A call to insurrection, p.8
A Call to Insurrection, page 8
part #4 of Manticore Ascendant Series Series
“Good,” Calvingdell said. “So here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to give me everything you can on Basaltberg, then you’re to go on leave for a couple of weeks, or until the diplomats decide they’ve talked enough and call it a day. Someplace outside of Landing, preferably. Sphinxians are a bit—shall we say noticeable?—and no one wants to risk Basaltberg spotting you in a crowd.”
“How very prudent of them,” Chomps muttered. “I don’t suppose Delphi might be willing to pay for this forced leave?”
“As a matter of fact, we are,” Calvingdell said. The small smile made a brief reappearance. “Nice to know I can still surprise you. Now get busy. Basaltberg will make orbit in about five hours, and I want you gone by then.” She gave him a brisk nod and headed back toward her lurker position behind the other analysts.
Chomps watched her first few steps, a sour feeling in the pit of his stomach, as his visions of dress uniforms, elite company, and free food evaporated.
Still, he couldn’t argue with her logic. For decades ONI had been the Star Kingdom’s sole foreign intelligence agency, collecting data for both the Navy and the Foreign Secretary. With the latter office being largely ceremonial, though, its needs tended to get ignored as ONI focused more and more on military intel. Furthermore, the same inertia that had once affected the entire Navy had seeped into ONI as well, leaving it hidebound and heavily political, to the point where its small staff had done little except read dispatches as they came in and drool over ads for weapon systems the RMN would never have the budget to buy.
It was that lack of genuine usefulness that had prompted the creation of Delphi four years ago, and as far as Chomps was concerned it had more than proven its value.
But ONI was still there, it was still staffed by the privileged few, and—most important of all—still had more than its fair share of support in the Navy and among several influential members of the Lords. The last thing any of them wanted was a toe-to-toe fight, at least not until Delphi had proved itself beyond anyone’s ability to scoff.
The mission to Silesia and Casey’s joint mission with the Andermani had been a good start. Basaltberg’s presence here was ample proof of that. But Calvingdell clearly wanted more.
And really, it had been a long time since Chomps had had a genuine vacation. Especially a paid one. Flexing his thick fingers, he got to work.
And as he worked, he wondered.
If people like him weren’t going to the grand galas being planned for the Andermani, who was being invited?
CHAPTER FOUR
Oh, my God, Gavin Vellacott, Baron Winterfall, mouthed silently to himself as the recording played itself out. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.
But it was.
The recording ended. Seated at the head of the table, Prime Minister Julian Mulholland, Baron Harwich, cleared his throat. “Comments?” he invited.
Winterfall sent a furtive look around the table. Most of the men and women of the Cabinet had occupied their same posts for years and were old hands at this. In the eight months since Winterfall had been named Foreign Secretary, in fact, only two other new faces had been added.
But those turnovers had been accompanied by high levels of quiet drama. Would that drama, he wondered, find a resurgence with today’s news?
“I hope everyone realizes,” Olga Strait, Baroness Crystal Pine, jumped into the silence, “what a tremendous opportunity this is.”
Winterfall winced. And thus it began.
Everyone else at the table was worried about military and political implications of the unexpected arrival. Crystal Pine could see only the potential profits.
Though there was no reason anyone should have expected anything different from her. The new Secretary of Industry had only joined the House of Lords five months ago, following the terrible air-car accident that had killed Jonathan Martinez, Duke Serisburg, and his entire remaining family. And while Crystal Pine’s enthusiasm for her new post was evident, she still didn’t quite have the niceties of proper closed-room protocol down pat.
Not all of that was her fault, of course. The death of an entire Peerage was a situation that none of the Founders had ever wanted to happen, but in the middle of the wholesale death that was the Plague Years they’d had the foresight to make sure it was addressed in the Constitution. In the aftermath of the accident, with the rest of Serisburg’s family already gone, the duchy’s lands had been turned over to the Crown while the vacant seat had been handed to the next investor of the original Manticore Corporation.
The deaths had been a traumatic time for everyone in the Lords, most of whom had known and worked alongside Serisburg for years. Crystal Pine had had an uphill climb against all that emotion, plus a whole lot of it’s-always-been-this-way-and-I-see-no-reason-to-change-it mindset. That institutional inertia, along with Crystal Pine’s lack of upper-level political experience, had naturally led to a certain animosity toward her, along with the general assumption that she would sit quietly for the first year or two as she sorted out the differences between her old local parliament and the far more tangled labyrinth that was the Lords.
But to everyone’s surprise—and some people’s resentment—she’d instead hit the ground running, soaking in everything like a sponge and leveraging the social and business contacts she’d made through her industrial manufacturing business into political ones. Two months after her arrival, when Baron Stallman resigned his short-lived position at Industry and the various political factions began scrambling to add the vacant Cabinet seat to their personal powerbases, Crystal Pine’s immensely competent business and industry background—plus her still-neutral position vis-à-vis any of the established factions—made her a logical if somewhat half-hearted choice to replace him.
That had led to a small resurgence in animosity from some quarters. The fact that she, like the Prime Minister himself, was a loyal and frequently outspoken supporter of Queen Elizabeth was probably also a factor.
“With My Lady’s permission,” Katra Nessler, Countess Greatgap, put in acidly before anyone else could speak, “do you think we can hold off on matters of money and profit until we’ve dealt with the more immediate situation?”
“I never said anything about money,” Crystal Pine countered calmly.
“No, but we all know you were thinking it,” Greatgap said.
Mentally, Winterfall shook his head. The whole thing with Serisburg and Crystal Pine had only just begun to settle down when the government was hit by a second gut-punch: the resignation of Chancellor of the Exchequer Anderson L’Estrange, Earl Breakwater, and his replacement by Greatgap.
Most of the speculations about Breakwater’s departure centered around his age and health, or perhaps fallout from the same faction rivalry that had put Crystal Pine in Industry. Winterfall knew better. Breakwater had once been one of the most powerful men in government, with the kind of political muscle that had allowed him to believe he could challenge even the Queen herself.
That challenge might conceivably have succeeded. Nearly had, Winterfall suspected.
Few people knew of Winterfall’s small contribution to the Queen’s quiet victory in that behind-the-scenes battle. Winterfall himself knew better than to flatter himself that he’d been the factor that turned the tide. But he was also smart enough to recognize that his sudden appointment to the post of Foreign Secretary in the wake of that victory was hardly coincidence. The Queen and her supporters were grateful, and they’d made their gratitude known in a tangible way.
Not that the appointment was exactly a matter of anyone going overboard with appreciation. Up to now, the Foreign Office had been little more than a side show, barely more than an afterthought to the Prime Minister’s sphere of responsibility. With Manticore’s nearest neighbors weeks or months of hyperspace travel away, the Foreign Secretary was lucky if he or she got to greet a minor foreign functionary once a year, or to advise the Cabinet on some tidbit of news brought by a merchant ship. Up to now, it had been largely a ceremonial position, handed out to political cronies or to whoever was willing to put up with the boredom.
Up to now.
Now, in the space of a two-minute message, all of that had changed. The Queen and Lords knew something about the Republic of Haven and how to deal with it. None of them knew the first thing about the Andermani Empire or how to deal with that. They needed to figure it out, and fast.
And Winterfall was the man squarely in the middle of it all.
“In my mind, the first question we need to ask is whether these people are, in fact, Andermani,” Greatgap continued. “We’ve been snoggered before by false IDs and lying bastards. And by empty promises of profit.”
Winterfall sensed another small ripple of discomfort run around the table. Greatgap was settling into the Exchequer’s position well enough, but there was an undercurrent between her and Crystal Pine that he hadn’t quite figured out.
“The Admiralty’s analysts are convinced,” Harwich said. “And if I may suggest, this isn’t the time for future speculations of any sort. This is the here and now, and we need to address more immediate concerns.”
“Of course, My Lord,” Greatgap said.
“Thank you.” Harwich shifted his gaze to Winterfall. “I’d like you, Lord Winterfall, to screen your brother, send him a copy of this message if he hasn’t already heard it, and see if he concurs with the Admiralty’s assessment.”
“Yes, My Lord,” Winterfall said, making a note on his tablet.
Harwich’s eyebrows went up, just slightly. “As in now, My Lord.”
“Of course, My Lord,” Winterfall said hastily, wincing at his momentary brain glitch. He might be new to the Cabinet, but he knew better than to try to hold a secondary conversation in the same room where others were trying to talk. “Excuse me.”
Which was also just as well on another level, he mused as he hurried from the room. Winterfall and Travis hadn’t been the closest of half-brothers, and the political fallout from their relationship had added a level of difficulty to Travis’s slow rise through the navy’s ranks. An out-of-the-blue screen might well end up being awkward or even antagonistic, and Winterfall had no desire to have anyone listening in, least of all the entire Cabinet.
Travis answered on the second ring. “Gavin,” he said, his voice tight. “I assume you’ve heard the news?”
“Yes,” Winterfall said, feeling the tightness in his chest easing a bit. Maybe with a situation that was completely outside their family looming like a hexapuma in front of them they could have a calm discussion without guilt or recrimination or baggage. “The news and the message both. Lord Harwich wanted me to play the message for you and ask if you could tell if it was really Basaltberg.”
And winced again. Dropping Harwich’s name, with the reminder that Winterfall was now in the upper echelons of the Star Kingdom’s power, was the worst kind of self-aggrandizement.
To his relief, Travis didn’t seem to notice. “No need—I’ve already heard it,” he said. “Near as I can tell it is Basaltberg. Any idea what he’s doing here?”
“All he said in his follow-up messages is that they’re here for discussions with us, with an eye toward maybe opening full diplomatic relations.”
“I guess that’s doable,” Travis said doubtfully. “We’ve got a sort-of relationship with Haven, and New Berlin’s almost a month closer. Still a pretty hefty distance for any real back-and-forth communication.”
“And of course Haven wants to make regular contact with its neighbors,” Winterfall pointed out. “I’ve looked through all the archives, and as far as I can tell the Andermani have never reached out to the Star Kingdom before. I’m not sure what relationship they have with Haven, either, for that matter.”
“You’ve looked through the archives? Don’t you have a staff for that?”
“Oh, I’ve got a staff, all right,” Winterfall said sourly. “Her name’s Verona Blankenship, she was hired as a secretary and receptionist, and she’s extremely not happy at having this kind of research load suddenly dropped in her lap.”
“Maybe you should promise her a raise.”
“I’ve promised her two,” Winterfall said. “Assuming we all survive the upcoming all-night slave sessions, I may even be able to pry the extra money out of the Exchequer. Anyway, we were talking about Haven.”
“Right,” Travis said. “My point was that whether or not they’ve got official relationships with us or Haven, they’ve definitely been watching us. Did you read my report?”
“Yes,” Winterfall said. “You’re right, they do seem pretty familiar with the Star Kingdom. And with Haven, and Silesia, and probably everyone else in the region. Either they’re paranoid or just very cautious.”
“I’d guess the latter,” Travis said. “Gustav Anderman was a mercenary commander in the League for a long time. You collect enough enemies, and you probably learn to watch your back.”
“And all the rest of your anatomy,” Winterfall said. “Speaking of enemies—or not—how were things between Casey’s officers and Basaltberg after Walther? Clegg’s report said it was an amicable parting, but she wouldn’t be the first person to tell people what they wanted to hear.”
“Captain Clegg wouldn’t be first, the last, or any of the others,” Travis said, a little stiffly. “She’s as honest and straightforward as they come.”
“Sorry,” Winterfall said hastily. “Didn’t mean to impugn her honor.”
“I’m sorry, too,” Travis said. “Knee-jerk reaction. Our relationship with the government hasn’t always been the most friendly. The Navy’s, I mean.”
“Understood,” Winterfall said. “Verona and I have been through all the official correspondence—what there is of it—but you’ve met these people face-to-face. What’s your assessment of their attitude toward us?”
“No idea what their government’s attitude is,” Travis said. “I’d say their navy’s is probably less friendship between equals and more uncle to slightly dimwitted nephew.”
Winterfall made a face. Captain Trina Clegg, commander of the advanced cruiser Casey, had also made the point that Andermani equipment and training was vastly superior to the RMN’s. Had made it repeatedly and in great depth.
In which case… “Is there any chance they’re here to pick up where the Volsungs left off?” he asked carefully. The last thing he wanted was to spark another bad reaction from his brother, but it had to be asked. “If they’re that much more advanced than we are, maybe Emperor Gustav figures we’d be an easy addition to his real estate.”
“Not a chance,” Travis said firmly.
“Are you sure?” Winterfall persisted. “Like you said, Anderman was a merc for a long time. Maybe whoever hired the Volsungs decided to upgrade for their next attempt.”
Travis’s sigh was clearly audible. “One: you can’t take Manticore with a single battlecruiser and a frigate,” he said. “Even the Volsungs knew better than that. Two: there’s no point in sending Basaltberg and an advance team to scope us out. They’ve already seen Casey and the RMN’s combat readiness, which makes a pre-invasion survey a waste of time. And three: if the amount of data they have on the Silesian Confederacy is any indication, that’s where Gustav is looking to extend his reach. Assuming he’s looking anywhere.”
“That all seems reasonable,” Winterfall said.
Which didn’t mean it was all necessarily true. But that would be for the Queen and Cabinet to determine.
Speaking of which, he needed to get back. Having a mostly friendly conversation with Travis was something of a new experience, but Harwich hadn’t sent him out here to mend family fences. “Anyway, I have to go. We’ll catch up soon, okay?”
“Sure,” Travis said, in a tone that suggested he would believe it when he saw it. “Good-bye, Gavin.”
Harwich and Greatgap were discussing some kind of formal reception as Winterfall reentered the chamber. The Prime Minister held up a hand as he spotted his foreign secretary, cutting Greatgap off in mid-sentence. “Well?” he asked.
“He believes it to be Basaltberg’s voice, My Lord,” Winterfall confirmed as he resumed his chair. “He furthermore reiterated that Casey and the Andermani parted on very good terms, and feels it unlikely there’s any threat or danger implied by Basaltberg’s arrival.”
“I don’t recall anyone saying there was a threat,” Crystal Pine murmured.
Winterfall winced. “I didn’t mean—”
“Whether or not anyone said it,” Harwich came smoothly to Winterfall’s rescue, “it’s clear that people are thinking it. Otherwise Lord Dapplelake would be here with us instead of in the War Room with Admiral Locatelli and First Lord of the Admiralty Cazenestro.”
“My apologies, My Lord,” Crystal Pine said, ducking her head in a brief nod. “My Lords,” she amended, giving Winterfall the same nod. “I didn’t mean to cast aspersions. I understand that every possibility has to be taken into account.”
“That’s good,” Harwich said. “And while the Navy deals with the military possibilities, our job is to deal with the political and diplomatic ones. You all have your assignments; Lord Winterfall, your job will be to go through the archives and see what, if anything, we know about Andermani social protocols.”
“Yes, My Lord,” Winterfall said. Yet another job to hand off to Verona. She might need a third raise. “I presume someone will also be talking to Captain Clegg? Our archives are probably somewhat out of date.”
“Lord Grange will be doing that,” Harwich said, nodding toward the Interior Minister. “You can pull in your brother as advisor if you want, assuming the Navy doesn’t grab him first. Any questions?” The Prime Minister sent his gaze around the table. “No? Then let’s get to it, My Lords and Ladies. Our distinguished guests will be here in just a few hours. If we can’t impress them with our military prowess, let’s try to at least impress them with our social graces.”
With a flurry of quiet activity and murmured conversation the Cabinet ministers gathered their tablets and data chips in preparation for their exit. Winterfall, mindful of the task looming in front of him—and painfully aware that he’d damn well better pull this particular rabbit out of the hat—was the first one out of the room. He hurried down the corridor, mentally working out a list of which key words would be best to start his search with—
