Younger's face had darkened steadily, and the power of his anger pulsed in Honor's awareness like a blow torch. He had himself sufficiently under control to glower at her in hot-eyed silence rather than open his mouth and let his fury betray how accurately she'd read him, however. She met his glare steadily for a moment, then looked at Pritchart at last.
The president's topaz eyes met hers with commendable steadiness, although the firm lips below them might have quivered ever so slightly. Honor wasn't prepared to swear to that either way, but she could taste the other woman's mingled irritation, frustration, and—overwhelming, this last emotion—entertainment.
"I believe, under the circumstances, that a recess probably is in order," Pritchart said after taking a moment to be certain she had her own voice under control. "I see it's very nearly lunchtime, anyway. If I may, Admiral, I'd suggest we take a couple of hours for lunch, during which Representative Younger can contact the members of his committee and canvas their response to your. . . forthright statement of the Star Empire's position on this point."
She smiled pleasantly at Honor, then turned to Younger.
"If you desire, Gerald," she continued pleasantly, "I'm sure Leslie and Walter and I could also make the time available before our next session with Admiral Alexander-Harrington and her delegation to discuss the Administration's view on this point. I'm always happy to hear Congress' views and advice, as you're well aware, and if the members of your committee have pronounced reservations on this point, I'd like to be made aware of them. I would never seek to dictate to the consciences of the Republic's elected representatives, but I must confess that at this moment, I'm unaware of any general groundswell of opinion on this point. If it's going to present serious difficulties, I'd appreciate a briefing on it."
The expression Younger turned on her was even closer to a glare than the one he'd bewstowed on Honor, but he kept a firm leash on his anger and nodded with at least a pretense of courtesy.
"Well then," Pritchart said just a tad brightly, smiling at Honor. "In that case, Admiral, we'll meet back here in two hours. Will that be convenient for your delegation?"
* * *
"Well, that was certainly entertaining, wasn't it?" Honor observed with an edge of whimsy as the members of her delegation—herded along by the alert sheepdogs of her armsmen—filed through the door into their suite's dining room. Like the conference room Pritchart had provided for their negotiations, the dining room's windows looked out over the boiling foam of Frontenac Falls, and she crossed the floor to gaze out at the spectacular scenery.
"I'm not sure 'entertaining' is exactly the word I'd choose, Your Grace," Tuominen said dryly. "Your approach to the rarefied and refined world of diplomacy seems just a trifle . . . direct , shall we say?"
"Oh, come now, Voitto!" Sir Barnabas Kew shook his head, smiling broadly. "You know you enjoyed seeing that insufferable young bugger taken down a notch just as much asI did! Talk about poisonous little vipers." The permanent undersecretary shook his head and glanced at Honor. "I don't know what the specifics of his agenda may be, Your Grace, but I'm convinced you nailed what he's up to."
"Nimitz and I have been discussing him for a while," Honor said, which was true enough, as far as it went, and Kew, Tuominen, and Baroness Selleck all nodded. She'd shared her—and Nimitz's, of course—impressions of all of the Havenite negotiators, although she'd been a bit less explicit about Pritchart, Theisman, and Nesbitt for various reasons.
"Of their entire delegation," she continued, "Younger and Tullingham are undoubtedly the most cynical and self-seeking. McGwire's no prize, you understand, but I think he's at least aware that in the Republic's current circumstances, a certain pragmatic resignation is in order. Tullingham could scarcely care less what happens to Pritchart's and Theisman's constitution—which, personally, I don't think is a most desirable possible trait in a Supreme Court justice—but my impression is that while he's the sort who thinks it's a perfectly wonderful idea to put legal opinions up for sale to the highest bidder, he's definitely not the sort who'd risk riding something like this down in flames just to satisfy his personal ambitions. His approach is more a case of 'business is business,' you might say. Younger, on the other hand . . . ."
She shook her head, not trying to hide her own disgust.
"What about him, Your Grace?" Selleck asked, regarding her narrowly, and Honor tasted her speculation. Of course, the baroness had been included among her advisers in no small part because of her familiarity with the various opposition groups which had emerged to resurrect the Republic after Saint-Just's death.
"I'm more than a little surprised he hasn't tried to use Green Pines, actually," Honor admitted. "I know that was what we hoped for when I had my little chat with the President, but I honestly didn't expect him to keep his mouth completely shut about it." Nor, she thought, had she anticipated the shiver of fear which went through the representative's mind glow whenever it looked like someone else might be about to bring it up. "But the more we see of him, the more convinced I am that he'd been fishing in some very murky waters long before we ever turned up in Nouveau Paris."
"You may well be right," Selleck said. "As I've said, I still don't have a good feel for how the internal dynamics of his party fit together, but my sources are suggesting more and more strongly that he's a more prominent player than we thought before. Are you suggesting he's a more important player than we've realized even now?"
"That's hard to say, Carissa," Honor replied thoughtfully, turning away from the windows and moving towards the table as James MacGuiness appeared in the doorway on the other side of the room, keeping an eagle eye on the Navy stewards who'd been sent down from Eighth Fleet to provide him with a reliable, security-screened support group.
"I don't know how important a player he actually is," she continued, seating herself at the head of the table. "For that matter, I don't know that he's really as important a player as he thinks he is. Obviously, he's got some stature, or he wouldn't have been included in Pritchart's delegation in the first place. The problem is that he's one of those people who just knows he's smarter, sneakier, and just generally all around better than anyone else. I have no idea what it is he wants out of Pritchart, but whatever it is, it never crossed his mind that he wasn't going to get it in the end. Or not until she asked him for that 'briefing', anyway."
She chuckled, and most of the others joined her. Then she looked up at MacGuiness.
"And just what are you planning on feeding us this afternoon, Mac?"
"I trust you'll find it palatable, Your Grace," MacGuiness said with a small bow and a lurking smile.
"But you're not going to tell me what it is until you put it on the table in front of me, are you?"
"I do treasure my little surprises," he acknowledged with a broader smile, and she shook her head fondly.