But these weren’t ordinary Marines, or even ordinary Andermani Marines. The Totenkopf dropped smoothly into a crouch, letting Mercier’s jabbing fingers shoot harmlessly over his head, simultaneously dropping his hand to his holster in an attempt to catch his attacker’s hand and pin it there. Mercier snatched his hand back just in time, leaning away and shifting the direction of his lunge toward a row of engineering monitor consoles and a pair of crewwomen goggling at him from behind them.
He was four steps from his potential hostages when a precisely-aimed burst of pulser darts shattered his body into a spray of blood and raw meat.
Someone swore feelingly. “Enough of that,” Rabenstrange said coolly. “Lieutenant Ling, call the medic bay and have them remove the body for examination.” He cocked his head. “Now, as to you, Herr Navarre.”
Weiss dragged his eyes away from what was left of Mercier and looked back at Charles. The Solly was standing exactly where he had been, except that now he was bowed slightly over at the waist with two Totenkopfs pinning his arms behind his back. “Nicely done, My Lord,” Charles said, his voice as calm and cool as Rabenstrange’s. “May I ask a favor before I’m taken to the brig?”
Weiss looked at Rabenstrange, wincing at the implied arrogance of that request from an enemy prisoner to his captor. But the admiral merely raised an eyebrow. “Ask it quickly.”
“After you deal with Citizen Captain Tyler and his captured Manty cruiser, I’d ask that you have your medics give me a complete examination,” Charles said. “The late Citizen Colonel Mercier implanted me with some kind of poison drip, the antidote to which is probably now well mixed with his own bodily fluids. You have approximately six hours in which to either find and remove the drip, or else synthesize more of the antidote.”
“And if we don’t?” Rabenstrange asked.
Charles gave the admiral a lopsided smile. “If you don’t, you’ll never know exactly what happened here today.”
“Herr Herzog, the enemy ship has launched missiles,” the sensor officer announced.
“Point defense on alert; stand by a response,” Rabenstrange said. “Take the prisoner to sickbay.” He swiveled back around. “And,” he added over his shoulder, “get that mess off my bridge.”
* * *
The first thing Charles noticed when he awoke was a glass jar sitting on the tray beside his sickbay bed. Inside the jar was a small, spiny insectoid creature about the size of a tick.
The second thing he noticed was that his wrists and ankles were anchored securely to his bed’s rails. Clearly, the Andermani weren’t taking any chances with him.
Under the circumstances, Charles could hardly blame them.
He had seen a corpsman twice, and the doctor once, and had been fed a small, disappointingly bland meal when Rabenstrange finally made the appearance Charles had been expecting. “You’re looking well,” the admiral commented, giving Charles’s restraints a quick but careful look before pulling a chair to the foot of the bed and sitting down.
Not that Charles would have tried anything, even if he’d been so inclined. Not with a pair of silent Totenkopfs taking up positions at Rabenstrange’s shoulders. “I’m feeling well, too, My Lord, thank you,” he said. “Given the time that’s passed since our last conversation, and the obvious fact that I’m still alive, I gather your medics were successful.”
“The evidence is right there,” Rabenstrange said, nodding toward the jar. “The poison drip was actually nothing more than a parasite, probably genetically altered, that your friends introduced into your alimentary canal. It had lodged in a fold in your small intestine, where it could feed happily away as it secreted its poison into your system.”
“Clever,” Charles said with a shiver. “I’d wondered why I couldn’t find any incision scar.”
“Well, you have one now,” Rabenstrange said. “And be assured that it’s already been added to the descriptive features section of the dossier we’re preparing on you.” He smiled faintly. “I thought you might want to save us some trouble by filling in the rest of the details.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Charles said, gazing into the admiral’s face and trying to figure out what exactly he should say. “But first, I assume you want to know what this whole Ellipsis mess was about.”
“I think we’ve already deduced most of it,” Rabenstrange said calmly. “The Peeps scrounged up a Star Knight-class cruiser from somewhere, restored it, and were hoping to start a war between New Berlin and Manticore.” He raised his eyebrows. “I would say, in fact, that the biggest question still remaining is what your part was in the whole thing.”
Charles pursed his lips. “To be perfectly honest, the whole thing was my idea. Well, most of it was,” he hastened to add. “The attacks on the Eule and Krause Rosig were entirely Citizen Captain Tyler’s doing. My plan would have left no casualties other than among the Peeps who were perpetrating the deception in the first place.”
“And the Sollies aboard the freighter in the Karavani system.”
“They were bringing in weapons,” Charles said bluntly. “As far as we were concerned, their lives were already forfeit.”
Rabenstrange cocked his head. “ ‘We’?”
Charles grimaced. “I suppose there’s no putting the genie back into the bottle now, is there?” he said. “Very well. My name is—well, my real name is irrelevant. Just call me Charles. I’m part of an organization of League citizens who strongly disagree with our government’s gutless neutrality in the Haven/Manticore war. We see Haven as not only a threat to every other star nation around it, but also an oppressive regime that deals out chaos and death to its own citizens. Since the League as a whole hasn’t seen fit to get involved on the side of justice, we’ve decided to do so on our own.”
“Interesting,” Rabenstrange said. “Herr Weiss had mentioned that you have access to unusually extensive information sources.”
“They’re actually more extensive than even Herr Weiss realizes,” Charles told him. “At any rate, we’d heard of this Ellipsis project that Citizen Secretary Saint-Just had going under the table. We didn’t know what exactly his plan was, so I went to Haven, ostensibly to hawk some Solly tech, hoping to pick up some fresh intel.”
“What kind of tech were you offering?” Rabenstrange asked.
“A pretty useless kind, actually,” Charles assured him. “It was a system for feeding false images into a warship’s sensors, thereby creating confusion during battle. The catch is that the equipment has to be hard-wired into the enemy warship itself, and you’d need an incredible number of the things in place in order to blind all the ship’s sensors. Still, it looked good on paper, and I was well on the way to adding some much-needed credits to our coffers when State Security picked me up.
“But they made a mistake. Instead of interrogating me immediately, they put me in solitary for six days. I assume that was supposed to soften me up. Instead, it gave me time to think.”
“And so you came up with this plan?”
“I settled first on three long-term goals,” Charles said. “First, to eliminate the Ellipsis, because whatever use Saint-Just was planning for it I knew it would be devastating to Manticore and could conceivably shift the momentum of the war in Haven’s favor.” He cocked an eyebrow. “The ship has been eliminated, hasn’t it?”
Rabenstrange grimaced. “By its captain’s hand, yes,” he said sourly. “He blew his fusion bottles once it was clear he couldn’t escape and couldn’t inflict any serious damage on us. I’d hoped to capture the ship at least partially intact for examination.”
“Which was undoubtedly why Tyler chose to scuttle it,” Charles agreed. “So: goal one accomplished. Goal two was to destroy as much incoming Solly tech as possible. That was actually much easier. Once I’d presented my plan and gotten Saint-Just on board, the Peeps themselves were kind enough to point me to Karavani and the biggest clandestine shipment to date. In order to spark Andermani interest, I argued, as well as add verisimilitude to
the tale, a Manty ship had to be seen destroying it. Goal two, accomplished.”
“But why the wormhole story?” Rabenstrange asked, frowning. “Did Saint-Just really believe I would fall for it?”
“Why not?” Charles asked. “It’s not like wormholes come equipped with ID beacons announcing their presence.” He started to spread his hands, stopped as the restraints brought his arms up short. “The point is that I needed something that was potentially valuable enough for Manticore to risk war with New Berlin over and offer the kind of power or maneuverability that would make Manticore think it could win a war with New Berlin and convince Saint-Just that New Berlin would recognize both those factors and conclude it had to immediately come down hard on the Star Kingdom before it finished off Haven and turned its full attention against them. A heretofore unknown wormhole system was perfect for the part.”
“The image of Duchess Harrington,” Rabenstrange said slowly. “That was your false-image device, wasn’t it?”
“Very good, My Lord,” Charles said, inclining his head. “Yes, fortunately for me it works just as well on com feeds as it does on sensors. The Peeps were kind enough to give me access to all news broadcasts, ostensibly so that I could make sure the Ellipsis’s crew’s uniforms were perfect. I simply took the Manties’ own report of Harrington’s return from Cerberus, matted the image into Tyler’s broad-focus feed, and left her to be a big red flag when he came on with his dramatic challenge.”
“Clever,” Rabenstrange grunted. “But what if I hadn’t noticed her?”
“If you hadn’t, someone else on New Berlin surely would have when they were analyzing the records of the incident,” Charles said. “Unlike the imaginary RMN Charger and the equally imaginary Captain Grantley, the Manties would have no problem proving Harrington’s whereabouts at the time of the incident.” He shrugged. “But I really wasn’t worried. I knew your reputation, and I was pretty sure you’d spot her and realize the whole thing was a scam.”
“Is that why you brought in Herr Weiss?” Rabenstrange asked. “To lure me into the picture, knowing I’d met Duchess Harrington during one of her Q-ship operations in Silesia?”
“I actually knew nothing about that,” Charles said, completely honestly for once. “I mostly wanted Herr Weiss—and by extension, you—to sweeten the pot for Saint-Just. He had to be convinced that this scheme was the best possible use of his captured Manty ship, and promising that the Emperor’s cousin himself would be involved was a big help in that regard.”
“Indeed.” Rabenstrange’s expression darkened. “Now explain why you didn’t tell me all this when you first came aboard and I had you away from your watchdog. Why didn’t you tell me then?”
“Would you have believed me, especially in the aftermath of the Eule attack?” Charles countered. “Besides, if we hadn’t played it exactly according to the script, Tyler might have sensed something had gone wrong and simply taken the Ellipsis back to Haven. Not only would Saint-Just still have the ship available for some other insane purpose, but he would also have the Solly stealth tech I put aboard as window dressing for the wormhole illusion. It was supposedly fail-safed, but I couldn’t take the risk that the Peep techs might be able to be coax some of its secrets out of it.”
For a long moment Rabenstrange gazed at him in silence. “You speak well,” he said at last. “Perhaps some of it is actually true. You mentioned three goals?”
Charles grimaced. “The third was to stay alive,” he said. “Or at the very least to die quickly and not in one of StateSec’s torture chambers. No matter how well I did with the other two goals, I figured I was going to get that one.”
“Are you sure?” Rabenstrange countered. “What makes you think the Andermani don’t have torture chambers of our own?”
Charles felt his stomach tighten. “Actually, I was hoping that, in light of my confession—and along with the contact information I’m going to give you to establish my identity and credentials—that you might see your way clear to letting me, shall we say, walk away quietly?”
“I’ll certainly take those names,” Rabenstrange said. “But as to what happens to you, that decision is in the Emperor’s hands.”
“Yes, I thought it might be,” Charles said with a sigh. “Still, it was worth a try.”
“Meanwhile, I’m told you need your rest,” Rabenstrange said, standing up. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll make every attempt to be present during your hearing.”
“Thank you, My Lord,” Charles said. “Tell me: will your testimony help or hurt my case?”
“I have no idea,” Rabenstrange said. “Until we meet again, Herr Navarre.”
“Until then, My Lord,” Charles said, bowing his head. “And when you next see Duchess Harrington, do say hello for me.”
* * *
Duchess Honor Harrington reached up to rub at her missing left arm, suddenly seemed to remember it wasn’t there, and lowered her hand back to the treecat draped across her lap. “That,” she said, “has got to be the most bizarre story yet of this war. And considering some of the things the Peeps have pulled, that’s saying a lot.”
“Which is why Herr von Rabenstrange asked me to come here personally to tell you about it, Your Grace,” Weiss said, wishing he didn’t feel so damned intimidated in her presence.
But he couldn’t help it. And actually, considering who she was and what she’d accomplished over the relatively few years of her career, a certain amount of awe was hardly out of place. “And as long as I was coming here anyway, he also wanted me to bring his personal congratulations on your escape from Peep custody, and to wish you a speedy recovery.”
“That was very kind of him,” the duchess said. “Please thank him for me.” She inclined her head thoughtfully. “Though it seems to me that you have those two backward.”
Weiss glanced at the three armsmen standing their loose but wary semicircle behind her, then at the treecat, who looked much more relaxed than the armsmen but was undoubtedly watching him just as carefully as they were. “I’m not sure I understand, Your Grace,” he said.
“I simply meant that the fact that you came here instead of going to Cromarty or White Haven or anyone else in government suggests you don’t intend to tell them about this latest outrage on Saint-Just’s long list of such atrocities,” Harrington said. “In which case, instead of that revelation being the primary reason for your visit, with Herzog von Rabenstrange’s congratulations being an afterthought, it’s actually the other way around.”
Mentally, Weiss shook his head. Tough, competent, resourceful, and the damn Manty could read minds, too. “That’s correct, Your Grace,” he conceded. “The Emperor is convinced that Manticore was in no way responsible for what happened at Mischa’s Star and Irrlicht. But he also knows there are those in the Empire who would have their doubts. He feels there’s nothing to be gained by allowing the story any more general exposure than it’s already been given.” He raised his eyebrows. “I hope we can count on your discretion in this?”
“Absolutely,” Harrington said, and Weiss could hear no equivocation or uncertainty in her voice. “If releasing the story would raise tensions between Manticore and New Berlin, by all means let’s keep it quiet. The last thing any of us wants is to allow Saint-Just to pull even a modest victory out of his failure.”
She shifted her hand to stroking position along the treecat’s jaw. “Which of course leads immediately to the question of why tell even me about it?”
“Two reasons, Your Grace,” Weiss said. “One, Admiral von Rabenstrange thought you would appreciate hearing how you helped expose the Peep treachery in this matter, even if you weren’t actually there at the time.”
“Never let it be said that I didn’t do all I could to strike out for truth and justice,” Harrington said dryly. “Especially when all it requires me to do is stay home and read a book. Anything else?”
“Yes,” Weiss said. “Before he was taken off the Derfflinger, our mysterious friend Charles aske
d the admiral to give you his greetings the next time he saw you. On the off-chance that he wasn’t just blowing smoke, we hoped that you might actually know him, or know of him, and could shed a little light on who he really is.”
“I’m afraid not,” she said, shaking her head. “I can run your holos through the facial-recognition files if you’d like, but I doubt ours are any more extensive than yours. The references he gave you didn’t pan out?”
“Not a single one of them,” Weiss said ruefully. “Most of the names were fictitious; those that weren’t belonged to people who flatly and categorically denied even knowing of his existence.”
“I suppose that’s not really surprising,” Harrington said. “Still, maybe a little vigorous interrogation will shake loose something solid.”
Weiss sighed. “I doubt that, Your Grace,” he said. “Between his transfer from the Derfflinger and his expected arrival on New Berlin, he somehow managed to disappear.”
One of the guardsmen shifted position slightly but remained silent. “Interesting,” Harrington said. “Any idea how?”
Weiss shrugged. “Such feats usually involve friends, violence, or money. Since we found no bodies lying around, we assume it was one of the other two. But so far we haven’t been able to figure out which.”
“Maybe he’ll be smart and go to ground,” Harrington suggested.
“He doesn’t strike me as that type.” Weiss cocked an eyebrow. “But it occurs to me, Your Grace, that if he really does know you—whether or not you know him—it’s possible he might come calling on his way back to the League.”
“An intriguing possibility,” Harrington said softly. “Let’s hope he does. I’d like to meet the man.”
She looked over her shoulder at her armsmen. “I’d like it very much.”
“Let’s Dance!”
David Weber