The tall, glass-fronted clock in the corner ticked slowly,
endlessly, its swinging pendulum measuring off the seconds
and minutes in old-fashioned mechanical bites, and Lord
William Alexander, Chancellor of the Exchequer and the
Manticoran government's second ranking member, watched its
mesmerizing motion. A modern chrono glowed silently and
far more precisely on the desk at his elbow-the clock face
was actually divided into the twelve standard hour
increments of Old Earth's day, not Manticore's twenty-
three-plus-hour day-and he wondered, not for the first
time, why the man whose office this was surrounded himself
with antiques. Lord knew he could afford them, but why was
he so fascinated by them? Could it be because he longed
for a simpler, less complicated time?
Alexander hid a small, sad smile at the thought and
glanced at the man behind the desk. Allen Summervale, Duke
of Cromarty and Prime Minister of the Star Kingdom of
Manticore, was a slender man whose fair hair had turned
silver long since, despite all prolong could do. It wasn't
age which had bleached his hair or cut those deep, weary
lines in his face; it was the crushing responsibilities of
his job, and who could blame him if he hungered for a
world less complex and thankless than his own?
It was a familiar thought, and a frightening one, for if
anything ever happened to Cromarty, the burdens of his
office would fall upon Alexander's shoulders. He could
conceive of nothing more terrifying ... nor understand
what in his own character had driven him to place himself
in such a position. Which was only fair, for he couldn't
even imagine what had compelled Cromarty to shoulder the
office of prime minister for over fifteen years.
"He didn't say anything about his reasons?" Alexander
asked finally, breaking the ticking silence that gnawed at
his nerves.
"No." Cromarty's voice was a deep, whiskey-smooth
baritone, a potent and flexible political weapon, but it
was frayed by worry now. "No," he repeated wearily, "but
when the leader of the Conservative Association requests a
formal meeting rather than a com conference, I know it has
to be something I'm not going to like."
He smiled crookedly, and Alexander nodded. Michael
Janvier, Baron High Ridge, was not high on either man's
list of favorite people. He was cold, supercilious, and
filled with a bigot's awareness of his own "lofty" birth.
The fact that both Alexander and Cromarty were far more
nobly born than he seemed beside the point to him, a mere
bagatelle, something to be resented, perhaps, but not
something a Baron of High Ridge need concern himself with.
That was typical of the man, Alexander thought sourly.
Alexander seldom considered his own birth-except, perhaps,
to wish from time to time that he'd been born to a less
prominent and powerful family, free to ignore the
tradition of public service his father and grandfather had
bred into his blood and bone-but it was the core of High
Ridge's existence. It was all that really mattered to him,
a guarantor of power and prestige, and the narrow-minded
defense of privilege lay at the heart of his political
philosophy, such as it was. Indeed, it was the rallying
point of the entire Conservative Association, which
explained why it had virtually no representation in the
House of Commons, and it went far to explain the
Association's xenophobic isolationism. After all, anything
that might cause stress and change in the Manticoran
political system was one more dangerous force to conspire
against their exalted lot!
Alexander's mouth twisted, and he slid further down in his
chair, reminding himself not to curse in the Prime
Minister's office. And, he thought, to strangle his own
dislike when High Ridge finally turned up. If only they
didn't need him and his reactionaries! Their own Centrist
Party held a clear sixty-vote majority in the Commons, but
only a plurality in the Upper House. With the alliance of
the Crown Loyalists and the Association, the Cromarty
Government could poll a narrow majority in the Lords;
without the Association, that majority disappeared, and
that made High Ridge, insufferable as he was and loathsome
as he might be, critically important.
Especially now.
The com unit on Cromarty's desk hummed for attention, and
the duke leaned forward to key it.
"Yes, Geoffrey?"
"Baron High Ridge is here, Your Grace."
"Ah. Send him in, please. We've been expecting him." He
released the key and grimaced at Alexander. "Expecting him
for the past twenty minutes, in fact. Why in hell can he
never be on time?"
"You know why," Alexander replied with a sour
expression. "He wants to be sure you realize how important
he is."
Cromarty snorted bitterly, and then the two of them stood,
banishing their honest expressions with false smiles of
welcome as High Ridge was ushered through the door.
The baron ignored his guide. Of course, Alexander thought.
That was what peasants existed for-to bow and scrape for
their betters. He shoved the thought deep and nodded as
pleasantly as he could to their tall, spindly visitor.
High Ridge was even more slender than Cromarty, but on him
it was all long, gangling arms and legs, and a neck like
an emaciated soda straw. He'd always reminded Alexander of
a spider, except for the vulpine smile and cold little
eyes. If central casting had sent him to an HD producer
for the role of an over-bred, cretinous aristocrat, the
producer would have sent him back with a blistering memo
about stereotypes and typecasting.
"Good evening, My Lord," Cromarty said, extending his hand
in greeting.
"Good evening, Your Grace." High Ridge shook hands with an
odd, fastidious gesture-not, Alexander knew, something
assumed for the occasion but simply his normal mannerism-
and seated himself in the chair before the Prime
Minister's desk. He leaned back and crossed his legs,
placing his seal of possession upon the chair, and
Cromarty and Alexander resumed their own seats.
"May I ask what brings you here, My Lord?" the duke asked
politely, and High Ridge frowned.
"Two things, actually, Your Grace. One is a rather, um,
disconcerting bit of information which has reached my
ears."
He paused, one eyebrow cocked, enjoying his own sense of
power as he waited for the duke to ask what he meant. It
was another of his more irritating little tricks, but,
like all of the others, the realities of political
survival required his host to swallow it.
"And that bit of information is?" Cromarty inquired as
pleasantly as possible.
"I'm told, Your Grace, that the Admiralty is considering
pressing charges against Lord Pavel Young before a court-
martial," High Ridge said with an affable
smile. "Naturally I realized there could be no foundation
to the rumors, but I thought it wisest to come directly to
you for a denial."
Cromarty's was a politician's face, accustomed to telling
people what he wanted it to tell them, but his lips
tightened and his eyes smoldered as he glanced at
Alexander. His political second in command looked back,
and his expression was equally grim-and angry.
"May I ask, My Lord, just where you heard this?" Cromarty
asked in a dangerous voice, but High Ridge only shrugged.
"I'm afraid that's privileged, Your Grace. As a peer of
the realm, I must safeguard my own channels of information
and respect the anonymity of those who provide me with the
facts I require to discharge my duty to the Crown."
"Assuming a court-martial were being contemplated,"
Cromarty said softly, "that fact would be legally
restricted to the Admiralty, the Crown, and this office
until the decision was made and publicly announced-a
restriction designed, among other things, to protect the
reputations of those against whom such actions are
contemplated. The individual who provided it to you would
be in violation of the Defense of the Realm Act and the
Official Secrets Act, and, if a serving member of the
military, of the Articles of War, not to mention the oaths
he-or she-has personally sworn to the Crown. I insist that
you give me a name, My Lord."
"And I respectfully refuse, Your Grace." A corner of High
Ridge's lip curled in disdain at the very thought that
laws applied to him, and a dangerous, fulminating silence
hovered in the office. Alexander wondered if the baron
even realized just how fragile was the ice upon which he
stood. Allen Summervale would tolerate a great many things
in the name of politics; violation of DORA or the Official
Secrets Act wasn't one of them, especially not in time of
war, and High Ridge's refusal to identify his informant
constituted complicity under the Star Kingdom's law.
But the moment passed. Cromarty's jaw ridged, and his eyes
glittered ominously, but he shoved himself further back in
his chair and made himself inhale deeply.
"Very well, My Lord. I won't press you-this time," he said
in a hard voice that, for once, made no effort to conceal
his opinion of the other. Not that High Ridge seemed to
notice; the threatening qualifier rolled off the armor of
his arrogance like water, and he smiled again.
"Thank you, Your Grace. I'm still waiting for you to deny
the rumor, however."
Alexander's fist clenched under the cover of the edge of
Cromarty's desk at the man's sheer gall, and Cromarty
regarded the baron with icy eyes for several long seconds
of silence. Then he shook his head.
"I can't deny it, My Lord. Nor will I confirm it. The law
applies even to this office, you see."
"Indeed." High Ridge shrugged off the pointed reminder and
tugged delicately at the lobe of one ear. "If, however,
there were no truth to it, I feel certain you would deny
it, Your Grace. Which, of course, suggests that the
Admiralty does, indeed, intend to prosecute Lord Young.
Should that be the case, I wish to register the strongest
protest, not simply for myself, but for the entire
Conservative Association."
Alexander stiffened. Pavel Young's father was Dimitri
Young, Tenth Earl of North Hollow and the Conservative
Association's whip in the House of Lords. He was also, as
everyone in this room knew, the most powerful single man
in the Association. He was the king-maker, ruler of the
Association's back rooms, armed with a deadly nose for
scandal and intrigue, which made the private files he was
reputed to maintain a terrifying political weapon.
"May I ask the basis for your protest?" Cromarty asked
sharply.
"Of course, Your Grace. Assuming the information in my
possession is accurate-and I think it is, given your
refusal to deny it-this is only one more step in the
Admiralty's unwarranted persecution of Lord Young. The
Navy's persistent efforts to make him some sort of
whipping boy for the tragic events on Basilisk Station
have been an insult and an affront which, I believe, he
has borne with remarkable equanimity. This, however, is a
far more serious situation, and one that no one with a
decent respect for justice can allow to pass
unchallenged."
Gorge rose in Alexander's throat at High Ridge's
sanctimonious tone. He made a strangled sound, but
Cromarty shot him a quick warning glance and he clenched
his jaw and made himself stay in his chair.
"I strongly disagree with your characterization of the
Admiralty's attitude towards Lord Young," the Prime
Minister said sharply. "And even if I didn't, I have no
power-or legal right-to intervene in the affairs of the
Judge Advocate General's Corps, particularly not over
something as speculative as a court-martial which hasn't
even been officially announced yet!"
"Your Grace, you're Prime Minister of Manticore," High
Ridge replied with an indulgent smile. "You may lack the
power to intervene, but Her Majesty certainly doesn't, and
you're her first minister. As such, I earnestly advise you
to recommend to her that this entire proceeding be
dropped."
"I cannot and will not undertake such an action," Cromarty
said flatly, yet something inside him sounded an alarm,
for High Ridge simply nodded, and his expression showed a
strange sense of triumph, not alarm or even irritation.
"I see, Your Grace. Well, if you refuse, you refuse." The
baron shrugged and his smile was unpleasant. "With that
out of the way, however, I suppose I should turn to my
second reason for calling upon you."
"Which is?" Cromarty asked curtly when the baron paused
once more.
"The Conservative Association," High Ridge said, eyes
gleaming with that same, strange triumph, "has, of course,
made a very careful study of the Government's request for
a declaration of war against the People's Republic of
Haven."
Alexander stiffened once more, eyes widening in horrified
disbelief, and High Ridge glanced at him, then went on
with a sort of gloating exultation.
"Naturally, the Havenite attacks on our territory and
warships must be viewed with the gravest concern. Given
recent events within the People's Republic, however, we
believe that a more ... reasoned response is in order. I
fully realize the Admiralty desires to act promptly and
powerfully against the Havenites, but the Admiralty often
suffers from the shortsightedness of a military
institution and overlooks the importance of restraint.
Interstellar political problems have a way of working
themselves out over time, after all, particularly in a
position such as this. And, from the Association's
viewpoint, the Admiralty's unmerited hostility towards
Lord Young is a further indication that its judgment
is ... not infallible, shall we say?"
"Get to the point, My Lord!" Cromarty snapped, all
pretense of affability abandoned, and High Ridge shrugged.
"Of course, Your Grace-to the point. Which is, I fear,
that I must regretfully inform you that if the Government
pushes for a declaration of war and unrestricted military
operations against the People's Republic at this time, the
Conservative Association will have no choice but to go
into opposition as a matter of principle."
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