“Maybe,” Abruzzi agreed. “But we don’t want to muddy the water. It’s going to be a simpler, more easily presented message to stick with the Manties as the undisputed heavies of the piece. We let Haven be the ‘unwitting dupe’—maybe with a little imperialist ambition thrown in — and we take the position consistently in our own public statements that it’s a tragedy Haven has allowed itself to be deceived and manipulated in this fashion. More of an in sorrow than in anger approach. Who knows? If things take a turn for the worse for the Manties, Haven might see our attitude as providing an opportunity to jump ship to the other side.”
“I don’t think I’d bet very much money on that possibility if I were you,” MacArtney said dryly, “but I agree there’s at least a chance we could sell this in the short term. In fact, I’ll make it my business to suggest to Rajani that it would be a good thing if his in-house experts could analyze the Manties’ recordings and find evidence of possible editing. I think a good, judicious report — one that obviously tries to be as fair-minded and restrained as possible — which concludes the records may have been doctored but that it’s impossible to demonstrate the truth conclusively one way or the other would be more useful than an outright condemnation.”
“I agree.”
Abruzzi nodded with unusual approval, and Kolokoltsov looked around at the faces of his fellows.
“All right. I think we’re in agreement that we’ll proceed the way Malachai’s recommending. And I also think it would be a good idea for you and Omosupe, Agatá, to put together a report solemnly warning about the huge economic disruptions the Manties are about to inflict upon the League as part of their imperial ambitions. Let’s get that out in front of the newsies, too, and use it to aim some extra public disapproval in Manticore’s direction.” He smiled thinly. “I don’t see how it could make any of our citizens any less willing to decide the Manties are the real villains.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Havenite dispatch boat made rendezvous with Haven One as the official interstellar transport of the Republic’s president swept peacefully about the planet Manticore in its assigned orbit. The fact that the tiny vessel was allowed to make its approach without having to take aboard a Manticoran helmsman to enfore the “two-man” rule which had become the norm for near-planet traffic in the Star Empire said volumes about how the relationship between Haven and Manticore had changed in a single T-month.
The high security dispatches from Nouveau Paris were hand-transferred to Haven One, where they then sat for just over three hours while President Pritchart completed her current meeting with Empress Elizabeth, Protector Benjamin, and Planetary Director Benton-Ramirez y Chou in Mount Royal Palace. Partly, that was because the meeting was too important to interrupt, but there was more to it, as well. Eloise Pritchart was not a cowardly woman, yet in her circumstances, only a superwoman wouldn’t have felt at least a tingle or two of trepidation at the thought of mail from home.
Nonetheless, when she arrived back aboard her ship, she went immediately to her private quarters, accessed the security locks on the files, braced herself, and began to read.
* * *
“No, actually I think I agree with Aretha on this one, Roger,” Empress Elizabeth said. “I realize it’s your wedding — well, yours and Riva’s!” she went on, smiling warmly at Rivka Rebecca Rosenfeld. “And if you insist, we can do it your way. But under the circumstances, I think involving the Navy is probably a good idea.”
“I’m not disagreeing with that part of it, Mother, but it’s a wedding not a political statement.” Crown Prince Roger Gregory Alexander Timothy Winton tried (mostly successfully) to keep exasperation out of his voice. “And unlike Uncle Mike or Michelle, I never actually served in the Navy. I’d feel…uncomfortable calling them in for my wedding, especially after what’s just happened. It’s not my place to use my status as Heir to order a bunch of uniforms to turn up for the wedding when they’ve got a lot better things to be doing. And I especially don’t want to look like I’m trying to steal any of the…well, the glory, darn it, the Fleet’s earned to make me and Rivka look more important!”
It was obvious only filial respect had kept him from using a somewhat more vigorous expletive, and Elizabeth was forced to smother a smile stillborn.
“That’s not what Aretha has in mind,” she began once she was sure she had the smile under control. “She’s—”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Rivka said, “but whether it’s what Dame Aretha actually intends or not, I think what she’s proposing could look that way.”
The young woman who was about to become Crown Princess of the Star Empire of Manticore was attractive, in a dark, understated sort of way. She was also quiet, almost bookish, but there was a brain behind those big brown eyes. And some intestinal fortitude, too, Elizabeth reflected. It couldn’t be easy for a young woman who wouldn’t be twenty-two T-years old for another eleven days to argue with not just her future mother-in-law but her monarch. That was one of the many reasons Elizabeth approved so heartily of Roger’s choice.
“I think what bothers Roger,” Rivka went on, “is the notion of turning out all those naval personnel in uniform to line the approaches to King Michael’s Cathedral. I mean,” she smiled slightly, “I don’t think we’re going to be able to convince everyone they were all invited to the wedding and just couldn’t fit into the cathedral. It’s going to look like they were ordered to attend.”
“It’s going to look like that because that’s what they’re going to be,” Elizabeth pointed out. “It’s standard procedure for the military to be represented at royal weddings, baptisms, and funerals, Rivka.”
“I realize that, Your Majesty. I’m just saying that I think that’s why Roger feels the way he feels.”
“Mother, I don’t object to the Navy being represented,” Roger said. “I just don’t want to turn it into a situation where for all intents and purposes only the Navy is represented. Don’t get me wrong — I think the Navy has every right to be represented. God knows it does if anyone does! I just don’t want to look like we’re…trading on how popular the Navy is right now. Maybe it’s silly, and maybe it’s only because I was never commissioned, but that’s the way I feel.”
“I see.” Elizabeth gazed at him for a moment, then cocked an eyebrow at his fiancée. “Do you feel that way, too, Rivka?”
“Maybe not as strongly as Roger does, Your Majesty. On the other hand, it’s his wedding, too.” Rivka shrugged. “All of this is still new to me, but it does seem to me that ‘our wedding’ is going to be a huge public event. I realize that goes with marrying Roger, and I’m not complaining, really. But if there’s any way we can cut down a little bit on the intrusion of politics and do something that will make Roger feel a little more comfortable at the same time, I’m in favor of it.”
Elizabeth nodded slowly, impressed once again with her future daughter-in-law’s levelheadedness. She’d always thought the Manticoran Constitution’s requirement that the heir to the throne marry a commoner had been one of the Founders’ best ideas. Over the years, it had created its share of heartache and unhappy marriages, which was probably inevitable. And she knew from her own experience that every handsome (or beautiful) fortune hunter in the Star Kingdom was willing to take a shot at the Heir. She could have picked any of two or three dozen stunningly handsome boy-toys, but she hadn’t. She’d picked Justin, and she was eternally thankful the Constitutional requirement had brought them together. One or two of the young women who’d done their best to hover around Roger had worried her, but she was delighted with his final choice. Indeed, she strongly suspected that Rivka was going to prove as strong a support for Roger as Justin had proven for her.