War Of Honor

She brooded darkly for a moment, then shook herself.

"At any rate," she went on more briskly, "just as Willie and I agreed that we needed someone we could trust at the Exchequer and someone our alliance partners could trust at the Foreign Office, we desperately needed someone at the Admiralty who both the governments and navies of all our alliance partners could trust. As a matter of fact, we decided that was especially important because we're both confident that we're only just begi

"And working on the same principle that it's vital to restore confidence in the Admiralty," White Haven put in, "I've brought Tom Caparelli back as First Space Lord as well as bringing Pat Givens back in as Second Space Lord. And," his wry grin became absolutely astringent, "Sonja Hemphill to run BuWeaps."

Honor was hard put not to goggle at his last sentence, and he chuckled.

"I expect there to be the occasional, um . . . clash of personalities," he acknowledged. "But I think it's time Sonja and I put our silly feuds behind us. As you pointed out to me once, the mere fact that she's the one who had an idea doesn't automatically mean it's a bad one. And one thing we're going to need badly in the immediate future is as many good ideas as we can get."

"I'm afraid that's true," Honor admitted sadly. She leaned further back in her chair and sighed. "I'm still trying to come to grips with it all. It's like that old Pre Diaspora children's book—the one about wonderland. I can understand, in a way, what happened to us here, domestically. But the rest of it . . ." She shook her head. "I've met Thomas Theisman. I just can't understand how this all happened!"

"It happened because they're Peeps," Elizabeth said, and Honor felt a sudden stab of alarm at the cold, bottomless hatred that flowed through the Queen in the wake of her bleak reply.

"Elizabeth," Honor began, "I understand how you feel. But—"

"Don't, Honor!" Elizabeth said sharply. She started to say something else, quickly and angrily, then made herself stop. She drew a deep breath, and when she spoke again, Honor didn't need her own empathic sense to recognize the effort the Queen made to keep her voice calm and reasonable.

"I know that you personally admire Thomas Theisman, Honor," Elizabeth said. "In an intellectual way, I can even understand that. And I fully realize that you have certain . . . advantages when it comes to assessing someone's motivations and sincerity. But in this instance, you're wrong."

She met Honor's eyes levelly, and her own eyes were like flint. In that instant, Honor recognized how completely accurate her treecat name truly was, for she tasted the unyielding steel in the Queen of Manticore's soul.

"I will go as far as acknowledging that Theisman, as an individual, may be an honest and an upright human being. I will certainly acknowledge his personal courage, and his dedication to his own star nation. But the fact remains that the so-called 'Republic of Haven' has cold-bloodedly, systematically lied with a cynical audacity that not even Oscar Saint-Just could have matched. From Pritchart and Giancola on down—including your friend Theisman—without a single voice raised in dissent, their entire government has presented the same distorted, deceitful face to the entire galaxy. They've lied, Honor. Lied to their own people, to our people, and to the Solarian League. God knows that I could sympathize with anyone who was as systematically used and abused as the Peeps were by High Ridge and Descroix! I don't blame them for being angry and wanting revenge. But this 'diplomatic correspondence' they've published—!"

Elizabeth made herself stop and draw another deep breath.

"We have the originals of their correspondence in our own files, Honor. I can show you exactly where they made deletions and alterations—not just in their own notes, but in ours. It's too consistent, too all pervasive, to have been anything but a deliberate plot. Something they spent literally months putting into place to justify the attack they launched against us. They're busy telling the rest of the galaxy that we forced them to do this. That they had no intention of using this new navy they've built up in some sort of war of revenge until we left them no choice. But not even High Ridge did the things they say he did. They invented the entire crisis out of whole cloth. And what that tells me is that Peeps . . . don't . . . change."

She gritted her teeth and shook her head fiercely, like a wounded animal.

"They murdered my father," she said flatly. "Their agents here in the Star Kingdom tried to murder Justin. They murdered my uncle, my cousin, my Prime Minister, and Grayson's Chancellor. They tried to murder me, my aunt, and Benjamin Mayhew. God only knows how many men and women in my Navy they've butchered in this new war already, not to mention all the people they killed in the last one. It doesn't seem to matter how good or honest or well-intentioned anyone who comes to power in that cesspool of a nation may be. Once they do, something about the way power works in Haven turns them into exactly what came before them. Peeps. They can call themselves whatever they want, Honor, but they're still Peeps. And there's only one way in the universe that there will ever finally be peace between this Star Kingdom and them."

Later that same evening, Honor found herself once again in the dining room of the White Haven family seat. In some respects, it was even harder on her than her first visit had been.

There were no pretenses now, and she was grateful for that, at least. The painful truths had been spoken. There were no more masks, no more attempts at self-deception or refusal to face reality. And there was no anger, for this had gone beyond anger. But the jagged edges remained. She had yet to even begin to explore the new bond, her new awareness of Hamish, nor had she had any opportunity to discuss it with him. But, wonderful as it was, she already recognized its potential to make the pain infinitely worse. She knew herself well enough to know she could not feel what she felt and refuse to act upon it. Not for very long. And with a new certainty, and ability to see even more deeply and clearly into Hamish Alexander's soul, she knew that he couldn't, either.

If there had been any way in the world to refuse tonight's di

She was quite certain she'd failed, but for the first time in years, however hard she tried, her own empathic sense had failed her. She couldn't sample Emily Alexander's emotions for the simple reason that she could not separate herself from those of Emily's husband. Not yet. It would take time, she knew—lots of time, and matching amounts of effort—for her to learn to tune down and control this new awareness. She could do it. If she had enough time, enough peace to work at it, she could learn to control its "volume" just as she had finally learned to control the sensitivity of her original empathic awareness. But for now, the blinding power of her bond to Hamish was still growing, still gaining in power, and until she could learn to control it, its power and vibrancy would drown out the mind-glow of anyone else as long as he was present. And she couldn't do it yet. She couldn't disengage herself from the glowing background hum of Hamish, and she felt oddly blinded, almost maimed, by her inability to reach out to Emily.