In Fire Forged: Worlds of Honor V-ARC (31 page)

“I quite understand, Commander.” Charnowska beckoned for Honor to follow her to what was obviously the governor’s favorite position, in front of the windows once more. “Your request for this meeting mentioned something about…‘disturbing information’ which has come to your attention, I believe?”

“I’m afraid that’s true, Your Excellency,” Honor replied in a considerably more formal, sober tone.

“That sounds ominous.” Charnowska smiled briefly. “What sort of ‘information,’ Commander?”

“One of my people from
Hawkwing
picked up on a conversation in one of your local restaurants,” Honor told her—truthfully enough, as far as it went—then paused.

“What sort of conversation?” Charnowska asked a bit impatiently.

“It was about the Casimir System, Your Excellency.” Honor wasn’t looking at the governor or trying to read the Silesian’s expression; she was looking out the window and letting Nimitz read something considerably deeper than mere facial muscles. “According to what she heard, Manpower is operating a full-fledged depot in Casimir. Apparently, it’s been going on for some time without its coming to the local authorities’ attention.”

“Nonsense!” Charnowska said sharply. Then she drew a deep breath and shook her head. “Pardon me, Commander. I don’t wish to appear to be discounting your information out of hand, and I certainly wouldn’t want to suggest that I feel anything but grateful for your having brought it to my attention. Officially informing the Confederacy of such a possibility, even when it turns out your information is an error, is exactly the sort of mutual cooperation I’ve been urging my colleagues here in Silesia to pursue—and welcome—for so long. At the same time, however, I feel quite confident your information
is
in error.” She smiled again, even more briefly. “To be honest, it sounds to me as if someone realized your crewman was listening and decided to feed the ‘foreigner’ a false rumor as some sort of joke.”

“Really?” Honor turned to face her as Nimitz’s left true-foot pressed firmly against her spine, just below her shoulder blade, in the ’cat’s signal that Charnowska was lying.

“I think that’s the most probable explanation, at any rate,” the governor said. “There could be any number of other explanations, of course—including the possibility that your man simply misheard something.”

Honor wondered if the governor’s use of the male pronoun meant Charnowska hadn’t heard her own
female
pronoun, or if it was deliberate. If the other woman did know it was Honor herself who’d had the conversation in question, she might be using the wrong gender intentionally as a way to disguise the fact that her people had placed Honor under surveillance.

“Well, obviously Casimir is a Silesian system, not a Manticoran one,” Honor observed. “And it’s in the Saginaw Sector, of course, which means it’s your jurisdiction. Not to mention the fact that it also means you undoubtedly have better contacts and sources of information than I do.”
Which doesn’t say one word about what you
do
with any information that comes your way
. “Still, my information is that the conversation was quite intense. If it was some sort of prank, the people behind it seem to have been playing it for all it was worth.”

“People sometimes find peculiar things humorous, Commander,” Charnowska said a bit more frostily. “And, while I may wish this weren’t the case, it’s also true that Manticorans aren’t exactly what one might call universally beloved in the Confederacy.” There was very little of a smile in the flash of bared teeth she showed Honor this time. “I’m afraid any number of Silesians would find it enormously entertaining to play something ‘for all it was worth’ if they could convince a Manticoran to believe nonsense or act foolishly on the basis of false information.”

“I hadn’t actually considered that possibility, Your Excellency.” Which was also true; and she
still
wasn’t considering it, either. “Do you really think it was as simple as that?”

“Yes, Commander, I do.” The look Charnowska gave her clearly implied that she thought Honor was being particularly slow.

“Then you probably have a point.” Honor tried to sound a bit penitent, like a relatively junior officer who’d just realized she was irritating a powerful foreign political figure. “In fact, I feel sure you do. Still,
Hawkwing
will be hypering out in a couple of days. Would you like us to stop in at Casimir on our way to Hyperion?”

“Hyperion?” Charnowska arched one eyebrow.

“Yes, Your Excellency. I’ve been instructed to touch base with the Hauptman Cartel’s resource extraction operation there. Casimir would only take us day or so out of our way.”

“Commander Harrington, I’m sure your time would be better spent in Hyperion than in Casimir. The Hauptman operation there is large enough to represent a significant economic resource for the entire sector, and, to be frank, I’m delighted your own government has made it a point to support and nurture it.”

“I entirely agree,” Honor said, doing her very best to play the part of the aforesaid relatively junior officer who was now scurrying to find some way (as unobtrusively as possible) of offering the aforesaid powerful foreign political figure an olive branch. “At the same time, as I said, visiting Casimir wouldn’t delay us very much, and—”

“I appreciate your willingness to be of assistance,” Charnowska said, “but I see absolutely no need for you to visit Casimir. And, to be frank, Commander, I’m not sure it would be either…tactful or wise.”

“I beg your pardon, Ma’am?” Honor widened her eyes.

“I don’t wish to belabor this point, particularly since I’m fully aware that you’re simply trying to be helpful and to pursue your instructions to cooperate and coordinate with the sector government.”
 

Charnowska’s tone was firm, even a bit cold, but not really unpleasant…yet.

“Having said that, however, I feel I should point out to you that Casimir, like Saginaw itself, is a Silesian star system and the sovereign territory of the Silesian Confederacy. I am, as I said, firmly of the opinion that there’s nothing to this rumor your crewman overheard. Assuming he interpreted what was being said correctly, it was almost certainly exactly what I’ve already called it—a prank. It would be most unfortunate if in the pursuit of such an ill-founded assertion a Manticoran warship were to be perceived as interfering in Silesia’s internal, purely domestic affairs. I’m sure”—Nimitz’s left true-foot pressed even harder than before—“that you would have absolutely no intention of interfering in that manner. It might not
appear
that way to the local population and authorities, however, which would be…unfortunate.”

The steadiness with which her eyes met Honor’s made it quite clear who she intended to experience any “unfortunate” consequences.

The governor held her gaze for a couple of heartbeats, then inhaled and smiled brightly.

“Nonetheless, Commander,” she said, “just to be on the safe side, I’ll pass your comments on to Admiral Zadawski and also to our civilian investigative agencies. I’m sure they’ll look into it carefully. In fact, since you were courteous enough to bring this information to me in the first place, I’ll
insist
they do so and personally share their findings with you on your next visit to Saginaw. Will that be satisfactory?”

“Oh, completely!” Honor lied with deliberate haste. “It was never my intention to provoke some sort of an inci—um, I mean,
misunderstanding,
Your Excellency! I simply thought that since I’d brought the matter up, it might be helpful if I—That is, if I were able to come back to you and
confirm
that nothing untoward is going on there,” she finished a bit lamely.

“I understand. We here in the Confederacy are quite capable of looking into this sort of rumor for ourselves, though, you know.” The governor smiled, but it was obvious she was getting in another lick on a clearly rattled foreign naval officer whose misplaced zeal and credulity had gotten her into deep water.

“Of course you are, Your Excellency,” Honor agreed fervently.

“Well, then!” Charnowska’s smile broadened. “Was there anything else I could do for you today, Commander Harrington?”

“No, Ma’am. I’m—That is, I’ve taken up enough of your valuable time. I’m sorry to have disturbed you with something like this.”

“Not at all,” Charnowska said affably. “If you don’t mention such rumors, there’s no way anyone can dispel them for you, is there? And, to be fair, what seems painfully obvious to those of us who live here is likely to seem far less obvious to visitors from other star nations. I appreciate the fact that you did attempt to alert us to something we might not have been aware of.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency.” Honor managed to inject just a hint of obsequiousness into her answering smile. “With your permission, I’ll withdraw now.”

“Of course, Commander Harrington. Please feel free to contact me again if the need should arise.”

“Oh, I will, Ma’am,” Honor assured her.

But,
she added mentally,
not as quickly as I’m going to contact Betsy to discuss sailboats
.

*
   
*
   
*

“Hello?”

There was no visual on the display in the spaceport restaurant’s com cubicle. Honor detested the small, cramped, mini-closets most public places offered for people who wanted to use their coms. She suspected the small size was partly due to the fact that so few people needed to use public com facilities, even on relatively backward planets like those here in Silesia, but she suspected even more strongly that the proprietors of places like this restaurant figured anyone who was using their com was doing it for reasons of privacy. They certainly made a point of posting theoretically “discreet” notices in highly visible places proclaiming that privacy (and security), and they charged an arm and a leg for their services and equipment.

Unlike the majority of the Silesians who might find themselves using this cubicle, however, Honor had brought along some interesting equipment of her own, as well. Using it for this particular purpose (or, at least, when she intended to contact these particular
people
) stretched several regulations right to the snapping point, and even with it, no guarantee could be perfect. But Manticoran tech was considerably better than anything one was likely to encounter in Silesia, and according to the palm-sized display on the small device on the shelf beside the com, no one happened to be tapping this line.

Probably, she reminded herself.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “There’s no image it my end, so I hope I have the right number. I’m trying to reach Betsy. I wanted to discuss the sailboats I saw on the park lake yesterday.”

“It’s the right number,” the faceless voice said. It sounded like an older woman’s, Honor thought. Or, at least, like a voice which was
supposed
to sound like an older woman’s. “I’m afraid she isn’t here just now, though,” it continued. “You just missed her, actually. In fact, I believe she’s on her way to the park right now. Did you want to buy one of the boats from her?”

“I wanted to discuss it, at least,” Honor replied. “I sail quite a bit at home myself, and I’ve got a couple of younger cousins who’d probably really enjoy playing with them. From what I could see yesterday, I think it would actually be pretty fair early training for the real thing.”

“Several people who’ve bought them said the same thing,” the voice agreed. “If you want to talk to her, she’ll probably be down at the lake for the next—oh, at least for a couple of hours. Maybe longer, if she’s teaching one of her classes.”

*
   
*
   
*

Someone who’d been adopted by a treecat, Honor discovered, had certain advantages when it came to making covert contact with an unknown individual for the first time. There were actually three kiosks selling the remote-controlled sailboats by the park lake, but Nimitz steered her directly to the one she wanted with the unerring accuracy of a good radar tech.

The young woman behind the counter—“Betsy,” Honor presumed—had the same olive complexion and oddly amber-colored eyes as John Brown Matheson. She also had Matheson’s nose, although in a thankfully much more feminine version. In fact, she was quite attractive in a dark-haired, slender-yet-already-opulent way, and Honor suppressed a grimace. If “Betsy’s” tongue carried a barcode, Honor was willing to bet that it was for one of the “courtesan” models—otherwise known as sex slaves.

“Yes?” the young woman (she couldn’t have been much over eighteen or nineteen T-years old, prolong or no) said pleasantly as Honor walked up to her kiosk. “Can I help you…Captain?”

The slight pause and rising eyebrow which accompanied her greeting made it clear she was guessing at Honor’s rank.

“It’s Commander, actually,” Honor replied. “And I think you may be able to. Someone told me that if I wanted to buy a couple of the sailboats I saw wandering around the lake yesterday, I should look for Betsy. Would it happen I’ve found her?”

“As a matter of fact, you have.” The young woman gave her a bright, dimpled smile.

“Good!” Honor smiled back. “I was impressed enough by them that I definitely want one of my own. And—worse, from my perspective, if not from yours—I think I probably need at least a half dozen more of them, too.” Her smile broadened slightly. “I’ve got a whole passel of cousins back on Sphinx, and each of them is going to want one of her very own when they see mine.”

“Oh, my!” Betsy chuckled. “That’s probably going to cost you a pretty credit, Commander!”

“Better I take a hit to the bank account than bring home too few to make everyone happy,” Honor said with a fervency which was actually more than half genuine.

“Well, in that case, could I suggest you look at our custom line?”

“Custom line?” Honor let just a hint of buyer’s wariness creep into her voice and cocked her head.

“Yes. My dad and older brother build the hulls for me, and for a slight up-charge they can give you just about any hull form you want. For that matter, I could show you our deluxe models. Most of them are single-masted or twin-masted, like the ones here in the kiosk, but we can build them with significantly upgraded control systems.”