Nordbrandt clapped a hand over her mouth to smother a delighted peal of laughter, and her brown eyes danced devilishly. Firebrand grinned back like a little boy who'd just gotten away with cutting an entire week of school without being caught. He'd thought she'd like the notion of pilfering from the coffers of the powerful, theoretically nonpolitical trade organization which had taken the lead in organizing the annexation plebiscite in the first place.
"There is a certain poetic justice involved, isn't there?" he said after a moment, and she nodded enthusiastically.
"As I say, I don't know any details," he continued, "but if the operation comes off half as well as I've been led to expect, we ought to be able to begin providing some discreet additional funding to you and your organization in the next couple of months. Possibly even a bit sooner, though I don't think you should count on that. Of course, before we can do that, we're going to have to have some idea of just how large and how active your own organization is likely to be.
"I'm not going to ask for any details," he went on quickly, one hand waving the thought aside. "But obviously we're going to have to have some idea of the relative needs and capabilities of the various organizations we hope to bring together if we're going to make the best use of what are inevitably going to be limited resources."
"I can see that," she agreed. "But I'm obviously going to have to discuss this with my people before I can commit them to anything."
"Naturally." Firebrand grinned again. "I'm sure it's going to seem like it's taking forever for us to get this up and running. But I truly believe that once we have it in place, it's going to make the difference between success or failure for the entire Cluster."
"Then let's hope we do get it organized," Agnes Nordbrandt said, and raised her beer stein in salute to her new allies.
* * *
"Are you out of your mind?!" "Firebrand's" companion demanded quietly as the two of them strolled down the sidewalk together twenty minutes later. Any casual observer would undoubtedly have dismissed them as no more than two friends, making their way home from an evening of conviviality and looking forward to a night's rest before facing another day of work.
"I don't think so," Firebrand replied, then chuckled. "Of course, if I were out of my mind, I probably wouldn't realize it, would I?"
"No? Well Eichbauer never authorized us to go that far, and you know it. For God's sake, Damien, you all but promised that lunatic funds!"
"Yes, I did, didn't I?" Captain Damien Harahap, known to Agnes Nordbrandt as "Firebrand," chuckled. "I thought my explanation for their origin was downright inspired. She certainly liked it, didn't she?"
"Goddamn it, will you be serious?" His fellow's exasperation was obvious to Harahap, although it wouldn't have been to that putative casual observer, and the senior agent sighed. He'd worked with the other man before—not often, but two or three times—and he supposed he ought to be accustomed to his partner's stodginess. But it was rather sad that he had so little sense of how the Great Game was played.
"I am being serious, in my own perhaps peculiar fashion," he said after several seconds. "And I might remind you that I've worked with Ulrike—I mean, Major Eichbauer—a lot longer than you have."
"I'm aware of that. But this was supposed to be an exploratory probe. We were looking for information, not setting up goddamned conduits! You're so far outside our instructions it isn't even funny."
"It's called 'initiative,' Tommy," Harahap said, and this time there was a faintly discernible edge of contempt in his smile. "Do you really think Eichbauer would have sent us to gather this kind of information if there wasn't at least a potential operation floating around?"
He shook his head, and the other man grimaced.
"You're senior, and Talbott's your so-called area of expertise, so it's your ass hanging out there to be kicked. I still think she's going to rip you a new one as soon as she reads your report, though."
"She may. I doubt it, though. Worst case, 'Mr. Firebrand' just never gets around to revisiting Kornati. Nordbrandt will never see me again, and all she'll have are some unanswered questions and useless speculation." Harahap shrugged. "She may decide I was just pulling her chain, or she may figure I was quietly arrested and disposed of. But if Ulrike is up to something, establishing credible contact with someone like Nordbrandt could be very useful. And I'm sure we could scare up enough funding to make my little fable about looting the RTU stand up without ever going beyond Ulrike's discretionary funds."
"But why?" the other man asked. "The woman isn't too tightly wrapped, and you know it. And she's smart. That's a bad combination."
"That depends on what you're trying to accomplish, doesn't it?" Harahap shot back. "I agree she seems a couple of canisters short of a full load. If I wanted to keep Frontier Security off my planet, I'd jump on the opportunity to join Manticore in a heartbeat. So would anyone else whose mind spent its time in the real universe. But I think Nordbrandt genuinely believes she can orchestrate a resistance movement which could not only convince Manticore to go elsewhere, but do the same thing to OFS and probably even overturn Kornati's entire economic system, as well."
"Like I said—a lunatic."
"Not entirely," Harahap disagreed. The other man looked at him incredulously, and he chuckled again. "Oh, she's dreaming if she thinks Frontier Security would lose an instant's sleep over turning her and all her loyal followers into so much dogmeat. OFS has had too much experience swatting people like her. But she could just have a point where Manticore is concerned. And if Major Eichbauer, or her esteemed superiors, are actually contemplating any sort of operation here in Talbott, just who do you think it's going to be directed against?"
"I suppose that's a reasonable point," the other man said unwillingly.
"Of course it is. And it's also the reason—well, one reason—I'm going to recommend we make good on that funding offer of mine. And that we cultivate Westman, as well."
"Westman?" The other man looked at him sharply. "I'd think he was more dangerous even than Nordbrandt."
"From our perspective?" Harahap nodded. "Certainly he is. Nordbrandt simply figures there's no real difference between OFS and Manticore. Any outside power mucking around in Talbott is the enemy, as far she's concerned. Hard to blame her, really, even if she is a bit of a fanatic about it."
For a moment, a few fleeting instants, his expression tightened, his eyes bleak with the memory of a boy's childhood on another planet not unlike Kornati. Then it disappeared, and he chuckled yet again.
"The point is, though, that she's so focused on resisting anyone's 'imperialist designs' on her home world that she's constitutionally incapable of recognizing how much better terms she could expect from Manticore than from Frontier Security.
"Westman's a whole different case. Nordbrandt hates Van Dort and the Trade Union because of the role they played in inviting Manticore in; Westman hates Manticore because inviting it in was Van Dort's idea. He's hated and distrusted the Rembrandt Trade Union ever since it was created. He's spent so long worrying about its mercantile imperialism that he's automatically opposed to anything the RTU thinks is a good idea. But when you come right down to it, he really doesn't know anything more about the Manticorans than Nordbrandt does. At the moment he's seeing them strictly through a prism that's still focused on the way things were before Manticore suddenly acquired a wormhole terminus here. He's more organized and better financed than I think Nordbrandt is, and his family name gives him enormous influence on Montana. But if he gets himself educated about the difference between Manticore and Frontier Security, he's just likely to decide there might be something in this 'Star Kingdom' business for the Montana System, after all."
"And you're still going to recommend we cultivate him?"
"Of course I am. What's that old saying about keeping your friends close, but your enemies closer?" Harahap snorted. "If we can convince him of our sincerity—and if we can get Nordbrandt on board to act as local protective camouflage, we'll sta
nd a better chance of doing that—we'll be in a much more promising position when it comes to controlling him. Or, at least, to containing him."
He walked along in silence for another minute, then shrugged.
"Don't ever forget what we're really doing here, Tommy. I'm convinced Eichbauer is setting up an operation, or at least scouting the terrain to be ready if she's ordered to mount one. And in that case, the object has to be preventing Manticore's annexation of the Cluster. Both Nordbrandt and Westman could be very useful for that sort of maneuver. Getting our hooks into them so we can 'encourage' them and direct them as effectively as possible would be worthwhile in its own right. But the bottom line is that if we manage to keep Manticore out, it's only going to be so we can move in ourselves. And in that case, it's even more important to have good, solid communications with people like Nordbrandt and Westman."
He looked at his companion, and this time his smile was icy cold.
"It's always so much easier to round up the local opposition for disposal if they think you're their friends."
Chapter Eight
Ansten FitzGerald looked up at the sound of a cleared throat. Naomi Kaplan stood in the opened hatch of his small shipboard office.
"Chief Ashton said you wanted to see me?" she said.
"Yes, I did. Come on in. Take a seat." He pointed to the chair on the far side of his desk, and she crossed the decksole and sat down, smoothing her long blond hair with one hand. "Thanks for getting here so promptly," he continued, "but it really wasn't quite that urgent."
"I was on my way stationward when Ashton caught me," she said. "I've got a dinner date at Dempsey's with Alf in about—" she looked at her chrono "—two hours, and I wanted to do a little shopping first." She grinned, her dark-brown eyes glinting. "I'd still like to get the shopping in if I can, but to be perfectly honest, I'd rather have the free time to stay out after dinner, Daddy. So I thought I'd come see you ASAP."
"I see." FitzGerald smiled back at her. The petite, attractive tactical officer reminded him of a hexapuma for more than just her ferocity in combat. He didn't know whether he envied Alf Sanfilippo, or whether he sympathized with him, but he knew the other man wasn't going to be bored that evening.
"I think you can probably count on having the free time you want," he told her, and then his smile faded. "But you may not have much more than that." She cocked her head, looking a question at him, and he shrugged. "How do you think Lieutenant Hearns is working out?" he asked.
Kaplan blinked at the sudden apparent non sequitur. Then her eyes narrowed.
"Are you asking my opinion of her as my assistant tactical officer, or as Hexapuma's OCTO?"
"Both," FitzGerald replied simply, tipping back in his chair and watching her expression.
"Well," Kaplan said slowly, "I haven't really had the opportunity to see her in action, you understand." FitzGerald nodded. For someone who had absolutely no trace of hesitation when the fecal matter hit the rotary air impeller in combat, Kaplan had a pronounced tendency to throw out sheet anchors in non-combat situations.
"Having said that," Kaplan continued, "I'd have to say that so far she's worked out quite well as the ATO. I've worked with her in the simulator, along with our entire Tac team, and she's very, very good. As I would have expected from her Academy grades and her evaluation from Captain Oversteegen." She snorted suddenly. "Actually, it would be a goddamned miracle if she weren't a superior tactician after studying under Duchess Harrington at the Island and then going to finishing school under Oversteegen!"
"I imagine some people could manage to remain blissfully incompetent, no matter who they studied under," FitzGerald said dryly.
"Maybe they could, but I guarantee you they couldn't do it without getting hammered in their evaluations by the Salamander and Oversteegen."
"Um." FitzGerald considered for a moment—it didn't take any longer than that—then nodded. "Point taken," he conceded.
"As I say," Kaplan went on, "she's performed very well in simulated combat. Given the degree of composure she showed dirt-side during that business on Refuge, I'm not worried about her losing her nerve or panicking when the missiles are flying for real, either. I haven't had as much opportunity to evaluate her on the administrative side, though. Everything I've seen suggests that she sees keeping up with her paperwork and staying current with the department's details as being almost as important as solving tactical problems—which is rare enough for officers with twice her experience. But we've only been working together for a bit over one week. Over all—" she shrugged "—I think she could hold down the slot if she had to."
That, FitzGerald reflected, was probably about as unequivocal a statement as he could expect out of her at this point. It wasn't that Kaplan was one of those compulsive ass-coverers. She was perfectly willing to stand up and take responsibility for the consequences of her decisions or recommendations. But if she had no fear of consequences for herself, she did have her own peculiar version of a moral fear of consequences for others. Of making the wrong decision through hastiness and letting down those who had the right to rely upon her judgment. He wondered what episode in her past accounted for that tendency, but he doubted he would ever know.
"And her performance as OCTO?" he asked.
"So far, excellent," Kaplan replied with a promptness which surprised him. "I actually had more reservations about that aspect of her duties than I did about her performance on the bridge," the TO said. "The main thing that worried me was the same thing you pointed out to the Captain: how young she is. I figured she might have trouble maintaining the necessary distance because of how close to her age the snotties are. But it hasn't worked out that way. I've been monitoring her sims with them, for example, including her post-action critiques. She not only manages to maintain her authority without ever having to use a hammer, but for someone her age, she's also shown an amazing sensitivity to their social dynamics."
"Really?" FitzGerald hoped he didn't sound as surprised as he felt. Kaplan's comments amounted to the closest thing to an unconditional endorsement he believed he'd ever heard from her.
"Really," the tactical officer affirmed. "Matter of fact, she's better at the dynamics thing than I ever was. I can appreciate someone who does it well, but it's never really been my strong suit. I can do it; it just doesn't come naturally to me, and I think it does come that way for Abigail. For example, I know there's something going on between Zilwicki and d'Arezzo. I don't know what it is, and I don't think Abigail knows, either, but there's some source of friction that seems to be coming from Zilwicki."
"Is there something I should be stepping on as XO?" FitzGerald asked, and Kaplan shook her head quickly.
"No, it's nothing like that. She just doesn't like him very much, for some reason. It's probably exacerbated by the fact that he's the closest thing to a genuine outsider in Snotty Row. The others all shared classes at the Island, but he doesn't seem to have caught any of the same class schedules they did. On top of that, he has a pronounced tendency to keep to himself. He's the closest thing to a true loner I've seen in a snotty in a long time. And, to be honest, the way we've tapped him to work with Guthrie isn't helping. It's pulling him outside the normal snotty parameters and only underscoring that 'outsider' status of his."
She shrugged.
"It's not that Zilwicki or any of the others are actively riding him, or getting on his case. For one thing, they're all good kids. For another, they all take their responsibility to function as junior officers seriously. They're not going to piss in each other's beers over any minor crap. But Zilwicki's as much of a natural leader as he is a loner, and her attitude affects those of the other snotties. She's not deliberately hammering d'Arezzo, but the fact that she doesn't much care for him is helping to keep him an outsider. So Abigail's been deliberately assigning the two of them to work together in situations which require them to cooperate to solve problems. Sooner or later, that's going to get them past whatever it is Zilwicki's got stuck up that stiff-
necked, Highlander nose of hers. Either that, or bring it out into the open where Abigail can deal with it once and for all."
FitzGerald gazed at her for a moment, smiling quizzically, then shook his head.
"'Stiff-necked, Highlander nose.'" He shook his head again. "Do you have any idea how scrambled a metaphor that is, Naomi?"
"So sue me." She made a face at him. "Doesn't mean it's not accurate, now does it?"
"No, I don't suppose it does." He rocked his chair from side to side for several seconds, his lips pursed in thought. "So, from what you're saying, you're satisfied with her performance?"
"Yes, I am," Kaplan said, coming up to scratch with unusual firmness. Then she grinned suddenly. "By the way, did I tell you what she says the snotties are calling the ship?"
"The snotties?" FitzGerald cocked an eyebrow at her.
"Yep. Sounds like the official nickname's probably been bestowed—the Nasty Kitty."
"Nasty Kitty." FitzGerald rolled the name on his tongue, then chuckled. "Well, I've heard worse. Served on ships with worse, for that matter. Any idea who came up with it?"
"None. Abigail says Pavletic used it first—and damned near died when she realized she'd let it slip. And, of course, Abigail took the opportunity to twist all of their tails just a bit. In a gentle, kindly fashion, of course."
"Oh, of course!" FitzGerald agreed. He considered the name again and decided it would probably stick, unless something catchier had already come out of the enlisted quarters. And as he'd said, he'd heard worse. Much worse.
"Well, it's a good thing she's got her new name all issued and ready to go," he said. "And it's an even better thing that you're satisfied with Abigail's performance," he added, and smiled sourly as it was her turn for both eyebrows to arch. "It seems Captain Terekhov was correct. We're not going to get a more senior ATO assigned before our departure date. Especially since said departure date has just been moved up by forty-five hours."