"Yes, Jiri?"
Luiz Rozsak went right on methodically crushing gingersnaps for the eventual gravy as Commander Watanapongse appeared on his personal com. The rich, comforting smell of home-baked rye bread with caraway seeds was a subtle background incense for the stronger, more immediate scent of simmering sauerbraten, and, as usual, when he was occupied in the kitchen, Rozsak had set the com for holographic mode, which meant Watanapongse's head and shoulders seemed to sprout out of the counter before him while he worked.
"Sorry to disturb you, Luiz, but I thought you'd want to hear about this ASAP." The commander grimaced. "I think we've just managed to confirm what Laukkonen was talking about back in March."
"Laukkonen?"
Rozsak's fingers paused in their work, and he frowned slightly. There were enough things breaking loose in the Maya Sector and its immediate environs for even Luiz Rozsak to need a handful of seconds to sort through his orderly mental files. Then he nodded.
"Ajax," he said.
"Exactly." Watanapongse nodded as the single word told him Rozsak had found the required memory and called it up. "This isn't from him, and it isn't as clear cut and . . . concise, let's say, as what he had for us, either. But it's from two separate low-level sources in two different star systems. Neither of them happened to have any senior StateSec officers who owed them money, but between the two of them, they've reported the departure of three rogue ex-Peep warships from their areas. There's a lot of little stuff—minor crap, the kind of barroom and restaurant chatter where people let things slip—to suggest all three of them were headed for the same rendezvous somewhere, as well. Obviously, we can't confirm that positively at the moment, but we have been able to confirm that the ships in question all left in a fairly tight time window. One which would match pretty well with what Laukkonen gave us from Bottereau, the StateSec guy who owes him all that money."
"I'm not hearing anything about positively confirming their target," Rozsak observed, and Watanapongse twitched a slight smile at him.
"No, you're not," he agreed. "But as we agreed when we talked about Laukkonen's original report, it's hard for me to think of another target in our area Manpower would be interested in beating on."
"That assumes operations in our area are what's on their mind, though," Rozsak pointed out. "Given what seems to be going on out Talbott's way, they could be pulling in extra forces for that area."
"They could be." Watanapongse nodded. "On the other hand, given the scale of the operation Terekhov busted at Monica, all the StateSec holdouts combined wouldn't matter a fart in a skinsuit. If we can figure that out, then Manpower probably can, too, so why waste an asset that's only going to disappear like snow on a griddle when it gets run over by the reinforcements the Manties have to be sending that way?"
"Assuming the Manties have very much to send," Rozsak replied.
"You know, Luiz, you really do seem to get more enthusiastic about playing devil's advocate whenever I catch you in the kitchen. I thought cooking was supposed to be a soothing pastime."
"This is me being 'soothing'—or as close to it as I can get these days, anyway."
Rozsak smiled crookedly, finished crushing the gingersnaps, set them aside, and wiped his fingers on the hand towel draped around his neck. He stayed that way for several seconds, his smile gradually fading into a slight frown, then exhaled heavily.
"I don't suppose we've got anything new on what the Manties did to Giscard at Lovat?" he asked.
"Not really." Watanapongse shook his head, and Rozsak grimaced.
The assassination of James Webster in Old Chicago and the attempted assassination of Queen Berry on Torch had done exactly what he, Barregos, Watanapongse, and Edie Habib were convinced they'd been supposed to do: completely derail the proposed summit between Queen Elizabeth and President Pritchart on Torch. Elizabeth's reaction, Rozsak thought, had been almost as predictable as sunrise, particularly in light of the People's Republic of Haven's penchant for using assassination as a tool and the attempt on her own life which had been organized by Oscar Saint-Just. He had to admit that, in her place, he would have automatically been deeply suspicious of Haven, as well. Of course, he wasn't in her place. He didn't have her personal history—or the history of her star nation as a whole—with the People's Republic of Haven. And because he didn't, it seemed extremely unlikely to him that Pritchart would have gone about sabotaging her own proposed summit in such an elaborate and potentially disastrous fashion.
Of course, that may be in part because you know—now—just how "disastrous" it looks like turning out after the fact, Luiz, he pointed out to himself. It's obvious Pritchart and Theisman didn't see whatever the hell it was Harrington used at Lovat coming any better than we did, so they couldn't have had any idea before the fact just how bad any fresh shooting was likely to be from their perspective. There is still the possibility that it was someone else in the Republic who wanted to sabotage the peace talks when it looked like outright military victory was comfortably in reach, too, I suppose. But still . . .
"In the absence of any additional evidence one way or the other," he said out loud, "I think you and Edie are probably on the right track. God knows I'd love to know how even Manties managed to cram a two-way FTL link into something the size of a missile, but I don't see what else could account for Lovat."
"I'd be happier if we had something more concrete than secondhand reports about it," Watanapongse responded.
"We'd always be happier if we had something we don't have!" Rozsak snorted. "It's only the specific 'something' we have in mind that changes, isn't it?"
Watanapongse gave an answering snort of agreement, and the admiral shrugged.
"Well, since we don't have anything more concrete than secondhand reports about Lovat, we can't begin to predict where that whole mess is going. And, since we don't have anyone inside Manpower's command and control loop, either, we can't be positive exactly what target they're planning to hit. I think, though, that we're going to have to assume—provisionally, at least—that they are planning on going after Torch. If that attempt on Berry Zilwicki was a Manpower-organized hit, they may have been after more than one bird."
"Softening Torch up as well as getting the Manties and the Havenites shooting at each other again, you mean?"
"That's exactly what I mean," Rozsak acknowledged. "And 'softening up Torch,' as you put it, would be a logical first step if they're planning on hitting it with a follow-up attack from space."
"Those poor bastards can't seem to catch a break, can they?" Watanapongse asked rhetorically. "First they lose their survey ship, a week later somebody tries to assassinate their queen, and now it's looking more and more like Manpower plans on hammering them from space, by proxy, at least."
"And the two navies most likely to be able to do something about it are busy shooting at each other again," Rozsak agreed. "Besides which, if I were a betting man—which, of course, we both know I'm not—" he and Watanapongse grinned at one another; Luiz Rozsak had never been interested in betting mere money "—I'd be willing to put a few credits on the probability that any instructions Manpower might give where Torch is concerned wouldn't contain the words 'Remember the Eridani Edict' anywhere."
"I'm pretty damn sure they wouldn't." Watanapongse's short-lived grin disappeared. "And with Manticore and Haven shooting at each other again, Erewhon's going to want to keep its own military assets closer to home, just in case."
"All right." Rozsak nodded to himself. "I think you're right about Erewhon, and even if you aren't, they're not the ones who have a treaty with Torch. We are. I want you and Edie to do a full staff appreciation on all of the intelligence information we've got about Manpower, outlaw StateSec ships, and anything else we can scrape up about the Manties' new targeting systems and known redeployment plans. I want to be able to brief Oravil on the entire situation, hopefully within the week."
* * *
"Are you all right, Jack?" Steven Lathorous asked, and Jack McBryde looked up quickly from the memo he'd been studying.
The two of them sat in McBryde's Gamma Center office, going over routine paperwork as part of the current installment of their regularly scheduled three-times-a-week meetings. Lathorous was the Center's assistant security director, McBryde's senior subordinate, and they'd known one another literally since they joined Alignment Security as cadets. They worked well together, and, what was more, they were personal friends. Which gave the look in Lathorous' eyes—a sort of fusion of mingled perplexity and concern—additional weight in several ways.
"Am I 'all right' about what?" McBryde asked after a moment.
"If I knew what might be bothering you, I'd probably know whether or not it really was bothering you. As it happens, I don't 'know' anything of the sort, but, if I had to hazard a guess, I'd say it probably has something to do with our problem child hyper-physicist."
"Simões?"
"Unless you happen to know about another 'problem child hyper-physicist' you may have simply failed to call to my attention," Lathorous said dryly, and almost despite himself, McBryde chuckled.
"No, thank God." He shook his head. "But you're probably right. If I seem a little . . . distracted, it's probably because I am worrying about him."
"We're getting close to the end of his project, Jack," Lathorous pointed out in a considerably more serious tone.
"I know." McBryde made a waving-away motion with his right hand. "But even when we do, the man's still a valuable research asset."
"Yes, he is." Lathorous' dark eyes met McBryde's blue eyes very levelly. "That's not the main reason you're worrying about him, though."
McBryde gazed at him for a moment, thinking about how long they'd known one another. Their careers had brought them together and separated them again often enough over the years, and Lathorous had spent considerably longer in the field as a "shooter" than McBryde had. Unlike the McBryde genome, the Lathorous genome was a beta-line, but even without the sort of nonbiological implants some of the military and/or security-oriented beta and gamma lines often received, Lathorous was a decidedly lethal presence. McBryde was reasonably certain his old friend had been assigned to the Gamma Center specifically to provide the additional, relatively recent field experience he himself lacked.
And, despite their friendship, Lathorous was undoubtedly the most dangerous person in the entire Gamma Center where McBryde's own increasingly ambivalent feelings towards the Alignment in general—and the rapid approach of Prometheus, in particular—were concerned.
"No." McBryde sighed finally. "No, Steve, it's not just about his value. The man's already been hammered hard enough. I don't want to see him get hammered any more."
"Not a good attitude, Jack," Lathorous said quietly. "I'm not saying I do want to see him get beaten up on any more than he has to be, but we're supposed to maintain our professionalism where the people we're responsible for keeping an eye on are concerned. And we're especially not supposed to get too close to someone who's so likely to self-destruct."
"Wasn't my idea in the first place, Steve!" McBryde pointed out. "Bardasano personally stuck me with this one."
"A point of which I'm painfully well aware." Lathorous nodded, yet concern still hovered in his eyes. "But whoever's idea it was, it's been six months—almost seven—since the girl was terminated, and better than four months since Bardasano assigned him to you, and he's not getting better. In fact, we both know he's getting worse. He's going to crash, Jack. We can't—you can't—prevent that, however hard we try. All we can do is minimize collateral damage when it happens . . . and I don't want the effect it has on you to be part of the fallout."
"I appreciate that," McBryde said softly. "And I'm pretty sure I'm going to be okay," he added, lying as carefully as he ever had in his life. "I'm working on it, anyway."
Lathorous nodded again. He was obviously still less than happy about the situation, though. As much as McBryde appreciated his friend's concern, letting Lathorous pick up even a hint of what was really going on inside him was definitely contraindicated, so he twitched his hand at the memo he'd been looking at without really seeing.
"What do you make of this?" he asked.
"I think it's about damned time . . . and pretty damned silly," Lathorous replied with a sour chuckle. "Mind you, I'm sure I don't know everything about the full damage Zilwicki and Cachat have managed to do to Manpower—and us—over the years, but I know enough to think eliminating them would be a very good idea. That much I'm entirely in favor of. My only real problem with it, from an operational perspective, is that I'm pretty sure what really happened was that they finally did something that pissed Albrecht off. I mean, really pissed him off." He shook his head. "Putting out what amounts to a 'shoot-on-sight' order to everyone isn't exactly a calm, reasoned response. I mean, how likely is it that anybody here at the Center is going to stumble across them in our daily routine?"
His chuckle was the least bit sour, which, McBryde suspected, had something to do with the fact that Lathorous really missed fieldwork. He probably would have enjoyed pitting himself against the redoubtable Anton Zilwicki or Victor Cachat. Unfortunately (from his perspective), his assessment of how likely anyone in the Gamma Center was to encounter those particular targets was undoubtedly dead on the money. On the other hand . . .
"I think the theory is that finding them is going to be the next best thing to impossible," McBryde pointed out. "Until we can pin down their physical location with some degree of confidence again, all we can really do is hope that they wander into our sights somewhere along the line."
"Oh, I understand the theory just fine," Lathorous agreed. "And you're right—given the fact that we don't have a clue in hell where they are, this is probably the most effective way to go about it. Even if it doesn't have a snowflake's chance in hell of succeeding!"
"You just want to take them down yourself," McBryde teased.
"Well, it wouldn't look too bad in my résumé," Lathorous conceded with a chuckle. Then he sobered. "On the other hand, I've got to admit that their reputations would make me a little nervous unless I was in a position to completely control the situation."
"They are a capable pair of bastards," McBryde acknowledged.
He considered the memo again, then paged ahead to the next screen. He scanned the header on the new memo quickly, then grimaced.
"I see Lajos is bitching again," he said.
"Hard to blame him, really."
Lathorous' words were reasonable enough, even sympathetic, but his tone was anything else. He and Lajos Irvine had never gotten along particularly well, and McBryde suspected that at least part of it was Lathorous' yearning to be back in the field. He knew he wasn't going to get there anytime soon, and the fact that Irvine seemed to be agitating for the type of assignment Lathorous wasn't going to get only increased the irritation quotient.
"Actually, I agree with you," McBryde said out loud. "I'm probably as tired of his whining as anyone, but, let's face it, spending your time pretending to be—no, scratch that, actually being—a slave has got to be just about the least appealing assignment Security has."
"Better than getting his ass shot at in the field by those Ballroom yahoos."
There was a certain degree of feeling in Lathorous' response, due, no doubt, to the fact that his own last field assignment's cover had been as a mid-level Manpower executive, and the Audubon Ballroom had almost gotten lucky in his case.
"Agreed." McBryde nodded. "On the other hand, it's the poor bastards pulling Lajos' duty that keep that sort of thing from happening right here on Mesa on a regular basis, you know."
"Oh, I know. I know!" Lathorous shook his head. "And I promise I'll try to make nice to him."
McBryde looked at him for a moment, then shrugged.
"Look, Steve, I know you and Lajos don't exactly get along like a house on fire. How's about I take it over with him for a while? It's not like it would use up a lot of my time, and I could at least reduce your irritation factor a bit. Maybe a few weeks' vacation would actually make him easier for you to take. And, frankly, I could use something besides Simões to worry about."
Lathorous had begun an automatic refusal, but he paused at McBryde's final sentence. He hesitated visibly, then shrugged and gave his friend a slightly sheepish smile.
"If you really mean it, I'll take you up on it," he said. "I know I shouldn't get pissed off with him when he comes in to make his personal reports. And I even know you're right, that what he does is important. It's just something about his attitude. It gets right up my nose, even though I know it shouldn't. And I'm pretty sure he knows I'm getting pissed off with him, even if I try not to show it, and that only gets him even more pissed off. To be honest, I think it's taking the shine off of our joint professionalism, if you know what I mean."
"I know exactly what you mean," McBryde told him with a chuckle. "And don't expect me to take this over permanently, either! But I can at least give both of you a break from each other. After all, that's what an astute manager of personnel resources does, right?"
"Right," Lathorous said with a warm smile. "I know it's only cold, cynical calculation and manipulation on your part. But, anyway, thanks."