Torch of Freedom

'Not the same thing at all,' said Victor, shaking his head. 'I don't doubt that her political enemies will level that charge against her, as soon as she gets home. It will get a rapt audience among those who already detest her, and produce a massive yawn on the part of everyone else. For pity's sake, girl, they've been accusing her of that for decades. No matter how murderous and maniacal people may think Jeremy X is, nobody thinks he's an enemy of the Star Kingdom. Whereas I most certainly am.'

He gave a mildly apologetic glance at Anton and Ruth. 'Meaning no personal offense to anyone here.' He looked back up at Berry. 'Consorting with Jeremy simply leaves her open to the accusation of having bad judgment. Consorting with me leaves her open to the accusation of treason. That's a huge difference, when it comes to politics.'

Berry's expression was now mulish. Clearly enough, she was not persuaded by Victor's argument. But her father Anton was nodding his head. Quite vigorously, in fact.

'He's right, Berry. Of course, he's also now exposed as a piss-poor secret agent, because if he'd had any imagination or gumption at all he would have spent time visiting Cathy, while she was here. Lots and lots of time, to do what he could to make Manticore's politics even more poisonous than it is.'

Victor gave him a level gaze and a cool smile. 'I thought about it, as a matter of fact. But . . .'

He shrugged. 'It's hard to know how that would all play out, in the end. There's a long, long history of secret agents being too clever for their own good. It could just as easily prove true, years from now, that Catherine Montaigne being in firm control of the Liberals—and with an unblemished reputation—would prove beneficial to Haven.'

Anton said nothing. But he gave Victor a very cool smile of his own.

'And . . . fine,' said Victor. 'I also didn't do it because I'd have been uncomfortable doing so.' His expression got as mulish as Berry's. 'And that's all I'm going to say on the subject.'

Thandi had to fight, for a moment, not to grin. There were times when Victor Cachat's large and angular pile of political and moral principles amused her. Given that they were attached to a man who could also be as ruthless and cold-blooded as any human being who ever lived.

God forbid Victor Cachat should just say openly that the Zilwicki family were people who'd become dear to him, Manticoran enemies or not, and he was no more capable of deliberately harming them than he would be of harming a child. It might be different if he thought the vital interests of Haven were at stake, true. But for the sake of a small and probably temporary tactical advantage? That was just not someplace he would go.

She wouldn't tease him about it, though. Not even later, when they were in private again. By now, she knew Victor well enough to know that he'd simply retreat into obfuscation. He'd advance complex and subtle reasoning to the effect that retaining the personal trust of the Zilwickis would actually work to Haven's benefit, in the long run, and that it would be foolish to sacrifice that for the sake of petty maneuvering.

And it might even be true. But it would still be an excuse. Even if Victor didn't think there'd be any long- range advantage for Haven, he'd behave the same way. And if that excuse failed of its purpose, think up a different one.

Judging from the Mona Lisa smile on Anton Zilwicki's face, Thandi was pretty sure he'd figured it out himself.

Anton now cleared his throat, noisily enough to break Queen Berry out of her hands-planted-on-hips disapproval. 'That's not why we came here, however. Victor, there's something I need to raise with you.'

He nodded at Princess Ruth, who was perched on the arm of a chair across the room. 'We need to raise with you, I should say. Ruth's actually the one who broached the issue with me.'

Ruth flashed Victor a nervous little smile and shifted her weight on the chair arm. As usual, Ruth was too fidgety when dealing with professional issues to be able to sit still. Thandi knew that Victor considered her a superb intelligence analyst—but he also thought she'd be a disaster as a field agent.

Cachat glanced at Berry, who'd moved over to the divan next to Anton's chair and taken a seat there. 'And why is the queen here? Meaning no disrespect, Your Majesty—'

'I really, really hate it when he calls me that,' Berry said to no one in particular, glaring at the wall opposite her.

'—but you don't normally express a deep interest in the arcane complexities of intelligence work.'

Berry transferred the glare from the wall onto Cachat. 'Because if they're right—and I'm not convinced!— then there's a lot more involved that the silly antics of spies.'

'All right,' said Victor. He looked back at Anton. 'So what's on your mind?'

'Victor, there's something wrong with Manpower.'

'He doesn't mean wrong, like in 'they've got really bad morals,' ' interjected Ruth. 'He means—'

'I know what he means,' said Victor. Now he looked at Berry. 'And I hate to tell you this, Your—ah, Berry —but your father's right. There really is something rotten in the state of Denmark.'

Berry and Thandi both frowned. 'Where's Denmark?' demanded Thandi.

'I know where it is,' said Berry, 'but I don't get it. Of course there's something rotten in the state of Denmark. It's that nasty cheese they make.'

Chapter Five

January, 1920 PD

'So,' Zachariah McBryde asked, watching the head of foam rise on the stein he was filling with the precision of the scientist he was, 'what do you think about the crap at Verdant Vista?'

'Are you sure you want to ask me that question?' his brother Jack inquired.

Both brothers were red-haired and blue-eyed, but of the two, Jack had the greater number of freckles and the more infectious smile. Zachariah, six T-years younger and three centimeters shorter than his brother, had always been the straight man when they were younger. Both of them had lively senses of humor, and Zachariah had probably been even more inventive than Jack when it came to devising elaborate practical jokes, but Jack had always been the extrovert of the pair.

'I'm generally fairly confident that the question I ask is the one I meant to ask,' Zachariah observed. He finished filling the beer stein, handed it across to Jack, and began filling a second one.

'Well,' Jack gave him a beady-eyed look. 'I am a high muckety-muck in security, you know. I'd have to look very askance at anyone inquiring about classified information. Can't be too careful, you know.'

Zachariah snorted, although when he came down to it, there was more than an edge of truth in Jack's observation.

It was odd, the way things worked out, Zachariah reflected, carefully topping off his own stein and settling back on the other side of the table in his comfortably furnished kitchen. When they'd been kids, he never would have believed Jack would be the one to go into the Mesan Alignment's security services. The McBryde genome was an alpha line, and it had been deep inside 'the onion' for the last four or five generations. From the time they'd been upperclassman in high school, they'd both known far more of the truth about their homeworld than the vast majority of their classmates, and it had been a foregone conclusion that they'd be going into the . . . family business one way or another. But Jack the joker, the raconteur of hilarious stories, the guy with the irresistible grin and the devastating ability to attract women, had been the absolute antithesis of anything which would have come to Zachariah's mind if someone mentioned the words 'security' or 'spy' to him.

Which might explain why Jack had been so successful at his craft, he supposed.

'I think you can safely assume, Sheriff, that this particular horse thief already knows about the classified information in question,' he said out loud. 'If you really need to, you can check with my boss about that, of course.'

'Well, under the circumstances, partner,' Jack allowed with the drawl he'd carefully cultivated as a kid after their parents had introduced them to their father's passion for antique, pre-diaspora 'Westerns,' 'I reckon I can let it pass this time.'

'Why, thank you.' Zachariah shoved a plate loaded with a thick ham and Swiss sandwich (with onion; they were the only ones present, so it was socially acceptable, even by their mother's rules), a substantial serving of potato salad, and an eleven centimeter-long pickle across the table to him. They grinned at each other, but then