War Of Honor

Despite himself, his voice rose to a shout with the final sentence, and he clenched his fists behind him, glaring at Sternhafen. The other admiral seemed to wilt inside his spotless white uniform tunic, and Rabenstrange made himself close his eyes and draw another deep, cleansing breath.

"Now, after you've chosen to reject Harrington's proposal and rushed to proclaim the official verdict of the Empire without any investigation whatsoever, I have no choice but to maintain the farce to which you've committed His Imperial Majesty. An opportunity which would have allowed us to turn this entire wretched incident decisively to our advantage has been totally foreclosed by your narrowminded, knee-jerk need to a

The herzog smiled very coldly at Sternhafen.

"I suspect, Herr Graf, that the Emperor may have just a little to say to you upon this subject himself."

"I did warn you they were becoming increasingly hardline," Arnold Giancola said in an artfully regretful tone.

Eloise Pritchart glared at him, too angry, for once, to maintain the sort of carefully crafted mask which had preserved her from detection by StateSec's minions. Giancola settled back in his chair, presenting a properly submissive mien while deep inside he savored her obvious fury.

"Yes, Arnold, you did warn me," she told him with savage, icy precision. "Which isn't particularly useful, just at the moment."

"Sorry," he replied as sincerely as possible. "I didn't mean to sound as if I were saying 'I told you so.' It's just that I've been seeing them moving in this direction for so long without being able to do anything about it that—"

He shrugged helplessly, and the President turned her back to stare out the window of her office at downtown Nouveau Paris while she fought to control her own temper.

The traditional, archaic hardcopy of Elaine Descroix's response to the Republic's most recent note lay on her desk, and a corner of her mind was a bit surprised that the sheer, white-hot fury which had filled her as she read it hadn't ignited the paper on which it was printed. Descroix had finally abandoned the platitudes and vague, generalized nothings with which the Star Kingdom's negotiators had strung out negotiations for so long. Her new note was a combination of an arrogant lecture on the People's Republic's long history of interstellar misbehavior coupled with curt observations that "confrontational, antagonistic expressions of anger and impatience do not contribute to the mature resolution of differences between interstellar powers." It also included a flat refusal to acknowledge that the Republic, as the direct successor of the "brutally oppressive prior regimes of the People's Republic," had any right "at this late date to wrap itself in a supposed mantle of moral authority" and demand the return of its territory to its sovereignty. Apparently, Pritchart noted furiously, that was true even if the citizens living in the territory in question requested in a freely voted upon plebiscite to do exactly that! In essence, Descroix's note represented a thinly veiled ultimatum demanding that the Republic of Haven submit completely to the total package of the Star Kingdom's diplomatic demands as the price for a formal treaty.

"Obviously," she told the crystoplast of the window, never turning to look at Giancola, "High Ridge and Descroix aren't impressed by the reasonableness of our proposals."

"If they were interested in reasonable proposals," Giancola pointed out diffidently, "we could have had a peace treaty years ago. And while I argued before our last note that adopting a still more . . . assertive stance might be counterproductive, I have to admit that at least it's had the effect of openly crystallizing their position. Madame President, much as we may dislike admitting it, the demands contained in their response are, in my opinion, precisely where they've been headed from the begi

Something inside Eloise Pritchart tied itself into a knot as his respectful, reasonable tone washed over her. The fact that she still didn't trust him didn't necessarily invalidate his observations or his conclusions, she reminded herself yet again. And whatever she might have thought about his motivations, he wasn't the one who'd drafted the infuriating, arrogant, dismissive note lying on her blotter.

She gazed out at Nouveau Paris, and as her eyes rested on the gleaming walls of the New Octagon, a sudden sense of decision flowed through her. She gazed at the Navy's central HQ for a moment longer, then turned at last to face Giancola once more.

"All right," she said flatly. "If they want to play hardball, then we'll damned well play hardball."

"Excuse me, Madame President?" he asked, and the sudden edge of concern in his voice wasn't entirely assumed. He'd never seen Pritchart quite this angry before—never realized she could be this angry—and he felt a brief, uncharacteristic uncertainty about his ability to continue to manage events properly.

"I said I'll play the game just as hard as they want to play it," she told him, and crossed to her desk to punch a combination into her com. The co

"Madame President," Theisman said. He seemed unsurprised to see her, but then, only eleven people in the entire Republic of Haven had the combination to his personal New Octagon com.

"Arnold Giancola is in my office with me, Tom," she told him without preamble. "He's brought Descroix's official response to our last note, and it isn't good. Not good at all. They're clearly refusing to give a single centimeter."

"I see," Theisman said cautiously.

"I think," she continued in that same, flat voice, "that it's time to convince them of the error of their ways."

"I wish I weren't telling you this," Thomas Theisman said into the visual pickup as he recorded the "Eyes-Only" message for Javier Giscard. "Unfortunately, I am."

He drew a deep breath.

"This letter is for your personal information, but the official dispatch accompanying it should be considered a war warning. At the present time, Eloise has informed me that she has no intention of firing the first shot, but in my opinion the risk that someone will fire it has just gone up considerably."

He paused, reflecting upon the fact that he was speaking to the man who loved Eloise Pritchart and probably knew her better than anyone else in the universe, with the possible exception of Kevin Usher. But Giscard was aboard his flagship, orbiting SXR-136, not in Nouveau Paris.

"Eloise and Giancola are drafting a new note for the Manties. It will no longer request that they consider our new proposals. Instead, it will insist that they accept our demands. She's assured me that she doesn't intend—at this time—to specify the potential consequences if they fail to accept them, but it's obvious to me that her language is going to be more than merely 'stiff.'