"Amen."
"Grant that whoever is here dedicated to You by our office and ministry, may also be imbued with heavenly virtues, and everlastingly rewarded to Your mercy, oh blessed Lord God, who lives, and governs all things, worlds without end. Amen."
"Amen."
"The Lord be with you."
"And with you."
"Lift up your hearts."
"We lift them up to God."
"Let us give thanks to our Lord God."
"It is meet and right to do so."
"It is very meet, right, and our bounden duty, that we should give thanks to You, Oh Lord, Holy Father, Almighty and Everlasting God, for Your dearly beloved Son, Jesus Christ, for the forgiveness of our sins, did shed out of His most precious side both water and blood, and gave commandment to His disciples, that they should go teach all nations, and baptize them in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Receive, we beseech You, the supplications of Your congregation. Sanctify this Water to the mystical washing away of sin, and grant that this Child, now to be baptized therein, may receive the fullness of Your Grace, and remain always in the number of Your faithful children; through the same Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom, with You, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, be all honor and glory, now and forever. Amen."
"Amen."
Telmachi reached out, and Raoul stirred, rolling his head as the Archbishop took him into his arms and looked once again at the godparents.
"Name this Child."
"Raoul Alfred Alistair," Elizabeth Winton replied clearly, and Telmachi bent to the font, cupping up some of the water in his palm. He poured it gently over Raoul's dark fuzz of hair, and the baby promptly began to wail.
"Raoul Alfred Alistair," Telmachi said through Raoul's lusty protests, "I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."
"Amen."
"I've been wondering what to get Raoul for a christening gift," Elizabeth III said quietly to Honor as they walked out of the cathedral onto its well guarded front steps.
"You already gave it," Honor said, equally quietly, turning to look at her Queen.
"I did?" Elizabeth quirked one eyebrow.
"Yes, you did." Honor smiled. "It should be arriving in Nouveau Paris in about three more days."
"Oh. That." Elizabeth couldn't quite restrain a slight grimace, but Honor only nodded.
"I can think of much worse christening gifts than a peace treaty ending an interstellar war, Elizabeth."
Chapter Fifty
"It's on, Tom."
Thomas Theisman looked at the smiling face on his com and felt himself smiling in response.
"The official reply is here?" he asked, and Eloise Pritchart nodded.
"The dispatch boat got in about five hours ago. The Manticoran delegation will meet us on Torch in two months. We'll have to depart in about three weeks-twenty days, to be precise-to meet them."
"That's wonderful, Eloise!"
"Yes, it is," Pritchart agreed, but then her face sobered. "In a way, though, it's even worse."
"Worse?" Theisman repeated, surprised.
"I've got to sit down across the table from a woman who detests everything she thinks the Republic of Haven stands for and somehow convince her to make peace with the people who attacked her star nation on my personal orders." She shook her head. "I've had easier chores in my life."
"I know," he replied. "But we've got to try."
"We've got to do more than try, Tom." Pritchart's expression firmed up, and she shook her head again, this time with a completely different emphasis. "I'm coming home with a peace treaty. One way or the other. Even if it means telling Elizabeth what we suspect about Giancola."
"Are you certain about that? About telling her, I mean? It could blow up in our faces, you know. We've all heard about her temper, and if anyone ever had a right to be pissed to the max, she does. If she finds out we let Giancola manipulate us, especially after we accused her government of being the guilty party, Lord only knows how she may react."
"She's going to find out eventually, anyway," Pritchart pointed out. "And as you suggested, Harrington's going to be present. Hopefully, she really will have a moderating influence. But I actually suspect the treecats are going to be even more important, assuming the Manty reports on their capabilities are accurate. I think I'm willing to take a chance on telling her the truth, as long as I can do it face-to-face, with the treecats there to prove to her that I am telling the truth."
"I hope you haven't mentioned this particular brainstorm to Leslie?" Theisman's smile was only half humorous, and Pritchart chuckled.
"She's unhappy enough about going to Torch for the summit in the first place. I don't think she needs to know exactly what sort of diplomatic faux pas I'm prepared to commit if it seems necessary after we get there."
Admiral Sir James Bowie Webster, Baron of New Dallas, and the Star Kingdom of Manticore's ambassador to the Solarian League, regarded his morning's schedule with scant favor.
"This is goddamned ridiculous," he grumbled to Sir Lyman Carmichael, his assistant ambassador.
"What's ridiculous?" Carmichael responded, as if they hadn't had this identical conversation every Monday morning since Webster's arrival on Old Earth.
"This." Webster thumped a rather large fist on the hardcopy printout of his agenda, then opened his hand and waved it around his palatial office. "All this crap! I'm a naval officer, not a frigging diplomat!"
"Traditional prejudices aside," Carmichael replied mildly, "a career in diplomacy isn't quite the same as seeking employment in a brothel. And don't-" he raised an admonishing index finger as Webster opened his mouth "-don't tell me that's because whores have more principles!"
"All right, I won't. Especially," Webster grinned, "since you already appear to realize that yourself."
"One of these days," Carmichael promised him. "One of these days."
Webster laughed and leaned back behind his desk.
"Actually, my cousin, the Duke, would be better at this than I am, Lyman. You know that as well as I do."
"I've had the pleasure of knowing your cousin for many years now," Carmichael said. "I have immense respect for him, and he really is a skilled diplomat. Having said all that, I truly don't think he could do the job you've been doing."
"Now that," Webster said, " really is ridiculous!"
"No, it isn't. Your status as a naval officer, especially one who's held the offices you've held, is part of the reason, of course." Carmichael smiled. "One reason the Star Kingdom's traditionally assigned military officers and ex-military officers as our ambassadors to the League is the fact that they have a certain fascinating effect on Solly politicos. They don't see very many real military people at this level, and that rather blunt directness you Navy types seem to acquire contrasts quite nicely with the mouthfuls of platitudes and careful political maneuvering they're accustomed to.
"But mostly, in your case, to be honest, it's the fact that you don't lie worth a damn, Jim."
"I beg your pardon?" Webster blinked, and Carmichael chuckled.
"I said you don't lie worth a damn. In fact, you're so bad at it that the two or three times I've seen you try, the people you were talking to simply assumed you were deliberately pretending to lie in order to make a point."
Webster regarded him narrowly, and Carmichael shrugged.
"You're simply an honest man. It comes across. And that's rare-very rare-for someone operating at the level you currently are. Especially here." Carmichael grimaced. "There's a taint of decadence in the air here on Old Earth, which may be why honesty's so rare. But whatever it is, they don't really understand you, in a lot of ways, because you do come out of the military, and very few of them do. But when you say something, personally or as the Queen's representative, they're confident you're telling them the truth. At the moment, especially with the dispute over our correspondence with the Peeps and the shenanigans in the Talbott Cluster, that's incredibly important, Jim. Don't undervalue yourself."