"I can't fault your motives for suggesting the possibility, Marisa," High Ridge replied heavily. "But I think that before we issue any such invitations, we have to make it plain we're not prepared to be dictated to. The first step is to make it absolutely clear to Pritchart and her administration that this outrageous escalation of her demands is completely unacceptable. Once we've pruned their expectations back to something which might conceivably be acceptable to us, it would make an enormous amount of sense to invite Giancolaor possibly even Pritchart herselfto visit Manticore in a bid to restart the peace process on a new basis."
Descroix gazed at him again. For just a moment she hesitated on the brink of asking him openly if what he'd just said represented the complete abandonment of their entire domestic political strategy. But she didn't. She couldn't, not in front of New Kiev. That was something she and the Prime Minister would have to discuss privately. In the meantime, however...
"So what you're saying," she said, "is that our first priority is to smack Pritchart down, after which we'll offer her a hand to stand back up."
"Perhaps a bit more bluntly phrased than I might have preferred, but, essentially, yes," High Ridge agreed.
"All right then. In that case, I think we need to consider exactly how we want to go about smacking her."
Swathes of brown could still be seen amidst the startling silver hair of the hazel-eyed man waiting in the shuttle pad's VIP lounge as Hamish Alexander debarked from the Grayson Space Navy pinnace which had collected him from the Paul Tankersley.
The earl had felt more than a little uncomfortable using Honor's private starship for this trip, even though he'd known it was silly of him. Honor herself had suggested that he do so in her letter to him, because the Tankersley was a very fast ship indeed. The fact that it enjoyed diplomatic immunity these days as Steadholder Harrington's personal ship was another reason. But White Haven was honest enough with himself to admit that the true reason for his discomfort was the ship's name. He'd been aboard her several times before, but never since he had admitted his feelings for Honor to her. Now he felt vaguely as if using the ship named for her murdered lover was somehow an act of infidelity.
Which, he reflected with a wry mental grin, was not only silly of him but an example of the sorts of inconsequential things a man's mind could find to fasten upon when the potential for cataclysm threatened to overwhelm him.
"My Lord," the man waiting in the lounge greeted him.
"High Admiral," White Haven replied with equal formality, then smiled as he held out his hand.
"Welcome back to Grayson, Hamish," High Admiral Wesley Matthews said warmly, gripping the proffered hand and squeezing firmly.
"Thank you, Wesley," White Haven said, but then his own smile faded. "I only wish I were here under happier conditions," he said.
"So do we all," Matthews assured him, releasing his hand. The high admiral stepped back and waved towards a waiting air car. "Under the circumstances," he said, "I suspected that you'd prefer to go straight to Protector's Palace."
Protector Benjamin rose behind his desk and held out his hand as an armsman in Mayhew maroon and gold ushered White Haven and Matthews into his office. Major Rice, Benjamin's personal armsman, stood unobtrusively behind him, and Gregory Paxton was already present in his position as the director of Sword Intelligence. Honor's onetime intelligence officer had aged noticeably. He walked with a cane these days, and he made no effort to hoist himself to his feet, but his eyes were still bright and alert, and he nodded a welcome to the newcomers.
"Hamish." Benjamin's greeting was warm, but it was also subdued and dark with anxiety.
"Your Grace," White Haven replied as they shook hands. "Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice."
"There's no need to thank me," Benjamin said, shaking his head. "I'd have made room in my schedule even if you'd turned up totally unannounced. As it was, Honor's letter had warned me you'd probably be coming."
"Well," White Haven acknowledged with a grimace, "she certainly predicted Janacek's reaction accurately enough, so I don't suppose I should be surprised she predicted mine, as well!"
"Under the circumstances," Matthews said grimly, "it didn't really require very much clairvoyance on her part, I'm afraid."
"Probably not," White Haven agreed. Benjamin waved him into a chair, and the earl sat obediently. An armsman appeared beside him, and White Haven grinned, despite the seriousness of the moment, as a bottle of Old Tillman materialized on the small table at his elbow.
"Now," Benjamin said briskly as the earl reached for his beer, "according to the letter Honor sent me, she believes Eloise Pritchart is seriously contemplating resuming active operations against the Star Kingdom. I have to admit that even now that surprises me just a bit. Do you think she's right, Hamish?"
"I'm afraid I do," White Haven said somberly. He set the beer bottle back down, and leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'm not privy to the details of the diplomatic exchanges between High Ridge and Pritchart, Your Grace. I don't think anyone outside the High Ridge Cabinet isnot in the Star Kingdom, anyway. From what I do know, though, it seems fairly obvious that the treaty negotiations have been deteriorating steadily for months now."
"Actually," Paxton said quietly, "the deterioration you refer to started well over a T-year and a half ago, My Lord." White Haven looked at him, and the intelligence director shrugged. "There was never any real hope of a treaty, but it's only been in the past eighteen T-months or so that Pritchart began really pushing the Star Kingdom for some sort of significant progress."
"All right," White Haven agreed. "A year and a half, then. At any rate, the truce talks have been shuddering towards a breakdown for quite some time. Now, if my brother's sources in the Foreign Office are correct, they're on the brink of a complete collapse. In the middle of all this, we have Theisman announcing the existence of his new navy, and then this 'Second Fleet' they've run in on Honor in Silesia."
He shook his head.
"Like Honor, the only explanation I can come up with is that they're actively planning to attack us," he sighed, still shaking his head. "And I wish to Hell I could blame them for it!"
"I'm afraid we agree with Lady Harrington and Earl White Haven, Your Grace," Matthews put in. "Naval Intelligence has shared everything we had with Sword Intelligence, and Greg's analysts agree with ours. We can't say for certain that the Republic has definitely made up its mind to launch an attack, but it's obviously putting its assets in place with that possibility in mind. We've known that for quite some time. Lady Harrington's discovery that they're actually going so far as to deploy forces all the way to Silesia confirms our existing suspicions."
"Worse than that," Paxton added, "the presence of Havenite forces in Silesian space may be an indication that their war plans are not only already in place but have already been activated."
All eyes turned to him, and he shrugged.
"I'm not saying that's what's happened. I'm saying that we have to be aware that it may be what's happened. If it is, we may have very little time to respondassuming we have any time at all."
"What do you want us to do, Hamish?" Benjamin asked, gazing at his guest intently.
"I don't know exactly what was in Honor's letter to you," White Haven replied. "I know what she said to me, and Elizabeth allowed me to view her letter." He smiled suddenly. "I think it's probably a very good thing Janacek didn't get to see either of them. Although it might have simplified our problem a bit when he dropped dead of pure apoplexy!"