Honor Among Thieves

by Bracketyjack

An Honorverse AU. I know the story-arc of the Honorverse is one of its great glories, but haven't you ever, reading the latest best-selling doorstop, wanted radically to short-circuit the whole thing, and see those morally defective, small-souled Manticoran aristocrats taken down hard? And all Detweilers whatever fed to a passel of treecats, with BBQ sauce? I know I have ...

6. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Landing, Nouveau Paris, & Sphinx, August–September 1917 PD

Settling with Nimitz into the front-row seat to which she was entitled as a Duchess, Honor surveyed the packed House. It was actually less overcrowded than it might have been, and not only because High Ridge and New Kiev would (with Descroix) be in the dock below the Speaker. Among the few actions the stupefied House had taken using the new administration's slim majority, besides seating the new Baron Grantville and engrossing Descroix's trial, had been to expel all those peers who, while still formally entitled to attend, were no longer entitled to speak or vote. Moreover, in matters of criminal trial, and those alone, cadet seats were entitled neither to attend nor vote, each full peer being restricted to a single vote, though proxies were allowed. Even so the benches were jammed, and though proceedings were being broadcast the public gallery was also interestingly filled.

Thomas Theisman was there, by invitation of the Lord Speaker at the request of Her Majesty, as witness for his President and government. His broadcasts from the Bay House, including a riveting discussion with Alfredo and Warner of successive Havenite regimes, and a dignified, remorseless speech about the principle of accountability and his views of its failures in Haven and Manticore, had made him if not exactly a popular then certainly a respected figure, as well as a fascinating one. And in the last of them, when Honor joined him wearing her own plenipotentiary hat to discuss formally the relations Haven sought with Grayson — and along the way outline the political settlement about re/conquered planets that would be on the negotiating table — she had been able, by arranging for Sam and Nimitz to appear, making formal enquiry about Haven's attitude to the People before seeking his lap as well as her own, to shape another image of him in the public mind.

Grayson and Andermani ambassadors were also present, and Honor had used her carefully cultivated acquaintance with the Sergeant-at-Arms, a former Marine gunny, to secure a block of seven seats. Two were for her parents, who had decided they were missing far too much fun on Grayson, and had brought sufficient staff to let them abandon Faith and James for the day; others were for Klaus and Stacey Hauptman, Miranda, Abigail Hearns as Miss Owens, and Anton Zilwicki, who had actually blinked when she'd proposed it, observing that he should see the finish of what he'd started, before rolling massive shoulders and accepting with glee. Seats were not needed for Farragut and Sam, the latter accompanying her mother, and Honor had not had to secure a seat for Uncle Jacques as he was officially present to observe for Beowulf. President Ramirez was attending in a similar capacity, accompanied by his son, the two taking up what would be three seats for anyone other than San Martinos; and there was an Erewhonese, Walter Imbesi, whom Zilwicki said was their most senior unofficial official, whatever that meant exactly. His strong advice was to treat Imbesi carefully and most courteously, and mindful of Benjamin's justified fears about Erewhon Honor had extended an invitation to stay at the Bay House, accepted with surprised and graceful thanks. Other notable faces included Hamish's wife Emily in her float-chair; Michael Oversteegen, a lookalike relation of High Ridge's and by all accounts a very competent Captain (SG) less than sympathetic to his cousin's naval policies; and — Honor wondered how many recognised him — Cathy Montaigne's butler, Isaac Douglass. What anyone would say if she pointed out the Audubon Ballroom had sent an observer was a line of thought that kept her amused until the defendants appeared under escort.

Striving for detachment, she thought they made an interesting study in contrasts. High Ridge, immaculate in fullest fig and at least as angry as he was afraid, bristled long-suffering indignation. Descroix was much warier, less ostentatious and with a calculating look covering sick dread. New Kiev was a wreck, haggard, confused, and deeply terrified. A fourth chair, on which the Queen had rigidly insisted, featured the North Hollow arms in mute reminder of who else would be standing trial, and for what, even if he had been blown into plasma and she'd vanished, presumed not dead. The earldom remained vacant, the youngest brother having flown himself drunkenly into a hillside some years ago and the elderly third cousin who was next in line having in a rare display of sense for a Young flatly refused to accede; whether anyone would was moot. The Queen and Royal Consort were already in the rarely used royal observatory, and the whole ludicrous yet deadly serious process got underway.

The Lord Speaker had wide procedural discretion, and as the House had, after some thought, confirmed by a large majority Willie's nomination of the notoriously upright, brisk, and recently retired Lord Justice Farquhar, Baron Westfield, for the period of the trial, things moved at a clip. High Ridge's angry but measured contentions that his arrest had been unconstitutional, evidence obtained via unconstitutional royal warrants was inadmissible, and evidence obtained illegally equally inadmissible, were all dismissed without being put to a vote, the last with a short, sharp lecture about precedents including a case even Honor had heard of, wherein a burglar had surprised a domestic murder in progress and, after knocking out the murderer and trying to revive the victim, had summoned police and ambulance before removing himself. Farquhar then surveyed the House.

"My Lords and Ladies, the decision is yours, but in order to expedite matters as Her Majesty requests, adducing potent arguments of national security and the most urgent diplomatic necessity, I suggest we adopt the following basic procedure. We have multiple defendants, and charges that range from gross malfeasance to capital treason. We have a great deal of evidence to consider. So let us divide things cleanly and clearly. I suggest we first hear evidence on non-capital charges of peculation and gross malfeasance, and render a verdict. Then we may proceed to charges where capital sentence is discretionary, that is, of accessory before and after the fact to capital murder by parties not here arraigned. And finally we may proceed to the explicitly capital charges of treason."

The House thought about it, saw the underlying political logic about who would be willing to convict on what, largely regardless of evidence, and agreed such organisation made a great deal of sense. Finance was therefore first on the agenda, and Lord Justice Ingledew, prosecuting, painstakingly laid out evidence of the tens of millions of dollars that had vanished from government funds and reappeared in various accounts belonging or traceable to the defendants. Then he asked the House what testimony it wished to hear.

"Every investigator who worked on this is available, my Lords and Ladies, as are 116 Manticoran bank managers and other officials, and in the case of Lady Descroix a number of Beowulfan bankers and officials who were requested by Her Grace of Harrington, through her maternal uncle, Third Director at Large Jacques Benton-Ramirez y Chou, who is present" — a bow to the public gallery, elegantly returned — "to maintain a special watch on Manticorans seeking to establish private accounts with onward payment facilities for Stotterman. A farsighted precaution which has, I note, saved Her Majesty's Government not less than 42 million dollars. These Beowulfans are of course beyond the jurisdiction of this House, but Director Chou has offered to command their attendance, should you so desire."

This House interestingly showed more inclination to get on with things than tie them up, especially after some pithy observations by the Grand Duchess of Sphinx and the most senior peer of Cathy Montaigne's new True Liberals. In an interview after her surprising and interesting inception as Minister for the Suppression of Slavery, that had had Honor, and Thomas Theisman and Mike beside her, clutching their sides, Cathy had brayingly observed that she really, really wanted to call her new party the Illiberals, but it was too much of a hostage to fortune, so she'd settle for dubbing the rump of the old party False Liberals — a name that had stuck even with staider news channels. None of them were saying anything, and it was soon agreed ten randomly chosen investigators and financiers was plenty, and Director Benton-Ramirez y Chou's testimony to the accuracy of Beowulfan records sufficient. Investigators, financiers, and testimony were then adduced, and Honor had the pleasure of seeing High Ridge get no change whatever either out of dryly precise bankers or Uncle Jacques, who agreed there were proper channels of intergovernmental communication but observed there were also dictates of national security, and that if one's exceptionally capable niece requested close surveillance of any improperly disguised ministers of Her Majesty's government who, already demonstrably Manpower parasites or worse, sought fraudulently to open accounts on Beowulf, one paid attention; if one had any sense whatever.

Listening carefully, Honor realised that in some arcane and probably illegal, certainly improper, way, the House had already decided the peculation and gross malfeasance charges were a done deal. Man — or woman — dips hand in trough was a story they understood, the penalties for being caught were traditional, and if the scale was in the present case beyond surprising, the principles involved were clear. The Eleventh Commandment might come well before the Eighth, especially where those exceptional beings who were Manticoran Peers of the Realm were concerned, but the Eleventh having been comprehensively and undeniably broken, the Eighth applied. Farquhar, accurately divining such calculus, extended the sitting, invited the defendants to make rebuttals, and endured a blanket dismissal from High Ridge of testimony by commoners and aliens; a surprising admission of guilt from Descroix, who seemed to hope to influence verdicts on other charges; and a hysterical tirade from New Kiev claiming all monies had been used for proper ends however irregular the appropriations: before asking if the House was ready to render a verdict. The House was, and resoundingly convicted all defendants on all charges. Telling a foaming High Ridge to be quiet, Farquhar then suspended proceedings for the day.

§

Honor's dinner guests that evening included all she'd seated in the public gallery (Zilwicki accompanied by Cathy Montaigne and his daughter, though not his younger adopted children) and assorted house guests as well as Hamish and Emily. Surveying them, she asked what they had made of proceedings, and the saturnine Imbesi was the most interesting respondent. Conceding that Erewhon was in origin a polity of criminals, he explained the absolute importance there of one's personal word and his sense that what he had witnessed was reluctant judgement against those acknowledged as one's own for breaking their word. Honor responded with her theory of the Eleventh and other commandments, and he gave her a sharp look.

"Expedience rather than honour, Your Grace? But for once lined up?"

"More or less, Mr Imbesi. But I believe that vote had already been decided, or rather conceded as a lost cause. The real argument about honour and expedience is yet to come."

He raised a glass to her, and Abigail Hearns, taking a deep breath, asked how expedience might relate to honour, defined as honesty before the Tester, starting a wider, very interesting debate in which everyone rolled up their sleeves. Honor contributed by blandly positing information of serious wrongdoing, anonymously received, that could only have been gathered by illegal means. Imbesi contended that once there were sufficient and reasonable grounds to believe a given word had been broken, all bets were off. Her mother agreed, but Abigail, backed by Miranda, valiantly fought for a wider absolute code of honour that, while attractive, depended on the judgement of the Tester rather than the revenges of man. Cathy Montaigne cheerfully threw the Audubon Ballroom into the mix, asking what expedience might be allowable when all honourable response was demonstrably without value, and her father and Uncle Jacques ran with that until Helen Zilwicki brought everyone up short with a set of questions, clearly deriving from experience one so young should never have faced, about a personal need expediently to kill without due process. Theisman, seemingly familiar with the events she must be drawing on but had not specified, responded with grave courtesy, some delicacy, and steel judgement about the relevance of motive and circumstance.

"I appreciate Miss Hearns's — or should I say Miss Owens's? — view of a more absolute standard vested in a god, but cannot share it, nor condemn expedience. I did not shoot Saint-Just in revenge, greatly as I desired to, but because I judged the burden of the trial he should have faced would be too great for a transitional regime, and his living imprisonment to await trial a sapping poison. And he had placed himself far outside even the laws of the PRH, such as they were, when he nuked the Octagon and killed more than a million citizens. It was expedient to kill him, and right, however unlawful. Whether it was honourable is not for me to judge but I have no regrets. And I think you should have none, Miss Zilwicki, for as best I understand it from Kevin Usher you too had absolute knowledge of guilt and an overriding need to protect others."

Helen nodded, face very sombre. "I don't have any regrets, sir. But I do have nightmares."

"That, alas, is a price we pay for doing what we must."

Her father nodded. "Indeed, Admiral Theisman. But they will fade, you'll find, Miss Zilwicki."

Helen shrugged. "I'm not sure they should, sir. But watching the HD today, I was thinking about what will happen if the House does convict on capital charges. Killing in cold blood, lawfully, actually seems worse."

Theisman sighed. "In many ways, yes. But also a necessity of state, sometimes. And if it happens it will, I understand, be public."

Honor nodded. "It's specified in the terms of a trial in the House. I believe the framers of the relevant Constitutional clauses felt that if a Peer of the Realm managed to get themselves sentenced to death it was their final duty to provide an example. You might call it the Byng argument."

Theisman smiled. "Ah yes. Shot on his own quarterdeck, wasn't he?"

"That's right. Pour encourager les autres." She smiled back at Theisman. "And if it happens this will be a firing squad too." Honor recalled her disbelief when she'd first read the words all those years ago. "There really are provisions for hanging Peers with a silken rope, but that's for capital murder. For capital treason it's a military execution."

"Truly? Too good for hemp? Aristocrats never cease to amaze me."

Cathy Montaigne laughed. "Bloodsucking scum for the most part, present company excepted. It's much nicer being a commoner."

As laughter faded Theisman grew grave. "But to return to your point, Miss Zilwicki, it would therefore be a moment in which Manticore as a nation would have to face itself squarely. And I have to say, from all I have seen, not before time." His gaze was shrewd. "I suspect that is what Her Grace is really after here. Her Majesty too, perhaps."

"Oh yes. I set out to stop High Ridge squandering the sacrifices of our dead and destroying our security, Miss Zilwicki, but he'd already done it, and along the way my target suffered some mission creep, you might say. And for what I'm after now he's incidental, really — it's what he represents, the failure of accountability Admiral Theisman eloquently identifies. And I'll hate it, if I can make it happen. Executions are always vile and ugly. But they are needed." She frowned, remembering. "I'm not a great one for poetry, but Grayson has had some fine sacred writers, and there's a line in one of them — 'There is no bloodless myth will hold'."*

"Oh that's nice. Send me the reference? Web Du Havel will like that — it's exactly what he says in The Political Value of Sacrifice."

It turned out Cathy wasn't the only one thinking of the ASL philosopher — Helen as well as Hamish, Emily, and Abigail had read the book and discussion became more general. But as those not in residence were leaving Hamish and Emily drew her aside.

"I don't think the House will convict on capital charges, Honor, any more than Hemphill would in that fiasco of a court martial, and she wasn't bribed like Jurgens and Lemaitre. There are too many loopholes they can offer themselves."

"There are a lot, aren't there? But we'll see."

"You seem very calm about it."

"Not really, Hamish. But it's the one thing I shall speak to. And Beth and I have hatched a second string to the bow, in case. But that's her surprise to spring."

Emily smiled her fragile smile. "Any clues, Honor?"

"Read your Constitution."

§

Matters of finance having been dealt with so expeditiously, the next day moved on to the accessory to murder charges faced only by High Ridge and Descroix, though North Hollow was posthumously indicted. New Kiev remained present, a brooding shell.

The situation was much more complex. The kitchen-cabinet recording and those of Georgia Young were pivotal, and both High Ridge and Descroix asserted the first was a forgery and (with some blistering, bitter comments about Young) the second false accusation. Lord Justice Ingledew had to proceed carefully, and methodically showed that the murders in question had in fact occurred. Janacek's killer had not been found, and though named in the North Hollow files and actively sought was believed to have fled to Silesia. But cued by what North Hollow had said in the kitchen-cabinet session investigators had proven that the security system that had been engaged at Janacek's house when he was found, on the face of it evidence to support a finding of suicide, had indeed had a bypass installed, exactly as described; that it had been used; and that the system had been re-engaged, with evidence of the bypass buried, after Janacek's estimated time of death. The coroner had ruled him a victim of murder by person or persons unknown. Of the other alleged killings, the apparent natural death could not be reinvestigated, the victim having been cremated, but the apparent accident had been urgently re-examined, and sufficient evidence found that, in conjunction with the North Hollow files, the original coroner's verdict had been overturned and one of murder filed. Ingledew concluded with a brisk statement of how those two deaths had prevented disclosure of information relating to three Manticorans, two Liberal and one Progressive members of the Commons, now charged with statutory rape and participation in enslavement.

There was then a lengthily precise demonstration that everything else Georgia Young said on record about the North Hollow files and their use was corroborated by the files themselves; and that everything that could be independently verified had been. It could also be shown, from logs at Government House, that despite Lady Young having no official security clearance she had been a very frequent caller, staying for long periods coinciding exactly with the then Prime Minister's personal diary notes of kitchen-cabinet meetings of which no official records of any kind appeared to have been kept, though recordings of some were among the materials anonymously supplied to Her Grace of Harrington. The posthumous indictment of North Hollow for the two relevant murders, and four more detailed in the files as well as a raft of other charges, was also set out, with evidence of how very closely he and his possibly late wife had co-operated in undertaking very many illegal things in the service of themselves, the Conservative Association, and latterly the High Ridge administration.

After the lunch recess Ingledew turned to the kitchen-cabinet recording and called a succession of expert analysts, military and civilian. Honor knew Andrew was coldly certain nothing could be traced back to him, but had concerns about what might be said; and as she really didn't know how he'd done it, whatever she might guess, she was genuinely interested in what data would be adduced. The first testimony was straightforward, voice analysis showing that all could be solidly matched with the speakers shown. Descroix, oddly knowledgeable, pressed the woman hard to concede computer-generated speech using recorded voices was undetectable, but she insisted otherwise.

"Compfakes will do in realtime, Lady Descroix. And they're pretty good these days, I admit. But when you get them in the lab you can tell. The tertiary harmonics will be doing things they wouldn't in a human voice." Displays came up, showing exactly what she meant, followed by graphs of the voices from the recording and on record. "I've looked, hard, and the audio on that recording is exactly what it seems to be."

The second expert was more interesting, a classic, slightly wild-haired Senior Analyst at Bassingford, who worked on medical imaging and spoke with rapid precision.

"My Lords and Ladies. I was asked to investigate the grainy appearance of the recording in question, which is of course a function of pixellation. On a standard HD recording pixellation is evenly distributed, so the number per given unit of area is constant. But on this recording that is not the case. The pixels are clustered in unorthodox, roughly circular distributions that overlap but leave small areas that are in fact gaps in the record — in short, they're clumped. It looks grainy because that's exactly what it is. I have no idea why, though I suspect some form of compression for storage, because the gaps and relative coarseness of pixellation mean there's far less total data than for an HD recording of the same length. But it offers several means of analysis."

A frozen scene from the recording appeared, and a dizzying zoom produced some of the clumped pixels in question.

"I draw your attention to the sheer complexity of each clump. Many millions of standard HD pixels are represented by each, and while any given HD pixel is far too tiny to be anything other than a single, pinpoint colour designation, these clumps are all multi-hued. And very subtly so. I spent more than thirty hours and a considerable amount of processing power trying to generate one my computers could not spot as a fake, and failed. Utterly. So what I am prepared to say is that those clumps could not conceivably have been manually forged, that is, created whole from nothing, in the 11 days between the alleged date of the recording and the date on which it was given to Her Majesty. Given its content, true or false, it cannot be older, so it must be an automated process that creates them, and that is only conceivable if a prior HD record — or live feed — was available."

He actually paused, but only to bring up the moment when High Ridge had turned the official recording on, and focus on the split-second of transition.

"I was provided by the PGS with the recording from the official surveillance system in Government House. It matches the grainy version from the recording given to Her Majesty in every possible way. And I draw your attention to the fact that while the clumps prior to the start of the official recording have no independent verification, others are wholly verifiable from that official recording, and there is no discernible break of any kind. Grainy as it may be, it is seamless. So the only logical conclusion is that the whole recording is exactly what it seems to be, a capture, using unknown equipment I'd dearly love to see, of the officially unrecorded feed from pickups in the private office of the Prime Minister."

The House shuffled as it digested that. Ignoring evidence would be harder and more embarrassing if it really could not be doubted, and the next analysis had them shuffling harder with a dry, deadly demonstration by an elderly professor of a slight, regular fluctuation in the light level of the recording that exactly matched fluctuation in a sample recording of the empty office from the official system; and could be traced to a ceiling-light that was, in the way of artificial light-sources that received very heavy use, preparing to fail.

"Which means, my Lords and Ladies, all else aside, that to fake this recording someone would have had to know about that diode, whose fluctuations are not yet detectable to the naked eye, and have the ability to rig an identically failing diode with precisely the same periodicity. Which is not, to the best of my knowledge, technically possible."

The complicated accommodation of Grayson and Manticoran laws that surrounded Honor meant that while Armsmen could not accompany her onto the floor of the House they could enter the Chamber, and Andrew was with Spenser and the Sergeant-at-Arms by the door — close enough for Honor to feel his rich amusement and satisfaction. She knew what he'd say as well — the Tester helps those who help themselves — and didn't disagree. But Ingledew was winding up by calling a very stern-faced Colonel Derenton of the PGS, whose mind was filled with a lively mix of trepidation, seething uncertainty, and intense bafflement.

He had been tasked, as an aghast PGS had seen the surveillance-system recording broadcast, to investigate, and had a gravbot's record of his initial site examination. Nothing could be told from the exterior of the panel that gave access to the space above the PM's office, though there was marginal evidence that it might have been unfastened more recently than the last logged access. But the space itself was another matter. Even with the most modern materials and systems, such places accumulated dust, and other things being equal, dust should, like pixels, be evenly distributed. But even the first, eyeball inspection of what lay beyond the panel showed a strip of flooring, some 18 inches wide along a wall, that gleamed; and addition of various kinds of light produced a sparkling appearance that stopped abruptly where the expected, and undisturbed, dust took over.

"I immediately ordered full forensic analysis, my Lords and Ladies, and in addition to having been very efficiently vacuum cleaned that strip of floor had been treated with several powerful chemical agents that left no identifiable traces of anything whatsoever. All I can tell you from the proportion of decay products remaining is that it was done not less than three nor more than eight days before the samples were taken, which means it was done after the date of the meeting, ah, allegedly recorded. At a time when there is most certainly no logged access. And one thing was found."

The gravbot followed the track to a far wall, backtracked, and followed a second track at right angles to a sparkling square about a metre across; in the middle a cable rose from the floor to connect with two boxes of molycircs joined by another cable. And in the cable was a small, familiar socket.

"That, my Lords and Ladies, is an utterly standard HD feed splitter, manufactured in millions to a 23-year-old design by Scarston Industries. They're everywhere, and this one cannot be traced back in any way. But it should most certainly not be there, and anything jacked into it — which something has been, at least once — would receive the feed from the pickups in the PM's office regardless of whether the official recording system was on or off." He squared his shoulders. "Whether the recording given by Her Grace Duchess and Steadholder Plenipotentiary Harrington to Her Majesty was in fact so obtained I cannot say. But to the deep chagrin and profound concern of the PGS, it most certainly could have been."

That was news to everyone, and there was a lot of murmuring. But it also seemed to have been news to High Ridge, though something must have been said in the summary of evidence he would have been given, and Honor had been tracking his surge of fury as he listened. The hatred in his stare was palpable, encompassing Nimitz on her lap, and they both felt the lightbulb go off in his mind as he suddenly came to his feet.

"It was those fucking 'cats!"

He took a step forward, hands working as if he could strangle Nimitz, and Honor felt the 'cat instantly shift, tensing as his saw-edged warning growl and flashed fangs brought High Ridge up short. The Lord Speaker's gavel smashed down.

"You will mind your language, my Lord. And you will sit silently until it is time for you to speak in your own defence, or indicate properly if you wish to ask questions or make any observations."

Still scarlet, High Ridge glared at him but obeyed, and Farquhar's gaze swung towards her, only to stop dead as Nimitz rose in her lap, managed a creditable bow, and signed a question. There was a humming silence while Honor wondered what on earth Stinker was up to and found herself filled with anticipation.

"Ah, I'm afraid I don't read Sign, ah, Nimitz, isn't it." Farquhar's eyes met Honor's. "Might you translate for me, Your Grace?"

"Of course, my Lord Speaker." She rose, setting Nimitz on the bench. "Incidentally, the correct address would be Elder Nimitz of the Landing and Bright Water Clans. Or Lord Nimitz, I suppose. And he asked you if it was permitted for him to answer the allegation made by the defendant."

"He did? My word. I don't see why not. My Lords and Ladies, do any object to recognising Lord Nimitz?" Honor savoured the shock and curiosity holding the many objections in check, and in one corner of her mind began to work out the implications of the House recognising a Treecat peer. "No? Then by all means, Lord Nimitz, say what you will."

True hands flashed as Nimitz looked directly at the Lord Speaker, and Honor's voice followed.

Thank you. I will first apologise for the threat I made. The bad elder is very angry, and his intent to harm me was clear in his mind. My threat was called out faster than thought, as a sound of pain is.

Farquhar nodded, eyes glinting amusement and fascination. "Your apology and courtesy to the House are noted, my Lord. Given the circumstances, no censure is offered. And the, ah, bad elder had certainly offered provocation. Do please go on."

Ignoring splutters, not least from High Ridge, Nimitz turned to face the House at large.

The People are tool users, and those who work closely with two legs learn something of your machines. I can open doors, turn on the picture-glass, and work the cold-box where cluster-stalk is kept. And it is true some People work with those who guard the buildings of your elders. In the small pipes we can go faster than any two leg, to see if all is well, or if repairs are needed, or the low plants are growing. We also catch mice that should not be in such places. But how the bad elder thinks we could make pictures for the picture-glass I do not understand at all. Most of what has been said here today is outside my understanding, and so is why you all still argue about it when the picture shows what was said. The three bad elders said they wished to kill me and my mate. One tried to do so, and is dead, killing and injuring many with the explosive he said he had, and did have. Now another has threatened me again. And still you argue! The People do not have or understand your machines, but we are wiser. And if it is permitted, there is another thing I can tell you.

He and Honor looked at the Lord Speaker.

"Anyone recognised by this House may say anything, provided it is said courteously. Go ahead, my Lord."

The People do understand mindglows. Every living thing has one, and those of two legs are very strong and clear. We cannot understand your thoughts, but your emotions are as loud to us as shouting is to you. In this place I must make myself deaf to them, but I have been examining the bad elders' mindglows very carefully. It is confusing, because they are scared, and doing the thing many two legs do that no Person can do. Dances on Clouds can explain it better than I can.

"What Lord Nimitz means, my Lords and Ladies, is the human ability to deny reality, to behave as if what one wishes to be true were in fact true despite clear evidence to the contrary. To Treecats, you must realise, the world is always exactly as it is. Their shared telepathic and telempathic contact means everything is experienced through multiple viewpoints, and it is simply not possible for a 'cat to practice the kind of self-delusion of which all humans are capable."

This makes lying hard for us to understand, for only the mind-blind can do it. But we have studied this thing, and though most cannot understand it, we can and do recognise it. The mixture of emotions is distinctive. And I can say as certain truth that when the two bad elders here who are in the picture said they believed it to be a lie, they were both lying. So they must know it to be true.

Nimitz moved aside and Honor sat again, welcoming his return to her lap and receiving a mental query to which she replied with approval. His buzzing purr as she rubbed his jaw was loud in the silence. Descroix was looking and feeling sicker than ever, but High Ridge was back to juddering rage and raised a hand to the Lord Speaker.

"My Lord?"

High Ridge's voice trembled with fury and hatred. "Are we now to be judged by animals, my Lord Speaker?"

"Certainly not, my Lord. No-one recognised by this House is an animal, save in the sense that we all are. And Lord Nimitz is a great deal more observant of the rules of courtesy than you."

"You have compromised your sworn neutrality. How dare you call any of us 'bad elders'?"

"Because, my Lord, you are plainly an elder of Manticore — it isn't even a metaphor, merely an extended usage — and you have already been convicted by this House of stealing more than 16 million dollars from Her Majesty's Government and presiding over the theft of a great deal more. Bad elders is no more than a statement of fact, though I imagine it may shortly become a memorable headline." High Ridge glared but the House was broadly in amused agreement. "And as there were several substantive and germane points in Lord Nimitz's remarks, I offer him the thanks of this House, and Her Grace of Harrington thanks for facilitating our understanding. I really ought to learn Sign, I dare say. Sitting judges certainly should. Now, Lord Justice Ingledew and Colonel Derenton, where were we?"

"Pretty much done, I think, my Lord Speaker. Is there any among you, my Lords and Ladies, who wishes to pose any further question to the Colonel? Or harbours the slightest doubt that the recording in question cannot be forged, and must have been obtained by whomever sent it to Her Grace through the feed splitter, however the means remain unknown? Do any of the defendants wish to ask anything? No? Then you are excused, Colonel."

Derenton left, with a long, assessing stare at an unruffled Nimitz, and Ingledew waited for a moment.

"So, my Lords and Ladies, we know from the findings of two coroners that murders were done, in the coldest blood. We know from the North Hollow files, and in one case the late Earl's own lips, that he ordered and commissioned those murders. And we know Baron High Ridge and Lady Descroix were informed of the murder of Sir Edward Janacek some two hours after it had taken place; that neither then nor at any subsequent time during the 12 days before their arrests did either make any attempt to inform the Landing Police, as was their clear legal obligation; and further, that during those 12 days both made repeated public statements explicitly decrying that murder as suicide. I submit to you, therefore, that while charges of accessory before the fact to capital murder rest primarily on recorded statements by the perhaps late and certainly unavailable Lady Young, and by her late husband, charges of accessory after the fact to capital murder are proven not only beyond reasonable doubt, but beyond all doubt."

And so they were, but while the House clearly didn't believe repeated assertions by High Ridge and Descroix that the recording was a forgery, the feed splitter planted by a treacherous Treecat as deliberately misleading and fraudulent evidence, it wasn't happy about the clear implication. There were plaintive, shuffling remarks about not really being able to trust a recording no-one could explain, and a spluttering set of irrelevancies from a Gryphon Baron who clearly believed with High Ridge that what a peer did or said in the privacy of their own office shouldn't be held against them by anyone, even if someone did have the blasted impertinence to record it and it was entirely criminal. Farquhar was unimpressed.

"My Lord's views are of course his privilege, but I will observe that his understanding of the law seems both deficient and perverse. Be that as it may, we now face another complex challenge, and I suggest we hold three votes. The first should concern the posthumous indictments of the late Earl and probably late Countess of North Hollow, requested by Her Majesty to provide legal clarity in the many claims arising against his estate. These indictments, I remind you, relate not only to the evidence we have heard today, but to the late Earl's undoubted and unlawful possession of military explosives; attempt to crash his lightflyer, carrying those explosives, into the embassy of Harrington Steading, an act of capital treason against an ally as well as an act of terrorism; and mass murder, attempted as well as achieved. The second vote should concern the conviction or acquittal of Baron High Ridge and Lady Descroix on charges of accessory before and after the fact to capital murder. And in the event of conviction, the third should determine whether the appropriate sentence is capital."

Willie had chosen very well, Honor thought, as she considered the political calculus beneath legal and precedural ones. Even the most bigoted, blinkered, and apoplectic High Ridge partisans would throw North Hollow to the wolves in a second, not only because he was already dead. Given the convulsions of the Reveille affair, almost all had been in Landing when he got that way, and their windows had rattled, their eyes watered with everyone else's; not to mention that many damaged yachts in the marina were also theirs, and the many claims against his estate would include their own. But once they started down the road of conviction it would be hard to stop, as even the dimmest of them must realise, and separation of the capital element offered a halting-place before it became too slippery a slope for their likings.

And so it worked out. North Hollow was unanimously convicted of everything and roundly wished to perdition besides. High Ridge and Descroix were convicted by a small majority on accessory after the fact to capital murder, and an even smaller one on accessory before. Neither vote had the two-thirds majority required for a capital charge, so it was unsurprising when the House decided capital sentences were not warranted, and after angry exchanges agreed by the barest margin, dissenters vocal on either side, that sentences of imprisonment for 30 years were appropriate.

Lord Speaker Farquhar shook his head at the arguments and grasp of law shown, and once again suspended proceedings for the day.

§

The early part of the evening was Nimitz's, and Honor spent quite a lot of it translating. She didn't need to when Elizabeth called to offer very straight-faced thanks to her newest recognised peer, and they managed a quick exchange about what was still to come before Honor had to take a seat at her own table. Besides the house guests only Anton Zilwicki was there from the night before, but Mike Henke had turned up to offer her own highly amused congratulations to Lord Nimitz.

Stinker, of course, was insufferably smug, signing modestly that His Excellency First Elder of Landing Clan Nimitz was acceptable, and no-one among the People really understood this lordship business anyway. Could he be Lord Nimitz of Cluster Stalk? He, Samantha, and Farragut were bleeking laughter, but Theisman, Imbresi, and other two legs were extremely thoughtful, however they might share the amusement; and Zilwicki asked one of the lurking questions, his Gryphon burr thickening with his own variant on Nimitz's title.

"So, my Lord Elder, in learning to recognise a lie, have you also learned to tell one?"

The answer was immediate.

No, Tree Thrower, I have not. I can sign something that is not true — 'I am a Death Fang', or 'I have fewer turnings than Golden Voice' — but they mean no more than you saying you are a Death Fang. What I have learned is what not to say. Sign is wonderful, but it is slow and thin, and not one hand among a hand of hands of hands of what I could once exchange with another person. Leaving out things I know must happen anyway. Choosing what few things I can say is necessary.

Theisman winced. "So reports of your injury were correct? I am so sorry. Is there no surgical or other hope?"

Honor's father answered. "There may be. Nimitz's mid-brain was damaged, not destroyed. How exactly it lost function, neurologically or biochemically, remains uncertain. But Ally and I have some ideas and have it narrowed down to a small area that was pierced by a shard, and any one or more of three neurotransmitters whose local production was disrupted. Synthesising them is a bear, but we're getting there. We can collect them from 'cat donors, but there's a genetic factor that needs tweaking. Trials in six or eight months, maybe."

"Then I wish you every success. Haven will be seeking to appoint any ambassador here as also an ambassador to the Clans of Sphinx. Nimitz has always been a part of Her Grace's story, and those who have been able to follow the reports of Dr Arif's Commission have been extremely impressed by all they have heard and seen."

Imbesi nodded sharply. "It wasn't part of my brief but I shall strongly recommend similar action on Erewhon's part. Any who can speak as you did today, Lord Nimitz, must command sincere respect. That was a telling intervention, the more so, if as I suspect, you were indeed leaving out a great deal."

Nimitz preened, sending her a mental prompt, and Honor sighed.

"Flattery will get you many places with a treecat, Mr Imbesi, and celery even more, though it has consequences for digestion. But you must realise that Stinker — sorry, Lord Stinker — has some unusual advantages. 'Cats are in general very smart, but he's racked up the same ship-hours I have and pretty much the same time in staff meetings and Steading cabinet, as well as knowing everyone I do. But he's usually more direct. For example, he knows I am, like His Grace Protector Benjamin, deeply concerned about the way High Ridge treated our Allies, especially Erewhon. He also knows I suspect you've been having talks with the Republic, which God knows in your shoes I'd have been doing myself. And as you're here, and Admiral Theisman, he thinks I should just ask you both straight out. Now usually I wouldn't listen to him about something like that, but given what's due tomorrow I find it compelling advice — the thing being, you see, that I warned High Ridge and others repeatedly about the damage they were doing the Alliance, and was ridiculed. But I then had no witnesses I could produce."

Imbesi's face was still while he and Theisman exchanged a glance and Theisman spread hands permissively. Imbesi nodded and shrugged.

"We were aware His Grace the Protector knew we were extremely unhappy with the Star Kingdom, Your Grace, and so presumed you also knew. And Her Majesty." Mike nodded grimly. "In particular, since the Mesans found the Congo wormhole junction in our backyard we have been very conscious of the threat it represents, and repeatedly asked for assistance. But our fears were dismissed if they were answered at all, RMN ships were withdrawn, not reinforced, and as it also became clear High Ridge was doing everything he could to protect Manpower clients here our unhappiness became acute. I confess I cannot see quite what you intend, but as Haven now hopes with good reason for a full diplomatic settlement with the Star Kingdom my brief becomes assessing and if possible restoring good relations within the Alliance, and honesty seems as often the best policy. So yes, GONI was correct to believe we had some very quiet talks with the Republic concerning mutual defence. They are suspended, of course, pending the outcome here. We have also been exploring other possible alliances."

Honor saw Zilwicki's brow crease as it did when he was thinking very hard. She cocked an eyebrow and after a moment he nodded.

"If I may ask, Mr Imbesi, would one ally you have in mind perhaps be Smoking Frog?"

"Certainly."

"Is Barregos on board?"

Imbesi was still for a moment, then shrugged again. "That is well beyond my brief. But Smoking Frog could hardly be a viable source of protection for us without his approval."

"So I was thinking. The thing is, Your Grace, Mr Imbesi, that Governor Barregos's name came up a while back, because it was someone on his staff who found and gave the Ballroom the original data on Young. The attached note said 'Against future favours needed'. And he's been quietly increasing his naval capacity for some years now, which is why I wondered if you might be contemplating a naval supply deal, Mr Imbesi. I can't say he's going rogue, but he's certainly laying groundwork."

Imbesi shrugged a third time. "So we have noticed. And perhaps if he did he would be willing to do something about Congo."

Honor frowned. "Mmm. I'd wondered about him, seeing how much of the Young data was official Smoking Frog records, but of course the Ballroom's very strong there anyway. Interesting. And one has to wonder about Congo, I do agree, Mr Imbesi, especially as Young's brief included preventing any aid to Erewhon. And I can assure you that given the state of war presumed to exist between the Star Kingdom and Mesa, the issue has acquired considerable urgency for us. Would Erewhon in principle welcome an invitation to the second summit Her Majesty is holding ?"

"Certainly."

"Good. I also give you my word that failing any better solution the GSN will assist you."

He didn't hesitate for a second. "If that's a Deal, Your Grace, it's one I'll happily accept."

He held out a hand and Honor took it. "Good again. But what matters right now is that it is a fair summary, one you would be willing publicly to acknowledge, to say that High Ridge's faithless rudeness, incompetence, and unwillingness to acknowledge legitimate concerns drove you to reassess whether your treaty of alliance with the Star Kingdom remained valid, and whether secession from the Alliance and a bilateral treaty of mutual defence with the Republic might be possible. Yes?"

"Certainly, Your Grace. The ambassador he sent us is also the single most incompetent diplomat I have ever seen, unfailingly offensive in manner and speech. I would rather not speak publicly of actual contact with the Republic, but to consider it is mere logic. And I would be entirely willing to speak to High Ridge's breaches of the Articles of Alliance, in spirit and letter."

"Indeed. And had you signed such a unilateral treaty, the military tech available now to the Erewhonese Navy would of course have been shared with the Republic."

"Necessarily."

"Which would have been an absolute disaster for us, especially if, with High Ridge still in power, the Republic had decided there were no longer any negotiations worth pursuing."

"So we calculated, Your Grace. A disaster we wished to avoid."

"Naturally. One thing I would suggest, though, is that Manpower may have deliberately aggravated your fears about Congo as a part of its plans to destroy the Alliance and get Star Kingdom and Republic back to mutually destructive war. Had they got their hands on HMS Reveille's tech, we suspect it would have found its way swiftly to the Republic."

Imbesi thought and nodded. "I can see that. We found no deep agents of the kind found elsewhere, though there were some payments to newsies — former newsies — to scaremonger about Congo. What Manpower's really up to beyond long-term self-protection is anyone's guess. And I am still unsure what you have in mind for tomorrow, Your Grace, and why any of this is relevant."

"Me too, Honor. Spill."

She grinned at Mike. "Alright. Tell me what you think of this."

§

The House that reassembled next morning was discommoded and jumpy. Commentators on many HD channels had taken loud exception to the decision that a commoner who committed murder might properly be executed, but not a noble accomplice or instigator, and some of the criticism had been savage. The phrase 'bad elders' had been widely used, not only in relation to the four on trial, and while peers acting as jurors could not give media interviews the True Liberal, Centrist, Crown Loyalist, and Progressive peers who had voted for capital sentences had colleagues in the Commons who were free to speak, and had, at length. Blame had been laid squarely where it belonged, on False Liberal, CA, and independent peers, with Gryphon reactionaries heavily represented in all three groups.

Nor had the public been pleased, and gawkers in Parliament Square had become a serious and angry crowd determined to make its presence felt. It had started building during the small hours, alert newsies closely followed by alert vendors of hot drinks and foods had given it publicity and allure, and with a morning influx of people who had decided work could wait for a day, and a considerable number of people in naval uniforms of all ranks, it had reached a sufficiently critical mass that the LPD were there in force. So was the Mayor, alert to the shifting emotions, and work crews were hustling to set up the giant screens used at New Year and other festivals, to show the HD coverage of the trial. Someone else with a sharp eye for the moment had made hundreds of placards with an image of Nimitz snarling warning at High Ridge, sold at one dollar, and as various Peers were seen arriving demonstrators held them up. Their ability to imitate a treecat was limited, but the noise was extremely menacing. Honor, in full RMN uniform, had not addressed them, but had let herself be seen, Nimitz on her shoulder, and when they roared, shaking placards, she stopped, looking out. Nimitz swept them a bow, one true hand across his chest, before raising it until silence fell, and demonstrating once again what a proper warning snarl should sound like. The echoing answer wasn't much of an improvement so far as Honor could tell, but he bleeked laughter and gave the crowd a double thumbs up, generating another roar.

Honor felt Andrew's and Spenser's startled approval and amusement despite their wariness about any crowd, let alone one as angry as this, and felt some astonishment herself. God knew she'd realised long ago that 'cats were far beyond anything most humans realised, and the revelations since they'd learned to sign had forced further very far-reaching reassessment; but the pure calculation — and, it had to be admitted, even if she didn't know the details, disingenuity — of Nimitz's speech yesterday had surprised her, and this further evidence of how subtle his understanding of mindblind politics had become was a thing to ponder. For him the hunt wasn't over, enemies still being alive, and if the idea of supporting bad elders was profoundly baffling, his grasp of what was necessary to fight such mindblind stupidity was strikingly clear. And his sense of responsibility to the People as a whole, and his mate and kittens, was a stark contrast with the murky swirls of self-interest and arrogant self-regard that underlay the rump defence of High Ridge and his co-defendants, not because they were innocent but because three were Peers of the Realm, even if one was already dead and damned.

Lord Speaker Farquhar opened the session with reminders of how treason and capital treason were legally defined and the obligation of all jurors, noble or otherwise, to vote their consciences in accordance with law, setting prejudice and assumption aside. He went further than Honor thought wise, and she could sense the outrage his dry voice concealed — mostly, she thought, at the naked display of contempt for justice and consistency alike in the previous afternoon's votes. Whatever the reason, it did more harm than good, and Lord Justice Ingledew faced an affronted House as he began to lay out facts. His focus, understandably, was the portion of the kitchen-cabinet session eagerly contemplating Honor being killed in Silesia, and the plain facts of what destruction of one or more capital ships would mean were backed by Chakravarti, whose look at High Ridge and Descroix would have withered grass. Yes, he had been instructed by the Prime Minister to offer Her Grace the post of SO at Sidemore Station, and obeyed in good faith, though puzzled by the PM's attitudes. Still more damningly, yes again, he had before his removal from his post and acting responsibilities at the Admiralty become deeply concerned about the PM's and Foreign Secretary's insistence that while Her Grace was needed in Silesia, she could not be given adequate forces, and absolute refusals to sanction transfer of any ships of the new classes to her proposed fleet. It was indeed as if they had both wished Her Grace to accept and go, and to fail.

But it wasn't doing any good. Those who would already vote for a capital sentence were angrier, those who wouldn't regardless of evidence unmoved, and those still undecided — or more accurately, wavering — still had too many loopholes open to their rabbit consciences. It was all might-have-beens and maybes, intentions rather than cold facts, and even if the recording were true there was the lingering taint of criminality in its origins. And Ingledew knew it. Sentencing the defendants to death merely because they'd wished an enemy dead was unconscionable, the plot had had no time to advance very far, and the precedent would have genuine dangers. Whatever the facts, a loyal opposition come to power was arguing for the execution of its predecessors; and the fact of war meant to too many Peers little more than inconvenient taxes, more domestic austerity than was pleasant, and at worst a dead relative, rarely in line of succession. Sooner than Honor had expected Ingledew stood away from his lectern, meditated, and surveyed the House.

"I sense I am not persuading you, my Lords and Ladies, for reasons that have little or nothing to do with facts or law. I was myself doubtful when charges of capital treason were first mooted, but have come to believe, strongly, that they are warranted and should be upheld. We owe it — you owe it — to the men and women who represent us in uniform, and die for us in that same uniform, to consider these charges with the utmost gravity. Yet I cannot best make that case to you, so I turn to one who can. With the permission of the Lord Speaker, I will now resign prosecution of these charges to Her Grace of Harrington."

A tremor ran through the House, and Farquhar was plainly surprised.

"If you so wish, Lord Justice, and Her Grace is willing to accept that charge."

Nimitz swiftly climbed to her shoulder, and Honor rose. "I am, my Lord Speaker."

"Then I recognise you as prosecutor, Your Grace."

"Thank you, my Lord Speaker." She paused to thank Ingledew as she walked to the lectern, and spent a long minute surveying the House, seeking eye-contact with those she needed to persuade and seeing them flinch. "My Lords and Ladies, we face a genuinely difficult decision. There are many legal and moral uncertainties involved, as well as fear of the precedent that might be set." That caused a ripple of startlement. Did they think she was stupid? "At the same time there is, for me as for many, a compelling concern with our dead, and for those who will die if negotiations do not succeed. And, my Lords and Ladies, there is no guarantee they will. So how may we resolve the dilemma in which we find ourselves?"

The undecided, at least, were listening hard.

"I will not trouble you further with the proven plans of the defendants to secure in any way possible the deaths of myself and Clan Elders Nimitz and Samantha, though they involved mass murder of civilian and uniformed Manticoran men and women, as well as other treecats and subjects or citizens of star nations whom we are sworn by treaty to defend; nor with details and subtleties of law. We are as a House constitutionally tasked with the largest oversight of policy, as well as the safety of the Star Kingdom, and it is those duties I wish to address. To do so we need some additional evidence, which may at first seem irrelevant but I promise you is germane, and will not lack interest. So I call as witness Admiral Thomas Theisman, CNO of the Republican Navy, and Minister of War as well as Acting Secretary of State Plenipotentiary of the Republic of Haven."

There was a stir of shock, and while Theisman rose in the public gallery and made his way through the corridors she addressed the House conversationally.

"Incidentally, my Lords and Ladies, we hereby make history. I am an eager student of admirals, and I know of no occasion when the CNO of any star nation's navy has addressed a chamber of the parliament of an adversary while a state of war still obtained. And I believe my Lord of Glentormin, whose chairing of the House NAC I have come to appreciate, will agree with me that if Admiral Theisman's direct testimony had been available to us — as it might perfectly well have been, and even should have been, given the ceasefire — much would have been different."

A flattered if suspicious Glentormin couldn't disagree, and said so before Theisman was escorted onto the floor by the Sergeant-at-Arms. Honor gave him a curtsey to which he responded with a bow before giving his oath of honour to speak honestly, reserving the right to refuse to answer in the event of any conflict with his sworn duties as CNO, Secretary of War, and Acting Secretary of State Plenipotenitary of the Republic of Haven — a reservation the Lord Speaker noted with approval.

"Admiral Theisman, I am wary of seeming to ask leading questions, so I would first request that you give us a brief account of your experience of the High Ridge administration, in whatever terms are natural to you."

He nodded, and spoke to the House, not Honor. "Frustrating, disheartening, insulting, and ultimately bleakly enraging would cover it, your Lordships and Ladyships. We now know, of course, that former Secretary Giancola was responsible for some of that, but by no means all. The absolute refusal of the High Ridge administration to expedite negotiations in any way was baffling until we realised the state of war was being maintained for domestic reasons, but that cannot account for the lengthy delay in repatriating our prisoners of war after we had returned all Alliance prisoners. Nor can it account for persistent refusal to address even those aspects of the proposed treaty about which there were no fundamental differences, or equally persistent denigration of the increasingly grave concerns we expressed about the validity of the whole supposed process of negotiation. We were, in effect, told to be quiet, sit on our hands, and indefinitely await Manticore's pleasure."

"I see. And can you tell us, Admiral, in so far as is possible given your duty and legal obligations to the Republic of Haven, what if any decisions you reached about how to respond to the situation you describe?"

"Certainly, though to do so I must outline certain circumstances affecting our domestic political calculus, if that is permissible."

He and Honor looked to the Lord Speaker, who nodded.

"Of course. Please continue, Admiral Theisman."

"Thank you, Lord Speaker. First, the ceasefire came as an absolute astonishment to us. I, like many, had by then accepted that we had lost the war. We had no answer to your new classes, and Eighth Fleet under Admiral White Haven was literally unstoppable. It was clear Lovat would fall, and shortly Haven itself. And to be frank, I had reached a point where I would have welcomed that defeat, for it would have at last taken down the appallingly criminal tyranny of Oscar Saint-Just. And then, in the single grossest display of military and political stupidity I have ever seen, or read of, the High Ridge administration agreed to a ceasefire that left Saint-Just in place and free to pursue yet another hysterical and murderous purge while we raced to regroup and began to accelerate our rebuilding as much as possible to replace ships destroyed and personnel killed by Eighth Fleet. It was at that point that I managed to kill Saint-Just, take command of the Navy, and begin the process of transition to a lawful and law-abiding government."

High Ridge flushed at Theisman's characterisation of the ceasefire, but if he didn't care to have it said so bluntly the House knew — now — that the CNO spoke no less than truth.

"Second, one of the greater grotesqueries of Saint-Just's State Security apparatus was that it had its own fleets, including SDs. The revolutionaries of the Committee of Public Safety never trusted the old Republican Navy. It was used by the Legislaturists as a source of prestige and sinecure, much as those officers whose resignations have recently been forced used your RMN, and was set up to take the blame for the Harris assassination for which the CPS was solely responsible. So-called People's Commissioners were immediately placed aboard all People's Navy ships, but the fear and distrust never abated, and in the cancerous growth to which the security apparatus of every tyranny is prone it made sense to Pierre and Saint-Just to take the further step of, in effect, dividing the PN into regular and StateSec forces. And insane as that decision and practice was, it had in part the effect intended, for while the StateSec fleet attached to Lovat was destroyed at the time I killed Saint-Just, and other StateSec ships destroyed by Eighth Fleet, there were a large number elsewhere in Havenite space and on various missions. As a pertinent example, such a StateSec ship liaised with and supplied the Masadan terrorists who made the assassination attempt on Her Majesty and His Grace Protector Benjamin."

How anyone could not have known all that Honor found hard to imagine, but there were clear notes of surprise in many minds.

"We were, therefore, in a position of having, as it were, killed the hydra's body but not its many scattered heads. In their nature the crews and officers of StateSec ships were among the most thuggish, depraved, and loyal of Saint-Just's supporters, and we anticipated, correctly, that in most cases military action by the new Republican Navy would be needed to destroy or capture them. We were also deeply concerned about what they might do in the meanwhile, for as we secured control of our member planets and facilities there was a clear chance many would turn pirate — and we are talking, I remind you, not just of cruiser classes, though they were the most numerous, but of squadrons of DNs and SDs equipped to our highest standards, outmatching any but RMN and GSN ships. We are also talking of StateSec personnel many of whom were wanted for trial on many charges, including war crimes against RMN and other Alliance prisoners. So President Pritchart wished to talk urgently about the whole problem these renegade warships represented — to co-ordinate action against them so they could not escape, as quite a few have done, into Silesia and elsewhere, to survive by piracy or as exceptionally dangerous and brutal mercenaries. We were fully prepared to invite Alliance warships into our space if they would assist us against StateSec fleets, for their destruction cost us many thousands more lives, but Eighth Fleet could have destroyed them all without suffering so much as a scratch. But we were rebuffed and ignored, being told that no internal Havenite matter was of the least concern or interest to Manticore."

For the first time a smile came to Theisman's austere face.

"Which, if a staggering statement under the circumstances, turned out to be true, for the text of the ceasefire Saint-Just and Baron High Ridge agreed makes no mention of many things. It does not even prohibit, let alone seek to monitor, rebuilding. And with a few months to get our design and tech people on it, without being shot at, purged, or restricted by ideological rather than practical parameters, we worked out how to build podlayers and CLACs. So faced with the profound stupidity, persistent offensiveness, and increasingly obvious insincerity of the High Ridge administration, our major decision was to begin the secret building programme we announced when it came to fruition."

He spread his hands.

"It was inevitable, and to do otherwise would have been grossly derelict. But it meant we were committing ourselves to being able to resume hostilities should it prove necessary. I was, and am, a CNO in time of war, and while I must decline to give any detail, I have, in addition to hunting down as many of those StateSec renegades as we could find, spent much of the past two years planning against that possible resumption of hostilities and seeing it become ever more likely."

He thought for a moment.

"Beyond that, your Lordships and Ladyships, I think I can say only that other decisions commensurate with that planning have been made. Our economy, for example, remains on a war-footing, although that has imposed great difficulties and hardships. The RN has been restored as a purely military force, and its officers re-acquainted with proper exercise of command. Our diplomats — also astonishingly unchecked by any terms of the ceasefire — have been active in seeking agreements, understandings, and tech transfer wherever they may be found. Our public, kept closely informed of correspondence concerning negotiations, and its deteriorating tone and quality, understand that renewed hostilities are — or until very recently were — increasingly likely. And at the time the astonishing message about the perhaps late Lady Young's true identity, nature, and instructions reached us, the cabinet had received formal legal advice that under the terms of ceasefire, such as they were, and in interstellar law, we would have been justified in giving the Star Kingdom a clear warning that unless immediate progress could be made in the negotiations we would resume hostilities after a specified period." He held up a hand. "I do not believe we would have done so — yet. It is the last thing we want, and the odds we would face were becoming better every day, as our naval strength increased, the RMN's was bizarrely butchered from within, and the Alliance fell apart under Baron High Ridge's malign neglect. So we would, I think, have tried at least one lesser ultimatum, coupled with an announcement of our new classes and strength, to see if that might actually command your serious attention. But we could not, and cannot, remain indefinitely on a war-footing with neither war nor peace, and if a proper treaty was not soon forthcoming, we were prepared to do it. And still are, astonished and glad as we are that events now make it seem a distant possibility."

He smiled again, this time at Honor.

"I realise the occasion is inappropriate, Your Grace, but the irony is too good to miss. It is my strong belief that if that message had not reached us, and if you, also receiving it, had not brought about a change of administration here, the RN, RMN, and GSN at least would have been back to shooting within 18 months at most. So I would like to take the opportunity to thank you, most sincerely, for saving the lives of many of my personnel as well as your own."

Honor nodded gravely. "God knows, Admiral Theisman, I have slain enough of them, and it is a blessed relief not to have to seek to do so once again. No thanks are needed. But I believe some are owed, with an apology. I never had the misfortune to meet Saint-Just, but I met enough of his creatures to know exactly what a threat those StateSec ships posed, and some still pose. I cannot of course speak for this House nor Her Majesty's administration, but as Steadholder Plenipotentiary I can and do thank you sincerely for your successful and costly efforts to ameliorate their threat; and on behalf of Grayson and the Alliance unreservedly apologise to you, and to President Pritchart and the Republic of Haven, for our failure to respond to your requests in that matter."

They exchanged courtesies, and as the Sergeant at Arms escorted him from the floor Honor saw the open contempt on High Ridge's face, and wondered how much control he still had. For a man who'd been sentenced to 30 years imprisonment he was strangely unconcerned about it; Descroix was desperate, though keeping a stone face, and New Kiev more of an incoherent wreck than ever, but at some level High Ridge still didn't accept anyone's right to do this to him. And from the mix of rank prejudice and calculation glittering in his mind he was thinking he could appeal to bigotry. But it could backfire in so many ways.

"My Lord? Was there something you wished to say?"

His sneer deepened. "Just watching the mighty Salamander bow and scrape to Manticore's enemies."

Breaths hissed, but discourtesy wouldn't move the bigots she had to reach and she went on before the irritated Lord Speaker could intervene.

"A curious characterisation of simple courtesy, my Lord. But I would ask why you neither responded to the Republic's negotiators concerning the StateSec ships, nor reported the matter in any way to this House."

"Why should I? It's their business what their lunatics do, not ours."

"You do not consider the assassination of the Duke of Cromarty, Earl of Gold Peak, and Lord Calvin Henke, with the attempted assassination of Her Majesty, our business, my Lord?"

He waved a hand dismissively. "We didn't know then StateSec had anything to do with that."

"On the contrary, my Lord. GONI reported within a month of the event that the Masadans had PRH backing, via StateSec. That report was shared well before we had news of Saint-Just's death."

She saw him realise he couldn't now dismiss GONI reports as neobarb twitching and felt the lie form with smooth habit. "I didn't see it."

Perfect. "I find that exceptionally hard to believe, my Lord." She felt Nimitz shift on her shoulder, and glanced up to see him sign High Ridge's lie, and give a thumbs down comprehensible to all. "And Lord Nimitz knows it for a lie. So you did see it and either didn't understand or didn't care." She swung her attention out to a frowning House. "And that is a germane point, my Lords and Ladies. Allow me to show you."

The holoprojector Ingledew had been using was a naval model her techs had tweaked considerably, and he hadn't been employing more than a fraction of its capacities. She shifted it to a higher mode as she loaded the chip she'd prepared and the House jumped as a huge display appeared with nearly 200 ships, including 40 SDs and serried ranks of Mars and Warlord classes.

"StateSec's fleet at the time that Admiral Theisman killed Saint-Just. These were the ones destroyed in the Lovat System." 24 SDs changed colour. When at his request she'd introduced Theisman to Horace Harkness, he'd told them of Shannon Foraker's one and only known comment on the event, and her absolute refusal then or ever to tell anyone how she'd done it; Harkness had conceded the palm, and Honor was still pondering just how much she and Nimitz owed Foraker. "So at the time of Haven's request, it was this remainder running lose that was the problem. Baron High Ridge says it was a purely internal matter, and Admiral Theisman's RN forces — the same ones his Lordship repeatedly characterised to this House as broken and inefficacious, posing no threat — have dealt with much of it." Another swathe of ships changed, leaving 8 SDs and about 30 BCs and CAs. "Including the ship and crew concerned in the Masadan plot. And of those that remain, these are believed to be in Silesia — these around Elric somewhere — and most of the rest probably in the Verge." The ships changed colours, then shrank to allow charts and graphs to unfold. "Figures for known piracy and unexplained disappearances in the various named sectors of Silesia and the Verge, my Lords and Ladies, showing as you can see a sharp uptick over the last 18 months. And lists of the ships lost to that piracy, which include no less than 19 Manticoran vessels, as well as several Silesian Navy destroyers, and at least one IAN light cruiser."

For the first time she let an edge of her contempt into her voice. "A purely internal issue for Haven of no concern or interest to us or anyone else? I ask you, my Lords and Ladies, to consider the sheer magnitude of Baron High Ridge's repeated misjudgements. And then there are these eight SDs, who have been hired by Manpower to guard Congo." The displays shifted to schematic astrocartography as the House sat up. "A slave planet close to Erewhon, a senior member of the Alliance, where a wormhole terminus was recently discovered. I call as witness Mr Walter Imbesi, Erewhon's envoy and observer at these proceedings."

He was waiting with the Sergeant at Arms, and the ritual played out again with oath and proper reservations. Around the House real curiosity about where she was going took hold.

"Mr Imbesi, could you briefly explain to the House your role and scope here?"

"Certainly, Your Grace." He surveyed the assembly with a glint in his eye. "Your Lordships and Ladyships, although Erewhon is formally a Republic it is often characterised as an oligarchy, and on oath I cannot say that is unfair. Control of policy de facto lies with the great families, including my own, and at any given time some few family heads will be exercising that control. I have done so before and will again. Just now, however, I was at liberty to respond to the remarkable news we received from both the Star Kingdom and Republic of Haven."

"I see. Would I therefore be correct to assume you have been fully privy to contacts between the Government of Erewhon and the High Ridge administration?"

"You would, Your Grace. Entirely privy. And my primary brief is to report on the putative resurrection of the Alliance."

Honor felt the surprise. "Putative resurrection, Mr Imbesi? Could you explain?"

He looked at the House. "You will I am sure be aware, your Lordships and Ladyships, that on Erewhon we are less than interested in law and lawyers. What we value is one's solemn word. If you make a Deal, you stand by it always. The Deal comprises what others might call duty, obligation, honour, and faith. When we signed Articles of Alliance the Star Kingdom and Erewhom made such a Deal. And the Star Kingdom has broken it. More specifically, the administration of Baron High Ridge broke it, and while he remained in office we had concluded the Articles were a dead letter, unfit for purpose, which is mutual defence. We were actively seeking an alternative when the news arrived, and it was felt my despatch here was prudent and necessary."

His bluntness had shocked, and those with any military sense at all — which included at least some CA peers, Glentormin among them — felt sharp dismay. Honor kept her voice neutral.

"I am sorry to hear it, Mr Imbesi. Could you expand on the obligations the Star Kingdom has failed to meet?"

"Our navy is, as you know, the third largest in the Alliance, but we lack the resources to build and crew for ourselves sufficient capital ships to deter the threat long posed by the old Republic and People's Republic. And the Articles of Alliance specify, which was for us the whole point, mutual defence of all allies — an obligation we have met in full and at present continue to meet. But the Star Kingdom has failed to meet its reciprocal obligation. The discovery of the Congo wormhole deeply alarms us. Manpower say they don't know where it leads, but we do not believe them. If I may?" He went to the holoprojector, and the display of Erewhon and its nearer neighbours enlarged, merchant traffic data overlaid. "And while we did not until recently consider Manpower to represent a direct threat to us, we are very concerned about whom they might allow to use that wormhole, and by other factors. As you see, traffic to and from Congo is heavier than its known facilities can begin to account for. Some is Jessyk Combine and other Mesan transstellars with no obvious reason for being there and all sorts of unpleasant things at their disposal. And the vast bulk of the on-planet workforce is of course slave labour — a workforce that has in the last two years been substantially reinforced over and above the appalling mortality rate it appears to sustain. We do not permit Manpower to transit our space, and like Star Kingdom and Republic go after them hard if we can. But when convoys of slavers are escorted by squadrons of SDs we can do little, and Baron High Ridge would do nothing. And while those rogue StateSec ships are supposedly there merely to look after Manpower's interests, these are our piracy and unexplained loss figures for the last ten years."

The spike was obvious and Imbesi's voice took on a savage edge.

"Our losses in the last 18 months include two destroyers and a light cruiser on routine anti-piracy patrols, all vanished without trace. We appealed to Manticore's ambassador for assistance in investigating. And when we cited the Articles of Alliance we were told that if we were so careless as to lose our ships it was our job to find them, hmm? and didn't we realise Her Majesty's Government was busy with things vastly more important than even we neobarbs could suppose ourselves?"

Honor still kept her voice neutral though the tale had enraged her as much as anything High Ridge had done, and even dimmer peers winced.

"This ambassador was Countess Fraser, Mr Imbesi?"

"It was, Your Grace."

"And has she been otherwise satisfactory as an ambassador?"

"She has not. To be frank, Your Grace, and with apologies to your Lordships and Ladyships for so characterising one among you, Countess Fraser is so stupid it's a wonder she remembers how to breathe, and so offensive when she does it's another wonder no-one has yet stopped her from doing so, permanently."

After one ringing second of disbelief, not least because there could be little doubt from his tone that Imbesi had seriously considered it, there was a great bray of laughter from the public gallery and Honor looked up with everyone else. Michael Oversteegen was entirely unabashed.

"Sorry, m'Lord Speaker, but that's Cousin Deborah to a T." He looked at Imbesi. "My congratulations, sir, on a memorable turn of phrase."

As anyone who had ever met Countess Fraser knew it for truth, including the Lord Speaker, there was a second's pause, and attention returned to Imbesi who was looking between Oversteegen and High Ridge with a strange expression.

"Hyperion to a satyr."

Oversteegen grinned, giving Imbesi a seated bow, and Honor felt the sharp amusement in some minds and bafflement in others. But she couldn't afford to let tension drop, so raised her voice, giving it an edge that bought attention snapping back to her.

"So would it be a fair summary, Mr Imbesi, to say that the Star Kingdom's treatment of Erewhon during the period of the High Ridge administration, in word and deed, misconduct and inaction, has driven the government of Erewhon, against its will, to a point at which you regard our alliance as a dead letter and are actively seeking an alternative means of guaranteeing Home System security?"

"Entirely fair and accurate, Your Grace."

"And had you found such an alternative means, you would have declared your withdrawal from the Alliance?"

"Yes."

"And therefore the withdrawal of the Erewhonese Navy?"

"Necessarily so."

"And had you considered the Republic of Haven as such an alternative means?"

The House was suddenly holding its breath.

"We were actively considering it, Your Grace. It would be difficult to achieve, and awkward in many ways, but it would also, after all, be a comprehensive solution. And it was apparent to us both that the new Republic is a very different animal from the People's Republic, in either form, and that it had to be rearming as fast as it could while the High Ridge administration was cluelessly gutting the RMN, clearly had not the least intention of honouring the Star Kingdom's treaty obligations, and was focused entirely on its domestic agendas. Or peculations, at any rate."

"And did the naval tech transfer you have received from the Star Kingdom and Grayson play a part in your deliberations, Mr Imbesi?"

"How could it not, Your Grace? Profound unease on that account was the single most important thing holding us back. But those tech transfers were received in good faith and are being used as intended. In the event of a proper treaty to end the war with Haven being signed, we would not be asked to return them. And Baron High Ridge and his administration had faithlessly broken the Deal. Come the day, we would have done and may yet do what we must in our own best interests."

"And properly so. I have no further questions. Is there anything else you wish to say?"

"Only to thank you most sincerely, Your Grace, for your immediate despatch of SDs from the Protector's Own to assist us in dealing with those rogue ships of Manpower's, and similarly to thank Admiral Theisman for his immediate despatch of orders to send an RN squadron to assist also. Which squadron I hereby inform Her Majesty's administration, on behalf of the government of the Republic of Erewhon and in accordance with our obligations under Article 41 of the Alliance about unilateral contact with the enemy, we will allow into our own space, on our own authority."

Despite the hour at which that immediate solution had occurred to her and Theisman, she had warned Willie, who rose while the House reeled, offering Imbesi a short bow.

"So noted, Mr Imbesi. On behalf of Her Majesty and the present government of the Star Kingdom, I offer the Republic of Erewhon unreserved apologies for our failures of obligations under treaty, and will place that in writing. You will be aware the RMN is at present seriously overextended, and as I am assured by Her Grace that the GSN and RN forces assigned are sufficient I will not direct any RMN ships to Erewhon at this time. But I assure you that any communication from your government on any matter will receive my prompt, serious, and courteous attention. And I can inform you that I have recalled Countess Fraser, who will already have drawn her last diplomatic breath."

Imbesi gave a shark smile. "Well, that is worth something, your Lordship." In a display of pure theatre he moved to face the Prime Minister. "And I know you to be a man of your word, while I admire Her Grace considerably, so I give you my word that the present government of the Republic of Erewhon will, while the Star Kingdom continues to meet its obligations, hold our Deal to be provisionally resurrected for one year or until the conclusion of a full treaty between the Alliance and the Republic of Haven, whichever comes sooner."

He offered a hand and Willie took it straightfowardly.

"Thank you, sir."

Imbesi nodded. "Thank Her Grace." He didn't even glance at High Ridge and the others as he was escorted out by the Sergeant at Arms, and Honor's voice cut the silence while the House still focused on him.

"I began by reminding you, my Lords and Ladies, that we are as a House constitutionally tasked with the largest oversight of policy, as well as the safety of the Star Kingdom. And with that solemn duty must come accountability for our discharge of it." She moved to the holoprojector and displays changed, enlarging yet again almost to the scale of a holotank; as she spoke crisp naval tagging appeared. "This represents the state of military affairs on the day the High Ridge administration, against the cogent and passionate advice of Her Majesty and every senior officer of the RMN with actual experience of combat in our Havenite war, agreed to the ceasefire. The Junction. Our Home and Second Fleets here, Third at Trevor's Star, Eighth deep in Haven's space, Gregor Defence Command, Basilisk Command, Sidemore, and all other fixed RMN deployments. Then the GSN, Erewhonese Navy, and other Alliance forces, with respective Home System and other deployments. Our then best estimate of IAN strength, with Silesian deployments marked. The Silesian Navy. And the PN, as we estimated it with some corrections kindly supplied by Admiral Theisman, who enabled me to distinguish regular and StateSec forces. In all cases, as you see, classes and numbers are tagged. Additionally, these icons represent our building and refit capacity, R&D capacity, and naval intelligence capacity."

She let them study the display. Senior Sky Domes people had worked on it overnight as well as her GONI staff, and they'd done a marvellous job. Choices of symbols, shapes, and colours, and the form of the display made it a superb, crystal-clear schematic of the security there had been and the victory that was aborted.

"I trust every one of you, my Lords and Ladies, can see Admiral Theisman had good reason at this juncture to believe the war lost. And you can all therefore also see exactly what he meant by describing the Star Kingdom's unilateral acceptance of Saint-Just's desperation proffer as an utterly unconscionable and criminal stupidity. It was also a decision made without even a pretence of consulting other members of the Alliance, itself a comprehensive breach of our obligations under treaty. And what was the situation on the day the Star Kingdom arrested the High Ridge cabinet? Let me update the data, beginning with those we may yet have to fight. The Silesian Navy is little changed. The IAN, though, is a different matter."

A swarm of additional icons appeared showing new strength and classes, with a greatly increased Silesian deployment extending behind the RMN and its allies.

"The IAN's new classes and initial commissioning numbers have been confirmed in writing by His Imperial Majesty's ambassador to the Court of Her Majesty." Faces turned to where he sat in the gallery, and he rose, bowed silently, and sat again. "Finally, the RN — StateSec ships destroyed, and those captured and returned to regular service. And Haven's new building and classes."

The swarm was far greater, colours and placement menacing, and she heard breaths sucked in hard.

"And now Alliance forces. Live deployment information is of course classified, but the many reductions ordered and announced by the High Ridge administration, and their few announcements of new building, are certainly not. I'll go class by class. The additions." A handful of light stuff appeared, then the Saganami-Cs and another handful of capital ships that had been sufficiently near completion to make abandoning them impossible. "And deletions."

With agonising slowness nearly half the RMN was wiped out, icons fading to nothing, and silence deepened. Every Junction defense except Home Fleet and Third Fleet at Trevor's Star shrivelled to threadbare, and what had been Eighth Fleet was left grossly outnumbered by the RN's new classes.

"Then our loss of more than half our building and refit capacity. The drastic downsizing of R&D. And we all know what happened to ONI."

Even the most bigoted peers were gaping, strong, jagged, and very unfamiliar emotions beginning to enter their minds.

"Something to concern us, wouldn't you say, my Lords and Ladies? But no surprise, surely? You voted for these cuts. You allowed them, against very strong and clear advice from many quarters. But I haven't yet dealt with the forces of our various allies. Most of the smaller Alliance navies are largely unchanged, except that" — icons regrouped, isolating RMN remnants — "most have been withdrawn to Home System security, and so are unavailable in any emergency. Moreover, as Countess Fraser is, if worse than many, not unrepresentative of the ambassadors appointed by Baron High Ridge, it is to the best of my knowledge the case that every single one of our sworn allies is offended, upset, and deeply concerned, not least because, beginning with his failure to make any attempt to consult them about the ceasefire he unilaterally accepted, the Baron repeatedly demonstrated in office that he had no intention whatever of honouring any of our treaty obligations."

As she spoke colours cooled with the added effect of making the hue of the remaining RMN icons look slightly sickly.

"And then there is the Erewhonese Navy, which you have been repeatedly told and now know to be very seriously disaffected, with excellent reason."

They were mostly lighter classes but the EN was the third navy of the Alliance, and as its ships cooled in colour and drifted away from the RMN and GSN the true depth of the hole into which High Ridge had dug them all was blazingly plain. She let them stare for another moment, reaching out with Nimitz's help to meet once again the eyes of those she most needed to persuade and feeling the widening cracks in even the most self-regarding arrogance and confidence.

"There is one further thing, my Lords and Ladies, because the GSN, not being criminally stupid, has continued to build as fast as it can." GSN icons multiplied far more than most of them had realised, bringing it close to capital parity with the RMN; but it wasn't enough. "And the politest possible name for the situation you can see is an utter disaster waiting to happen. In case anyone doesn't understand, consider how we can and cannot defend any of our Junction termini. The only possible reinforcement for any of Gregor Defence Command, Basilisk Command, and Third Fleet at Trevor's Star" — icons winked and tags flashed — "is Home Fleet, or the GSN. And much of the GSN is a week away, and has its own Home System defence priority. But the RN has more than sufficient forces to mount simultaneous attacks, at which it also has long practice. Send a small force to Yeltsin's star, targeting the orbital farms from distance, and so pin much of the GSN. Engage Third Fleet strongly enough to draw all possible Home Fleet reinforcements through the wormhole and well away from the terminus." Icons shifted. "Then strike hard at Basilisk Command. It would fall. It has insufficient mobile units to defend the fortresses against long-range bombardment by MDMs at c-fractional velocities. Comprehensively mine the exit from the terminus. Regroup and redeploy. Engage Third Fleet again, already weakened, sufficiently to inflict as much damage as possible on the Home Fleet reinforcements. And drop half the main force over our hyperwall. More long-range bombardment of junction fortresses. Home Fleet has to respond, and is drawn out of position. Drop the second half over our hyperwall with a further bombardment, until the fortresses are gone. And they would be, simply because they are fortresses, they can't move, and we couldn't resupply them before a force of SD(P)s and BC(P)s could saturate their defences and get sufficient laserheads and high-EMP atomics through to blind them and take out the minefields. Detonate the mines laid at Basilisk, and moments later whatever RN forces had been left there could start coming through."

She moved forwards, snapping attention back to herself and Nimitz from the ghastly wargame she'd just sketched out.

"Yes, we still have a shrinking but significant technical edge over all our putative enemies. And yes, we would cost those enemies a great deal — many, many ships and hundreds of thousands if not millions of casualties. But if I were Admiral Theisman, still facing the High Ridge administration, and if I were coldly willing to accept probable casualties of 50%, I could on the basis of these numbers promise President Pritchart to put the Republic of Haven in a position to demand the unconditional surrender of the Star Kingdom, under valid and legal threat of annihilation, within two years at most. Probably 15 to 18 months." She gave it a moment, and put everything she had into her voice. "That is the plain truth, my Lords and Ladies, and I do so swear. From this" — the display snapped back to the moment of ceasefire, then reverted again — "to that. This — to that. This — to that."

Deliberately she set the holoprojector to a slow cycle, icons and colours blooming and fading with the truth that had to be faced.

"So. Is there any one of you who will now stand and explain to me why the most senior ministers of Her Majesty's government who presided in wartime over that catastrophic set of policies are not guilty of capital treason? And not merely presided, but actively instigated and caused every single aspect of our diminution, and utterly neglected the growth of enemies with whom we were and are at war, or may soon be at war. Any — single — one of you?"

She met eyes and for once they stared back. Rabbits in lockstep reduced to single, suddenly scared men and women, appalled by realisation. Warning Nimitz, and feeling his claws tighten, she swung to the three selfish fools who had to die for what they had done to her nations, her navies, her people, and her dead.

"Baron High Ridge? Can you explain to us why we should not hold you responsible with your life for the unmitigated disaster to which you have brought us?"

He was for once bone white rather than his usual shades of contempt and apoplexy, looking at the cycling display. Descroix straightened her shoulders.

"We didn't know."

"Didn't know what, Lady Descroix?"

"That. That it was like that."

New Kiev was shaking her head. "We didn't. No-one did."

Honor gentled her voice with considerable effort. The woman was close to falling apart altogether. "But that is not true, Countess. You were told, repeatedly, in this House and elsewhere. ONI was told. You did know. You chose not to believe. Just as Baron High Ridge and Lady Descroix and the late Earl of North Hollow chose not to believe, because the truth would have interfered with your domestic agenda."

Descroix did have a spine somewhere, and nodded painfully. "Yes. We were told. But you were the Opposition."

"And the issue was guaranteeing Home Systems' defence, Lady Descroix, not the political boondoggle as which you regarded it. Tell me, by the way, were you taking Manpower money as long ago as Basilisk?"

And by God she had been. Eyes snapped wide in panic, darting to Nimitz as she realised a lie wouldn't work, and as he gazed back Honor felt him reach out and something gave way in Descroix, like a string snapping. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the pickup on her lapel relayed it.

"Yes. But they only wanted advice. And I needed … I didn't …"

"You didn't … know? Think? Care? You knew enough, thought enough, and cared enough about your own skin to have made careful plans to get out, with a healthy boost to the millions you'd already pocketed for helping protect the slave trade and voicing no suspicion about Secretary Giancola's doctoring of the diplomatic correspondence with Haven."

For the first time there was noise from the House, a sound oddly reminding her of the one she'd heard waiting outside the great, scarred doors of the Conclave of Steadholders when Benjamin had told them Julius Hanks was dead. Her voice cut through it with enough edge to gain High Ridge's attention from the still cycling display.

"And what answer do you have, Baron High Ridge?"

He had a spine of sorts too, however made wholly of arrogance and the pure contempt with which he regarded every living thing but himself and a tiny coterie, and he actually gave her an answer that was half-true, though his voice was grating.

"I had — as all Peers of the Realm have — an absolute duty to defend our Constitution that no jumped-up yeoman's daughter will ever understand. And that thing is slander and scaremongering."

"Point to a single thing in it this House does not know to be true."

"All of it. Lies, slander, and conjecture."

Honor stared. "Your own naval reductions are all too real, Baron High Ridge. Are you saying that even now you do not believe Admiral Theisman?"

"He's a Peep, for God's sake. Worthless."

"In point of fact, Baron, he's the man who made Peep an obsolete word, and handed us a staggering opportunity to complete a satisfactory settlement despite your criminal stupidity in accepting that ceasefire. He is also in every way an infinitely finer human being than your bigotry allows you to conceive." His genuine bemusement gave her time to draw a deep breath and bank the contempt he roused, that she loathed feeling. "By a duty to defend the Constitution you mean preventing the transfer of the Power of the Purse once the San Martino peers are seated?"

"Of course I do." It was almost a shout, ugly in that still grating voice. "Treason? It's that blind fool Cromarty who committed treason, with your ignorant help. And it's letting neobarbs in that's the disaster."

"So you deliberately reduced the Navy to the point where it could not defend Trevor's Star? The money was just a bonus?"

"Of course it wa—" He caught himself, mouth working.

"Was? Wasn't?" She turned from him, feeling the blazing shock around the House. The idiots really hadn't understood his larger purpose. "Does it matter, my Lords and Ladies? How does it defend the Constitution to seek to thwart a decision, lawfully reached and affirmed by both Houses as well as a popular vote, by exposing us to crushing military defeat and invasion?" The cycling holoprojector reached its nadir and her hand stabbed out. "He did that to us. Do any of you, absorbing its reality, much care why? What price the Constitution then? And what price his identity and status as a Peer of a vanquished Realm? What price yours?"

Another deep breath. Lock it down.

"My Lords and Ladies — fellow Peers of the Realm, of all degrees and antiquities. The Constitution provides due process for its amendment that we have used repeatedly over T-centuries. Baron High Ridge acted unilaterally to abrogate that due and wholly constitutional process, at an unthinkable cost, not to protect the Constitution but to preserve the one part of it that has allowed us — us, my Lords and Ladies, this House — to wallow in privilege, disdaining duty and accountability. And that must stop, if we are to have any hope of avoiding the utter disaster he and his cabinet have created. Do you need me to spell out why?"

To Honor's considerable surprise the Marquess of Gravendale slowly rose — an elderly, peppery, and diehard CA Gryphon with enormous pride not only in himself but in the Star Kingdom's power and pre-eminence. She looked at him and moved to turn off the holoprojector.

"My Lord of Gravendale?"

"Your Grace of Harrington. We have never before and probably will never again see eye to eye. But I am not as lost to reality and necessity as my Lord of High Ridge seems to have become, and while I have every sympathy with his opinions and desires, and know enough to realise how skilled your presentation has been, I do not disbelieve you. And I find I do disbelieve him and the other defendants, most thoroughly. So I would appreciate it if you would indeed spell out clearly what recovery you believe we can make by acting as you propose."

Honor studied him, mind racing. "I have not wished, my Lord, to seem to threaten rather than inform and persuade this House. Will you — "

"Yes, yes. Speak plain and to the point, Your Grace. You usually do."

"Very well, my Lord. You saw and heard the crowd outside?"

"We all did."

"Then first acknowledge the demand and power they represent. It is they whose deaths in our service have been squandered. And though I think very few desire violent change, very many desire real change, and are now bitterly determined they will have it. Where will this House stand with them if we decide that the status of a Peer is to be utterly unaccountable? Second, the San Martino peers will in any case be seated within less than two months. It is constitutionally mandated, and will happen. How would you have them think of us?" He grunted acknowledgement of that. "Third, each and every one of us has an absolute obligation to the security of the Star Kingdom, which right now means reaching a proper settlement of our fraught relations with Republic and Empire as rapidly and advantageously as is still possible. Their Envoy Plenipotentiary and Ambassador watch us in this moment, as do ambassadors of all Alliance nations. And we will not be able to do so if we cannot be believed to have a word of honour that means something. Fourth" — she pinned him — "we can only assume Manpower watches also. Whatever the exact truths of what they are about, we must know, and to do so require every assistance we can get. For that too we must be people of our word. And fifth … forgive me, my Lord, but have you read W. E. B. du Havel's The Political Value of Sacrifice?"

His eyebrows rose. "Yes, I have, Your Grace. Michael Oversteegen told me to, and he talks sense, so I did. Good book. Very clear indeed, and plainly correct."

"Then you will understand, my Lord, if I say that while we are legally and honour bound to vote our consciences, what truly matters is to demonstrate to many who with fair reason doubt it that we have consciences to vote."

He grunted again. "Yes, point taken, Your Grace. Entirely so. Your first four, too, though God alone knows what those slavers are about. And He also knows you have indeed been telling us the core of this for two years now."

With Nimitz's help she knew he was thinking hard, and let the silence stretch.

"I have a confession, Your Grace. I voted for your expulsion, back when you shot down North Hollow. First time, I mean. The duel. But looking back, I find myself ashamed of that vote. And puzzled. We knew he tried to shoot you in the back. Saw it for ourselves. And what you did later on to that Burdette fellow. Then you were dead, and I forgot you until you came back. Duchess was hard to swallow, but dammit, Her Majesty was right." He turned and gave a creaking bow Elizabeth gravely acknowledged, body rigid and eyes glittering, then swung back. "I detest much of your politics, Your Grace, and I expect I always will, But much as it galls me to admit it, you have been a better patriot than I, in word and deed. And by God never more so than this day." Another long pause, then his tired but stern eyes met hers. "I apologise for my previous vote, Your Grace." His rheumy gaze widened. "I apologise to all for letting fear and personal concerns impede sworn duty." And narrowed again. "High Ridge, if we weren't going to shoot you I'd do it myself. Treason is right, and we surely need shot of you."

Creakily, cane in hand, he sat, and there was a thrumming silence Honor ended by turning to the Lord Speaker and raising an eyebrow.

"My Lords and Ladies, would any other of you speak? … Your Grace, are you done? … Do any of the defendants wish to speak? No?" Honor wasn't sure any of them could speak, between fury and fear. "Then would it be acceptable if I gave you five minutes to consider your consciences before calling the vote?"

Gravendale spoke again without rising. "Too long, my Lord Speaker. Give us one and force us to it."

Farquhar blinked. "Very well. One minute, my Lords and Ladies. And if those who do not believe will forgive me, may God be with us all."

In that stunned, humming minute Honor sought Beth's eyes, and with Nimitz's help received a wild churn of emotions, shock, exaltation, rage, sorrow, bitter concern and incredulous gratitude. She very carefully sent a message to Nimitz and his hands flashed to Beth. If they do it, over to you. Ariel signed agreement, and a split-second later Honor received the acknowledgement that amounted to Ohh yes and a wash of grim determination. She had time to seek Hamish's eyes also, gazing at her much as he'd done when she'd arrived at Trevor's Star from Hades; then the public gallery, where her parents' shock threaded with pride, Theisman's and Imbesi's complex admiration, the rage and gratitude of the Ramirezes, Zilwicki's deep satisfaction, and Abigail's shining worship completed her embarrassment, and she sat, easing Stinker to her lap and taking refuge in his pure and irrespective love, however it lay next to a growing sense of triumph as he sampled mindglows. Then Farquahar called the vote and the once unthinkable unfolded.

There were abstentions and a few defiant Gryphon and CA votes against conviction, each greeted by the crowd outside with a rumbling anger audible through the windows. But the two-thirds majority needed was easily passed, the result overwhelming, and for some minutes there was chaos. New Kiev fainted, sliding to the floor in a boneless heap, and had to be revived by medtechs the Sergeant at Arms sensibly had on standby, and High Ridge had to be restrained, shouting rage and abuse, his veneer of civility broken and discarded. Descroix just sat, shivering violently, pupils so dilated she couldn't be seeing anything. After a few useless thumps of his gavel Farquhar waited until the Sergeant and his staff had restored order, and the three defendants were made to stand before him, New Kiev supported by medtechs and High Ridge held fast by the Sergeant himself. The North Hollow chair with its regalia was set beside them. Then with cold precision he took from his pocket a small black cap and put it on.

"Marisa Turner, Countess New Kiev; Michael Janvier, Baron High Ridge; Lady Elaine Descroix: you have all been found guilty of capital treason by a majority exceeding that needed for capital conviction, and it is the sentence of this House that you be taken from hence to the place from which you came, and from thence to a place of public execution, and that you there be executed by fusillade with your deaths confirmed by coup de grâce, and that your bodies be cremated and the ashes scattered in space, that there be neither any grave for your bodies nor memorial of your shame." The House juddered and he took a deep breath, glancing up at the royal observatory where Elizabeth now stood alone. "Your Majesty?"

"My Lord Speaker, my Lords and Ladies." Her voice was arctic. "Thank you for doing your painful duty. Before the condemned are taken down one further act of witness may be required of you, and I must ask you now to excuse me briefly."

She turned and left the observatory, and the House's shattered spirit stirred in confusion that became intent as Honor silently went to the holoprojector, using its maximal setting to show the feed it was now receiving from the House of Commons. Though not in session most Members had watched proceedings from their own Chamber, and Honor knew that during the long morning — was it still short of lunchtime? it felt as if an eternity had passed — Parliamentary Messengers had ensured all were present, amid a racket of febrile conversation. As the image appeared the House blinked in shock, and the Speaker of the Commons, seeing the transmission light on his desk brought his gavel down, the amplified crack-crack-crack bringing sudden silence.

"Will all Honourable Members please take their seats immediately and be silent." There were startled looks as they did so, staring at the Speaker. "Honourable Members, every one of you is present save two who are ill. Her Majesty requests that we enter into special session. Do you consent? Those in favour?"

After a beat there was a roar of assent.

"Those opposed? Then I so order." Crack. "Honourable Members, we are in special session and all usual rules of conduct and procedure apply."

The sharp sound of a rod striking the doors of the Chamber came once, twice, and again in measured sequence.

"Who knocks at our door?"

The lower Chamber's own Sergeant-at-Arms threw the door back to reveal Her Majesty preceded by the rod-bearer, Ariel beside her, and after bowing listened briefly before turning.

"Mr Speaker, Her Majesty asks leave to enter the Chamber and lay before it three bills."

"Honourable Members, Her Majesty asks leave to enter and lay before us bills. Shall we grant Her leave to do so?"

This was the ritual of the creation of peerages, and Honor felt the House's confusion turn to speculation as the Commons gave assent, rose, bowed, and sat again as Elizabeth entered and went at the Speaker's formal invitation to the place provided by his desk, Ariel leaping up to sit on its edge and survey the House.

"Thank you, Mr Speaker, and all Honourable Members for allowing Us to enter. Honourable Members, it is Our duty and pleasure from time to time to attend you here to ask your consent for the creation of new peers. Such creation is provided for in our Constitution, in recognition of and reward for exceptional service to the nation, that it may gather to its permanent governance the talents and bloodlines of the finest individuals born among us. And though it has never before been invoked, save once by the former Countess of the Tor, the same clauses of our Constitution provide both for renunciation of peerages, should a Peer of Our Realm find themselves no longer willing or able to sustain that role and status, and for the decreation of peerages should a Peer of Our Realm so disgrace themselves that We and a supermajority of you amounting to nine of every ten Honourable Members deem such action warranted. We do now so deem, most urgently and compellingly, and We come before you to find if you are of like mind."

Honor had felt the speculation turn to bleak shock and crackling anger, but it was not the Lords' business any more than creation, and they could only listen as Her Majesty read out three bitingly precise bills listing the convictions and sentences of the House of Lords, sitting in special judicial session, and in recognition thereof abolishing the Earldoms of North Hollow and New Kiev and the Barony of High Ridge, cancelling all titles of nobility, honours, privileges, grants, titles to estate, and appurtenances whatsoever, and striking them utterly from the Rolls of Peerage. The bills, however precise, were inevitably wordy, while Elizabeth was reading with clear and deadly deliberation, and Honor and Nimitz spent time focusing on those peers who were angriest and meeting their eyes with an implacable stare, asking what precisely their objection could possibly be. Some looked away, anger undiminished, but others flushed and veiled their eyes, uncertainty and even nascent and unfamiliar shame dulling fury and shock. Glentormin held her gaze a moment, before nodding once, and Gravendale, interestingly, had a degree of reluctant approval amid his bottled fury, which was not with her but with High Ridge and the others. New Kiev had been mildly tranquilised and was still supported by medtechs, and Descroix was a picture of the purest misery, but the Baron was back to an even bonier white, flesh stretched over his skull, and still a sheer disbelief at events mixed with rage at others' presumption dominated his mind. Honor found her gaze moving to the public gallery, meeting a gaze already resting on her, and after a second Oversteegen rose, gave her a deep bow, and sat again. Genuinely surprised, she inclined her head briefly, deciding his was an acquaintance she should seek when events permitted.

Her parents were a complex churn of emotions, pride in and concern for her mingled with a loathing of capital sentences, however warranted, and a deep approval of accountability at last upheld. Uncle Jacques had the same satisfaction laced with a Beowulfan's fascinated yet appalled curiosity at the procedures of a constitutional monarchy, and was in murmured conversation with Theisman and Imbesi. Abigail's lips were moving silently as she watched, and Honor cranked up the magnification in her artificial eye until she could identify the text being recited, not from the Book of the New Way but Isaiah. Behold I will make you a new threshing sledge with sharp teeth; you shall thresh the mountains and beat them small, and make the hills like chaff. She could agree with that, vengeful as it was, but her own feelings were strangely empty. This was all necessary, God knew, and she couldn't help the satisfaction she felt at a long, long battle won; but there could be no more pleasure in the state to which she'd reduced High Ridge and the others than in torn and mangled bodies aboard an enemy vessel after combat, and more than anything she just wanted them gone, with the whole wretched circus, so she could get on with the many things that needed doing.

Willie and Hamish were intent on the image, scanning Members' faces closely as the litany of indictment and cleansing continued, clearly trying to calculate if there were enough who would shrink from such a precedent to deny the supermajority required. But Honor and Elizabeth had done that math carefully, with some delicate questions discreetly asked of Honourable Members of long standing who were the conscience of the Commons in matters put to a free vote, and she doubted there would be more than a handful of votes against or abstentions. And as with bills of creation, only one vote was required, not the multiple readings of statutory legislation. And so it proved, the three bills engrossed into a single vote and passed without objection though there were eight almost brave abstentions. The Clerk of the House appised the House's seal, and the Speaker directed him to enter the three bills in the Record of Acts.

In deep silence Honor rose to turn off the holoprojector as Her Majesty departed after thanking the Honourable Members, and the House watched with riveted horror as the Queen's Herald appeared at the doors, requesting permission to enter, and was followed in by three junior Heralds bearing great bound scrolls of peerage with the royal seal pendant. The Sergeant-at-Arms directed the clearing away of three of the chairs and low border that had formed the dock, leaving the one bearing the North Hollow arms, and though medtechs remained with New Kiev he formally remitted the condemned to custody of the Royal Marine Police — one, in sharp symbolism, a towering San Martino. And as they were stood in line the Queen returned, not to the observatory but to the floor, and presented the bills to her Herald, instructing him to do his duty. He bowed and in turn presented them to the Lord Speaker.

For an officer there would have been stripping of epaulettes, insignia, and medals, and breaking a sword. For this there was no protocol, and Honor thought Elizabeth probably wanted it all over as much as she did herself, for there was only a silent, thrice repeated ceremony that ignored Descroix entirely. One by one, standing before the North Hollow chair, New Kiev, and High Ridge, the Herald received the scroll of that peerage, cut away the royal seal and broke it, unbound and unrolled the vellum, and tore it into quarters, returning the pieces to his juniors. New Kiev and High Ridge — no, Turner and Janvier, now — also had signet rings removed, Turner without moving, Janvier while the San Martino effortlessly pinned upper arms and lifted him to tiptoe, and those the Herald pocketed. When he was done he thanked the Marines before they escorted — in Turner's case all but carried — the new commoners away, reported to Her Majesty that he had done his duty, and led the Heralds out. Her Majesty surveyed the silent House.

"Thank you for your forbearance, my Lord Speaker, my Lords and Ladies. We are reminded, God knows not before time, that even inherited privilege must earn its keep, and that to be a Peer of Our Realm is no defence in law. And though We can take no pleasure in the necessities of capital justice, We are deeply aware of and thankful for honour in some measure restored to Our name and the governance of Our Realm. The most urgent tasks await us, with the general election and delegations that will soon be arriving. To those we must all bend minds and hearts, and save for criminal and civil cases still proceeding through Our lower courts We consider this miserable and disgraceful episode concluded. Please carry on with your duties, my Lord Speaker."

Turning, Elizabeth looked at Honor for a long moment, eyes bright with long, close-held rage, sorrow, and remembered shame, and their sudden relief; silently gave her a bow; and gathering Ariel in her arms walked out. After a moment the Lord Speaker's gavel cracked down.

"My Lords and Ladies, this special judicial session is now concluded, and you are released to leave this House in proper order."

That meant order of precedence, which put Honor mercifully ahead of almost everyone, and she was receiving a swift report from Andrew and Spenser about the complex mood of the crowd when the Dowager Countess Gold Peak emerged from the House, her precedence as Mike's proxy boosted by her personal life-peerage as Duchess Winton-Henke, and came across.

"Honor, I wanted to add my thanks to Beth's. For all the bleakness, Edward and Cal would be as satisfied as I am, and it helps, you see. More than I can say. And I know you'll be horribly busy, but do come and see me sometime, when you can, please. There are things I'd like to talk about. And thanks to you too, Lord Nimitz. We can all laugh a little more brightly now." She extended a hand but when he leaned down to offer his true hand with some puzzlement she turned it and touched her nose to its furry back, making him bleek laughter and confusing Honor completely. "Oh, and do please give my regards to Mr Hawkwing. Such a nice man."

Honor was left staring at her retreating back. How in space did Mike's mother know Jonathan Hawkwing? And why was Andrew so amused when Spenser was as puzzled as she was herself?

---

Eloise Pritchart was usually amused by how punctilious Javier was when he had to address her as Admiral to President, and since he'd been standing in for Tom as CNO and attending cabinet there'd been more of it than usual. It didn't stop his presentations from being as crisp and clear as any good military briefing, but did produce a gloss of formality at sharp odds with their private relationship; and as everyone knew about that they tended to be amused as well, while respecting motive. But today he was for once distracted by his topic, which was to have been the very healthy state of new construction, with a side-report on yesterday's bizarre news out of Manticore about Space Lords being arrested, with some supposed Havenite spies, until the overnight arrival of an urgent despatch from the ambassador in New Berlin, with an urbane enclosure from the Herzog von Rabenstrange.

"We knew of course, Madam President, from Ambassador Kaiserfest, that Giancola had changed what he was supposed to be saying to the Andermani. And we must be relieved and grateful that on Kevin's strong advice you did promptly send an envoy to explain what had happened and our real parameters and concerns, though she'll have crossed with this despatch. But we have an even more interesting situation than we realised, because Kevin was more right than he knew. Harrington not only sent von Rabenstrange everything we got on Young, she also asked him to doublecheck anything he might have been hearing from us against the possibility that a Manpower agent here had subverted it."

He shook his head.

"There's two things that intersect, and maybe a third given that weird Manticoran news. First, you have to hand it to Harrington. Very fast and clear thinking, followed by potent unilateral action. We stopped underestimating her militarily some years ago" — that brought wry looks — "but I have my people starting a full-scale political reappraisal, and I'd like help, please, as a matter of urgency, from Secretary Nesbitt's people on Sky Domes and her mercantile and financial power, and from Secretary Staunton's people on the treecat side. Also, unless you object, Mr Director, from your wife, on Harrington's relations with the Ballroom."

"Fine by me, Javier, and Ginny'll talk your ears off on that subject, so I can tell you Harrington is greatly respected, admired, loved even, by most people whose chosen surname is X. They can all recite the names of the original signatories to the Cherwell Convention, which includes one of her direct maternal ancestors. Then add Casimir, Hades, and a large, steadily growing population of ex-slaves in Harrington Steading, who receive a great deal of help with a great deal of respect. And — I'd like to see your input on this as well, Tony — there's her relations with the Hauptman Cartel, and its recent relations with the ASL in building frigates, which I think Hauptman has to be doing at cost, not to mention his decision to start arming his merchant ships and empowering them to interfere if they come across suspected slavers. Bottom line? If Jeremy X has a dream-girl, it's Harrington."

Javier nodded. "About what I thought, Mr Director, though I didn't know about the Hauptman–ASL thing. But that strengthens my point, which is that we understandably tend to think about her as a naval tactician, and latterly as someone who's become a friend of Queen Elizabeth's. We know she's a Grayson Steadholder, though that doesn't really figure in our thinking although it means she's legally a Head of State, as well as a close friend of Protector Benjamin's. And we know she owns an outright majority share in Sky Domes, but don't register her as a major industrial tycoon, any more than we thought of her treecat as more than a clever, furry pet. But she's all of those, and more. One thing that's clear is that the Ballroom had a better appraisal, and when they got the Young data and realised what it might mean they gave it to her — even though she has no official power in the Star Kingdom just now — and to Director Usher. He galvanised us. We know she used it to nail Young and turn her — and I have to think that was the Ballroom on commission — so we've been hoping and assuming she's galvanised Manticore and Grayson. And now we know she's galvanised the Andermani, because the second thing is that von Rabenstrange, following financial codes Harrington provided, not only confirmed Young's money supply was Manpower but found an agent at their end — a talking head who'd been loudly promoting a very aggressive approach to their Silesian problem. Which is exactly what Giancola was encouraging, with implicit promises of direct RN aid once we'd taken care of Sidemore and had what's left of the RMN and GSN pinned down, not only against anything they managed to send to Silesia but against the SN. With whom, of course, whoever we'd sent would have had explicit instructions to avoid all contact."

There were winces, including Eloise's, and Javier nodded heavily.

"I know, Madam President. One clear conclusion is that Manpower didn't only want us and the Star Kingdom shooting at one another again, and the Star Kingdom and Andermani, but us and the Andermani. It also occurs to me that those unknowns the Manties caught trying to steal their tech, and seem to think are our agents, might be Manpower agents. But in any case, counting the GSN, Manpower's purpose was maximal mutual destruction of the four largest and most powerful navies after the SLN. Maybe, just maybe, it's extreme self-defence against star nations that actually enforce the Cherwell Convention. But unless and until proven otherwise, we have to assume much more aggressive and far-reaching plans, and I strongly recommend, Madam President, that we assume the involvement of the OFS, and so at least the SLN's Frontier Fleet. All else aside, if the RN, RMN, GSN, and IAN really ripped one another to pieces in a three-way war, who'd be most likely to come calling?"

In the stunned silence Javier waggled a hand.

"I'd think control of the Manticore Junction has to be their primary target, but if Manpower and the OFS had that control, and reduced the Star Kingdom to a so-called protectorate, it wouldn't be long before they started looking at us and the Andermani. And while for various reasons I actually don't think this is likely, it's possible someone high enough in the SLN to act on it has realised just how enormous a tech edge all of us, especially the RMN, have over them. It's also possible, and much more likely, that Manpower has realised that, and calculated that if we and the Star Kingdom ever really stopped shooting at one another, we'd not only be released to go after them properly again, but in a strong position to tell the Solarians to clean house throughout the Verge and enforce it. So we need to feed all that into our ongoing reappraisal of threat and response, and though I know some of you will scream, I can't see that even a treaty with the Alliance will allow us to reduce new construction for some considerable while at least. Shannon Foraker is on planet, because I was due to report on where we're at with construction, and I've set her to analysing as a matter of urgency where we'd stand if we were facing hostile SLN units."

No-one liked any of that one bit, but Javier's extrapolated logic chains were, as often, horribly compelling, and in a weird way offered a welcome coherence. Manpower's true purposes and intents remained unknown, but the ways in which what was possible might make sense, however unpleasant, were expanding and becoming more grounded in known facts and realities, however disparate. And Javier wasn't done.

"But back to Harrington, who was able to reach out at the highest level to at least three star nations. Who else might she have told? I'd like to know about Erewhon. And about the Maya sector, given that the original Young data originated on Smoking Frog and Barregos's stance against Manpower has made him a significant player in the League. And the Beowulfans went pop-eyed when the news about Giancola broke, so what will they be when they learn it all? But whatever the answers to all that, if CNO Theisman succeeds and we do end up sending a delegation direct to Landing, we are for sure and certain going to be dealing with Harrington not merely — merely! — as a full admiral of the RMN and GSN, but as the person who has pulled almost all of the strings that will have got us there, a friend — intimate, even — of the two most important Alliance Heads of State, and a primary link with both Treecats and Ballroom. To echo Director Usher, bottom line? We knew that to make peace with the Star Kingdom we needed Queen Elizabeth on board as well as whatever her government was. But we also need Harrington. Doubly so if we really are proposing to take anything resembling an active step against Manpower."

The discussion that followed was extremely interesting. The PRH had been deeply schizophrenic about Harrington, both following the Legislaturist cue to vilify her utterly as a condemned pirate and mass murderer using the trumped-up Basilisk charges, and allowing her suffering at the hands of North Hollow and admirable response to be trumpeted and sentimentalised as a narrative of typical Manty aristo villainy against an honest common-born officer. Her annihilation of a PRH fleet at Yeltsin's Star had been simultaneously matched by her decapitation of another corrupt aristo on Grayson. And if her (supposed) execution by the very widely hated Ransom had left a lot of people feeling dirty, revelation that in fact she had killed Ransom, with her entire ghastly crew, by destroying a StateSec BC more or less with bare hands, and gone on to blast apart the loathed spectre of Hades, releasing a staggering amount of data nailing Pierre and Saint-Just for the Harris mass assassination and any number of crimes, had transformed that into — well, a very complicated state of feeling indeed. Now notions of her as also an industrial tycoon (bad, if useful), darling of the Ballroom (good, with reservations), Head of State with her own navy (Kevin's dry contribution, greeted with much blinking), primary human ambassador to another sapient species (eh? except for Sandra Staunton), and all-round Space Mother Diplomatic and Military Goddess had the cabinet twitching, moaning, groaning, wondering, looking under their seats, and eventually declining into nostalgic reminiscence of who had been where, doing what, when they'd heard which about Harrington's latest rearrangement of reality. The prize went to Rachel Hanriot, who'd been in bed with her future husband, for the first and apparently ecstatic time, when a contraband com had erupted with the leaking Solarian report of Harrington's escape from Hades, with consequences at first inhibitory, then Bacchanalian — a word some had to discreetly look up — in every particular. Eloise and Javier were eyeing one another with some reminiscences of their own when his communicator shrilled.

After a moment punctuated only by the incredulous questions What? and How soon?, he looked at her with wide eyes.

"Madam President, 15 minutes ago CNO Theisman's despatch boat returned, accompanied by a Manticoran SD. The SD's sitting where it came out of hyper, the despatch boat is headed in-system, and the pilot sent an encrypted message saying, I quote, To Acting CNO, RN. Mission success. RMN SD King Roger III carries personal envoy of Queen, requests permission to approach. CNO Theisman and aide remain by choice on Manticore. Maxencrypted message follows, for delivery President soonest. Calorde, Pilot-Captain, RNS Mercury."

Eloise took a deep breath, hopes churning. "Speak of the devil. So has the message followed, Admiral Giscard?"

"It's still processing. Two or three minutes, Madam President."

The wait seemed interminable, but eventually the display-screen cleared and a very tired, exhilarated, and thoughtful Tom Theisman looked out with a slight air of bemusement, sitting in a room whose windows gave onto unfamiliar seascape and sunlight of the wrong colour.

"Madam President. First a summary. Queen Elizabeth accepts your offer of negotiations in Landing and has responded by sending a personal envoy bearing her invitation — which is more complicated, in a good way, than our best hopes. Get on your way here as soon as you can, but note the augmented negotiating team that'll be needed, and please include Shannon Foraker." He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "The Queen's envoy is His Grace Theodore Harper, Grand Duke of Manticore. He's upright and sensible, so far as I can tell, but only pressed into service because Mantie politics are in every bit as much turmoil as our own must be, and for similar reasons. He knows you'll need time to assimilate this message — which is long: cancel everything else for the day, now, Madam President — before meeting him, but give HMS King Roger III clearance to approach at once, and when you meet him just suck up using his aristo title. He's not a jab at us, just Her Majesty using someone she can trust when they're in very short supply. But the use of the King Roger III is just as pointed as you're thinking. And for all His Grace is in essence a glorified messenger, without anything resembling plenipotentiary powers, he is very well-informed and -connected, able and empowered to give you a lot of background data while you're en route. And you're going to need it, badly."

Huge relief mixed with new concerns was jangling round the table, and at her nod Javier was already giving orders to let the Mantie SD into a parking orbit and be very polite about it.

"So to specifics. Forgive any informality, please, because I've had a lot to take in, most of it good and all of it … well, mind-expanding will do. When I reached Trevor's Star Admiral Kuzak was very helpful indeed, clearly loathes the High Ridge administration even more than we do, and provided me with an SD(P), no less, as onward transport. The GSNS Honor Harrington, as it happened. And being aboard her was enlightening because everyone from the captain to stewards assigned my party and ratings who sidled up when they could wanted to thank me for what little Shannon and I were able to do to protect Harrington and Nimitz from Ransom and StateSec. They're all deeply religious, they seriously believe Harrington is uniquely beloved of their Tester, and what Shannon and I just call behaving with common decency and in accordance with the laws of war is to them solid evidence that He, She, It, or whatever was with her, and so us. Harrington has hammered them with good and bad people, not us and them, and they damn near worship her. That's one reason I want Shannon — she's much more famous than she knows. And the GSN is every bit as good as we've ever supposed, with even more speed in reserve. So we made it to Yeltsin's Star in record time, and His Grace Protector Benjamin was also extremely helpful, not least because thanks to Harrington he was expecting us to have found a Manpower agent, and as soon as I told him I was Acting Secretary of State Plenipotentiary worked out the one we'd found was Giancola. We were headed back to Manticore within four hours, with Benjamin, his daughter Rachel, her treecat Hipper, and High Admiral Matthews coming along."

A degree of chagrined surprise was added to the mix. And they thought they'd done well in their speed of reaction.

"Matters arising. First, Treecats. I'd met Nimitz, after a fashion, and one look at his eyes is enough to tell you he's way smart. But Sandra was exactly right — they're a whole lot more, and according to Hipper — whom you must take in all seriousness — it was Nimitz and the other Grayson treecats who told Harrington they'd had enough of what they call 'bad elders', meaning High Ridge and his gang, and more or less ordered her to forget 'two-leg rules' and do something permanent about it. And having now met Nimitz again, and his mate Samantha, and the Queen's Ariel with her consort's Monroe, and Hipper as well as one called Farragut who adopted Harrington's Grayson Maid — read, high-powered female executive PA — who is also Colonel LaFollet's sister, we need to raise our Treecat game a lot further, and fast. They won't just be lie-detecting facilitators at the negotiations, they'll be active participants whose immediate and longterm goodwill we need to secure." Tom pinched his nose again. "They also give two legs names of their own choosing, as much as vice-versa. The data Sandra gave me when I left included Harrington's name, Dances on Clouds, which made no sense until Hipper told me she spent a lot of time hang-gliding with Nimitz when she was young, and Queen Elizabeth's, which is Soul of Steel. Benjamin's is Strong Mind, LaFollet's Guards Faithfully. And mine, bestowed by Hipper after some very intent scrutiny — palpably intent, because they really are full-blown telepaths and telempaths — is Dreams of Peace. To be subject to their regard is seriously unnerving and equally uplifting, and that name has already proven of real value in dealing with the Queen."

Eloise reluctantly paused the recording. "Dreams of Peace is exactly right. We know it, but who would think it on Manticore? That's close to an independent confirmation for us that Treecats' abilities are genuine and accurate. Sandra, any comment?"

"Other than urk?" Staunton blew out a breath. "Some of me isn't surprised. We're talking about sapient aliens with unique mental capacities of which we're almost wholly ignorant. One of whose, as it transpires, senior elders has seen and done everything Harrington's done since she was a kid. And others of whom have for T-centuries been adopting monarchs of Manticore to make sure their home habitat and interests were protected, while blowing off tests until they decided they were good and ready to say hello. More tellingly, maybe, for us, the reports are clear that Nimitz suffered serious injury from a StateSec rifle-butt aboard Tepes — physically crippling him, which has been surgically fixed, and mentally leaving him, as best I can make out, dumb to other treecats though not to Harrington — which has not proven reparable. He also had what sounds a truly miserable time on Hades, while badly physically injured, because of the climate. Sphinx is cold, and treecats' coats are thick. So all else aside, you'll be dealing with another StateSec victim, Madam President, and extreme courtesy would be in order."

"Hell. As if we needed more reasons to hate Ransom. But that's a good catch. Thank you, and consider yourself drafted to the negotiating party. We'll need that kind of insight. Anyone else? Then on we go."

Tom's voice resumed. "Second, Protector Benjamin. Even more impressive than I remembered. Strong Mind is right, and not in a rigid way despite his faith. Fast, flexible, very sharp indeed. Frankly, I liked him and his daughter. And Matthews. Still fiercely grieving their dead from that Masadan crap Saint-Just pulled, but amazingly clear about the need to see past it. Openly scathing about High Ridge and his gang. Exasperated with Manticore. Completely committed to Queen Elizabeth personally. People we can deal straight with. And GONI's estimates of our rebuilding were every bit as good as we suspected ONI's had become worthless. They must have massive amounts of data, far more than is public — they'd projected uncomfortably accurate numbers based on financial analysis of revenue we weren't accounting for." Tom shook his head. "Our newsies didn't catch it, nor anyone else, but GONI did, to within five percent. So Kevin and Walter need to start looking hard at how they did that, when they can, but not touching at all. Benjamin wants peace as badly as we do, and we actually need to be very grateful GONI's take was as good as it was, and my news only confirmation. And with Harrington's help they've also found Manpower agents on Grayson, junior because recent but nasty, and they have detailed confessions. Same orders, allowing for lack of seniority, to get everyone at war. When I was there that hadn't been made public on Grayson, because Benjamin was waiting on what Harrington was going to do on Manticore."

Tom paused, glancing at some notes. "Sidefill, here. This might have reached you already, but in case not, a week or so before I got to Trevor's Star Harrington managed to catch one of their Space Lords, that idiot Houseman who's been overseeing reductions, giving classified tech to some industrial cronies, and called him on it in public. Nailed Jurgenson at ONI at the same time over his estimates of the IAN. And she caught five unknowns with the cronies, all with forged IDs, whom she let the public think might be our agents but actually knows to be Manpower's."

Eloise gave Javier a thumbs-up, and saw his quick smile.

"But both their real identity and the fact of agents on Grayson are now public in both nations because, third, we came over the hyperwall into Manticoran space — and damn, I want their FTL systems — just in time to see Harrington give a statement on system-wide HD, and it turned out Kevin's flight of fancy about her grasering High Ridge and cronies into orbital debris was right on the money." He cracked a wide grin. "Enjoy, Madam President. Oh, two warnings — when Harrington tells you to close your eyes, squint, though I've put filters on the recording. And there's a silent bit after that where you'll be tempted to fast forward. Don't. Watch what the treecats do."

Squint? Treecats? What the hell had happened? But the screen was alight with Harrington facing a packed room, windows giving onto the same seascape as in Tom's message, and as the political ambush unfolded there was a lot to absorb. The scale of peculation was staggering, but no more so than the detail Harrington had and the clear implication that Beowulf was yet another star nation from which she could command the highest cooperation. The exact consequences of fraudulent party accounts were beyond Eloise and everyone else but couldn't be good, and looks on Manticoran faces suggested they were catastrophic. And when Harrington squarely tied the forged accounts to Young, pulled in official Andermani documents to demonstrate the link to Manpower, and immediately asked about what agents there might be on Haven, you could have heard a pin drop. Her gaze at the HD pickup as she went after High Ridge was as implacable as anything Eloise had ever seen, and the recording that followed in every way unbelievable, except it was right there. The conversation made her flesh crawl while her mind tried to grapple with the implications of High Ridge's exposure, not just as a derelict fool but as … what? A murderer and traitor, at the least, and at the last a terrorist in the offing as well as a smooth liar with nothing but contempt for almost everything and everyone. Harrington's summary afterwards was as devastating as her voice was cold, despite the rage she had to be feeling, and then she was saying the Queen would soon be on but her treecat had something to say. As his image filled the screen, grass-green eyes glittering intelligence, just as Tom had said, Eloise pulled herself together and hit the pause.

"Hell's bells. Before we add Treecats to this mix, does anyone have anything to say? Kevin, can that recording be real?"

He had an almost sleepy, satisfied smile. "Has to be, Eloise. Harrington's no PubIn. How she tapped the surveillance system in that unspeakable shit's office when he thought it was turned off I haven't a clue. But she did it, landed a fat and deeply rotten plum, and added it to all that other data, which will be rock-hard, however obtained. And then she did to the unspeakable shit and his fellow unspeakable shits pretty much what she did to Chernock and Yearman at Hades."

Javier nodded. "Yes. Good analogy, Mr Director. And to Thurston at Fourth Yeltsin — got herself unseen into energy range. But it means the Manties won't just have changed administration. They've got as big a legal and constitutional headache as Giancola's and Grosclaude's arrests and trials are for us. Bigger. On one hand, that's very good news. But it means CNO Theisman was dropping his news on top of a huge political earthquake."

"And how. I'm almost sympathetic. Denis, any take on legalities?"

"Not before I've heard what the Queen has to say. And I doubt even they know yet what of all that's admissible in court, but with it all in the public domain anyway …"

"And we haven't been told to shut our eyes yet, so there's more."

"Right you are, Rachel. But if we don't piece this out as we go we'll wind up like one of those snakes that eats something whole and goes to sleep for six months with indigestion. Javier, we thought Janacek had to be in trouble. Now it seems he's dead. Implications?"

"Many, Madam President. We've always planned on having to face the RMN's first team, not Janacek, but we have scenarios in case we could exploit all the useless careerist aristos he bought in. They must be gone now, and while the Manties are still in a deep, deep hole, they've stopped digging. So the odds are no longer shortening in our favour. Unless they've got something serious up their sleeves we've missed altogether — and these are the people who produced FTL, MDMs, podlayers, and CLACs out of their hats — they can't rebuild the hulls they need any faster than we've been able to. But they can sort personnel much sooner and start repairing the Alliance. We can certainly forget Erewhon for now, and other smaller star nations we've been quietly trying to talk to. So the odds have already begun lengthening again. Not by much yet, and not for a while. But the kind of military last resort we didn't want but were finding less and less intolerable is now a finite window we can reckon will be closed in not more than two years. 18 T-months at most to the last possible launch date, given the positioning we'd need. And if Janacek wouldn't have known that, Harrington and White Haven will."

"So the negotiations have a ticking clock, but they would have anyway. And we've no reason to suppose they'll be foot-dragging this time. Still. Anyone else?"

"Two things." Since accepting what Giancola had done Tony Nesbitt had thrown himself hard into work — worryingly so, as he'd always been a workaholic, and had also taken on a fierce appraisal of what Manpower might be about and a search for any earlier traces of manipulation. "I told you all last time I reported that when it comes to it I can't make sense of Manpower economically. None of the figures they file can begin to be true, and though their known outlays here, and now on Manticore, Grayson, and Potsdam, are small change in themselves, their total budget for all agents now known, with support, training, monitoring, who knows what, has to add up to large and long term finance. I've been wondering about OFS and the Jessyk Combine's presence throughout the Verge, and after Javier's comments I'll be looking at what a model assuming Manpower, Jessyk, and the OFS as a cartel looks like. Much more viable, for a start. But this try at grabbing Mantie naval tech has me thinking on other lines. The report said that cruiser was only five years old, so while it's not a new class it would have had everything else they've got — compensators, FTL, MDMs, and stealth tech. So one, how much could Manpower make with that commercially in the League? Billions, for sure. Trillions probably. What would we have paid for it, if we'd been offered it? But two, what would we have done if we'd been given it?"

Eloise imagined, and grimaced. "Yeuch. That's a smart and horrible thought, Tony."

"And if any amazing pieces of luck seem to spin in from somewhere during the negotiations …"

"Yeuch again, and also smart. I've wondered myself who says we or the Manties have found all their agents? Not Kevin, for one."

"No." Kevin shrugged, sleepy satisfaction gone. "But the trouble is all their business is covert here and in the Star Kingdom, and most is just sick bastards who want C-lines to play with, usually children. So they're very buried anyway, and any could be more than sick bastards, but I can't find anything like the financial tangle Young's codes led us to."

"Fair enough. But we keep looking hard, and we look at any apparent windfalls very hard indeed. Anyone else? Treecat time, then."

The HD image of Nimitz had been frozen above the conversation, and now hands — true-hands, they called them — flashed while a cool Grayson-accented voice offered translation. In the wider shot that came with the hair-raising massed snarl of threat the speaker could be seen, elegant in tabard and dress, another treecat at her side. But it was the close shot of Nimitz that was riveting, staring directly into the pickup, reacting as any human might to a personal threat but with a deadly, stark simplicity only provisionally submitted to law and anything a human might recognise as due process. The sparking implications of names and memory drawn on went in every direction, a critique of 'two-leg rules' that applied to Grayson as much as Manticore. And beneath all was the basic, thrumming shock of being spoken to by alien intelligence, one that used your language and understood you far better than you understood it. The material from Arif's Commission had had a taste of it, and Sandra had told them, but seeing this was something altogether else, recalling that Grayson record of Nimitz killing and blinding with blurring speed, and the unexpected force of Tom's words about taking these beings very seriously indeed was amply justified.

The collective shock held them spellbound as Nimitz ended and Harrington's voice resumed, spelling out implications. Following her words and wondering what a Death Fang and Snow Hunter were, besides dangers to treecats, Eloise was reaching for the pause again to give Sandra a chance to comment when the alarm sliced across the soundtrack and terror unfolded. She found herself clutching the arms of her chair, body rigid, as Harrington ripped out commands and the screen image split between her and an exterior longshot showing North Hollow's accelerating lightflyer; she only just remembered to squint as the screen darkened and then even through filters blared a flash of blue and a longer roil of white and orange. It hadn't faded before Harrington's voice was back, sitting everyone watching up as if there was something they too should be leaping to do, until, after a slashing glance at the pickup and an order for damage reports, someone had come to her senses and the sound from the room cut off, to be replaced after a moment by an HD commentator who unsurprisingly didn't know what to say. Eloise was reaching for the pause when Sandra's voice stopped her.

"No, watch treecats, remember. They're acting as first responders, completely co-ordinated. And shit, look, they're calming people down, like throwing a switch. No, slower than that, but still. Seconds only to kill panic, even among injured. And none have lightburn — they obeyed Harrington. Every one. It was those idiot newsies who didn't. The cats checked on VIP guests first, too — ambassadors and those other two."

"Klaus and Stacey Hauptman." Tony's voice was definite. "I've seen enough interviews."

"Hush a minute."

Kevin's command let them hear the commentator say Her Grace the Steadholder confirmed that what had exploded was naval battlefield HE — which was a no-brainer — and presumably the material everyone had heard the late and unlamented Earl of North Hollow say he'd been given by Janacek and planned to use in Landing — which was Harrington already taking whatever advantage she could from yet another insane attempt to kill her. And she further confirmed that what had shot him down was a laser-cluster. Javier's jaw dropped, and Kevin gave a wide, admiring smile, but everyone's attention was on the swell that battered the Landing docks and waterfront, clearly doing damage, and equally clearly less than it would have if they'd had even less time to prepare. Then Harrington was back, underscoring the point about North Hollow's explosives and introducing Her Majesty, and this time Eloise did slap the pause.

"Hellfire as well as hell's bells. A laser-cluster on a house?"

"Laser-clusters, I'd bet." Kevin shrugged, still smiling. "In the exterior view there were armorplast bubbles on the roof that had opened, but I think the shot came from one in the cliffs somewhere. Outside the forcefield. Which also has to be military grade with serious generators: nothing civilian could have absorbed that. Damn but LaFollet's good. Jeremy said he was. More importantly, Eloise, we've just seen why people love Harrington so ferociously. Most of us have seen action. Wouldn't you follow a commander like that? And second, think about what our public are going to say when they see all this, which they ought to as soon as we can get it out. It's public record on Manticore already and has to be heading here, so let's beat the Sollies to it. But that's a bonus. Harrington kills North Hollow. Again. Blows terrorist aristo out of sky. Saves Mantie capital. They'll love that, never mind taking out the High Ridge administration." The smile became a chuckle. "Grasered into orbital debris! I thought I was being metaphorical."

Laughter was a release from shock, and the staff Eloise had alerted when Tom warned of a long message had prepared food as well as cancelling appointments. Harrington had been right about giving a shocky stomach something to work on, but Eloise pressed the conversation even as they wolfed the toasted baguettes that were the cabinet standby.

"Kevin's right about getting that out soonest. Javier was saying we need Harrington, and that's clearly correct, so boosting her popularity — more than that, moral standing — is going to be useful as well as right. We've already publicly cleared her of those trumped-up legislaturist charges and apologised for the PubIn fake of her hanging. She hardly needs money, but I think we should specifically offer compensation. And have you wondered what people will make of Nimitz, Kevin? Sandra, how do we do offer to compensate him?"

Stanton blinked. "I've no idea. The only thing everyone agrees all treecats always want is celery, and that's absurd. It would have to be symbolic." Her brow furrowed. "There was something about Harrington's parents working on a possible treatment for his 'dumbness', but though the basic biology is well understood, neurochemistry of telempathic functions is a whole new field. We could offer to endow something in his name, I suppose. Research. Or an annual award for benefiting Treecats."

"I like that. Rough something out with Rachel soonest, please."

"I will. And assuming we get a treaty, we badly need to get some of my people, and independent researchers, to Landing to build up our basic understanding, and learn Sign so they can teach as well as use it."

"Yes to that too. Walter, co-ordinate what we say about that recording? Hammer High Ridge and his duplicity, of course, and praise Harrington. Relieved at her survival, deeply impressed by her attitudes — Kevin's spot on about that — and appalled at the damage to Landing. Fascinated by Nimitz. Ashamed of StateSec. The whole circus."

Javier leaned forward. "CNO Theisman said he wants Shannon with the delegation, but I can ask her to give you a quick interview before she goes." He grinned. "It'll need heavy editing, but she was the one who saw what happened to Nimitz and intervened. I'm not sure it wasn't that moment that seriously radicalised her, to the point of Oops!" Walter was making hasty notes. "And she's a great admirer of Harrington anyway."

"Good. Tony, any idea why the Hauptmans were there? Just friends?"

"That, certainly, but no, it's the slave connection. Ever since Sky Domes started working with the Hauptman Cartel he's been changing how he uses his money against Manpower. But the friendship's always been discreet. That may be changing because of all the revelations."

"Makes sense. Anyone else? Alright, let's hear how the Queen capped all that."

The mind boggled at the challenge, but as Elizabeth's message at last ended and Tom reappeared the hope in Eloise's mind had gone from bright to blazing.

"High times in Landing, eh? You'll have caught the crucial thing — we're invited to bilateral peace and what are in effect multilateral alliance negotiations, and for all the Manties are in a military hole right now, Her Majesty is, I assure you, deadly serious about going after Manpower as soon as she can. Benjamin too. I'm taking the position that I can assure them we're willing in principle, and extremely interested in any practical opportunities talks offer, but cannot of course commit to any decision before then. But I want an RN team with you who can think outside the box, because my strong sense is that if things go well we will need to make a serious commitment. And all else aside, we can hardly be hit with crippling reparations if we're allies, can we?"

Tom pinched his nose again, clearly dog tired.

"Sorry. It's been quite a ride here. After I'd seen all that live aboard the GSNS Honor Harrington, with Benjamin and Matthews, and we'd all calmed down again — which wasn't so easy for Benjamin — he called Harrington, who came up. I can't say I'd forgotten how formidable she is in person, but it was … intense. She wanted to know exactly what we were offering, with Nimitz's help looked right through me, and said frankly it was a problem of managing the Queen's reactions. One thing we hadn't thought through sufficiently was that almost no-one on Manticore except Elizabeth — and, very fortunately, Harrington — knew the Legislaturists assassinated her father. Just stop and think about that. 34 years of knowing and not saying. And not just any 34 years, the last 34, with everything that's happened. Then Saint-Just killed her uncle and cousin, and Cromarty. A complete minefield, psychologically. But Harrington had, yet again, anticipated possible problems of our sending someone direct, and without flagging at all as far as I could see spun it for us. Next day I went dirtside, to her Bay House, Harrington Steading's embassy, where I am now, and she brought in White Haven."

He frowned. "Sidefill. White Haven is now First Lord in his brother's cabinet, which is pretty much Cromarty's recalled, and the Space Lords are as they were then — Caparelli, Givens, and the rest. So we've good files. I'll append a list. Anyway, when White Haven had picked himself up off the floor he also grilled me six ways to Sunday, then pulled in his brother. Harrington told us she'd manage the Queen, which made both brothers gawk, and gave me what proved very sound advice. Benjamin too. What matters for you is that it boils down to proving to the Queen that we have changed, that we really aren't like the Legislaturists or the Committee. We know it. What the Queen knows is we've been her worst nightmare since she was a teenager. We killed her father, and she couldn't tell anyone. And when Masadans killed Cromarty and Gold Peak, we killed his nearest substitute, and the next nearest. Plus she's close to her aunt, whose brother, husband, and son we killed. So the small stuff we threw together as best we could turns out to matter very much indeed, and you need to bring more of it. Whatever you can. Not just gestures, but tangible sincerity. And while we have to suck up the crimes of our predecessors, as we knew we would, we also have to be not them. So I very seriously advise a negotiating posture of maximal transparency about ourselves and all Saint-Just's horrors, the stolen revolution, everything. It'll win us far more than any subterfuge or hole-cards."

A tired rub of the eyes. "Anyway, it finally happened next day, and obviously, it worked. My own sense is that the crucial moment was talking to her openly about shooting Saint-Just, and why I did it. If you speak truly, treecats confirm it. And she believes it. Try to fudge even a little, even once, and that's lost. True speech or silence. No flannel, no misdirection. When I was done she went outside to think, and after a bit Harrington and Nimitz followed. Most of an hour later they came back and the Queen went into brisk mode, very positively. Which is where things became even more interesting. His Grace knows I'll be telling you, but on top of the double invitation, the Manticore Junction will shortly be closed to all Mesan registered traffic, pending a resolution of what she regards as a state of war between the Star Kingdom and Mesa. And will shortly be open to all Haven-registered mercantile and diplomatic traffic. His Grace has the transponder codes needed to approach Trevor's Star."

The shock around the table was complete, and Tom grinned.

"Yes, that's what I said when she told me. And in other news, it's a day later and somehow they're controlling how Sollie newsies get through from Trevor's Star. I think it's underhand and they don't much like doing it, but as you can imagine everything's in upheaval, and the plan seems to be to drop our rebuilding news, then Giancola, and after everyone has had 50 fits to start a whole series of statements about the political, constitutional, and military situation, before wheeling me on. I had to put this together now because the Queen wants His Grace on his way soonest, but, one, they have at least six or eight weeks of pure political crap to get through, including the trial of High Ridge, Descroix, New Kiev, and I think, though I don't quite understand, North Hollow, posthumously. And possibly a general election too, which is going to be something to see. So don't dawdle but do stay in the Zeta Band, because, two, Harrington has promised to make despatch boats available to send updates, and they'll be looking for you in the Zeta Band on a least-time course from Haven to Trevor's Star. Use a single SD, as they have, with the transponder code 'Haven One', and whatever gets sent will have the codes 'Theisman One', 'Two', and so on. I think that's it, and I'm out of time if I'm going to append those lists, so you go be nice to His Grace, and I'm going to bed. Theisman out."

"Well, people, that was unexpected." The echo had them smiling, but they were still shocked, and more. "Henrietta? You look fierce."

Barloi shrugged, slightly. "She arrested the government on her own say-so? I realise it works for us, but I'm trying to wrap my head around how she can do that now and not have been able to do anything before. And why is Harrington being so helpful to us? It's … I don't know, all back to front. She has to hate our guts, as we do hers for all she inadvertently helped rid us of Saint-Just and the Committee. I didn't see what Tom was driving at about the Queen and her father either. If she knew it was the Legislaturists she must know it wasn't us."

"Must she?" Eloise swallowed irritation. Barloi was one of the few in her cabinet who hadn't seen combat and, besides having been sheltered by a very PRH–Committee loyalist brother she still mourned, had the same limitations Shannon Foraker had once had, a tech-geek's blinkers about what made people rather than molycircs tick. "Do you think someone whose father was shot by Harris and brother was shot by Saint-Just is convinced yet that we won't ever shoot him if it seems like a good idea? And I'm not sure what your point is about the Queen, Henrietta. She couldn't do anything before because she didn't have reasonable cause, any more than Kevin could ask me to lock down State because Giancola made his back itch. But once there's hard evidence, things change, and you roll with it, often enough making it up as you go along. And frankly, ordering an immediate election so everyone can be heard is more than we've done."

"I suppose."

But Barloi still wasn't sure about anything, and Eloise settled herself to persuade and coax at least a degree of happiness about the obvious.

§

The man who stepped out of the naval pinnace onto the roof of Péricard Tower was more plainly if elegantly dressed than Eloise had expected. There were no robes or ruffs, only a beautifully cut grey suit over a trim but solid form. He was, she knew from the slim file she'd been able to access, second-generation Prolong, and actually in his late 60s, but looked perhaps 30, brown skin unlined and dark hair cut short. He looked around briefly, and she wondered what courage it took to be here alone, how she would feel stepping out into the air of Landing, but he descended briskly, eyes seeking hers.

"Madam President." He offered a short, easy bow. "Theodore Harper, Grand Duke of Manticore, serving as a personal envoy of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth III."

"Your Grace." She offered a hand and he took it, grip cool and firm. "Welcome to Haven. We were expecting a message from Admiral Theisman, not an envoy."

"So I understand, but Her Majesty though it best to return courtesy for courtesy. And as I believe you know, your own envoy arrived at a rather interesting time, making for complications, so she felt you should have someone on hand to explain."

She had to admire the calm understatement. "I do know, yes. And we have complications of our own that led us to send that envoy. We live in interesting times, Your Grace."

His smile was open and pleasant. "So we do, Madam President."

At her invitation he fell in beside her as they headed in, Sheila Thiessen behind her and the rigid honour guard trying not to gawk.

"If I may ask, Madam President, how have your complications been coming along?"

"Mr Giancola and Mr Grosclaude still await trial, Your Grace, the body of evidence involved being large and their various attempts to invalidate their arrests and indictments having had to be heard first. Which they have, and been dismissed. The trial is scheduled for next month, but will now have to be delayed until our delegation returns."

"I see. And how awkward is that?"

"It's not good, but the courts can hardly complain at the reason and everyone will have plenty to keep them entertained. Would I be right to think our negotiations will be playing tag with some other trials too?"

"Ah. That's one of the things Her Majesty wants me to talk to you about. But I think it would be best if you heard her message first."

"By all means."

They came to her office, and before he took the offered seat he produced a data-wallet and with another easy bow handed it to her.

"With the compliments of Her Majesty, Madam President."

Eloise stared at it. The wallet was standard; what wasn't was the red silk ribbon that bound it shut, and the great wax seal over the flat knot, embossed with Royal Arms. She'd never seen such a thing outside a history vid and wasn't at all sure how it should be opened. The Grand Duke appeared to realise the problem, and smiled.

"Sorry about the antique mode but we do that sort of thing, I'm afraid. Admiral Theisman warned me it might come as a surprise. If your bodyguard will allow me?"

Surprised, Sheila nodded, watching like a hawk as he carefully reached into a pocket and extracted a small folding knife. Eloise handed back the wallet, and he deftly cut the ribbon at one end and cracked the seal loose, intact, before returning the wallet and putting away the knife.

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"My pleasure, Madam President. Would you wish me to withdraw while you watch it?"

She took a lightning decision. "Not unless you feel you should, Your Grace, or there are any surprises Admiral Theisman didn't know about."

"None of those, Madam President. Though everything's being really surprising just now, I find."

That was true enough, but as the Royal Arms cleared from her screen to show Elizabeth Winton's strong face and piercing gaze there wasn't at first anything unexpected, save perhaps the treecat sitting beside her. Haven's envoy had been received, his message carefully considered, and accepted in principle. A modification was proposed, distinguishing mutual needs to end the war and respond to Acts of War committed by Manpower against both their star nations, with ramifying implications. In that light, first, a larger delegation than suggested would be welcome, though desire for streamlined expedition was wholly shared, and second, she should be aware the Manticore Junction would shortly be closed to all Mesan-registered traffic; to reciprocate her generous and welcome gestures offered in good faith it was also hereby declared open to all unarmed Haven-registered civilian and diplomatic traffic, as well as any RN warship she might care to designate as Haven One, transporting the delegation. The ceasefire was, of course, confirmed, and the Star Kingdom would initiate no hostile action of any kind against the Republic unless and until negotiations failed; which it was to be devoutly hoped they wouldn't.

But with the main business done the Queen sat back, the treecat padded into her lap where her hands settled into its fur, and her gaze became not less but differently intent.

"President Pritchart, Admiral and Secretary Theisman tells me you prefer plain speaking, while Her Grace of Harrington strongly advises a more open negotiating stance than might typically be thought prudent. And whatever the efforts of your Mr Giancola and Mr Grosclaude in sabotaging previous negotiations, I am well aware it was my own grossly derelict and as it transpires wholly criminal government who made sure there was in fact very little to sabotage." A brief pause. "I can hardly expect your sympathy, but as you have had recent experience of having to arrest and charge a serving cabinet member, I ask you to consider the experience of arresting all of them. The reason I asked His Grace of Manticore to serve as a personal envoy is that while it is wholly within my power to direct my new administration to begin negotiations as soon as your delegation arrives, there is a great deal going on that I cannot command. It is, for example, possible that your arrival may coincide with any or all of a general election, a capital treason trial in the Lords with multiple defendants, acquittal or conviction of those defendants, and any consequent riots or executions. At best it will come hard on the heels of election and verdict. Or verdicts, given just how many trials there are about to be in lower courts and courts martial, a distressing number on capital charges."

Strong brown fingers caressed the treecat, a motion of habitual self-comfort as well as affection, Eloise thought.

"So. Nothing to be done as law and Constitution take their course, but it's going to be a circus, and both I and my ministers may be forced sometimes to delegate negotiations as we juggle duties; some civil servants also. Should that be the case, please do not suppose it to indicate bad faith or delaying tactics. His Grace of Manticore will be able to explain some of the constraints within which we're operating, and comment on any news that may reach you in transit. I shall also make a further public statement late this week. I sincerely hope the worst will be over when you arrive, and shall do all I can to expedite matters, but whatever the course of events you'll have as much warning as possible. And besides some business His Grace of Manticore will mention, the other thing is that His Grace Protector Benjamin and the Chairman of Beowulf's Board of Director's have already indicated that they will accept invitations to multilateral talks concerning Manpower and Mesa, and the Chairman promises to have the fullest report they can manage on that nanotech you found. Both also indicate willingness to enter parallel bilateral negotiations about any separate matters of mutual concern. His Imperial Majesty has had no time to reply, but His Ambassador assures me he has strongly urged my invitation be accepted, while Her Grace of Harrington believes it likely His Grace the Herzog von Rabenstrange will be sent, with some powers at least. And while it is of course not my business, Her Grace suggested I inform you that just as additional delegates to negotiate bilaterally with Grayson and Beowulf will be welcome, so will delegates to negotiate or — Her Grace's words — clarify what might be obscure with His Imperial Majesty. Alternatively, your diplomatic boats are now free to pass through the Junction to Gregor."

The Queen sat straight again, the treecat upright in her lap.

"Finally, President Pritchart, and more than a little against my baser inclinations, I must offer you sincere thanks for the response of yourself and your cabinet to the data about Lady Young. His Grace Protector Benjamin described it as rapid, decisive, and cleaving to law and honour, and I cannot disagree. Admiral and Secretary Theisman is also a most impressive envoy, in every way. So I find, to my surprise, that I am looking forward to meeting you. And I pray God we can together end hostilities permanently, and build a lasting peace between our star nations."

That was clearly it but before the HD ended the treecat rose on the Queen's lap, turning to look at her and then, shifting so she could see its true hands, made a sequence of eight gestures. Her eyebrows rose in surprise and she gave a wide, delighted smile before looking out again.

"Ariel says A bientôt. And so do I."

The screen blanked, and Eloise let out a long breath, looking at the Manticoran envoy. "Treecats speak French?"

He grinned. "Not usually, but Ariel glommed it from somewhere, probably to amuse Her Majesty, which it did. And she's in need of that, as you'll realise. Then again, Nimitz said he's looking forward to meeting you too, so who knows? That the 'cats have their own agenda is something we're rather scrambling to come to terms with ourselves."

"I imagine." She noted how swift he'd been to relax once she'd omitted the aristo honorific, and welcomed it. "They're extraordinary, and we hope to establish relations with the Clans of Sphinx as well as the Star Kingdom." His eyebrows rose but he nodded, looking thoughtful. "May I ask what a trial 'in the Lords' consists of?"

"Ah yes, that's one of the things. I don't suppose you approve, and I'm not sure I do either, but every defendant has the right to a jury of their peers, and a Peer's peers are Peers, if you follow. So anyone who's a sitting member of the Lords and faces a criminal charge of felony or worse has the right to be tried by the House. Hasn't happened for several centuries, but it's almost certainly about to, and that's one reason Her Majesty doesn't know what's going to happen, nor how fast. She and Her Grace of Harrington have some plans, I believe, but whether they'll work is another matter. It depends on how soon other enquiries conclude and can be acted on. I'm perfectly willing to explain, but the long and short is that the voting tallies of both Houses are likely to be affected by events."

"The fraudulent party accounts?"

"Most importantly, yes. Lifetime bans from public office for doing that, which in the case of a Peer means that unless they were also expelled from the House they could still insist on their right to attend the Lords, but couldn't speak or vote. Hasn't happened for even longer, but is also probably going to. And there are other factors, notably Peers and Honourable Members of the Commons who are either elsewhere without having appointed proxies or likely to be convicted of one thing or another, and may therefore even if eligible to vote be in no position to do so."

"Mmm. I can see all that does make for complications. Well, we are fairly warned, and it sounds as if Admiral Theisman's updates will be interesting. What is the other business Her Majesty mentioned."

"Tricky. Given that Admiral Theisman openly told us the messenger who brought you the Young data was Jeremy X, may I assume you have no objection to frank discussion of the Audubon Ballroom?"

"Certainly."

"And stipulate that, as they are entirely illegal everywhere, we both of course deplore their various crimes in the appropriate fashion?"

"Of course we do."

"Just so. But they have now been monumentally helpful to us both, in a quite new way. And are an obvious resource for anyone who might wish to, let us hypothesise, enforce the Cherwell Convention on Mesa."

Eloise blinked. "What a charming phrase. But yes, they have been and are. And yes, there is a legal problem." She grinned, remembering. "Kevin Usher suggested we appoint Jeremy X as our ambassador to Mesa."

He grinned back. "Now there's a splendid notion. But there is that legal problem. Her Majesty has as yet no suggestion, but Her Grace of Harrington has a practical question she hopes you will consider. Under what circumstances would it, so far as Haven's Constitution and laws are concerned, be lawful for members of your delegation openly to meet designated officials of the Audubon Ballroom? Her Majesty is considering the question with respect to our Constitution and laws, and will be asking His Imperial Majesty to do likewise with regard to His."

"What a very interesting question. Beowulf and Grayson?"

"Beowulf has no problem making a public but temporary exception to their contact laws for a delegation in another jurisdiction. As one would expect. Grayson is more interesting, not only because His Grace Protector Benjamin is confident that under present circumstances there would be substantial majority public approval, slavery being a greater anathema even than murder so far as Father Church is concerned, and Grayson being as angry about all this as we all are, but because their available mechanism is blindingly simple. Her Grace Steadholder Harrington merely has to declare the Ballroom delegation under her protection and they acquire full diplomatic immunity both on Grayson and in the Star Kingdom that only a supermajority vote of the Grayson Conclave of Steadholders could overturn. No Manticoran authority could legally touch them." He shrugged. "For us it would be a fudge with complications, but it's a possibility. However, it might also be a model, if, say, all Heads of State present were to extend whatever powers of immunity they possess in a joint statement, openly stating practical necessity. And while this is of course mere star-gazing, if we do indeed wind up pursuing joint action against Mesa, with the ultimate intent of rendering the Ballroom's cause obsolete, some such course might open the way to another set of multilateral negotiations leading towards, oh, ceasefires, amnesties, and removals from lists of terrorist organisations, say, in return for laying down arms and presenting any documentation arising to appropriate authorities who would act on it. And so the chance for retired Dancers to enjoy the same peace we hope for ourselves."

Eloise sat back, mind spinning. Forward thinking with a vengeance, as well as about a vengeance. And the last person she'd have expected to show concern for Dancers as well as easy intelligence about this problem was a Mantie aristo — which was silly. This was no time for assumptions.

"If I may speak frankly, I'm surprised you seem so at ease with this subject. I've been a terrorist myself, of course, back in the day, and met Dancers — " She stopped because he was nodding.

"Which I haven't, knowingly. But I've met a lot of ex-slaves. When Her Ladyship — no, titles would make this too hard to follow. When Honor was expelled from the Lords after killing her first North Hollow I was just as angry as Elizabeth, and carried to Honor her apologies and fury about what had happened. She was still recovering from her wound, and grieving Paul Tankersley, not that she's ever stopped doing that, and she was quite remote, understandably. But when I asked if there was anything I could do she said one disappointment of it all was that she'd hoped to use her Manticoran peerage as well as her Steadholdership to help freed slaves, especially those rescued too late for Prolong who have a hard time dealing with a culture that reminds them constantly of what's been stolen from them. I'm sure you know, but what they need's either a community of their own, or relative solitude with support all round. And that can be tricky to arrange on Manticore, even for the ASL. But they use some rural Tor estates — that's Cathy Montaigne's holdings — and Honor asked me to consider letting them use mine. Which I did, and do. Older F-lines, mostly, who need to use their muscle and retrain as foresters, civil engineers, ecologists, and the like. A lot of my land's mountainous, and they get days alone in peace, and company that doesn't need explanations in the evenings. Except when it's me and my family. So I've learned a lot more than newsies ever say, or most books. Humbling and enraging. I was in touch with Harrington Steading, too, with exchanges and to provide a wider community for them that was still congenial. And since Honor came back from the dead and Elizabeth gave her that chunk of Gryphon as a Duchy it's been a three-way thing. We've pulled in a few more people with the right sort of estates too. Some of the freed don't want domed life on Grayson, or won't go to Gryphon because they were used on worlds with similarly dreadful climates, but quite a few like Sphinx, despite its long winters, and Honor sponsors them into the Forestry Service, where 'cats can help them. In any case, that's one reason it's me who's here."

A part of Eloise marvelled. Assumptions indeed. But the implications were startling. "Would I be right to suspect all this is not only a practical issue regarding the multilateral talks but also a further aim of Her Grace … you're right, she has too many titles, of Honor Harrington?"

He spread his hands. "That's more than I can say. But I wouldn't be surprised. Honor's been thinking hard about the Ballroom since at least Casimir, and though I know no more than anyone about how she got hold of that data we both know some at least came to her from the Ballroom, with control of Young, so she has to be in touch. Montaigne and Zilwicki, I'd think. Do you want my best guess, which is no more than that?"

"Please."

"Then she saw sooner than any of us that the plain sense, for anyone finding themselves at war with Mesa, of consulting the Ballroom offered a radical opportunity for one more huge shift along with all the others implicit in that reality. And yes, she's leveraging it. Mindboggling, I know, but given everything else she's just pulled out of her very many hats …"

"Yes." And how. Javier's words — only this morning? — had been spot on. Events had given Harrington an extraordinary concatenation of powers and she was using them as startlingly and superbly as she'd blown away more or less everything that had ever opposed her. "I can't of course give any immediate answer to Her Grace's question, but I assure you it will receive serious thought, with a view to a timely as well as practical answer. Was there anything else?"

"One thing, not substantive but important. Her Majesty didn't feel able to address it directly in her message, but asked me to say she is grateful for the FIA reports you sent. Both of them. I didn't know myself King Roger's death wasn't an accident, and I'm still processing it. But both she and Duchess Winton-Henke, Roger's sister, think making it public is now right, however painful for both of them. I've no idea when that might happen, but I'd guess sooner than later."

"I see. And will say directly that I am deeply ashamed of what our former regimes did, and very much appreciate the acute personal pain Her Majesty must feel in having to face the matter in this way. We felt a clean slate was our only option."

"Which Her Majesty appreciates." His shrug was eloquent. "To be frank, forgiveness may be a step too far, but she will not allow personal pain to stand in the way of a treaty. Admiral Theisman ensured that."

Eloise blinked. "With Harrington's help, he said."

"I wasn't there for that, but again, I wouldn't be surprised. But I don't think I can say more. Not now, anyway."

She was surprised he'd said so much. "Very well. Thank you for your candour, Your Grace. In return, I can say we accept all Her Majesty's invitations. We were prepared to leave within a day or two of receiving confirmation from Admiral Theisman, but you'll understand reorganising will add to that. After I've informed my cabinet of the salient points in Her Majesty's message, and your elucidation, I would be grateful if you could be available to meet them."

"Of course, Madam President."

"And meantime I'm afraid you're left at a loose end for a while, and again for a day or two. Is there anything I can offer to ease waiting?"

He hesitated. "I don't suppose it's on, but I'd be glad to see whatever I might of the city. Always liked travelling, and the setting's very fine."

The conditions were very different from anything on Manticore too, and there would be no harm in a senior Manticoran seeing Haven's realities. An unholy notion bloomed in Eloise's mind.

"Of course. And you've been cabined on an SD for a month. I'm sure we can manage something."

---

Honor did her damnedest to sit out the general election entirely but it wasn't possible. Besides the many trials, and increasingly verdicts and sentences, forming a steady drum-roll behind campaigns, the political arguments going on had precious little to do with party politics as Manticore had always known them. The shattered CA was involved in savage internal bloodletting, False Liberals were bankrupt and facing extermination by True Liberal candidates bankrolled by Cathy Montaigne, Progressives were subdued and hoping to survive, New Men were looking very threadbare indeed while frantically rowing with the tide, and the rest were in rare but strong harmony. After the Lords' trial everyone accepted that the emergent Centrist, Crown Loyalist, and True Liberal majority would be enormous in the Commons, and while in the Lords a lot slimmer on paper, just as large in practice when it came to conducting negotiations. And while the politics of that coalition had many contradictions, the usual bones of contention were hors de combat or irrelevant. San Martin was in, the Navy Budget was going way up even if meant a tax-hike, Silesia was going to be an Andermani sphere whatever anyone wanted, and social boondoggles were out of the question for a long while. Even the Constitutional crisis had proven a paper tiger, because all party leaders and pretty much everyone else thought the Queen had got it right despite an unprecedented challenge, and said so loudly, while the few who didn't were either Gryphon Peers dimmer than Gravendale and facing escalating troubles with furious tenants of their estates, or else under indictment.

What everyone did want to argue about was what sort of settlement with Haven would be possible, and how best to go on kicking Manpower and all things Mesan wherever it most hurt, and for both topics the guests they wanted more than anyone, besides Cathy Montaigne, were Honor and Thomas Theisman. Acutely mindful of laser-clusters, not even the brashest newsies were going to invade the Bay House's airspace, but flocks of lightflyers gathered over Jason Bay and Communications was unremittingly besieged. Neither brief nor longer statements helped in the least, and to compound things Theisman was at something of a loose end. He and his aide were seeing Hamish regularly, but he'd already agreed to all he reasonably could, and a bit more, until the delegation arrived. There were limits to what he could be invited to do as well: naval visits that might have been possible were made awkward by circumstance — HMS Unconquered and Saganami Island were one thing, but recent-build ships, Junction forts, and anywhere close to the full-bore rebuilding of R&D another, if only because the intense coverage of his every appearance made it important to give no valid grounds for criticism. The Bay House offered enough recreations, God knew, and he used pool, gym, and (with experimental interest) salle, as well as watching the ongoing Manticoran spectacle with bemused fascination, but it was time-filling.

Imbesi had been busy for a while, content to raise Erewhon's profile in the Star Kingdom, but once he'd said what he wanted interviewers found he couldn't be drawn into rehashing it or commenting on domestic matters. He did, in a show that included Cathy Montaigne, offer a scathing account of both Manpower and Manticore's treatment of those found to have dealings with it, and a ghastly account of what he knew or could deduce about operations on Congo that was grimly endorsed by Cathy. He was seeing various ambassadors and talking with Sky Domes and Klaus Hauptman about establishing a Grayson-style yard at Erewhon, but he too was at the limits of what he could do before the Erewhonese delegation arrived.

Worse still (at least so far as Andrew LaFollet was concerned) was that without the grind of opposing High Ridge in the Lords Honor also had time on her hands once the Academy term ended. There was plenty crossing her desk, but habitual efficiency dealt rapidly with the two thirds that mattered and even more rapidly with the third that didn't. Thanks to Willard Neufstiler, Howard Clinkscales, Richard Maxwell, and other appointees, Steading, Duchy, and Sky Domes ran very smoothly, and little needed her personal attention between the various scheduled cabinets, formal reports, and boards. Nor did Alfredo Yu need much supervising, although the Own remained more scattered than usual, given units detached to Erewhon and standing in for HMS King Roger III at Trevor's Star, and while he and Warner Caslet had been good company for Theisman and Honor they had their own duties. The Queen and Hamish Alexander were preoccupied, not least with capital and other sentences beginning to come through from special courts and courts martial; and Mike was catching up with her command after lengthy absence on the Queen's behalf. There was the outstanding invitation from Katie Winton-Henke, but that wasn't for Theisman, and Honor knew from a certain reluctance in Andrew's mind that there might be fireworks involved, or at least embarrassments, though she wasn't sure why. Nor had Mr Hawkwing been much help, saying only he'd had occasion to meet Her Grace the Duchess on Admiral Yu's business — read, Andrew's business — and found her a most gracious lady. He certainly returned her greetings, and Her Grace the Steadholder was left with a calculating look in her eye, sneaking speculation, and a bland bit of mental soothing by Nimitz. Honor had known from the grainy images that the source of the anonymous data must involve old Grayson tech, and her combat brain told her as soon as she asked it that the Gold Peak town-house had line-of-sight both to Government House and the Bay House, which was suggestive, but there was no data available as to the how of it, by her own implicit command, and very irritating it was too.

All in all, sitting out the election was proving thoroughly tedious; but there had been one looming duty neither she nor anyone could ignore: the executions. Once appeal was exhausted, Manticoran capital law was expeditious, and from the House of Lords there could be no appeal; so Janvier, Descroix, and Turner had been granted 14 days only in which to make their peace with God and settle what little remained of their estates. The Queen's Bench, in unprecedented collective session, had unanimously refused to hear any challenge, and the grim, implacable preparations under way in Parliament Square left no-one in the slightest doubt sentences would be carried out as the highest judicial authority decreed. Nor was anyone protesting much: even the solid lobby opposed to all capital punishment was half-silenced by the sheer magnitude of what High Ridge had done, and churches were either deeply troubled and self-contradictory, or content that remission to the judgement of God was in this case a reasonable temporal solution. But even upmarket HD channels were possessed of finger-dabbling fascination, and the yellow pack, reeling from the weight of legal action falling on them and eyeing the size of likely awards for libel, had decided — not stupidly, but with all their usual finesse — that far and away their best course was to retell the tale of the Salamander's admirable fight against the Worst of Manticore in terms of unstinting praise. Along the way High Ridge could be vilified, their horrid experience of being duped by him proclaimed, and a great deal of old and juicy material dug out by way of supposedly righting inadvertently skewed past coverage. Their sorrow and remorse did not, of course, extend to leaving Honor alone, and she had had to pull in extra squads of Grayson marines from the Own to provide her parents and guests with escorts adequate to the shouting, inchoate mobs bawling idiot questions. And with only a few days to go, after giving evidence at the trial of Barker and Egremont about the costs for Sky Domes of fighting and effects of enduring fabricated libels and defamations, she found herself confronted by a particularly determined and reckless reporter whose diving barrel-roll between HSG men on her perimeter brought him upright facing Andrew's drawn pulser at less than six inches. The jostle of newsies froze.

Honor shook her head in sheer exasperation. "It's alright, Andrew. Let him through. Mr Girinatunga, I believe. You have a question that warrants risking your life?"

He swallowed, looking at the pulser, but really was young and stupid.

"Your Grace, will you be attending the killings?"

She raised an eyebrow. "If you mean the lawful executions scheduled for Parliament Square in three days, yes. Any juror who votes for a capital sentence should be prepared to witness its imposition, don't you think, Mr Girinatunga? And I have said I would stand witness as a juror and as Steadholder Plenipotentiary. Did you not bother to check statements I've issued before you elected to risk your life and that of others, hurling yourself at an armed security cordon?"

He didn't bat an eyelid. "And how do you feel about it, Your Grace?"

"Ignoring your crass impertinence, how do I feel about what, exactly, Mr Girinatunga?"

Silence stretched while he tried to work it out, and to his vague credit came up with an answer of sorts.

"Winning. Again. So finally."

Honor let genuine contempt into her voice. "Winning? How exactly do you construe our realisation of just how deep a hole we're in as 'winning', Mr Girinatunga?" At her prompt Nimitz, edgy from massed paparazzi emotions, happily allowed himself unsheathed claws and bared fangs, and the newsie recoiled. "I can't say I disagree with Clan Elder Nimitz, Mr Girinatunga. And I object to him and my Armsmen being needlessly stressed by people who cannot tell self-interest from necessity, and have neither the least courtesy nor any concern whatever for anyone but themselves. Colonel LaFollet would have been entirely justified in shooting you dead, and for what? A question already answered and an inanity." She let her address expand to the quivering faces and pickups thicketing her. "How do I feel about having to witness executions? How do you suppose, Mr Girinatunga? Or any of you? It is a matter of record that I hate and loathe capital punishment, with good reason, as you might recall if you bothered to think at all. And yes, I nevertheless believe it sometimes necessary, or I wouldn't have argued and voted for it on this occasion. If you're actually interested in the imperatives involved, ask W. E. B. Du Havel why an idiot newsie inadvertently shot dead and the use of state power to enforce accountability on its dominant political class are not the same, though both end in the death of fools and serve to discourage others. Mr Girinatunga, you're still in Colonel LaFollet's way."

Back in the armoured aircar she blew out a breath, rolling her shoulders, while Nimitz settled in her lap, relieved to be insulated from the roil.

"Good control, Andrew. Thank you. Actually shooting him would have made a mess."

"It was a near thing, Ma'am. They don't seem to learn."

"No they don't. Two more court appearances tomorrow, then the calendar's clear for a bit, saving executions. And once they're done I'm going to Sphinx for a few days, if Tom and Walter don't mind. Or they could come. I know you hate it, but I want to 'glide." Nimitz bleeked agreement. "And sail, Stinker." He gave her a dirty look and a thumbs-down, making her laugh. "I know. Two legs are very odd."

Andrew did hate it, 'gliding for security reasons and sailing because he entirely agreed with Nimitz that oceans were for avoiding, not playing with, but he also knew how much it mattered to her, and how restorative clean days dealing entirely with air and water were. Theisman and Imbesi, who had seen the incident, were willing to be abandoned for a while or, if she really didn't mind them coming, to see Sphinx. But first there were her remaining court appearances in libel and conspiracy to defame cases, and the riveting, appalling, necessary spectacle of the public executions to endure.

Public was for most going to mean by HD, for with Cabinet, Space Lords, both Houses, the Queen's Bench, and Her Majesty attending, Parliament Square was crowded and severely cordoned off, though as space remaining became clearer some of those filling streets beyond were allowed to come through. The scaffold with four posts and forcefield backstop was raised, the square otherwise bare save for a small, central daïs for Her Majesty. Automatically heading for her place among the Lords, Nimitz on one shoulder and Samantha, at her insistence, on the other, Honor saw Elizabeth already present, Justin, Ariel, Monroe, and Roger, just back from New Berlin, beside her, with Ellen Shemais behind, and wasn't surprised to receive an imperious summons. With that many people present there wasn't anything that could be called silence, but no-one was talking, and shufflings and rustlings died away as they watched her mount steps to the platform and fall in beside Roger as Spenser stopped by the PGS officer at the foot of the steps and Andrew stood by Ellen Shemais. Elizabeth's eyes met hers for a long moment, then returned to the posts, and Honor rested a hand briefly on Roger's shoulder, keeping her voice to a murmur.

"Good job in New Berlin, I hear."

"Thanks. Interesting." He swallowed. "Not so keen on this."

"Rightly. But needs must."

There wasn't anything else to say, just the few minutes to wait while the last witnesses assembled and the remaining space was filled by members of the public. How it had been managed Honor didn't know, but an ASL delegation was prominent, including Zilwicki, Isaac Douglass, the Hauptmans, and a man she recognised with interest as Du Havel. His J-line ancestry could be seen as he squared himself, hands behind his back, but his mindglow was a dazzling blaze that had treecats' heads turning. He met her gaze, inclining his head before beginning to scan assembled branches of government. Then the condemned were led out by Marine guards and bound to the posts.

All were, mercifully, sufficiently tranquilised to be docile, and though Honor doubted they'd made any peace with God or themselves there was nothing unseemly save the whole ghastly spectacle itself. Military precision was the keynote but had to accommodate the symbolic fourth post, to which the dress-uniformed Gunny commanding the guards solemnly attached inverted and cancelled arms of North Hollow. Neither Constitution nor law had ever got round to declaring any protocol for multiple executions, and Honor knew Elizabeth had cut through truly bizarre arguments about precedence by insisting on simultaneity, not sequence; so the execution squad, drawn from the Royal Marines was 20 strong, commanded by General MacIntyre in person, on the grounds that it was not a responsibility he cared to delegate. And composed of veteran non-coms, dress uniforms heavy with seniority and wound stripes, campaign ribbons and the medals of gallantry — which was the point, however strange it looked. As they came to a precise halt and unslung pulse-rifles, MacIntyre looked outwards, face set, bowed to Her Majesty, managed not to look at Honor, and turned to bow to Lord Speaker Farquhar, at the front of the Lords nearest the scaffold.

"My Lord Speaker."

"General MacIntyre. Do your duty, sir."

A salute, and that was it — no more folderol or speeches, not even a statement of who the condemned were and what they had done, which would have taken far too long; just a cold, measured sequence of commands that led to a single volley as the price owed was at last paid in full. Even 20 pulse rifles made little sound, but the moment was a whip-crack in every soul present, and for billions watching on HD. No-one on the daïs moved an inch, nor, Honor noticed in one corner of her mind, did Du Havel, but as blood blossomed on plain clothing others did, flinching and turning heads away. And there was still the prescribed ritual of coups de grâce, needless as pulser-darts made it, and MacIntyre, commanding the squad to secure weapons, took from a wooden box proffered by his aide her M-1911. He'd commed her a week back, saying blandly that archaic regulations required for a coup de grâce 'a large calibre', a problem with pulser darts; and she hadn't hesitated to make the loan, appreciating symbolism, but hadn't anticipated the effect. Each shot boomed like thunder, echoes rolling round the square; massive lead slugs did much greater visible damage, rocking corpses against their ties; and the last, by chance or cunning Marine contrivance, blew out the riddled centre of the North Hollow arms and cut its binding, sending it clattering to the scaffold beneath.

As MacIntyre returned gun to box, repeated his bows, and led his squad off Honor's gaze was resting on what had been wrought, but her mind was far in the past, considering the whole course of events. Whatever else was involved, for her the path towards this present had begun with Pavel Young stepping into that shower-room, smirking lechery and easy confidence in his right to rape; and she wondered, as often, how things might have been different if she'd had the sense and confidence to report him as well as the skill to prevent and injure him. He could not then have been in command of HMS Warlock at First Hancock, the ridiculous, bitter fiasco of his court martial would never have taken place, and his vengeful commission to Summervale to kill Paul and herself would not have followed. Her gawky, shocked, teenage stupidity had had such an exquisitely high price, and she would never stop paying it; nor had it ever been enough to kill Summervale and Young, for the grotesque egotism, cruelty, and utterly corrupt, amoral privilege they represented was untouched. The recording of High Ridge's and yet another North Hollow's casual enjoyment of plans to blot away ships, rating and officers, 'cats, and innocents, so shocking a revelation to so many, had to her been as utterly familiar as the besmirching gaze raking her body years ago, seeing only a desirable toy to use and discard. And Descroix and New Kiev, if smaller fry in every way, lungers for offal in High Ridge's wake, had had the same purity of self-interest and contempt for all but themselves. Abstractly she could pity their stunted lives of self-indulgence and utter blindness, inculcated with such crippling values and beliefs by elders as small-souled and morally defective as they had themselves in turn become; but they had had every opportunity as adults to learn better and never even dreamed of trying to do so. Nimitz's satisfaction was richly in her mind, and in this moment she thought she could sense Samantha too, communing with him; her own relief was not, despite everything, merely at the deaths of inveterate enemies, but in inflicting, at last, a blow that did not strike at one arrogant body, one hydra-head, but at what had lain behind it. Even in the fighting seconds when she'd struck at Pavel Young's incompetent attack, calculating damage done, she'd known it could do no good, however necessary in the moment; but this — this at long, long last struck through its representatives at what created them.

She was half-aware of Elizabeth and others preparing to withdraw and waiting for her as she stared at slumped forms. After a moment Nimitz nudged her, and after bowing her head she turned to join them. And that was the image Manticore remembered, even more than bodies at which most could not steadily look: a sharp, beautiful face with almond eyes in which for a frozen moment there had been infinite pity and no mercy at all; a treecat's head on either side, just as still, green eyes as unmoved by necessity of death as brown ones; about all the same serene and absolute menace Burdette saw before he died, encapsulated in acknowledgement of the God she honoured as she turned from the final carnage she more than anyone had wrought.

---

Sphinx was in every way a blessed relief. The season was early autumn, air crisp and fresh without winter cold, and the sun shone benignly on Copperwalls, picketwood, and Tannerman Ocean alike, its familiar attenuated shade an ease to Honor's eye after its constant brightness in Landing. Nimitz and Sam were also delighted, and word had clearly passed because Honor had barely disembarked with her parents and guests when a wave of Bright Water Clan 'cats flowed from the forest with a cacophony of bleeking to surround Farragut, Nimitz, and Sam. Honor had come to like Walter Imbesi considerably, sensing the strong codes that chanelled and restrained ruthlessness, and admired Tom Theisman far more than he realised, so she kept her amusement from her voice despite the looks on their faces.

"There's no problem, just a very furry welcome home, and some congratulations, I expect. The Clans have HD and coms now, and Landing 'cats report by Sign, but it's thin data for a 'cat and they'll be wanting Sam's reports." 'Cats were gathering in intent circles. "As a Memory Singer she can give them the equivalent of full-immersion holo, so they'll be at it awhile. And most of the wild 'cats will probably stay outside, but some will have a good look round. Just nod politely, and if any start signing, crossed hands, palms down, tells them you need a translator."

Theisman was staring, bracing himself against the heavy gravity. "I thought wild 'cats were reclusive."

"They are, mostly, though things are changing. But the Bright Water Clan's always been … what? a bit avant-garde, I suppose. They made first contact, and supplied the Grayson cats, except Sam, who's an adopted member through Nimitz. And they've always been a bit fixated on the house, which has been shut up for a while, so there are more than usual."

A lot more, in fact — more than she'd seen together since visiting the Clan with Nimitz as a child, and she'd bet their conversation was as much political as gossipy; but just now even their politics could wait. That wasn't so easy, for an astonishing number did follow Sam, Nimitz, and Farragut inside, bleeking curiosity and examining new two legs with intensity. Many offered true hands, but after a bleek from Sam also took to offering Theisman a salute of sorts before doing so, and when Honor asked what was up she received a rapid barrage of sign.

"It's exactly what it seems, Tom. They like dead enemies, but prefer no enemies, and the decision to send a colony to Grayson was explicitly because they recognised the danger of war exceeding the Eridani Edict. So they approve of your mission strongly and Sam seems to have decided that as you don't yet read much sign a salute is the proper and easiest way of saying so. They don't expect it to be returned, but shaking hands amuses them."

He looked bemused. "Has it always been like this for you?"

"Not exactly. Before we could communicate it was very different. But 'cats have always been there for me, not just Nimitz. When I was 14 I sneaked off to the Clan homegrounds, happily supposing my parents didn't know when in fact they were having conniptions."

She'd been speaking quietly but her father's voice cut in from the kitchen.

"Very reasonable and elegant conniptions, I might add, considering."

"I'm sure they were, Daddy. I was never in the least danger."

Her mother materialised at her side, Faith over one shoulder. "You were 60 miles away playing with fire, dear, but we knew you would sooner or later and Nimitz knew perfectly well I'd have skinned him alive if he'd let anything happen to you."

Nimitz bleeked laughter across the room, signing rapidly, and a second later all 'cats were bleeking.

"They obviously remember it too. He probably had them on their best behaviour, not that I knew, brash child that I was."

"Not really, dear. Nor even fearless. Just determined to do whatever seemed right, however much it scared you."

"A quality clearly retained." Theisman shook his head. "Forgive me, it's just so very different from anything I've experienced. In a Dolist childhood in Nouveau Paris, a tree was a rare thing, a world of trees an HD fantasy. And I can't help thinking this is all a blazing clue to your extraordinary situational awareness that we sailed right past."

Honor grinned. "Some of that." Her grin faded. "But trees — that's something else. No system should settle for such an experience for its children. And that at least we can put right."

She'd already had Bay House valets serving Theisman and Imbesi report measurements, and the seriously engineered, comfort-in-the-Sphinxian-Crown-Reserve-in-autumn gear in which they appeared next morning, with surprised expressions, was everything they needed except pulse rifles, supplied, after a proper breakfast, from the substantial rack in the gunroom.

"The number of 'cats tagging along makes them superfluous. In clan numbers 'cats are a super-apex predator — even hexapumas and peak bears flee them. But it's a basic rule of life on Sphinx that you don't go into the Crown Reserve without adequate firepower."

Imbesi was unfazed by the weapon but still fingering clothing. "This outfit is a substantial gift, Honor. I know serious engineering and tailoring when I see it." His glance was acute. "A princely gift, in fact."

"I don't get much pleasure from being a billionaire, Walter. Allow me this, please. And if it helps to show I am one who honours the Deal, well, so would all proper behaviour. But we can talk as we go. Mornings in the picketwood aren't for wasting."

The SFS had without being asked (Andrew blandly informed her) closed a large area of the Crown Reserve and Copperwalls to all but very local traffic, citing Honorary Colonel Harrington's guests and need for secure privacy — an order no-one on Sphinx was prepared to challenge just now, whatever newsies wanted or offered. Honor was too happy with the results to do more than quirk an eyebrow, and the complete absence of machine noise as they entered the picketwood was a glorious pleasure. 'Cats flashed along branches at every angle, mostly gambolling, but with a serious perimeter of which she assured Andrew and Spenser, as out of their comfort zones as Thomas and Walter. Her father had declined, saying he had plans with Mac, but her mother had abandoned Faith and James to their nursemaid and Armsmen and was exerting herself to charm Walter, who understood her mode of chaste flirtation entirely, however it was beyond Honor. And Thomas was engaged with Miranda, discussing — dear Lord — contacts they had had with Ballroom Dancers and the practical question she'd asked Theo Harper to ask President Pritchart, so she was free to savour walking through the world that even before Saganami Island got hold of her had shaped her understanding of what was meant by a threat environment. The dimmest hexapuma would be miles away, but limited visibility and dense awareness of life teeming around them, enhanced by Nimitz, made for a thrilled alertness that had her without conscious thought treading silently; not prey but predator; not one who entered the jungle in fearful flight, hoping not to die, but one who walked there openly unless and until she might desire to kill. When they stopped where a forest brook babbled over a small landslip to eat Mac's luxury idea of trail-rations, Theisman remarked on it.

"You are truly at home here, Honor. Even more than in space, and far more than in Landing."

"Here and Grayson. The Steading's sunk deep too. Had to. But Sphinx is my uttermost home, yes."

"To me it is astonishing, wholly alien and absorbing. Beautiful and frightening. Though I could do without the gravity. We had no access to heavy-world mods, so nothing we've settled is above about 1.1 standard."

She grinned. "Oddly, Stinker agrees. He thinks counter-grav is the best thing two legs have, besides celery. He endures it when I hike the gym to 1.3 but much prefers it at 0.5, and that does make for fantastic games of frisbee."

"Games of what?"

"Aerodynamic plastic disk to throw and catch. I'll dig one out when we get back — with so many cats around we could have an excellent game."

"I'll look forward to it. You work out at 1.3?"

"Every day I can. I'd be in trouble otherwise. Just as the metabolism demands food, muscles demand use. And it gives me an edge in any lesser grav that can come in handy."

"So I've seen."

She considered him. "Grayson recordings made it to Haven, then?"

"Oh yes."

"I thought PubIn would have suppressed them."

"No. They tried to spin your and Nimitz's defence of Benjamin as evidence for their trumped-up charges, but no-one much believed them and everyone was goggling. By the time the Burdette scene showed up they'd started the double-track of vilifying you while vilifying your Manticoran and Grayson enemies more, so that came out too." He considered her back. "You do realise you were a heroine to many in Haven before Hades? Let alone after. I can't say you're quite as popular as on Manticore or Grayson, but when the most recent recordings hit you won't be far off."

Embarrassed, she looked away. "Won't I? How odd. Is it of any help to you and President Pritchart?"

"Quite a lot, I'd imagine, once we get over the Giancola mess and focus on negotiations and treaty. I'm sorry — I didn't mean to embarrass you, but I meant what I said that day about your having slain the PRH. And many know it. It's complicated, because they're ashamed, as I am, of what the PRH did and tried to do to you, but the net result is a defiant respect that gives you a lot of authority. I mention it because if we get as far as joint planning against Mesa, your command is one my people would find easier to accept than anyone else's."

"Noted. However strangely. But we've a way to go before anything like that."

The thought stayed with her, tucked away with other aspects of her forward planning for what might unfold, but the beauty of the forest was living utterly in the moment. She had to be mindful of the effects of higher gravity, though, and steered a circle so that by the time Tom and Walter were really beginning to feel it they were only a few hundred yards from the house. Re-emerging abruptly into its cleared zone both blinked, and Imbesi shook his head.

"I had no idea we were anywhere near. And you haven't been using positioning equipment. How do you navigate in there? You can't even see the sun most of the time."

"I know the ground for some way round, Walter, and Stinker always knows where he is."

Nimitz also knew where frisbees were, and in moments scores of 'cats were involved in a multi-sided game with four frisbees whipping through the air and being triumphantly snatched from it. Wanting a more serious work-out than the walk she played hard for half-an-hour, but against 'cats height was her only advantage, and the swerve they could impart with claw-tips made gaining any frisbee a genuine challenge. When a bleeking Nimitz used her shoulder, gained from behind, as a launching-pad to snatch one that had swerved high from her closing fingers and raced away, she conceded defeat.

"Now you know why I call him Stinker." She mopped her face with a towel Miranda offered. "He gets plenty of practice, one-on-one in low-g, and almost always beats me. But as you see, they're all naturals."

Imbesi chuckled. "Fastest game of anything I've seen in years."

"There's a nascent professional league on Grayson. Benjamin frequently threatens to outlaw frisbees altogether. But I can see Daddy's fired up the grill, so I'd best get clean and decent."

By the time she was, her mother had put Faith and James to bed, and attractive savoury odours were rising, while a serious 'cat audience contemplated with anxiety the quantities of meat cooking and the numbers present. Her father merely looked at them with mock-sorrow, and as it transpired Mac had turned what seemed to be an entire warren into rabbit-and-celery stew, two legs were able to eat sausages, steaks, and succulent kebabs in peace, all served with fresh bread and a salad made of something the cooks swore was called cracked wheat with all manner of good things mixed in. It would have been delicious anywhere, and spiced with a sauce of genuinely earned hunger was doubly so. Honor was munching her way through a wonderful apple-flavoured sausage loaded into French bread with many trimmings, and contemplating the developing heap of sated 'cats, when her father dropped into the seat beside her, filled her wine glass, and raised his own.

"I haven't had a chance to say a proper thank you, my dear."

"For?"

"Many things. For being you, and for relieving 40 years of growing rage and shame at the infection that's been passing as our upper house since before you were born. I've always known it, but the way they treated you made it personal. And for helping Ally and me get over our willingness to hate all Havenites for what a very few did. Tried to do." He held up a hand bearing a kebab as she blushed. "I know it makes you squirm, but I need to say it. You know we're very proud of you. Bursting with it. But that speech you gave in the Lords … well, it was something else, beyond pride. We didn't call you Honor wrongly. And I know you hated it, and all you had to do to get there, as I know it was necessary."

"Yes." Honor was past squirming. "I was thinking, in Parliament Square, of how ultimately useless my violence in that shower-room was. I know I should have gone to law then, and if I had Paul would be alive. But it wouldn't have changed anything else, and this did, I hope. Believe. So maybe it all won something we need, in the end."

"Yes, it did. And he would be proud, too. As well as cross and upset that you still mourn him so."

"I know, Daddy. But I can't do anything about that. Come peace, maybe."

"Let's hope."

The conversation left her vaguely uneasy, a sense exacerbated by a memo from Miranda she found before going to bed, informing her that a clip of her from Parliament Square had been the most watched item system-wide two days running, and the HD company that nominally owned it had sent an urgent request for talks about licensing. Aborting indignant refusal, she considered the clip for a moment, shuddered, and composed a reply to Miranda saying she'd agree if Nimitz and Sam consented, and all her profits and at least half the HD company's were donated to the SFS. But the image chased her into dreams in which a legion of that absurd statue on Grayson gathered round her, radiating nobility she could never match and throwing vast bronze frisbees that swarming 'cats easily caught and she never could, for even to try would crush her.

Neither Imbesi nor Theisman had ever been hang-gliding, and the Copperwalls was no place for beginners, but both were curious to see what dancing on clouds consisted of, so as well as the aircar with her poor Armsmen there was a second vehicle shadowing her as she demonstrated. She had long since had a double harness made so that Sam as well as Nimitz could ride with her, presences at each ear, and this time, in the wild excitement of swooping down to skim cumulus towers before powerful updrafts plucked them skywards, her connection with Sam tightened. She could hear Nimitz, and he could hear Sam, but in this intensity the third side cracked open, and she could feel a double presence in her mind, reading and responding to minute shifts of weight as the updraft clawed at the delta wing; the connection remained as it spewed them out, a pleased and surprised Sam working to refine and lock it down, and giving Honor a few blazing moments of understanding of what it was to be a Memory Singer called Golden Voice. With a warning to Andrew over her throat-mike she used the height gained to sweep out over the Tannerman Ocean in a great, slow circle that gave her time to work at it from her own end, fixing the 'wavelength' in memory and receiving vivid images of Harold Tschu and growing treekittens on Grayson as they swooped over water at first basalt-grey streaked with blue and, as the sun declined, gleaming with refracted reds before glittering into fire. With dusk drawing down she headed back, and there was a glorious moment when an inquistive condor-owl, out and about its business rather early, came to investigate the strange thing sharing its sky before the trailing aircar could intervene. At both 'cats' rippling snarls it veered away with a look of absolute astonishment on its face, and she had to control laughter. Mac had landing lights on as she brought the 'glider down, trotting to a neat halt; both 'cats nuzzled her neck in approving thanks, and there was applause as she snapped releases and collapsed the delta wing.

"Superb, Honor. Truly." Tom came forward as Mac and Miranda materialised, between them taking the 'glider, and the aircar came down behind her. "Learning to fly one of those is now top of my personal peace dividend. No wonder treecats call you Dances on Clouds. But you have another unexpected guest."

"Oh?" She glanced at Mac and Miranda. "Who's turned up now?"

"President Ramirez, Ma'am, with an escort from the Queen's Flight."

"Jesus? Whatever does he want?"

"He wouldn't say, Ma'am. Your parents and Mr Imbesi are entertaining him."

"Are they? Well, well."

Andrew and Spenser came up, Andrew's face a study.

"What was that thing that took a pass at you, Ma'am?"

"A very surprised condor-owl, Andrew, that is now trying to work out how it was menaced by treecats at several hundred metres." Nimitz and Sam leaped to her shoulders, bleeking laughter. "I must download the image. The look on its face was priceless. But it seems Jesus Ramirez has turned up."

"So I was told, Ma'am. I would have informed you but your earbug seemed to be turned off."

"Distractions are dangerous when you're 'gliding, Andrew, as you know perfectly well. But I'd best get changed if I've already kept Jesus waiting."

The President of San Martin was no smaller than he had ever been, and after handing off a protesting Faith, much taken with the sheer expanse of his lap, to her mother, he enfolded Honor in an unexpected bearhug of stifling proportions.

"Oof! Jesus, put me down. What's that for?"

He regarded her at arm's length. "For once again most satisfactorily thwapping bad guys in our way into oblivion. For the defence of both our nations as they join together. For the two best and most telling political speeches I've ever heard in my life. Need I go on?"

"Not in the least, but I have a sinking feeling you're going to anyway."

"Alas, yes. I got the hug in first, Honor, because I'm afraid your chief impulse when I tell you why I'm here is going to be to shoot me. And I'm sorry to invade your retreat — God knows you need time away from Landing, which is as insane as ever — but we need you, once more."

"You do?" She took a seat and was handed a glass of wine by Mac before he did the rounds, refilling others. "Why so?"

"Well, after the election next week San Martino members will be seated in the Commons, and our peers in the Lords. Where they will be welcomed by a more congenial and thoughtful chamber than anyone expected, but still find themselves at an unfortunate disadvantage."

"Oh?"

"Peculiar rules of precedence apply to the peerages of each planet."

Honor considered him. There were very many such rules, and even with Cromarty driving them the negotiations settling how a republican planet would be represented in the Lords had become byzantine. The new San Martino peerage — duque, marqués, conde, señor — comprised individuals elected for life (or until resignation) who were then ennobled by Her Majesty and the Commons, but without any grant of land or resources, and it was true that many hereditary peers did not think a Manticoran duke and a San Martino duque were remotely the same thing. And there was a raft of ancient protocols deriving from the sequential settlement of Manticore, Sphinx, and Gryphon, overlaid with additions and revisions from the annexation of Basilisk, though the Queen and Estelle Matsuko were still that system's only peers.

"Which particular rules would those be, Jesus?"

"There are a lot, aren't there? The ones of concern, Honor, are those that apply because San Martin is not a planetary duchy, which are being used by some to contend that a San Martinan duque comes below a Gryphonese baron."

"Are they? Mmm." She did some swift political maths. "I'd imagine the new administration's majority will be able to sustain an amendment to those regs. Making then-Crown-Princess Elizabeth Grand Duchess of Basilisk left them making precious little sense anyway. It's just that amending them hasn't been anyone's priority, until now."

"So Her Majesty observed. But she cannot assure me that any such amendment will happen soon, as it would provoke resentment from a severely bruised House and distract her administration from duties which are certainly far more urgent. And there is a simpler solution."

"Which is?"

"To make San Martin a planetary duchy."

"I suppose. But who — " She looked at him with dawning horror. "You're joking?"

"Not in the least. It's a very sensible solution, and with my legislature's approval I asked Her Majesty if she would be willing in principle to create you as Grand Duchess of San Martin." He beamed at her aghast stare. "I believe she said yes faster than I've ever had a question answered."

Honor just bet she had. "Jesus, it's absurd. Quite aside from the practicalities — and I couldn't give another job the time it needs and deserves — there's a far stronger candidate, which is you. San Martin might not have the title but it has the Ramirez family."

He held up a hand the size of a plate. "Much as it embarrasses me to say so, that was considered, Honor. Very carefully. And it would have certain advantages. But we have decided on a different course, because it is much more advantageous for the San Martinan Presidency to remain outside the Manticoran Lords, subject directly to the Crown. If you remember, that was written into the Act of Annexation for sound reasons, and giving me Manticoran nobility would complicate it horribly. The same consideration applies to those who might reasonably hope to succeed me some day. And it must of course be someone we can all agree on, which makes for a very restricted short-list, San Martinos being as they are. A short-list of one, in fact. The practicalities need be no more than minimal until and unless you have more time. There would certainly be a grant, unique to the planetary duchy, of one mountain-top and some asteroid belt, but very little to be done and all of it delegatable, however welcome your presence whenever you can manage it. And the political advantages for us are considerable. Besides all of which, you are already our champion, even as you are Protector Benjamin's. And I don't mean just because of Hades, though there is always that. When the recordings of the last day of the trial hit … well, the mountains roared. Some of us had suspected High Ridge really did want us to be reconquered by Haven before we could accede, even if it meant losing the Trevor's Star Terminus, but seeing you nail him for it, in that way, with that result — that was a bolt from the blue. So this" — he produced a fat, sealed letter — "is our formal request, made in my name as president but with unanimous consent of Senate and Lower House, that you accept the rank and status of Grand Duchess of San Martin."

She had to take it, and could feel everyone's surprised pride and satisfaction as well as Nimitz's and Sam's uncertainty at her own concealed — she hoped — distress.

"I have to think, Jesus. Excuse me, please."

But neither the dark eaves of the forest nor moonlight on the glasshouses had any answers or means of escape, though Andrew for once kept a wary distance, concern blending in his mind with strong approval. He probably thought she should be Grand Duchess of pretty much everywhere, but he more than anyone except her parents knew how uncomfortable she remained with the mystical fictions of both her Grayson and Manticoran ranks. Observing their protocols was no harder than observing military rank, but to the yeoman's daughter within all the accreted nonsense, and the naval officer as which she'd begun, the legal metaphysics of aristocracy were absurd, wilful obfuscation of unearned privilege. And yet they had their uses and strangely beneficial consequences as well as malign ones: she could not have done what she had for the freed, nor created Sky Domes, nor brought justice finally home to Burdette or High Ridge without them. And they could merge seamlessly with the mystique of command she'd once observed with ambitious desire and had for so long lived as a simple reality.

Stinker interrupted her pacing with a plaintive bleek, and she sat with him and Sam at a garden table while she tried to explain the roiling mix of disbelief, worry, embarrassment, and exasperation possessing her. He understood some of it, and had long accepted her odd feelings about some things as just how she was, but didn't really see the problem.

If it is a job you do not want, tell them so. But you are already an elder here and on the Far World, and you can only be in one place at one time. Why is another such a problem?

"More responsibility, more demands, no more time."

You have others to help. And now the fighting has stopped you will have more time. Is it any different from Golden Voice and I having another litter? It is almost time for that. And we will need more help, for no-one can watch a 'kitten all the time, and our first litter will need to come here and to see the other worlds. But should we then not have another litter? Life goes on. And now it has brought you this. You like the very big two legs, and they like you. Say no if you must, but I do not understand why you are upset because they ask.

"It just doesn't feel right. It's like, I don't know, suddenly saying you're an elder of the Fire Runs Fast Clan as well as the Bright Water Clan. You like them well enough, and you know Ariel and some others, but it's not your clan."

He shrugged. I am an elder of the Bright Water Clan, Landing Clan, and Far World Clan. If we send People to your land on the Near World I will be an elder of that clan too. It is a new thing, but makes sense.

"You want to found a colony on Gryphon?"

Many like the sound of its quick seasons more than the domes and bad air of the Far World. We are still talking, but it will happen soon, I think.

"Glory."

But the Gryphon Highland Service was not unlike the SFS in its make-up and nature, and with some cross-transfers for mutual training that could probably be managed. Glentormin would play ball, and even Gravendale might. And Stinker wasn't wrong about San Martin either, in his way — it did make sense of a sort, if you were Jesus Ramirez. Or Queen Elizabeth. But still. Her parents found her with her feet drawn up under her skirts, contemplating the blazing progress of Manticore-B across the night sky.

"A dollar for them, dear?"

"I was wondering how long it took Beth to dream this one up."

They exchanged a long glance.

"You don't believe President Ramirez did?"

"Not a chance. There is a problem, but it isn't urgent by any stretch, and this is a wildly extravagant solution that reeks of Beth diving gleefully into her wretched toybox. So does the mousetrapping. Of course Jesus couldn't properly ask without the consents of Senate and Lower House, but now he has them it's impossible to refuse."

"And that's bad?"

"Only for me. Yet another responsibility the size of a planet and its population. More tearing back and forth. And if I do anything like the duty demanded, another source of wealth and misplaced adulation."

"Wealth?"

"Oh yes. Their population limits and being conquered when they were means lots of their very rich asteroid belt hasn't been touched, though the old Republic made a start. One thing Jesus wants but isn't saying is a bigger Sky Domes and Hauptman Cartel building yard. Preferably naval, and for capital ships. It would happen anyway, but building here is the priority, not starting from close to scratch there, and this will cut a chunk off their waiting-time. Another is Sky Domes tech to make expansion down their mountains by a thousand metres or so viable, with old Grayson breather tech or tunnels for contact and transit. Which would also be available anyway, and will also be accelerated considerably. It's a shrewd move in all sorts of ways."

Another long glance, that ended with her father speaking.

"Forgive me, my dear, but the very fact you have already thought of all those things expands our understanding of why President Ramirez is so very serious about it. And of his mood. He does know it is an unwelcome offer, however odd that seems, and has been quite apologetic, but also knows his people are best served thereby. I'd thought that emotional, which didn't seem enough, but clearly it's economic and political too. Naval also, from what you say. Look at me?" She did. "I know you have always felt uncomfortable with nobility, since it was thrust upon you, and that my own yeoman stock, traditions, and beliefs are a large part of that, with Ally's Beowulfan disregard for Star Kingdom ways. But I have never seen the slightest sign that any of the honours you have earned, immense as they are, has in any way lessened or smirched what you are. Changed, yes. Necessarily. And I have seen a great many signs that you have changed the nobilities to which you belong, on Grayson and now here, which I did not believe possible without a revolution. And one more thing. I know you wanted always, and still want, to be the best naval officer you can be, and would in some ways like to be nothing more. But you know full well high command is and must be political, whatever else it might be. What you also know but seem to hate admitting is that your skill and talent in command is also a political skill. So I would suggest you consider you have received an Admiralty letter requesting Admiral Harrington, alphabet soup, to keep a close eye on the newly commissioned HMS San Martin during her maiden voyage."

Honor stared. "Sneaky. And not bad at all. Et tu, Brute?"

"Say rather, There is a tide in — "

She held up a hand. "Yes, I know that one too, Daddy. Alfredo's fond of it when he's trying to Salamanalyse, which is a pastime in the Own. And I'm being horrible. I'm sorry. It's just that people keep demanding I be something else, more. I'm getting very tired of it."

There was a long silence.

"What does Nimitz say, dear?"

"That he's already an elder of three clans, and make that four when the 'cats send a colony to the Duchy on Gryphon. And won't that be fun? How long before I'm forced to duel some Gryphon dinosaur who's shot a 'cat he claims was on his land and looked like a Kodiak Max?" Nimitz bleeked enquiry and she half-glared at him. "You've sensed them often enough, Stinker. And your first order as an elder of the Near Planet Clan, as and whenever, is going to be 'Don't cross the boundaries without a GHS Ranger right beside you."

So there are Death Fangs to avoid there also.

"You bet there are. Two-leg ones. And the real Kodiak Maxes."

Tell me something new. Living is always a risk.

Honor threw up her hands. "You see? Treecats rush in where angels fear to tread. And they're not even wrong."

There was another silence while her parents digested the idea of a treecat clan on Gryphon.

"So what are you going to do, dear?"

"Accept, of necessity, much as I really don't want to. The folderol will be a nightmare. I'm just wondering what conditions to attach."

"For President Ramirez?"

"No, for Beth."

Both her parents sat bolt upright in shock.

"My dear, you can't — " "Honor, you can't — "

"Watch me. Beth needs some accountability too. If she's going to dump coals on my head I'm dumping some back. Or at least getting a promise or two."

Her mother frowned. "What sort of promise?"

"Keeping her toybox shut for starters. This is the third time she's mousetrapped me with it, four counting the PMV, and enough's enough. But it's just a symptom, and she needs to stop letting guilt drive her thinking. Because that's what this is more than half about, whatever other scheming got worked in, and while it might make her feel better it doesn't help."

Her parents knew she'd become close to the Queen over the last two years but they hadn't been on Manticore to see it, and didn't know quite what to think about it even without the strange strains the last few months had put on the dynamics of the friendship.

"I'm sorry, it's not easy to explain. Beth is carrying a lot of rage and shame from as far back as Young's court martial and what followed. And she's right that although there was nothing she could do there should have been something. Now I've simultaneously given her that something, of which she'd despaired, in spades, and managed her into having to swallow a lifetime's hatred of Peeps and shake hands with Tom. And on top of all that there's everything she has to be carrying about her father's death, and feels about what happened at Yeltsin's Star, when I chose to protect her and Benjamin and as a result Cromarty and her uncle and cousin died. The net result is, well, I called it punitive generosity last time we had a row about it. "

"A row?" Her mother's voice was faint, and Honor found some of her temper falling away.

"Mike called it a shouting match, which is about right." She grinned. "Nimitz won, by telling us both off. But the argument was shelved, not resolved, and I thought she'd contented herself with ostentatious public thanks and that wholly irregular bow in the Lords. But obviously not, and she really does need to work it through with someone besides Justin because acting out like this just isn't on."

Her father stared and shook his head, an odd smile lighting his face. "Only you could think you're being offered a Grand Duchy because Her Majesty is acting out, my dear. But I take your point. I've wondered about her survivor's guilt since the assassinations, because it must be ferocious. And while the Navy would understand how to deal with it, Mount Royal might well not. Quite how one tells Her Majesty she needs counselling is beyond my stars, but if you're really going to try you might suggest an RMN psychotherapist rather than a civilian."

"Now that's a thought. They'd have security clearance, too."

"And what about you, Honor? How much rage and shame are you still carrying? Alfred told me what you said to him yesterday."

"My share, Mama, and more. But I have seen counsellors, several over the years, besides all the post-trauma people. And I know exactly what I feel and what I do with it, which I'm not sure Beth always does." She shrugged. "But I'm dealing with having been stupid and cowardly once, when in some ways I really didn't know better, and combat experience changes things, for better as well as worse. Beth doesn't have that but is dealing with multiple bereavements all the same, and the paradox of being always ultimately responsible and almost never in command, and all that's produced down the years. Her line about my having more powers as a Steadholder than she does as Queen is part of it. I'd hoped using Clause 127 and the decreation powers would help her with that, but because they were my suggestions they've compounded how she feels about me. And I didn't tell her all sorts of things until I could trap High Ridge, which also mousetrapped her. Which didn't help one bit."

"And how are you with that?"

"Sorry but untroubled. Once I'd decided stopping High Ridge was more important than anything, the rest was imperative tactics, including not letting my temper or Beth's blow it by acting too soon. So I did what I had to as legally as I could, which wasn't very, but Andrew's carrying most of that for me, bless him. Howard and Alfredo too, I expect. And Mr Hawkwing, seemingly, among what must be many others. Now, putting it on their consciences troubles me, quite deeply sometimes, but I said volunteers only and they will have been, humbling as that is. So I can live with it. But Beth was press-ganged at birth, and you could say I press-ganged her some more, which is why this is also a form of payback disguised as reward. Oh well. Time to face the music, I suppose."

Unsurprisingly, Elizabeth wasn't amused by the condition, but Honor had made sure Justin was with her and left them to an emotional conversation. Jesus Ramirez, perceiving something of just how much she didn't want to accept, was genuinely apologetic though pleased for San Martin; and wouldn't stay despite the hour, saying the San Martino peers already in Landing would be waiting up for him however late he got back. Dinner was subdued despite formal congratulations from Theisman and Imbesi, the pleasure and approval in Mac's mind, and the pride others felt; but she regained some equilibrium and the joy of the day when she downloaded the image of the condor-owl, every bit as funny as she remembered, and sent it with a brief, dryly worded explanation to the SFS Bulletin. There was a swift and warmly appreciative reply from the laughing editor, who didn't want to lavish unseemly praise on her but only say that several hang-gliders had of late had twilight encounters with condor-owls, whose numbers were rising in a natural cycle, and she'd let it be known recorded treecat snarls were a useful deterrent.

§

A day on water also helped. As it happened both Tom and Walter did sail, Tom having been taught at the old PN academy and Walter having a beach house somewhere on Erewhon, so she took the larger of her boats and they crewed it together. The weather was perfect, with sun, good wind, and one brisk squall that posed no danger but with trimmed sails send them leaping out of its shadow with a flying turn of speed. The return run was more sedate, though with Andrew and Spenser dropping further away in the aircar a sphinx albatross deigned to keep them company for a while, drifting in graceful circles round their course. With land in sight again and a long reach needed, Walter settled from adjusting sail and considered her.

"Tell me to mind my own business if you like, Honor, but I didn't really understand your reaction yesterday. Do you truly not want the rewards to which you're plainly entitled?"

"Am I, Walter? It doesn't feel like it. Naval rank I understand, but to me noble rank is mostly pie in the sky."

Tom grinned. "Drop the mostly and that's a good Dolist opinion. But more seriously, Walter, I think I understand, a little, anyway. We don't have peerages, of course, but we have a medal system that was poisoned by politics under the Legislaturists and PRH, as well as financial awards for extraordinary service that were similarly abused, and if you think naval, which Honor does, accepting them now feels very dubious. It's not the same, and there were strange politics at play yesterday that I don't understand but I'm guessing had the same effect."

"More or less." Honor shrugged, mindful of the wheel she controlled. "I can't talk about it, and it's not a concern for either of you. But you could say it boils down to two things, which are that beyond a certain point you don't get awards because of what you've done so much as because people want to control whatever leverage it created; and that the balance sheets between Her Majesty and Her now-Grand Grace, and between Honor and Elizabeth, involve multi-D maths sufficient to make anyone tear her hair out."

They thought about it and Walter nodded. "That I can imagine. But if you'll both forgive me, the rule of law rather than honour that your systems promote can be very opaque. Erewhon's only one planet of course, and one lesson I shall take away from all this is to keep it that way, whatever the temptations. For all we started as criminals, and still are in many respects, besides being no kind of democracy, our ways seem cleaner to me. We have no titles to give. But we do recognise we owe Honor a large favour, wherever she's Her Grace of. Call it in how and when you need."

Though taken aback and wondering what a large Erewhonese favour might consist of, Honor also knew exactly what Walter meant. One made a promise and kept it; as one repaid one good turn with another. And honour above law, by God, yes: she'd known that since Casimir. Her acceptance of events was completed by yet another surprise, though not this time delivered in person. After their return Andrew had excused himself for a while, frowning, and returned before dinner with an odd look and matching mix of emotions, saying it wasn't urgent but he'd appreciate a moment when she had it. Nimitz, Sam, and Farragut were all regarding him with curiosity, and with several large slices of Mac's chocolate dessert cake a happy memory she followed him, 'cats in tow, to what had once been her father's study and still had its own com equipment.

"We've had another anonymous data-package, Ma'am. A message for you, but nothing that needs acting on — just a sort of thank-you, from one of our, ah, volunteers. The thing is that it wouldn't do for it to become public, though I can't say how many people might already know."

"Clear yet confusing, Andrew. A thank-you? For what?"

"Smiting the unrighteous would cover it, Ma'am."

Her mind clicked. "Ah. A message from the Ballroom?"

"Yes, Ma'am. From Jeremy X in person, I believe, though I hasten to add that I have never met him."

Honor raised her eyebrows. "So I should hope, Andrew, with Isaac Douglass as a perfectly good cut-out. Not to mention Miranda." He actually blushed and she felt remorseful for the tease. "Who clearly did a wonderful job. So what is this message?"

He handed her a data-wallet. "That's the only copy, ma'am. I've wiped everything at this end, and it was sent encrypted."

And for a miracle he actually left her to watch it alone, though he was doubtless outside the door. The scene that appeared was a target-range, grav-backstop maximally extended as it would be for amateurs or newbies, or when energy weapons were being used; and the man who leaped into view was an absurdity, dressed in an outfit from one of the old cowboy movies that on Grayson remained second in popularity only to samurai movies — hat, boots, those weird fringes, and a pair of huge guns holstered at narrow hips. He had luxuriant sideburns, a long goatee, and extended moustachios which he theatrically twirled after sweeping off his hat and bowing.

"I dedicate my poor efforts today to the utmost damnation of Manpower Unlimited, though with any luck they won't be that for much longer, and all pewling parasites; and to the glory of the one and only strictly honorary member of the Audubon Ballroom, Honor X, as unanimously voted by L'Ouverture."

The 'cats understood enough to share her laughter, and they all found the performance that followed fascinating. The cowboy carefully resettled his hat, and began to receive from someone outside the range of the pickup a stream of juggling cubes that he sent soaring in graceful arcs whose patterns became ever more complex. In the end he had twelve cubes in the rotation and his hands were blurring even on HD. For a long and brilliant moment it was maintained, loops steadily tightening, before one cube after another was tossed wildly high and as the last left his hand, well before the first landed, the guns leaped out. They were six-shot revolvers even older than her M-1911, and every bullet found its mark, exploding a cube into tatters and a rain of whatever they'd been packed with — some kind of grain, by the look of it. As the thundering noise faded the pickup focused in on him, and with elaborately squinting eyes he raised each gun to his lips, blew away the smoke whisping from the barrels, and spun them through a ridiculous number of twirls that landed each squarely in its holster. Moustachios were re-twirled with satisfaction but the compelling grey eyes that met hers, utterly flat, were as absolute as the performance.

"Your Grace, our thanks are heartfelt. There were people — a lot of people — who cursed me for letting C–15a/43–2/5 live, and cursed me a lot more for guaranteeing her life. I imagine you had a certain ambivalence yourself, though I can promise you her existence is now austere with simple daily toil, no comms, and very limited space. But by Malcolm himself we are all repaid a thousand fold for that mercy, and gladly shower burning kisses on your feet or whatever else those poetic P-lines can dream up. Not that there's any clearer proof than most of them of just how fraudulent as well as intolerable most of Manpower's claims about their products are. And besides all that, word reaches us of the most interesting practical question you have asked of who knows how many star nations? but certainly Manticore, Grayson, Beowulf, Haven, and the Anderman Empire." A much slower and more deliberate twirl. "None join the Ballroom because they hope for amnesty or anything but struggle. Yet I find myself its first leader ever to contemplate a genuine chance of routing Manpower at source, most comprehensively. So while I cannot and will not ever compromise a single Dancer under my command, I tell you now that if the prospects of an alliance against Mesa depend on securing detailed data we can provide to make military action feasible, tell Isaac, and I will come to you." Another twirl, followed by a shrug. "Whatever else you are, Your Grace — and isn't that a treat to consider? — you're a naval CO, so you'll appreciate that while my impulse to martyrdom is nil there are chances that demand to be taken. And I'm enough of a CO myself to know my limitations. I can document parasites from here to eternity, but have no strategy to obliterate Manpower from existence — which you, now, just might have. And if you do, with even a slim fighting chance, I would gladly die to shorten your odds, however much I'd rather not."

He gave another elaborate bow, hat swept to his chest.

"Just so you know, Honor X. If I believed in any God it might be that Tester of your Graysons. And even if the greater opportunity cannot be realised, you have our warmest gratitude and respect for results already filed." Those compelling eyes became even more complex. "I hope we can meet one day. And the Dancers from Casimir send fond remembrance."

The image blanked, and amid her boiling emotions Honor thought very hard for a while before rising to invite Andrew in with a crooked finger.

"I appreciate your discretion, Andrew, but I want you to make five copies of that and send them by hand to His Grace, Her Majesty, Uncle Jacques, the Herzog von Rabenstange, and Admiral Theisman. Controlled, widening pool, yes?"

"Certainly, Ma'am." He hesitated. "I would be inclined to assume Captain Zilwicki and Ms Montaigne are aware."

"Me too. And if a copy of the shooting performance hasn't gone to someone in the Steading, I'd be very surprised. But I'm less sure about the message. Opinion?"

"Mmm. I'd suspect not, Ma'am. Why provoke a certain dispute when one has decided on a course of action regardless?"

She grinned at him in complete amity as the 'cats bleeked laughter. "Indeed. But what I really want to know is what the 'cats decide to call him, if they ever get the chance."

§

The last days of the election campaigns, such as they were, remained punctuated by verdicts and sentences. Houseman was shot, the court martial finding that while he had had no knowledge of the Manpower agents, he had made no attempt whatever to identify or check the people to whom he had tried to hand over critical tech; live data left on HMS Reveille's computers also stuck in the court's craw. Roberts also received no mercy, but Jurgenson, convicted of gross dereliction, was over some opposition deemed more idiot than traitor and received a long custodial sentence with a dishonourable discharge waiting at the end of it. Jurgens and Lemaitre were allowed their lives on the same terms: had they corruptly imposed a capital sentence on an innocent they would have died for it, but corruptly refusing to impose one was more complicated and the court settled for the lesser penalty. But the officers shown by the North Hollow files to have been corrupted by blackmail following commission of capital crimes found the civilian penalties upheld. More difficult was the skeleton crew Roberts had used, who should properly have refused his orders, but hadn't, and after some humming and hawing, not least about the urgent need for trained personnel, the two junior officers were cashiered and with everyone else sentenced to a little more than time already served.

Of the various Cartel directors involved, those who had definitely known what was happening received five-year terms from a very unamused court, while others were convicted of negligence and banned from holding directorships, and the cartels themelves handed swingeing fines. Civil servants who had participated in or failed to report peculation also did badly, joining junior ministers, party officials, and a few financiers who could be proven to have known that deposits passing through their hands were embezzled, as long-term guests of Her Majesty's government. And juries had a field day with the yellow press, convicting with enthusiasm and recommending maximal sentences for individuals, fines for companies, and damages for victims — which compounded an already very interesting situation.

North Hollow's estate alone was liable for damages arising from the explosion of his lightflyer, including claims lodged by families of the dead and injured, the Docks and Marina Boards, boat owners, Royal Animal and Bird Rescue, and Honor herself — a claim she had limited to one new laser-cluster, four new generators, the old ones having been so stressed that Andrew insisted on complete replacement (and some upgrading), and the costs of the emergency response. But the estates of Janvier and Descroix were also liable in many libel, slander, and defamation suits, including Honor's — and those claims she had cheerfully let Clarise set at an astronomical level. Turner having been aware of at least some fabrications, and used them in speeches outside the House, the New Kiev estate was also liable. The money they had variously stolen had been largely recovered, so what remained of those estates was primarily property — stocks, shares, land, and large houses with hedonistic contents in prime locations where real estate came onto the market seldom to never. The total realisable value was extremely large but how should such realisation be handled? It would have been a nice question in any case, and there was the further consideration that as in every case except Descroix it had all arisen from the original riches of grants of nobility, all now belonged to Her Majesty, having reverted in an instant to the Crown Reserve.

The lawyers were drooling and rubbing hands when Her Majesty, still in bullish constitutional mood, decided on prophylactic autocracy and, having consulted Honor, once again took to system-wide HD, observing that such a substantial financial uncertainty should not hang over her subjects when they voted on the morrow. The claims arising from bereavement and physical injury other than lightburn would be settled forthwith in full, as would those for repairs at Docks and Marina, and the RABR's expenses. Costs of treatment for serious lightburn would also be met, but those who had suffered only temporary loss of sight without lasting damage had claims dismissed. They were of course free to challenge Her Majesty in the courts, but she took the view that the law was not concerned with trifles; while those newsies who had actually been at the Bay House and filed claims were told with a curling lip that what happened in an embassy was no business of the Manticoran courts, and they could pursue their claims on Grayson, if they were really that foolish. Any claim by a boat-owner found to be uninflated would be met, with due allowance for time and trouble incurred, but any found to be inflated would be dismissed and could not be resubmitted, while lawyers who had signed off on and presented inflated claims would be subject to professional inquiry. And as the laser-cluster and generators in question were manufactured for the RMN, the First Lord was hereby directed by his C-in-C to supply them to the Bay House free of charge, any crimp in his budget being deemed a fine for his predecessor's criminal supply of explosives to a civilian.

Which left various awards for attempted murder, malicious libel and slander, conspiracy to defame, vilification, contumely, harrassment, and invasion of privacy, and here Her Majesty drew a distinction between those to Sky Domes and Her Grace of Harrington, which accounted for just over three-quarters of the liability, and everything else. Saving some artworks Her Majesty reserved to the royal collection, of which a list would be published, the goods, chattels, and effects of the former North Hollow, New Kiev, and High Ridge estates would be sold, those with scarcity value of whatever kind over time and advantageously, and the income stream generated would pay the everything else claims until one or other were exhausted; should any profits remain to the Crown, they would go to the RMN budget, but any shortfall in damages would be only partially covered — it having always been the case that what someone didn't have they couldn't pay, and the partially being because the Crown would not be selling the various country estates but rather reserving them as future grants whenever new peers might be created. In the case of Sky Domes and Her Grace of Harrington, however, there was no prospect of being able to pay the whole sum variously awarded, even if everything were liquidated, so Her Majesty had made Her Grace an offer Her Grace had been kind enough to accept, and title to the Landing properties of all those estates was hereby transferred to Her Grace in final settlement, with thanks for her forbearance.

Honor's brief statement followed. She didn't need more property, but the point was symbolic and she had had no difficulty in making dispositions. Sky Domes having an ever enlarging presence and turnover in the Star Kingdom, the former Countess New Kiev's palatial town-house would serve it very well as a social headquarters. The ASL was also in need of more space, and as interdiction efforts against Manpower were already stepping up, a rise in the number of freed needing help and accommodation must be anticipated, so the former Baron High Ridge's roomy residence would be adminstered by them as a hostel and centre for such people. It was to be hoped, and expected, that the Republic of Haven would soon be re-establishing an embassy to the Court of Her Majesty, and as their original site, locked-up for years, had been illegally but irrecoverably sold off by the late administration, the fine townhouse once belonging to Lady Descroix would save the new ambassador and the present administration ever so much time and trouble. And the staggeringly large, well-wooded, and luxurious tract of the primest city land once belonging to the former Earl North Hollow would serve a dual purpose, as the embassy and wood-garden of the Treecat Clans of Sphinx, and the site of a memorial to all who had died in the Havenite wars, in any uniform. Suggestions for the form such a memorial in that space might take were invited, and conversion work would begin immediately so the Landing Clan currently being housed and fed at Mount Royal could move in; a staff was therefore sought, and those interested should contact Dr Arif's Commission. And if Her Grace might say so, with justice thereby poetically served she agreed with Her Majesty it was time to consider a line drawn, and move on.

Honor hadn't intended it, but the effect of her statement was to turn the night before the election into a system-wide party. Given the basic fairness of the Queen's deal, and clear sense of priorities, everyone was pleased and amused anyway, except boat-owners who had greedily put it wildly inflated claims, and their tame lawyers; but Honor's sweeping and poetic justice brought real laughter, and a lot of people couldn't stop smiling. Cathy Montaigne half-deafened the shows she was on, and had to wipe tears from her eyes repeatedly, not least when she and the Sky Domes spokeswoman Honor had put up got into a tussle about which of their new properties should become Harrington House, the confusions that would result if both were, and (after a break for headlines during which Honor's private com shrilled) the amicable conclusion that Sky Domes HQ would be Harrington House and the ASL centre the Honor House. Klaus and Stacey were also seen grinning fit to burst — in Klaus's case as rare a sight as that condor-owl — and so were many others on HD. But it wasn't about the high and mighty, even those who had fallen; it was about ordinary people who'd had their world turned upside down and tossed high into the air feeling it had at last come down right-side up, and about an overworked sense of justice recovering its sense of humour. And as the workday ended they made their way by millions to restaurants, bars, and clubs, which did a roaring trade and vastly exceeded their licenses while various PDs let them get on with it.

Even if she could have done so without causing a riot, Honor had no urge to join any of them, but after some thought did com Mike's mother, who turned out to be watching HD alone, and soon after found herself, in simple Manticoran civvies, being shown into Katie's private study and for once facing no opposition from Andrew about leaving him at the door. Muting the HD, Katie rose.

"Honor. How are you? And Nimitz. No Sam?"

"We took a few days on Sphinx, and Sam's still there doing Memory Singer things."

"So I heard, and it's good to see you looking less tired. Do sit. Mike was very envious but is still catching up with all the shipboard things she neglected running around on Beth's behalf. She doesn't even have the excuse of having to vote tomorrow."

"No." Honor smiled, watching Nimitz sign greetings. "I still feel guilty not voting myself. It was always a solemn duty."

"Huh. I hadn't thought of it that way round, never having had the right myself. Still, I don't think most of the electorate are going to be that solemn tomorrow."

"No indeed. Hung over, more likely."

"Oh yes. But I've heard several people say they have every intention of staying up all night, voting as soon as polls open, and going home to sleep it off and wake up to results. I think that might prove a popular strategy. Are there any laws about having to be sober when you vote?"

"Not as far as I know, though you have to be orderly. And even if there are they wouldn't be enforceable."

"I don't suppose they would. But it's more marvellous timing on your and Beth's parts, Honor. Just perfect. And very healing."

"Not intentional, Katie. Poetic justice, surely, and it amused me. Nimitz too, as you can imagine." He bleeked agreement. "But I didn't expect to set off this sort of, what? Street party?"

"Carnival, I think. A celebration of justice rather than its grim observance."

"Mmm. That's what Miranda thought. And Tom Theisman. Walter Imbesi was laughing too much to give me any sensible opinion."

"They must be interesting house-guests."

"Just a bit. We've dug into history, and common ground as well as differences between our systems. Tom and I both find Erewhon hair-raising, actually. Within his own sphere Walter has powers very close to a Steadholder's, and the few constraints are about informal peer sanction rather than any law or right of appeal."

Caitrin whistled softly. "They must trust him absolutely."

"No oligarch there can even consider breaking a Deal, so far as I can tell. But it's an odd place all round. And the analysis they've provided of the documents those Manpower techs had is formidable, so it would seem they really are the master forgers people say."

"Oh my. Good thing they're back on our side, then."

"There's that." Honor took a breath. "But you said there were things you wanted to talk about?"

Caitrin sat back. "Yes, I did, though as it happens you seem to have taken care of one thing already. I've been telling Beth for months she ought to see the counsellor I've been seeing out at Bassingford, and with all I've been feeling about Roger — my brother, I mean — which she must be going through as well, I thought it was becoming urgent. So did Justin. And in her indignation at whatever you said to her, Beth found we really did agree, summoned the Bassingford woman in high dudgeon for what was supposed to be a brief consultation, talked to her for hours, and came out looking very thoughtful. So thank you for that."

"Ah. Good. Survivor's guilt is never easy, Katie. And never quite goes away. But it can be managed."

"So it can. Beth, however, is very management-resistant indeed, and one thing I wanted to say, Honor, was that I am exceptionally impressed by and grateful for the way you've done it. Your friendship is the best thing that's happened to her in years, and she knows it. So all else aside, you have my warmest thanks for that, and would have Roger's too. And Mike's, though she'll be more hesitant voicing them, I suspect, because she's still digesting seeing the two of you face off. But I mostly wanted to talk about something quite different, and before I do let's get you a drink. I'm on wine, but I imagine you'd prefer Old Tillman?"

"If it's on offer, I would."

"And some food for that metabolism of yours."

With a mug and some very morish meat and cheese nibbles to hand, as well as the inevitable celery, Honor sat back and smiled at her host.

"So what was the something quite different, Katie?"

"Or at us."

"Ah." Honor made herself keep her gaze level. "I'm not sure even now I quite understand what Beth meant when she first said that. I do understand I could do what I did on Grayson mostly because I was a Manticoran. And yes, to do on Manticore what I have over the last few months mostly because I could be a Grayson. But Beth had Peeps in there as well, which doesn't make any sense at all."

"Why not? You've restructured all three political systems."

"Politely — pish, tush, and pootle, Katie. Tom Theisman and friends restructured Haven. At most I gave them one of the weapons they used, entirely as a side-effect of saving my own life. And anything I've done to Manticore is peanuts compared to what he did. One was some mild reforms which consist mostly of enforcing existing laws properly. The other was bloody revolution. Or possibly counter-revolution — Tom rather enjoys playing devil's advocate on both sides."

"And you of course never do anything more than simple duty. Pish, tush, and whatever it was back at you, Honor. I concede Beth's analogies involving Peeps usually shed more heat than light, but I know perfectly well what she meant, and so do you. The worst people in three star nations tried to kill you and in every case you killed them instead, making great changes possible. And you can't tell me you didn't intend, at least hope, to achieve politically what you have. Also in every case. I realise pointing it out embarrasses you, but don't worry because I don't want to go on about it. What does interest me is who you're going to be pointing yourself at next, because I learned a lot about many things from your Mr Hawkwing, and found myself not liking what I saw in the mirror."

Caitrin sipped her wine reflectively.

"Of course I've never had the least truck with slavery, but I find I haven't been pulling my weight either. After the Regency I had every need to become reclusive, and it became habit. But with Edward and Cal gone, and Mike absorbed in professional duties, I need a proper job again. It's not entirely logical, but one effect of the sea-change we've just undergone is that so long as I stay clear of open politics I needn't be quite as shy of living in the wider world. And as your thinking about going after Manpower for real is undoubtedly light months ahead of anyone else's and far more realistic, I'd like advice, please. What do you think is going to happen? And what sort of thing might I most usefully do to help eradicate their whole, disgusting enterprise?"

None of that was even remotely what Honor had expected, though Nimitz didn't seem surprised, and she took refuge in Old Tillman for a moment, mind spinning. But Caitrin Winton-Henke was one person she didn't have to mince words with.

"I'll have to think about that one, Katie. It's all bogglingly contingent. Has Beth shown you the message I received?"

"No. She did say she had something for me to see when I'm next at Mount Royal. A message from whom?"

"Jeremy X, no less." Eyebrows rose. "I know. I'll leave Beth the joke part, which is very good, but the serious bit was that he's willing to attend talks and commit the Ballroom to providing everything they can by way of intel. Which God knows we will need. And that means a military strike against Mesa is looking more and more possible. But likely is something else, because frankly, Katie, taking Mesa isn't the problem. I'm not saying it would be simple or cheap. But if the proposition is a serious Alliance force with an adequate budget, it can certainly take command of the orbitals, demand surrender, and interdict any major action against the slave population while putting very many boots on the ground. But, one, those slaves are very vulnerable and we would need to avoid a bloodbath, and two, we would also need to capture as much data intact as we can, because Mesa is only an incidental target. What we would actually be doing is taking on a conglomerate of transstellars and the Sollie OFS, and the real problem is the League itself."

Caitrin nodded. "Yes. Cathy Montaigne's been clear about that, and it's the big blocker, isn't it? Taking it on is a terrifying thought. But I've heard both Mike and Hamish say pretty scornful things about the SLN living on reputation, not ability. And Mesa's not actually a League member, after all. So could we stand them off, if we had to?"

Honor's smile was deadly. "Do you know, Katie, you're the first person outside a very small circle to come out and ask me that. And the answer's yes, we could, but I think it's very unlikely they'd realise it in time or accept it. So my own working assumption is that we will do something serious about Mesa, certainly with Grayson and at least some other Alliance members, probably Haven, and possibly the Andermani; and will then need to respond to the League decisively."

"By stomping on any SLN response, you mean?"

"That'll come first, yes. But it's what we do after that that will really matter, and how fast we do it." Honor sipped her beer and sat back. "Start with the obvious, Katie. First, we talk about the Solarian League, as if it were one thing, but it isn't. The Core worlds are highly autonomous, the Shell and Verge a mosaic of local OFS tyrannies and poor independents they haven't got round to gobbling up yet. And our problem isn't with any member states but with the utterly corrupt maze of bureaucracy that passes for a federal government and runs their end of OFS while the transstellars run the other. And second, while we have the military edge to defeat the SLN, what we don't have and never will is resources to match the population and combined R&D base of the Core, so in the longer term, when they got over their shock, they could crush us."

"So what can we do?"

"Make sure there isn't a longer term. Our real aim, if we go down this road, which I think we will, won't be to defeat the SLN. It will be to destroy the League. It's rotten, through and through. Beowulf knows it, and so do a lot of other Core worlds. Everyone in the Shell and Verge knows it absolutely, and some sensible analysts are sure Barregos has plans for the Maya Sector to secede. The right blows could shatter the whole thing to smithereens. And that's what we'll need to do, break it up into a hundred small federations big enough to defend themselves and have proper resources, small enough to function properly as governments that will, as the price of peaceful secession and using the Junction, agree to enforce the Cherwell Convention stringently. And to achieve that what we have to do politically is to get that Mesan data and give it raw to everyone, and what we have to do militarily is destroy the SLN, one way or another, and use the window to induce major secessions."

Caitrin had given up binking some while back. "One way or another?"

"We could destroy every ship they send against us, Katie, but forcing them to surrender and repatriating paroled PoWs would be much more useful." Honor waved a hand. "Everyone quails at the headline figure that they have about 11,000 SDs. But as far as we're concerned, every one of them is a piece of junk. The 8,000 in mothballs are all more than a century old, and even if they could man them there'd be no point. Against any RMN or RN capital ship it'd be Kodiak Max versus plasma rifle. Small bits of bear steak. And the 3,000 odd in Battle and Frontier Fleets aren't much less obsolete. But it will take us two or three years at least to get our own new building sorted in sufficient numbers, and the Junction ban might make for some fighting before then. What matters, though, is that if every single Core world went into R&D and building overdrive right now we'd still have a five-year window at least, probably longer. And they'll be wildly overconfident, disbelieving of the threat environment they'll be entering, and won't have a clue what's hit them. But it's still the follow-up that will really matter, and we'll have to be ruthless in seeing it through. No pushing and shoving, just a political killing, as quick and clean a fatal strike as we can manage. So while I've no idea what it might translate into for you, what we need is the will to do that, to use the opportunity thrust into our hands, and whatever might promote that is the most useful thing you can do."

"My God, Honor. You shuffle at the idea you changed Haven, then lay out how to kill the Solarian League." Caitrin shook her head. "But I asked, and that's a useful parameter. Talk up our determination and will to act. To be ruthless. Fair enough. Can you tell me why we are so dominant, though? I mean, how do I answer people who ask?"

"There's a lot I can't say yet, Katie, but the key thing is range. Back to the Kodiak Max. It could eat the person with the plasma rifle alive if it could get into range, which for a Kodiak means physical contact. But it can't, because it's still a mile away when it gets turned into bear steak. That's for the RMN and GSN. For the RN and IAN it's about three-quarters of a mile. And just as it can be a teenager or an adult holding the plasma-rifle, so one of our BC(P)s is capable of taking out any Sollie capital ship. In the last ten years we've revolutionised space combat, and Haven's kept up, more or less, because they had to or die. The IAN's well on its way as well. But the Sollies have barely noticed. We're all neobarbs, after all."

"That's clear. Honor, does Beth understand this?"

"In outline. We have to get the treaty sorted first. Treaties."

"But we will?"

"I can't see why not. Neither can Tom Theisman. It would take something calamitous."

"And does Hamish know what you've just been saying?"

"Militarily, certainly. He hasn't absorbed the politics, I don't think, but I haven't made the pitch to him. He's been a bit busy."

"I imagine he has." Caitrin stared at her. "And you've got something else up your sleeve, haven't you? That you're going to whap him round the head with when you need to, like that Sky Domes yard being military-capable, and just happening to be optimised for ships we need most?"

Honor raised her own eyebrows but decided not to do any more shuffling. "You score another first. But I can't talk about it."

"Something big, though, that will have doubters recalculating?"

"Those in the know, yes. But that won't be very many, Katie, until it gets used. No secret weapon remains secret then."

"R&D, then. An even bigger plasma rifle."

"More or less. Something I managed to rescue when Janacek's idiot axe started falling, that has come along very nicely and has ever so many tactical and strategic ramifications. So yes, I think I'll be able to get the Admiralty on board, and the Octagon. And Beth and Benjamin. Who knows about the Andermani? But the critical period for us will be going on building hard once the Haven treaty is signed. Keeping silent about the realities, we'll seem over-confident, and taxes will be biting hard. Willie will need a lot of support to weather that."

"Noted. And that's something I can certainly do — priming support ahead of time. Mmm. Would you mind introducing me properly to Klaus and Stacey Hauptman? I've met them at events, but never privately."

"If you want, Katie, but Klaus is hard work, I warn you, and none too keen on aristocrats, though he makes an exception for me." She grinned. "He and Tom Theisman were quite shocked to find themselves in broad agreement. Stacey's more urbane, and I think you'd get on. And even Klaus approves strongly of the resettlement programmes, so he's primed to make some more exceptions for you and Theo and the others Mike and he have involved."

"Good. Can that be publicised more, now?"

Honor waggled a hand. "I don't mind, but I can't speak for others. And you must have the consent of the freed. A bunch of gibbering newsies is the last thing they need."

"Yes of course. But I imagine they might be willing to say some hard things about just how atrocious Manpower is and why doing something about it is more important than a temporary tax hike."

"Probably. But get Theo to take you to one of his mountain dinners, Katie. And sound gently, with 'cats present, if they're willing." Nimitz, replete with celery and eyeing some cheese, signed lazy agreement. "They can help a lot."

"So Mr Hawkwing said." Caitrin shook her head. "You integrate it all so seamlessly, Honor. Talk about using your resources. What's that thing Mike says? 'All hands make sail'?"

Honor grinned. "Could be. It's in some old Terran wet-navy writers we both read. Or 'All hands to the pumps' when things aren't so good. That hasn't changed, however equipment has. But forgive me, it's driving me crazy. How do you come to know Mr Hawkwing? All my records tell me is he took some leave on Manticore in the spring, and was subsequently seconded by Alfredo Yu to the Marine staff at the Bay House."

Caitrin blinked. "If you really insulated yourself that well, Honor, do you want to blow it now?"

Honor waggled a hand gloomily. "Probably not. But it's still driving me crazy. And the legal proceedings where I might have been asked on oath what I know are all over."

"Well, it's no skin off my nose. Nimitz?"

To Honor's bafflement he gave a thumbs-up, mouth full of cheese.

"How much do you want to know?"

Honor shrugged. "How on earth Andrew did it. Plainly, a 'cat with the PGS planted what I guess was old Grayson tech in Government House. And Mr Hawkwing is a sensor tech, so something here must have picked it up, though I'm bothered if I can see what or how."

"Well that I can answer. Two business-ends of Ghost Rider drones stuffed in my attic read the data-store constantly, and a whisker-laser sent their take to the Bay House daily. Mr Hawkwing did the tuning on the synch, so I had plenty of time to talk to him. And I had him over to watch while you used the results to mount the single most devastating political ambush I've ever seen, so we got quite pally. What?"

Honor had after an incredulous second gently covered her face in her hands, and her voice was muffled.

"Just contemplating the Tester's ironies, Katie. I nail Houseman for giving away classified tech, and meanwhile Nimitz and Alfredo are installing it in your attic. And elsewhere, I imagine."

"Well I can't speak for elsewhere, though knowing Colonel LaFollet I'd bet fully cleared Sky Domes or GSN personnel were involved. But there's no illegality here on that score, Honor. I might not use it much but I still have the full clearance I had as Regent. It's never been cancelled, and I get all the summaries Beth does, though I don't read them all any more, not by a long chalk. So I know nothing I shouldn't."

Honor raised her head and stared. "Of course you don't. Blessings on Andrew's head." She gave Nimitz another piece of cheese he cheerfully accepted. "And on yours, Stinker. And Mr Hawkwing's."

---

The updates provided by successive ships that met them in hyperspace went from surprising to hair-raising without ever losing sight of riveting. Less than a week out from Haven there were a barrage of official Manticoran statements in which they announced scores of arrests and charges, confirmed with a vengeance they had ceased to dig the hole they were in and started filling it, and acknowledged the Havenite statements they'd received. Then the Queen announced Tom's arrival, capping all with an address that left Eloise shaking with the raw emotional shock of hearing her lay so much of herself bare. His Grace of Manticore had transferred for the occasion to RNS Nouveau Paris (bearing the callsign Haven One), and watched the ministerial and Admiralty broadcasts with only mild surprise, though the uncompromising statement of present Manticoran vulnerability from White Haven made him wince. But the Queen's address had him sitting up and, surprised herself, Eloise gave him only seconds to gather himself before politely asking for his opinion. The look he gave her was very dry but with a hint of amused appreciation behind it that nudged her rating of him still higher.

"There is much I might say, Madam President, and rather less I will. First, although it is slightly indiscreet, I will admit I am surprised Her Majesty went so far, and suspect the influence of Her Grace of Harrington. Second, I am less surprised at her decision to make a clean breast about the assassination of King Roger. The politically required secrecy will have galled her. And third, besides the change in Junction policy, the most consequential thing was the Independent Auditor, whose findings have immediate effects on the voting tallies in both Houses I am still trying to work out."

"Not just a subtraction of certain votes, then?"

"No. The interesting thing is going to be what the Liberals do. Their rank and file were never very happy with the deal New Kiev struck with High Ridge, and they have some very restive members in the Commons."

"I see." And Eloise did — that sort of political calculation was bread-and-butter, and if she remembered rightly one restive member was Catherine Montaigne. "May I ask about the trial, which must be about underway. How long would you imagine that might take?"

"No idea, Madam President. It is clear, however, that Her Majesty and others are pushing very hard indeed. The notice given was the legal minimum, and the appointment of Lord Justice Farquhar as Lord Speaker will ensure whatever briskness the Lords may find themselves capable of."

After he'd returned to HMS King Roger III conversation ran hot with implications, but though they'd all read detailed appreciations of Mantie politics they were only speculating; and the naval statement had bothered Eloise. Javier was having to hold the fort at the Octagon, so the RN delegation was headed by Lester Tourville, who could certainly think outside the box, with Shannon Foraker as his second. Not being used to cabinet neither was interrupting, but when Eloise asked Tourville directly what he thought his reply was crisp.

"Several things, Madam President. First, as Admiral Giscard said briefing me, the Manties have their first team back and it shows. I was surprised by how blunt White Haven was, and I'm guessing they're following a calculus not unlike ours 30 months back — trust in government has been broken and only plain speaking can rebuild it. But he was being gloomier than he needed, not least because if they're recalling that many ships from Silesia they've cut away a serious problem. Can't fight on two fronts? Then close one down — and they have. We've gamed it all ways, including this, and they're still in a hole, but it's now significantly smaller than we'd like. It simplifies things in that we don't have to worry about Sidemore, but reinforcement of Basilisk and Trevor's Star is not good. There must also be economic consequences, compounding loss of Junction revenue, but that I'm not qualified to address."

"Tony?"

"Insufficient data. Overall they have to be taking a hit, but it depends what deal they reach with the Andies. And there'll be a fair bit of our traffic stampeding for the Junction soon, as offset."

"Fair enough. Lester?"

"Second, there's this Grayson-style yard of Harrington's that just happens to be military-capable." He all but threw up his hands. "Admiral Giscard was on the money again. Not being stupid, she didn't like the administration's decision to cut building capacity; and being an industrial billionaire she countered it, silently, by building a new yard of her own, which as a GSN Admiral she could make sure was security cleared and ready to go. Astonishing, and very helpful to them. And what's the betting she doesn't have yet more equipment piled up against a rainy day? One of our key calculations about the depth of hole they're in is the lag between any decision to start rebuilding and how soon they could actually do it, and that's just been chopped into as well. Which leads to, third, the fact that it is, White Haven said, specifically geared to their Saganami-Cs, which makes my shoulders itch. Shannon?"

"With you on that, sir." Eloise didn't think Foraker was aware of the suppressed smiles. "From what we know, those ships are a new design, not a mod at all, but we're not sure of details except they're not podlayers. This is the Manties, and designs were in place under Caparelli and Hemphill, so while a CA's a CA, we have to anticipate a bigger punch. And if White Haven wasn't just blowing smoke when he said they have close to the firepower of an old SD, a much bigger punch. Telemetry, I'd guess."

After a moment Eloise sighed to herself. "Telemetry, Shannon?"

"Oh, sorry, Madam President. Fire control. With podlayers and tractored pods we can all put more missiles into space faster, but a ship has only so many channels to control them, so the size of broadsides is limited. But one, every ship has backups against battle-damage, and two, as they've still got some range on us, it might be possible to rotate control of multiple broadsides. I've been trying, but it's miniaturisation. We just can't fit what we'd need into a hull that works. But they might have cracked that. Oh, and three, we can't fire MDMs from a cruiser tube, but another possibility is they've worked that out. I'd have to think dual-drive, not triple, but that's enough, and if they can stack broadsides too, well, SD firepower wouldn't be an exaggeration."

Tourville was frowning hard. "Numbers, Shannon?"

"Who knows? Say a broadside of 15, double broadside 30. Built in telemetry for a double stack, 60. Redundant channels, another 30, maybe. Use auxiliary command for real. With waves of 90 capital missiles at c-fractional speeds an SD would be in trouble. But the limit is magazine space. They'd shoot themselves dry fast."

Eloise took a breath. "So the hole shallowed some more, and the window shrank?"

"Yes to both, Madam President."

"Which means, people, we have to stop thinking about just wanting this treaty, and having a bunch of hole cards, and square up to needing it as badly as the Manties do. Is there anything else, Lester? Shannon?"

"Nothing obvious, Madam President."

"Alright. We've always known we need to be very cautious where Manties are concerned, which is another reason to recognise we need the treaty badly ourselves. Renewed hostilities were always going to be a crapshoot, and now they're a stacked crapshoot. Sandra, no Treecats in any of these statements except the Queen's Ariel. Any thoughts?"

Discussion broadened again, and continued over several days. His Grace punctiliously sent a formal tally of new nominal voting strengths in the Houses with a rider than anyone might do anything and, consulted by comm, offered some pithy accounts of the political parties involved and where they might now find themselves. Shannon Foraker discovered the Treecat materials Sandra had and buried herself in them, occasionally emerging to ask sharp questions Sandra couldn't answer but was happy to argue about. They were all nervous and there was a certain tension at meals and in desultory arguments that went on; but in the nature of things they were shortening the distance Tom's updates had to travel. The second had little new except further confirmation the Manties really were cleaning house thoroughly, with capital and long custodial sentences, and the intriguing appointment of Catherine Montaigne, now something called a True Liberal, as Minister for the Suppression of Slavery — data that drew interesting analysis from a surprised but delighted Grand Duke. But the third had a complete record of the Lords trial and a covering note from Tom.

"Unbelievable and heartstopping, but I won't give spoilers. There's 23 hours of it. Don't fast-forward at all. And do invite His Grace to watch it. You'll need commentary on their insane aristo rules. And you'll want His Grace's raw reactions. The only other thing I'll say is that I've never admired Harrington more. PubIn actually got that yeoman versus aristo stuff right, for a wonder, and the whole Committee couldn't match what she feels. Let alone what she did. Oh, and tell Sandra to watch for Nimitz's intervention. I've learned some sign, and Harrington's Maid, Ms LaFollet, has been very helpful in letting me talk to him and his mate Samantha. Take everything Sandra suspects and treble it. Lord Nimitz is the least of it, as I found when I was persuaded to play a part myself. So once again, Madam President, enjoy."

With His Grace very much present, and glued to the HD, they watched the first two days in a marathon session fuelled by too much alcohol and many baguettes. His commentary on procedures and implications occasioned blinking, staring, and head shaking, especially when it came to the row about accessory to murder convictions. That included the intervention by Lord Nimitz, which had His Grace laughing aloud and Sandra's jaw dropping. Exhausted and mellow in the wake of it all, Eloise asked both for their thoughts, and His Grace shrugged.

"Still assimilating, Madam President. But unexpected, certainly, though it shouldn't have been. I note Lord Nimitz'' — he swallowed laughter — "and God knows treecat peers is an idea to stop all short, did not actually deny that a treecat planted whatever it was. And while this is beyond what I'm comfortable saying, people delighted to see High Ridge damned must be seriously concerned by the severe breach of security. But the notion it was 'cats who did it will be reassuring."

"They not being a resource available to anyone external?"

"Just so." His face became thoughtful. "And it occurs to me that 'cats have transgenerational memories. There may be a score being settled. An earlier High Ridge, about three centuries back, had ties to what turned out to be a Manpower front trying to get permission to experiment on 'cats 'for the good of all'."

Sandra was bug-eyed. "Your Grace, do you accept that adoption of monarchs and heirs was intentional?"

"Certainly. No doubting it."

"Then I'd think you're right about scores. But what struck me was the way Nimitz — Lord Nimitz? that sounds so odd — followed arcane protocols. He was playing that Lord Speaker."

"Yes he was, like a transverse flute. His Clan doesn't call him Laughs Brightly for nothing, and there's a reason Honor calls him Stinker too."

Eloise laughed. "She does?"

"Oh yes. Lord Stinker now, I imagine. But either way, that 'cat's got deviltry in him, and plenty of it. And he's been riding Honor's shoulder for about 45 T-years. Anything she knows, he could, at least."

"So how long before he can vote in that madhouse?"

His Grace grinned widely. "Very good question, Ms Secretary. Less time than I'd have supposed 24 hours ago."

They went on arguing, capping one another's speculations, for a while, others joining in. Shannon Foraker had more good questions, and Denis LePic was fascinated by the legal issues 'cats participation in public life was throwing up. But hours of watching had been tiring, and when the Ushers retired, yawning — Ginny having been included as an unofficial member of the delegation because speaking to the Ballroom themselves might be necessary — everyone followed. But they reassembled early next shipday to resume the screening, and were left completely shocked by Harrington's extraordinary performance, with Tom's inset, and all that followed. Eloise was trying desperately to assimilate what she'd just seen, but His Grace beat her to it, holding up a shaking hand.

"She did it to Grayson, then you. Now she's done it to us as well. Dear God." He swallowed. "I would not have thought it possible. But think of a tug-of-war, if you still do such a thing. We have it in the Gryphon Games — two teams pulling opposite ends of a rope. And sometimes the losers not only get jerked beyond the line but clean off their feet, and pulled far beyond it. That's the best analogy I have for what we've just seen Honor do. Gravendale supported her? I'd not have believed it for any money."

"Is there any appeal?"

"No. The Lords are a supreme court. Those sentences will have been carried out before you arrive. But that's the least of it. There have never been decreations, and though the bar is set high the precedent is exceptionally potent. And as for that military appreciation …" He glanced at Tourville, who had caught her eye. "Given which, would you wish me to withdraw for a while?"

"Lester?"

"I don't believe it's necessary, Madam President, Your Grace. There was nothing in the outline of possibilities that isn't in the open, to anyone with military sense at any rate, though I am again impressed by Her Grace's ruthlessness as a tactician. What I wanted to say was there was another radical game-changer in there, because unless I misheard that Erewhonese envoy we will shortly have a joint RN and GSN task force hunting rogue StateSec ships. De facto, that's an alliance with Grayson. I assume Admiral Theisman's deployment orders have passed us, and Admiral Giscard will follow them. But the levels of it! Harrington's got Erewhon back on side at a stroke, while insisting on their right, and Grayson's, to deal with us directly, and she and Tom must have planned that jointly. How was it even legal for him to give evidence?"

"The Lords are supreme, Admiral Tourville. They hear whomever they want. And Her Grace gave them no time to think of objections." Denis LePic shook his head, whether in disbelief or envy Eloise wasn't sure. "I also take your point about the joint task force — a model for effective alliance against Manpower and a shot across everyone's bows."

"And how! Not to mention the effects that speech will have on Haven. Which Tom must have anticipated also." Tourville too shook his head. "He's been her house-guest for most of two months, and they've got into joint strategising. That's some team."

Eloise suspected she looked as bug-eyed as most of her cabinet. "Yes it is. And the effects will be huge. It actually puts pressure on us not to disappoint Harrington." She turned it in her mind, almost wanting to laugh. How did the woman keep remoulding reality as if it were soft clay? "Anything else military, Lester? Shannon?"

Foraker had a half-smile on her face and an abstracted look.

"Eh? Oh, sorry Madam President. I was admiring that schematic. It was superb." Foraker became brisker. "It tells us the GSN's a bit stronger than we'd thought — the Blackbird Yard is astonishingly productive — and the IAN were giving us even lowerball numbers on their new classes than we'd allowed. What bothers me is the Congo wormhole, because I agree Manpower have to be trying to map it, at least, and if they have cracked it, and it goes anywhere in the Core, Shell or Verge, an allied fleet couldn't leave it in its rear. So with those awful figures for whatever's happening on Congo, we've just been handed a real first ops target. Which I'd suspect is what Admirals Harrington and Theisman were primarily intending."

Eloise nodded. "Yes. Thank you, Shannon, that makes sense. Though what they're thinking about the Solarian League I can't begin to imagine. You've been looking at that, haven't you?"

"Yes. And in purely naval terms, ship for ship we can whack the SLN easily. Unless our data is hopelessly wrong, and I see no — "

"It isn't." Kevin had that satisifed look on his face again. "I was on Terra long enough to check very carefully what they were getting on us and the RMN, and they'd barely registered we were fighting, never mind understood what we were doing between us to naval doctrine."

"Then their ships are so obsolete they wouldn't stand a chance." Foraker held up a finger. "But the politics is something else altogether, and we'd wind up with a hexapuma on a string."

"With a what?"

"Oh, treecats' big dumb cousins. It was in the material I was reviewing." She pulled out a reader, flicked through it, and showed Eloise a startling image. "I just meant something nasty, Madam President. We can whack the SLN all day but we can't control the volume, or prevent a concerted R&D effort to get themselves a navy that isn't obsolete. So what then?"

"The SLN are that bad, Admiral?" Tony Nesbitt looked incredulous. "I know we have an edge but they have thousands of capital ships."

"All as obsolete as one another, sir. On the data we have, they're junk. Remember what the Man — the RMN did to us two years ago? And we had rough parity with them until MDMs and the new classes came in, which the SLN doesn't begin to have. Anything they send at us is toast." She frowned. "May I ask about the economics, sir? Admiral Tourville was thinking about the loss the Star Kingdom's suffering from closing the Junction to Mesan registered shipping. But what's the Mesan loss? And how will that impact the League economy?"

"Now that's a good question, Admiral. I can't begin to give accurate figures but it's got to be devastating. Massive, immediate disruption, and a permanent rise of several hundred percent in operating time and costs of any route that used the Junction. But what percentage of their total traffic did I have no idea. It has to be significant, because it all but cuts them out of Andermani and Silesian markets, as well as ours and Manticore's, Asgard, Midgard, and Matapan. But I suspect loss of the Beowulf–Joshua route via Hennessy and Terre Haute is even worse — it's six days by wormhole, and at least six weeks straight for merchies. And while I don't have figures, a serious percentage of the trade between Old League and Shell uses that route. You know, Madam President, if the Star Kingdom ever closed the Junction to all League traffic, the League would take an absolutely colossal economic hit. It'd work both ways, of course, with revenues halved or worse for the duration, but it would be far, far more serious for the Sollies." He shrugged. "I still find it hard to believe the SLN is so completely obsolete. But I'm beginning to think the League is much more vulnerable economically and politically than any of us are used to thinking. And the Federal Government is very dependent on the revenue stream they extort from Protectorates, which means the SLN is too."

Kevin was listening closely. "So you're saying the whole OFS operation isn't just pigs at the trough. It's actually propping them up?"

"Yes. The analyses by Harrington and Montaigne Tom included with his first despatch pointed that way, and I've been modelling it as best I can. A fairly small number of people receive obscene profits, and I'd agree there has to be a large chunk going to Mesa, but it's paying for the SLN and Old Chicago bureaucracies. Their entire tax structure is insane, of course, because they can't reform anything, so it's T-centuries out of date and unfit for purpose. Without the Protectorates they'd have gone bankrupt long ago." Tony had an ugly light in his eyes. "And historically, it looks to me very much as if the Protectorate system was expanded as their financial position became unsustainable. It was easier to steal revenue and dress it up as noble than undertake a basic set of tax reforms any fool could see the need for."

"Huh. Does that dovetail with anything you've found on Manpower's messing with us?"

"Not really, Kevin. I agree they helped push the 1771 report, and the Technical Conservation Act. It isolated us from Beowulf and was about as sensible as shooting ourselves through both feet. But while that fits with the Star Kingdom pissing Manpower off, the Federal finances I was looking at were going sour well before that."

"You have evidence Manpower had a hand in pushing you into expansion, Mr Secretary?"

"Some, Your Grace, but all circumstantial, inferential, and anecdotal. There are no living witnesses, of course, and large volumes of data were lost in the Harris Assassination and Leveller and Octagon bombings, while more was corrupted under the PRH. But people connected to the web of accounts and companies behind Giancola were around the fringes of the decision, at least, and the Report itself was far more tendentious than economics justified."

"Mmm. I would ask, Madam President, that you consider making such evidence as you have public."

Eloise thought about it. "Why in particular, Your Grace? Wouldn't it go against the responsibility we acknowledge? And Manpower didn't have to invent the amoral logic of expansion. The Legislaturists weren't much better than the League, I'm afraid."

"That was part of my thinking, actually. That logic is there, but we do seem to have Manpower consciously using it in both cases. It speaks to pattern. Descroix's confessions that if not exactly an agent she was taking money to brief Manpower and look the other way, and had been doing so for more than a decade, point to a longer term too — implying they may have had a hand in our persistent inability, until then-Captain Harrington came along, to protect the Basilisk Terminus properly. Is there any chance you could find evidence of Manpower pushing that particular Legislaturist plan? It came very close to starting the war."

"It's possible. And it would be more of the same, wouldn't it?" Tony thought hard. "Most invoved would be dead, and it's exactly the sort of data the Harris Assassination and Octagon bombing destroyed."

"There are some diplomats and staffers still around, Tony." Eloise suppressed a grimace. "We dug them out when we cleared Harrington of those trumped-up charges, but we weren't looking for Manpower."

"Right. I can look, then, but it won't be fast."

"Thank you. And while I respect your not wishing to seem to pass off blame, it would deepen common cause and give Her Majesty greater flexibility in dealing with, ah, old resentments."

In private thought or public address, Eloise wondered. "We'll discuss it certainly, Your Grace."

"I can do it, Eloise." Ginny had been uncharacteristically quiet, savouring the fate of parasites, Eloise suspected, but was bright-eyed. "We don't know, Mr Newsie, but of course we suspect the bastards. Wouldn't you? And we do have some frightfully suggestive things our Tony and Kevin have found." She batted eyelids outrageously. "More seriously, Eloise, there might be stuff the Ballroom has that would add in. If there were any smoking guns I'd know, but there's a heap of intel collected on principle — all their public announcements, trips by senior execs, known or suspected contacts, orders placed, all sorts. And stuff learned during documentations. Would that be a big problem, Theo?"

Eloise's notion of having Ginny show the Manticoran envoy Nouveau Paris while she pulled the enlarged delegation together had worked unexpectedly well. He really did know about slavery, understood he could know nothing of its horror, and had managed to charm her — no mean feat — with exquisite manners, responding to her exaggerated Your Gracing by deploring aristo protocol and inviting her to first-name terms. Now he shrugged.

"I wouldn't advertise it, Ginny. People sympathise with spacing slavers in abstract but we don't show them. Taken from computers rather than minds would be easier for most to deal with, and while I expect our anger's begun maturing into determination there's no point sticking pins in public opinion if you can avoid it."

"True. And I don't know what might be available. Copies of all sorts of things will be moving towards Manticore, and people will be sifting it, but the more specifics there are to look for the better."

Eloise's mind had been moving down a different track, involving Ginny Usher let loose on an unsuspecting Manticore.

"I'd been thinking of your role as more a private conduit than an unoffical spokeswoman, Ginny."

"Yes I know, Eloise, but that's because you're being stuffy about it. Honestly, you'll all be being frightfully serious about negotiations, all steely eyes and furrowed brows and refusing to talk to the poor newsies out of turn because it wouldn't be proper. You need me to do PR for you. And Theo's promised to show me Landing and introduce me to all sorts of people besides letting me make contacts I'll need through the ASL and the freed on his estates. Good cover, good PR, and lots of fun."

Eloise wasn't the only member of the cabinet wanting to rest her head in her hands. Ginny at full pelt was a thing of wonder, but not always — often — almost ever diplomatic. But His Grace was grinning.

"Don't worry, Madam President. She's promised not to cause any real trouble, and she'll get on like a house on fire with Cathy Montaigne, which will be entertaining. And as that ministerial appointment will have obliged Cathy to be a little more circumspect about going on HD, they'll be delighted to find such a splendid replacement."

§

The notion that Harrington could do anything more was preposterous, but the last update, reaching them a few days short of Trevor's Star, proved otherwise. There were to begin with the public executions, watched in grim silence by His Grace until the coups de grâce. The thunder of gunshots had everyone jumping and His Grace bolt upright, eyes narrowed, and a murmured 'Dear God' was just audible to Eloise. Then the HD cut to a close-up of Harrington, a treecat on each shoulder, and held as she bowed her head briefly and turned away. Eloise took a deep breath, shaken despite her combat experience.

"You seemed surprised by something, Your Grace. Can you comment?"

"Oh yes, Madam President. I shouldn't think many people realised outside Saganami Island but the chemical propellant gun General MacIntyre used belongs to Honor. It's an antique, of course, a Colt M-1911 from old Terra she was given by High Admiral Matthews. The one she used to kill Warnecke's men, if you know that story."

By now Eloise knew every story they had on Harrington, and nodded.

"I do. A personal statement, then, within the public one."

"Certainly. But by whom? I doubt Honor suggested it. MacIntyre must have asked." His fingers snapped. "Calibre. After seeing the trial I looked up the old regs governing this business, and the coup de grâce must be given with 'a gun of the largest suitable calibre'. If MacIntyre didn't know about Honor's liking for antique hand weapons, Ramirez would have told him."

"President Ramirez?"

"His son Tomas. A Marine Major-General and a friend of Honor's."

"I see. A salute to her from the Marines, then?"

"Yes, that fits. She is an honorary Colonel of Marines, and for those who know, they express their approval and gratitude."

Everyone took that under advisement, but the next items were more cheerful. A brisk statement by Her Majesty about claims arising from North Hollow's mass murder of civilians and various libels and slanders had Denis again blinking disbelieving envy at monarchical power; and the even brisker statement by Harrington that followed had His Grace as pop-eyed as the rest of them before slapping his knee in laughter that needed no explanation and was shared. Gaining a new embassy, gratis, was a telling gesture, as well as useful, and if poking the dead in the eye was not usually wise, well, there were dead and there were dead, and precise poetic justice combining continued, contemptuous rebuke with cheerful hope for a very different future was … splendid, really, and politically as shrewd as you could ask for. There were also Harrington's cool, measured words about a memorial, a gesture of great grace that also declared the war over and brought Tourville and Foraker to their feet, staring. And on the eve of an election. As Harrington's image was repaced by edited news reports showing Manticorans had found it exactly right too, Eloise hit the pause.

"And it doesn't stop, does it, people? Who knew we'd need to know about memorials already? Before we reach Trevor's Star I want a clean statement from the whole delegation we can submit to Harrington as thanks and formal advice, and it must reflect what our navy wants. Denis, co-ordinate please? And Lester, Shannon, sort out urgently a meeting of everyone you have with you, and ship's officers and crew, and generate a list of concerns from a navy point-of-view. Specifically, are we prepared to commemorate StateSec personnel? Your Grace, Her Grace said 'any uniform'? Could she really mean StateSec personnel too?"

"She could, Madam President, but I can't say if she did. I have seen her look as she did at the executions only once before, when she killed Burdette, and I believe he is commemorated on the Steadholders' Wall with the stone upside-down. Like those cancelled arms we saw blown apart. And Honor certainly believes everyone's soul faces God, while Nimitz couldn't care less about enemies already dead, so it can't be ruled out."

If there were any other issue that could so have discombobulated the delegation Eloise didn't know what it was, and spent some time in the next two days wondering how deliberate that was, sneaking suspicions warring with a degree of shame about entertaining them. But in the moment, the newsies' startled coverage of the Manticorans' spontaneous jamboree jumped to shots of huge queues at the polls, then a tabulated summary of results His Grace scanned at impressively high speed with an eagle eye and broadening smile.

"CA and False Liberals gone from the Commons. Both annihilated. Progressives and New Men halved or worse. True Liberals, Centrists, and Crown Loyalists all strengthened. Huge administration majority. And propositions got onto the ballot — that must have been fun — let me see, Commons-sponsored approval of decreations urging more frequent use, overwhelmingly passed. Ouch. SFS-sponsored proposal that treecats be formally represented in both Houses, also overwhelmingly passed. That's going to be very interesting. Independent Gryphon Peers' proposal to investigate Her Grace for breach of privacy laws rejected by — damn! — 99 plus percent. Give them enough rope, the idiots. Mothers' Union proposal that purely mercantile interests in Silesia are not worth a single Manticoran life, passed by a bit under two-thirds. Interesting. Helps the PM considerably. Yush! An Association of Retired Naval Officers' proposal that Her Grace be promoted Fleet Admiral, less than 5,000 dissenters system-wide but only advisory. Clever. They regain ground after the scandals, and it would mean she couldn't ever be on half-pay or excluded from live data. Hamish will be laughing himself sick, and Honor will be furious. Separate Landing referendum on granting her freedom of the city, 17 dissenters only. Wonder what they were on. 22 other cities, for no obvious reason, ditto, though with less absolute numbers. Except Yawata Crossing, announcing 100% support — no surprise, that's where she grew up, and beyond native pride Sky Domes and Hauptman people working at HMS Vulcan have brought considerable prosperity there since she reorganised their domestic arrangements. A clean sweep, Madam President, with very good numbers."

"Would you expect the Prime Minister to make any cabinet changes?"

"Not unless any of those recalled agreed to serve only until the election."

"So good news, then. But there's still several hours of Tom's report. Let's see what else he's given us."

The newly elected House of Commons was to assemble immediately, with a first sitting the following afternoon — an unprecedented degree of haste required, it was pointed out, by the legislative mess left by the abrupt suspension of the disgraced administration, and the expected arrival of delegations within a week or two. The House of Lords was also summoned, to seat new San Martino peers, and scenes were appended. If the House had been full for the trial it was now jammed to the rafters: additional benches had been installed, narrowing and extending the central aisle, and older, half-familiar faces had been joined by an astonishing number of younger ones, third-generation Prolong making them look like children.

"The cadet seats." His Grace shook his head. "We really do need a new chamber or some serious building-work. That was another thing High Ridge — just Janvier now, I suppose — pointedly failed to do though it was mandated when the annexation bill passed."

The peers were in robes, ceremonies as towering San Martinos were seated colourful and in an antique way entertaining, though the folderol involved was pernicious as well as absurd to Havenite eyes. But after a few minutes Tom appeared.

"There was plenty more of that, but meantime something more interesting was happening in the Commons. I've been watching this one unfold over the last few days, and I'll have comments when you get here. For now I'll say only, to His Grace at the request of Her Grace, that Her Majesty and President Ramirez between them mousetrapped her."

His Grace's eyebrows were high. "Ramirez mousetrapped her? What on … Oh. Toybox time, I expect. Let's see."

The image came up, with a very different-looking Commons. A lot of faces had changed, and for this inaugural session everyone was in party best, which made for a riot of colours and styles. The new San Martino Members were evident, wearing their own fashions, and had sufficient room, though all had slightly less space than before. A formal welcome was extended to all new Honourable Members, and no sooner had the Speaker concluded and gavelled them to order than that knocking at the door came, and Her Majesty was admitted for another ceremony, this time of creation. Lord Justice Ingledew, she observed, had done a critical job, handed to him out of the blue, exceptionally well, cleaving to law and hastening matters at the spanking pace demanded by political and diplomatic necessity; Her Majesty was pleased to ask Honourable Members if they would assent to his creation as Baron Black River. Moreover, though in charge of what proved a lesser enquiry, Lord Justice Berham had rendered both Realm and Navy great service, threading a minefield of overlapping jurisdictions to untangle a most serious plot endangering national security, so she was further pleased to ask Honourable Members if they would assent to his creation as Baron Morstone. And finally, at the request of President Ramirez with the enthusiastic concurrence of the Senate and Lower House of San Martin, she was pleased — delighted, in fact — to seek the assent of Honourable Members for the further creation, in addition to all her existing titles, of Her Grace Steadholder Plenipotentiary and Duchess Harrington, PMV, SG with Crossed Swords, GCR, MC with cluster, SC, OG, DSO with cluster, CGM with two clusters, CSM with two clusters, Sidemore Presidential Medal, as Grand Duchess of San Martin.

The Honourable Members were just as exceedingly happy to give their assents, and while they were about it Eloise turned to His Grace, who wore a wide grin combined with a speculative look.

"Any comments, Your Grace?"

"Plenty, Madam President, beginning with the observation that if Her Majesty makes them reseat Honor before I'm back, I shall be very cross. Besides that … mmm, it's a bit complicated. I'm sure your files on Her Grace are enormous. Do they include the fact that apart from military medals with clear criteria she absolutely hates being rewarded for the astonishing things she keeps doing?"

"Um … not as such. Though we did note she received no military decorations after Hades, and wondered if she refused them. And Her Majesty mentioned that in one of her addresses, I think."

"She did, yes. Honor refused the PMV, on the ground it is for service above and beyond the call of duty, and she had, she insisted, done no more than her duty. I know, but she had chapter and verse. Admiral Theisman was referring to the same thing, I believe, when he said PubIn had got the 'yeoman versus aristo stuff' correct, though I've not seen their efforts myself, of course. But Honor is indeed a yeoman's daughter. 'Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.' Well, Honor's actually managed all three of those, in a way, if you count her father's heritage with treecats and her mother's Beowulfan connections as being born great — which Manticore didn't at the time. And her upbringing was, um, sturdily provincial. The achieved greatness needs no comment. But it's the thrusting upon we're looking at now. His Grace Protector Benjamin started it in grand style, bless him, by making her a Steadholder. Her Majesty responded, off-balance, by creating her a Countess. Honor was deeply dazed by it all, as best I understand it — I didn't know her then — and less than amused or impressed by the way the Lords responded. With excellent reason, of course; but she did then have to grapple with what a Steadholdership meant, and embarked on a personal transformation that incidentally made her a billionaire by trying to serve her Steading. Then Hades. I won't bore you with details, but I don't imagine your own system is any better equipped to deal with the return from the dead of the very wealthy and powerful after their state funerals. StateSec's false dead not having had any funerals at all, of course."

Denis LePic choked on his coffee, and Eloise saw Ginny and Kevin grin. She could feel her own mouth tugging up — His Grace did have a way with words when he wanted.

"In any case, it was deemed that her Star Kingdom title had passed to her cousin, so she was created Duchess Harrington. And had a fit, by all accounts, including Her Majesty's. She was at some disadvantage, of course — her injuries had yet to be properly treated, or Nimitz's, in so far as that's proved possible, and she was surrounded by people in a state of delirious shock, from parents and close staff to Space Lords, who would all cheerfully have voted her what Hamish Alexander called War Goddess Harrington. Not to mention Her Majesty in very bullish mood, after losing the fight over the PMV. So Honor got gravpressed without much say in the matter. And quite right too, but once she'd recovered a bit she dug her feet in about other things people were trying to give her, and refused the lot. Politely and implacably."

He looked round his intent audience, and gave an apologetic smile.

"I don't mean to be gauche in mentioning unpleasantries, but after she'd used her private craft, piloted with astonishing skill and utter self-disregard, to shield the vessel carrying Her Majesty and His Grace Protector Benjamin from the Masadan missile, she found herself unable to refuse the PMV again because the Commons voted on it before she returned from Grayson, and was once more not best pleased, though I've never entirely understood why."

"Courage is private, Theo." Ginny was entirely serious. "If someone tried to give me a medal for what I did to escape I'd gut them. Once you throw your life in the scale it's your business before it's anyone else's."

His Grace frowned. "I see that, Ginny, but Honor wasn't risking herself to save herself; she was risking herself to save others."

"So? It's still her life. And why should entitled mean obligated? One thing Kevin's taught me clearly is that accepting honours means being controlled by other people. And screw that."

"Mmm. People whose lives you save have needs too, and expressing gratitude's one of them." He hesitated. "It's a low blow, but one person Honor insisted brief me was Anton Zilwicki, with regard to your husband. A seeing man, Captain Zilwicki. So let me ask you, if Helen Zilwicki thanked Officer Cachat for saving her life, should he gut her?"

Ginny laughed. "Ouch. Fair point, Theo. But if Harrington wants to tell a bunch of aristos to take a hike, she's got my support."

"Mine too, unless they include Her Majesty with public as well as personal desires on her mind. And it wasn't just aristos." Ginny shrugged. "In any case, as you've heard, Honor has run true to form in resisting being rewarded for … this entire farrago. No, no, and go tell it to the picketwood, Your Majesty, which was not welcome to Her Majesty's ears. Now, whether she prompted President Ramirez or he handed her an opportunity on a platter I've no idea, but the platter was passed, and the Grand Duchess's head served up on it."

There was a silence in which the Commons organising their vote could be heard. Unexpectedly, Tony straightened.

"Do you know, Your Grace, I've never before thought of being made an aristo as an imposition, though I think of them as a ruling class and know all too well what rule means. I suppose it's because I think of them as privileged without responsibility or accountability, and rule as wholly comprising both. But Her Grace has never burked a responsibility in her life, I don't suppose, and never will. She's also been held accountable, rightly and very wrongly, and come through it all." He frowned. "It does seem she probably broke a considerable number of laws assembling the evidence she used to bring down High — Janvier, but I can't say I fault her for that any more than Tom for shooting Saint-Just."

His Grace raised a hand. "You might then be interested to know, Mr Secretary, that Her Majesty specifically authorised me to say, should occasion arise, and in the strictest confidence, yes?" — he looked round, meeting eyes and receiving nods — "that Her Grace, having spoken to Admiral Theisman about his, um, personal beliefs after that event, did something equivalent. Her Majesty declined to accept any confession, and I would imagine rolled her eyes much as you did, Madam President, in issuing a certain pardon for what you insisted on calling an execution, though the killer called it murder. And there is of course the result of the Gryphon Peers' call for an investigation into exactly that, defeated by better than 99 to one."

For a wonder, Tony grinned. "So there is. And it's simple, isn't it? It's not aristos and Dolists, or Manties and Peeps. It's people. Some stand up, some fall down, and most sit and shudder. And what you're telling us is very like El — our Pres — no, hell, like Eloise trying to get Javier to accept his due. Being President and Deputy CNO are burdens. And so, if you are one who stands up, is being a Duchess or Grand Duchess or Mighty Panjandrum or whatever."

"Just so. And I shall greatly enjoy suggesting in all seriousness that next time Honor does something altogether impossible she be created Mighty Panjandrum of the Star Kingdom. Will you help me design the regalia? Let's see. Or, quartered, the first argent, a freed slave azure volant, the second gules, a basilisk sable couchant, the third, ermine, the boatman Charon sanguine rampant, and the fourth a treecat vert salient. Supporters, a manticore rampant and a knight with drawn sword. The whole, mousetrapped."

How much of that Tony or anyone had followed in detail Eloise hadn't a clue; she was at a loss herself but the tenor was plain, and Tony was laughing with many of them.

"You do it and I'll join in. You work because you're called to it, and it's needed, and you do it right because it's an honour to be trusted and you have to look at yourself in the mirror. And rank brings privilege — no getting around that. But others heaping praises on you for doing your job? That's their right, not your deserving."

His Grace's eyes narrowed. "I can't altogether agree, Mr Nesbitt. And commend to you W. E. B. Du Havel's The Political Value of Sacrifice. Very smart book." Eloise saw Tony, characteristically, make a note. Du Havel was a thinker she was reading herself as time allowed. "But I take your point, and its much what Honor feels. All the same, when someone does what she's done, it's our way to bestow titles and promotions, but we'd pretty much run out of both to bestow until San Martin's accession. I note Her Majesty said President Ramirez's request had the backing of his legislature, which given what she showed Janvier to be intending doesn't surprise me at all. And there are some practical politics wrapped in it — it stops San Martin being odd man out, and undercuts arguments about precedence dinosaurs have been snorting about. And — hang on."

The Commons had completed their business and the screen showed Her Majesty informing the Lords. She would be grateful to their Lordships and Ladyships if seating Barons Black River and Morstone could be done expeditiously, and would expect to hear from the Lord Speaker at his earliest convenience. The formal reseating of Her Grace of Harrington as Her Grace of San Martin and Harrington would have to await the return of His Grace of Manticore, but took immediate effect so far as rules were concerned; and she took great pleasure now in presenting Her Grace with the appropriate mantle. The herald who'd carried out the decreations was admitted with an assistant bearing a vast bundle of bright silk, and Her Grace, looking resigned, was assisted out of the mantle she was wearing and into the new one — but in donning it paused, feeling the shoulders, and looked a question at the herald, who nodded, speaking briefly. Whatever he said brought a grin to Harrington's face, and once the mantle was on — an astonishing thing, embroidered with the manticore over mountain peaks that was the new planetary emblem of San Martin — a gesture brought the treecats who'd been watching from her seat leaping sinuously to her shoulders to offer nods of their own as she bowed to Queen and House before sitting.

The House plainly had mixed emotions. San Martinos were delighted and a clear majority pleased, but others looked thunderous or at best as if biting into lemons. Eloise had to admit Harrington looked magnificent, graceful figure and sharp beauty framed by the mantle, which must have seriously superior tailing beneath its decorations for it flowed around her as she moved, and was clearly less cumbersome than one would think. The treecats on each shoulder were like heraldic supporters — that bit of His Grace's flight of fantasy she had been able to follow — and their green-eyed gazes bracketing hers were enough to give anyone pause. Then the scene cut out and Tom was back once more.

"That's about it until you get here, except that His Imperial Majesty has accepted Her Majesty's invitations, and will send the Herzog von Rabenstrange. His Grace Protector Benjamin is coming in person, and combining it with a state visit, so his family will also be here. And two of Erewhon's triumvirs will be with their delegation, so it's a full house. Oh, and you must have been as knocked sideways as I was by Honor's proposal for a memorial to our dead as well as Manticore's, so I've added a recording of the space — extraordinary to find so much open land in the middle of a city — to give you some parameters. Theisman, out."

Before the last file could open Eloise paused, looking at His Grace.

"Did you understand that business with the mantle?"

"The shoulders? Honor has a form of body armour in most of her clothes so the 'cats can hang on without injuring her. Their claws are scalpel sharp. Her Majesty must have made sure the mantle had it. As a Grand Duchess Honor will have to wear it more often than she did her ducal one — one of the more tedious bits of our protocol — and I imagine it was also an apology for mousetrapping her into accepting the title."

Eloise hadn't considered the mechanics of having treecats on one's shoulders, and tried to think about a system where a monarch apologised to someone for making them a Grand Duchess by adding armour to their clothing, but gave it up with a shake of her head.

"If you say so. In any case, you were saying?"

"Only that the final reason I can think of for Her Majesty pushing this award so swiftly concerns popular acceptance of the treaty or treaties we'll be hammering out. Trevor's Star was a focus of fighting for so long that its formal union with the Star Kingdom is charged with a certain symbolism. And making our finest warrior its Grand Duchess fits that. Given Janvier's intentions it also expresses Her Majesty's opinion."

"Mmm. That I can understand, because such an association of Her Grace with San Martin has a similar symbolism for us, if inverted, of course. But forgive me, the relationship between Her Majesty and Her Grace seems very odd."

"Not really, Madam President, just very uncommon. How many real friends have you made since coming to office? The kind you can argue, fight, and kick back with, not having to mind your words? It doesn't happen, does it? Her Majesty came to the throne at 18, and outside her immediate family I'd say that since then she's made exactly one."

That was a thing to think about, but with the need to ponder the memorial and digest this latest data Eloise didn't have much time to do so before finding herself on the bridge with the other senior members of the delegation as the SDs came over the hyperwall at Trevor's Star. HMS King Roger III had gone first, to warn system defence a Havenite SD was just behind her, and Eloise had her first experience of FTL communication when they were within minutes greeted by Admiral Kuzak and Terminus Command. The long queue of merchant ships waiting to use the wormhole was halted as they approached, RMN vessels flashing wedges in salute; then a fleeting, disorienting moment of transit, and RNS Nouveau Paris emerged into a lane between a staggering array of fixed defences. Haven not having any wormhole termini, Eloise was unfamiliar with the sight of fortresses, however she knew of them by report, and if those at Trevor's Star had been impressive, these were something else. The urgency of her hopes was compounded by memories of discussions they'd had about how such things could be attacked, but after formal greeting by Astro Control with directions for a parking orbit at Manticore, still some hours away, the magic of FTL returned, and the screen lit with a familiar face.

"Madam President." Harrington surveyed them, Nimitz beside her, and gave Shannon Foraker a brief but intense smile. "On behalf of Her Majesty, I warmly welcome you and your delegation to the Star Kingdom. Admiral Theisman is waiting to brief you, and has details about where you'll be lodged, and questions about what sort of protocol you would like to govern your formal welcome by Her Majesty. But Her Majesty wishes to meet you all informally as soon as possible, so I invite you to dinner this evening. Her senior ministers and Space Lords will be here, and Mr Imbesi, as he remains my personal guest, but though I have my Grayson identity, no other nation's delegates — though that will follow tomorrow, if you are willing."

"Certainly, Your Grace. Please convey our greetings to Her Majesty. And allow me to thank you, and Lord Nimitz, for all you have done. We all share the sentiments Admiral Theisman expressed giving evidence."

Nimitz bleeked at her greeting, and Harrington looked down as his true hands flashed in a complicated sequence that made her grin.

"He says he and Golden Voice look forward to meeting the fellow elders of Dreams of Peace, are very happy their hunt for our bad elders helped bring this about, and hope two legs can go on behaving sensibly as it makes a nice change not to be at war. A sentiment I share, Madam President. It's just past noon here, and it'll take you about five hours to orbit, so shall we say 7:00 for 7:30?"

---

* Geoffrey Hill, 'Genesis', in For the Unfallen (London: Andre Deutsch, 1959).