “It just won’t be seen that way by Gustav—or Huang or me, for that matter—and to be honest, that’s all that really matters at this point.”
The two of them sat in silence for a handful of minutes, and then Rabenstrange cocked his head at Honor.
“May I ask exactly what it is Elizabeth is planning to propose to me in”—he checked his chrono—“two hours and twenty-seven minutes?”
“I don’t think I—” Honor began.
“Oh, don’t be silly, Honor! Surely you don’t think for a minute that I think Elizabeth is going to make a recommendation to me without having run it by you first, do you?” He shook his head. “She’s not clumsy enough to do something that dumb!”
“Well, I suppose not,” she admitted.
“Then you might as well go ahead and tell me. I’m going to decide to recommend to Gustav whatever I’m going to decide, and I don’t see where letting me get started thinking about it before I sit down with Elizabeth could do any harm.”
Honor could think of several scenarios in which it certainly wouldn’t help Manticore’s position, but she regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, then shrugged.
“Basically, I think she’s going to suggest the Andermani Empire should declare its effective neutrality in our confrontation with the League. With the Republic backing us, we shouldn’t need your battle squadrons to deal with Filareta when he gets here. For that matter, we shouldn’t need them even if the situation gets significantly worse and we find ourselves in a general conflict with the Sollies. Not until they manage to come up with pod-layers and MDMs of their own, at any rate.”
“I can see where that would probably be true, but there are going to be people in New Potsdam who wonder what sort of Machiavellian maneuver those nefarious Manties are up to this time. Adding the Empire to the pot in an effort to make the Sollies realize their current policy is…ill-advised, let’s say, would seem to make a lot of sense. From your perspective, at least.”
“If the Sollies were going to make any kind of a realistic appraisal of the actual balance of military capabilities, they’d never have sent Filareta out here in the first place. There’s not much point in making logical arguments to someone who’s already decided to ignore inconvenient truths, so they’d probably never even notice the Empire if we did add it to the mix.” Honor shrugged. “That being the case, Elizabeth and President Pritchart have decided it makes more sense to get you out of the line of fire, as far as the League is concerned. That doesn’t mean they can’t foresee some future circumstance under which might make sense for you to go ahead and sign on to the anti-Solly alliance, assuming Gustav’s willing and Kolokoltsov and the other Mandarins are ready to push things that far. I think what they’re really after at this point is leaving you some freedom of maneuver. For that matter, they could even see some situations in which having you available as a third party—a go-between—might make a lot of sense.”
“And it would also leave us free to go after the Mesan Alignment, wouldn’t it?” Rabenstrange observed shrewdly.
“Oh, I think you could take it as a given that that’s one possibility which has crossed their minds,” Honor agreed with a faint twinkle of genuine amusement. “Mind you, Elizabeth isn’t the sort to let anyone else ‘go after’ Mesa if she can possibly do it herself, especially after the Yawata Strike. But if it should happen that we find our hands full with the League, I suppose it could be convenient if there just happened to be another modern navy, with its own pod-layers and a bone of its own to pick with Mesa, who could stand in for her.”
She leaned forward and selected a cheese wedge from the platter MacGuiness had put between them, then looked back up innocently.
“You wouldn’t happen to know where she might be able to find one, would you, Chien-lu?”
Chapter Nineteen
It was undoubtedly, Honor thought, surveying the outsized conference room, the most unlikely meeting she’d ever attended. In fact, it was the sort of meeting no Manticoran could have imagined outside a drug dream as recently as last month.
Empress Elizabeth, President Pritchart, Benjamin Mayhew, Michael Mayhew, Prime Minister Grantville, Foreign Minister Langtry, and Secretary of Commerce Nesbitt sat ranged around the head of the enormous conference table. (Nesbitt was substituting—not without some obvious reservations—for Leslie Montreau, who’d been sent home with the daunting task of presenting Elizabeth’s and Pritchart’s draft treaties to the Havenite Senate.) Stretched along one of the table’s long si
des were Honor herself, Hamish, High Admiral Judah Yanakov, Sir Thomas Caparelli, Admiral Pat Givens, and Admiral Sonja Hemphill. Stretched along the other were Thomas Theisman, Admiral Lester Tourville, Kevin Usher, Vice Admiral Linda Trenis, and Rear Admiral Victor Lewis. And at the end of the table, facing Elizabeth, Benjamin, and Pritchart, were First Director at Large Fedosei Demianovich Mikulin and Third Director at Large Jacques Benton-Ramirez y Chou.
The one star nation conspicuous by its absence was the Andermani Empire, but that was by design. Chien-lu Anderman had decided to recommend that Gustav take Elizabeth’s and Pritchart’s advice and stand aside from the Star Empire’s confrontation with the League. Accordingly, the Andermani battle squadrons attached to Eighth Fleet had been withdrawn to Trevor’s Star, and no Andermani officers were present.
If they were missing, however, there were more than enough treecats present to make up for their absence.
Nimitz, Samantha, and Ariel would have been there anyway, but now treecats sat on the backs of Benjamin’s, Pritchart’s, Theisman’s, Tourville’s, her Uncle Jacques’, Caparelli’s and Grantville’s chairs, as well, and it was virtually certain that everyone else sitting at that table would be receiving his or her own personal furry bodyguard very shortly.
Most of the Havenites still seemed a little awkward, a little unsure about the notion of allowing an entire crew of telepaths inside all of the security systems protecting whatever was said and discussed in this conference room. It wasn’t that they thought any of the ’cats were going to turn out to be Solarian or Mesan spies. They just weren’t used to them yet, despite Nimitz’ constant presence at Honor’s own diplomatic meetings with most of the same people in Nouveau Paris.
But that’ll change, she told herself, and tried not to smile as she looked at Lester Tourville.
Alone of the Havenites, Tourville had acquired at least a little fluency in reading sign during his period as a POW here in the Manticore Binary System. He couldn’t sign himself—very few humans could do that, even in the Star Empire—and his ability to understand what his newly assigned guardian’s fingers were saying remained limited, to say the very least. Despite that, however, he was considerably ahead of the others. And it didn’t hurt any that the basic personality of his new treecat companion—Lurks in Branches—complemented his own so well. Both of them had a “cowboy” streak about two meters wide, but under those ebullient surfaces, they were also intensely focused and sharp as a vibro blade.
In fact, all of the new guardians—from Pritchart’s Sharp Claw to Theisman’s Springs From Above—had personalities which were remarkably compatible with their human charges.
I think the memory singers may have sampled more than just Nimitz and Samantha’s impressions of Simões before they handed out assignments, she though dryly. Interesting that everyone who’s been “catted” at this point is someone both of them have met, anyway. I wonder how they actually handled it, though? Did the memory singers mix and match, or did they just “sing” the mind-glows so the volunteers could pick the ones they wanted?
Either way, she could taste the way the ’cats were already settling into comfortable acceptance of their two-legs. It wasn’t remotely like the intensity of her own bond with Nimitz, but it felt…nice. Like the beginning of a long, close friendship, she supposed, although she could also tell the ’cats were more than a little frustrated by the Havenites’ lack of signing fluency. For one thing, the inability to hold two-sided conversations of their own was the biggest reason most of those Havenites, despite their very best, most sincere efforts, still had trouble deep down inside thinking of the small, fluffy creatures as full fledged guardians and protectors and not cute little pets.
Once they do learn to read sign, they’re going to figure out on an emotional level, not just an intellectual one, that treecats are people, too, she thought. And when that happens, they’re not going to be worried about having them sit in on meetings like this one, either. They’ll realize the ’cats are partners…and they can’t do that a moment too soon to suit me!
Nimitz made a very soft sound of agreement and confidence from the back of her chair, and she sent him an affectionate mental caress before she looked back up the table at the two heads of state.
“So I’m afraid Ambassador Carmichael’s correct,” Langtry was saying in somber tones. “If Kolokoltsov were going to call Filareta off, he’d have already done it. In fact, unless there’s already someone en route—which I very much doubt is the case!—he doesn’t even have the option anymore. There’s not time for him to change his mind and get somebody out here to call it off, even if he wanted to.”
Heads nodded. If Filareta had managed to keep to his original operational schedule, he’d be arriving in Manticoran space within the next twenty-four hours.
“I agree with Foreign Minister Langtry.” Montrose sounded even more sober than Langtry. “They’re not going to order him to stand down.”
“They really are idiots, aren’t they?” Grantville observed caustically.
“I think it’s safe to say they don’t represent sterling examples of competence and wisdom, yes, Mr. Prime Minister,” Benton-Ramirez y Chou said dryly. “On the other hand, we really don’t know what Filareta’s orders are.” He raised one hand. “Oh, we know the basic plan for ‘Operation Raging Justice,’ but we don’t know what kind of secret clauses may have been inserted into his instructions.”
“Like a pre-existing order to abandon the operation if it turns out we really can blow his ass off, you mean, Mr. Director?” Kevin Usher inquired with a grin.
“Something like that, yes,” the Beowulfer replied with a smile of his own. Although this was the first time they’d met, Benton-Ramirez y Chou and the massively thewed Usher had already discovered they were kindred souls. And of all those present, they seemed least oppressed by thoughts of the cataclysm towards which all the entire explored galaxy seemed to be sliding.
“I think we’re all in agreement that a clause like that would represent an act of simple sanity,” Elizabeth observed. “Unfortunately, we haven’t seen any other evidence of sanity out of them!”
“Actually,” White Haven said, “I’m not at all sure letting Filareta stand down at this point would be in our interest.”
There was a moment of absolute silence, with every set of eyes turning to him. Except for Honor’s, that was. Unlike any of the others, she (and Emily) had already discussed this with their husband, and while she wasn’t certain she shared his and Emily’s logic completely, she was certain she agreed with what he was about to propose.
“Perhaps you’d care to explain that, My Lord?” Eloise Pritchart invited after a moment, topaz eyes narrowed intently.
“Of course, Madam President.” White Haven looked around the conference table. “It’s possible Filareta really does have a secret clause directing him to back off if it turns out he’s likely to get reamed. It’s also possible that even without any such clause, he’d be smart enough to do it anyway. But if he does, and he just turns around and sails back off homeward without a shot being fired, where does that leave us?”
“Well, to begin with,” Mikulin observed, “it leaves a lot of people alive who’d be dead otherwise. And it pretty conclusively demonstrates that their navy can’t stand up to Manticoran weapons technology.”
“Does it?” White Haven asked. “Demonstrate they can’t stand up to our weapons, I mean?”
“Excuse me?” Mikulin looked perplexed, not incredulous, and White Haven shrugged again.
“What happened to Crandall’s already demonstrated that to anyone with a working IQ,” he pointed out. “Despite which, they’ve sent this entire fleet all the way out here. The damned ‘Mandarins’ are still that willing to risk getting millions of people killed—and that unwilling to even consider admitting they might conceivably be in the wrong. The name they’ve assigned this abortion is proof enough of that! ‘Operation Raging Justice?’” The scorn in his voice was withering. “Pretty much sho
ws how they plan on selling this to the League, doesn’t it? They’re still trying to game the system, and they don’t give a single solitary damn about the fire they’re playing with as long as it’s someone else who gets burned!”
He paused and looked around the table, his eyes like fiery blue ice.
“So what happens, what do they do, if the fleet they’ve sent after us turns around and goes home without anyone firing a shot?” he went on. “Do they suddenly decide to admit their entire so-called strategy was a recipe for disaster that they walked straight into with their eyes wide open? For that matter, do they admit they pulled back because they’ve figured out they can’t take us out? Do they even admit we let them back off instead of blowing their entire fleet into dust bunnies? No. What they’ll do is try their damnedest to pass it off as another example of their ‘restraint’ in the face of our belligerence. They didn’t turn around because they knew they’d get their ass kicked if they kept coming; they turned around because they realized our leadership was so hopelessly stupid and bloodthirsty it was really going to fight, despite the fact that we couldn’t possibly win, and they weren’t prepared to slaughter all our personnel. After all, none of our spacers are responsible for our government’s hopelessly corrupt and imperialistic policy. Isn’t that the way they’ve already been selling all this? Of course it is! So rather than press matters, once they realized Her Majesty here was perfectly prepared to throw away all of those lives, they’ve decided to exercise restraint.”