"I don't blame you." Honor turned back to the window, looking down on the boat-dotted estuary, wishing she were down there in one of her sloops herself. "And I don't doubt this is going to complicate our job here in Nouveau Paris, as well. To be honest, though, I'm a lot more worried about its potential impact on Solly public opinion and what it may encourage Kolokoltsov and those other idiots in Old Chicago to do."
Tuominen nodded unhappily behind her and wondered if one reason he himself was focusing so intensely on the situation here in the Republic of Haven was expressly to avoid thinking about how Old Chicago might have reacted to the same news. It was ironic that Manticore had received the reportage of the Mesan allegations about Green Pines before anyone on Old Earth had. By now, though, the sensational charges were racing outward to all the interstellar community of man, and God only knew how that was likely to impact on the Solarian public's view of the Star Empire. The one thing Tuominen was prepared to bet on was that it wasn't going to help.
"I agree that the way the League reacts to this is ultimately likely to be a lot more significant as far as the Star Empire's concerned, Your Grace," Selleck said. "Unfortunately, there's not anything we can do about that. So I think Barnabas and Voitto are right to be considering anything we might be able to do to mitigate the impact here, in the Republic."
She shrugged.
"Voitto's right about people like Younger and McGwire. I've been quietly developing some additional information sources since we got here, and the more I find out about Younger, the more revolting he turns out to be. I'm still not sure exactly how the internal dynamics of the New Conservatives lay out, but I'm coming to the conclusion he's a much more important player than we'd assumed before we left Manticore. If there's anyone on Pritchart's side of the table who's likely to try to use something like this, it's Younger."
"But how can he use it, Carissa?" Kew asked. "I realize the media's going to have a field day, whatever we do. And God knows there's enough 'anti-Manty' sentiment here in the Republic already for these allegations to generate even more public unhappiness with the fact that their government's negotiating with us at all. But having said all of that, it's the only game in town. The bottom line is that Pritchart and her people have to be even more determined than we are to keep us from blowing up their capital star system!"
"Really?" Honor turned her head, looking over her shoulder at him. "In that case, why don't we already have an agreement?" she asked reasonably. "Carissa's exactly right about Younger, and I wouldn't be too sure McGwire doesn't fall into the same category. But everything about Younger's mind glow"—she reached up to Nimitz again, suggesting (not entirely accurately) where her certainty about the Havenite's emotions came from—"suggests that he really doesn't care what happens to the rest of the universe, as long as he gets what he wants. Or, to put it another way, he's absolutely convinced he's going to be able to make things come out the way he wants them to, and he's prepared to do whatever it takes to accomplish that." She grimaced. "His and McGwire's obstructionism isn't just about getting the best terms they possibly can for the Republic . They're looking to cut their own domestic deals, improve their own positions here in Nouveau Paris, and Younger would blow up the negotiations in a heartbeat if he believed it would further his own political ambitions."
"I'm less afraid of his managing to completely sabotage the talks, Your Grace," Selleck said, "than I am about his stretching them out. Or trying to, at any rate. From what I've seen of him, I think he's calculating that the worse things get between us and the Sollies, the more likely we are to accept his terms in order to get some kind of a treaty so we can deal with the League without worrying about having the Republic on our back."
"That would be . . . fatally stupid of him," Kew said.
"I don't think he really believes the Queen—I mean, the Empress—is willing to pull the trigger on the entire Republic if we don't get a formal treaty in time, Barnabas," Tuominen said heavily.
"And even if he does believe we'll do that in the end, he doesn't think it's going to happen tomorrow," Honor agreed. "As far as he's concerned, he's still playing for time and the time's still there to be played for. And let's face it—to some extent, he's right. Her Majesty's not going to turn the Navy lose on Haven's infrastructure any sooner than she thinks she absolutely has to. If she were going to do that, she wouldn't have sent us to negotiate in the first place."
And I think I just won't mention how hard it was to bring her to that position , Honor added mentally.
"The problem is that no matter how much time he thinks he has,we don't have an unlimited supply of it, and this is only going to make that worse. So what I'm really worried about is that he's going to miscalculate with . . . unhappy consequences for everyone involved."
"I agree." Selleck nodded firmly. "The question is how we keep him from doing that."
"I don't know we can do anything directly with him," Honor replied. "On the other hand, President Pritchart's obviously had a lot of experience dealing with him domestically. So I think the logical move is for me to have a private little conversation with her to make her aware of our concerns."
* * *
"Good afternoon, Admiral Alexander-Harrington."
Eloise Pritchart stood, reaching across her desk to shake Honor's hand as Angela Rousseau escorted her into the presidential office.
"Good afternoon, Madam President," Honor replied, and suppressed a smile as Sheila Thiessen nodded a bit brusquely to Spencer Hawke. After two a half weeks, the two bodyguards and paranoiacs-in-chief had achieved a firm mutual respect. In fact, they were actually beginning to like one another—a little, at least—although neither of them would have been willing to admit it to a living soul.
"Thank you for making time for me so promptly," she continued out loud as she settled into what had become her customary chair here in Pritchart's office. Nimitz flowed down into her lap and curled up there, grass-green eyes watching the president alertly, and Pritchart smiled.
"Right off the top of my head, Admiral, I can't think of anyone who has a higher priority where 'making time' is concerned," she said dryly.
"I suppose not," Honor acknowledged with a faint, answering smile.
"Now that you're here, can I offer you some refreshment?" the president inquired. "Mr. Belardinelli has some more of those chocolate chip cookies you like so much hidden away in his desk drawer, you know."
She smiled conspiratorially, and Honored chuckled. But she also shook her head, smile fading, and Pritchart let her chair come fully back upright.
"Well, in that case," the president said, "I believe you said you had something confidential you needed to discuss?"
"That's true, Madam President." Honor glanced at Thiessen, then back at the Pritchart. "I'm going to assume Ms. Thiessen is as deeply in your confidence as Captain Hawke is in mine."
Her tone made the statement a polite question, and Pritchart nodded.
"I thought so," Honor said. "On the other hand, you might want to switch off the recorders for this conversation." She smiled again, thinly. "I'm sure your office has to be at least as thoroughly wired for sound as Queen Elizabeth's. Normally, that wouldn't bother me, but what I'm here to discuss has intelligence operational implications. Implications for your operations, not Manticore's."
Pritchart's eyebrows arched. Then she glanced at Thiessen. Her senior bodyguard looked less than enthralled by Honor's request, but she made no overt objection.
"Leave your personal recorder on, Sheila," the president directed. "If it turns out we need to make this part of the official record after the fact, we can download it from yours." She looked back at Honor. "Would that be satisfactory, Admirable?"