'Lieutenant, I have no idea what you're talking about,' Honor said sternly, almond eyes twinkling, then made a shooing motion with one hand. 'Now run along and see to it before something nasty happens to you.'
'On my way, Ma'am, and-' Meares paused in the day cabin hatch just long enough to give her another grin '- shaking in abject terror.'
He disappeared, and Honor looked at Brigham.
'Is it my imagination, or does the staff seem to be getting just a bit uppity these days?'
'Oh, definitely your imagination, Your Grace.'
'I thought it was.'
'Okay,' Solomon Hayes said, 'what's so important?'
He sat in an expensive Landing restaurant, looking out through its two hundredth-floor's crystoplast wall across the waters of Jason Bay. The sun was just dipping below the horizon, turning the wrinkled blue sheet of water bloody and painting the clouds in crimson, purple, and vermilion.
The food was almost good enough to justify its priciness, and the view, he admitted, was spectacular. And not just where the scenery was concerned. The exquisitely attired woman seated across the table from him looked as if she'd probably profited from more than a bit of biosculpt, and the flowing mass of beautiful red hair spilling down her back spoke directly to Hayes's smattering of ancient Irish genes.
She was also immoderately wealthy, with powerful political connections. Most of which, he conceded, could probably be construed as liabilities, just at the moment. Still, she'd been an important inside source during the High Ridge years, and she continued to offer an insight into the inner workings of the currently gelded Conservative Association.
'So direct and to the point,' she said now, pouting slightly. 'You might at least pretend I'm more than just a newsy's source, Derek.'
'My dear Countess,' Hayes replied, leering at her only half-professionally, 'I believe I've amply demonstrated in other environs that you're much more than just a source. In fact, I do hope you haven't made other plans for the evening?'
'Bertram has, but since he didn't discuss them with me-and since I believe they include a pair of barely legal-age girls-I felt free to reserve my own evening for other... activities. Did you have something in mind?'
She smiled, and Hayes smiled back.
'As a matter of fact, I do. Something involving a friend's yacht, moonlight, champagne, silk sheets, and a few other things like that.'
'My goodness, you do know how to compensate an informant for her news, don't you?' There was an ever so faint steeliness in the glorious blue eyes across the table from him.
'I try,' he said, not attempting to deny the implication. There wasn't much point, after all. Besdies, Countess Fairburn had used him at least as much as he'd ever used her. That little matter of the supposed Harrington-White Haven love affair came to mind, among others.
'And you succeed nicely,' she told him, sipping wine. Then she smiled. 'And since you've taken such pains to arrange a pleasant evening, why don't we go ahead and get the sordid details out of the way now?'
'I think that would be an excellent idea,' he agreed. 'The best reason to put business before pleasure is to dispose of the former early so you can concentrate on the latter properly.'
'I see why you've done so well working with words,' she said, setting the wine glass down. 'Very well. It's actually a fairly small tidbit, in some ways, but I'll confess that I take a certain amount of pleasure in being able to pass it along to you. After all, there's not much point pretending I'm not a rather vengeful sort at heart.'
She smiled again, and this time there was no humor at all in the expression.
'That sounds a bit ominous,' he said lightly, watching her warily.
'Oh, I suppose it will be... for some. And after that unfortunate little fiasco last year, I'm sure you'll want to check it out independently before you do anything with it.' Hayes's eyes had narrowed at the 'fiasco' reference, and she chuckled. 'It just happens to have come to my attention,' she said, 'that the heroic Duchess Harrington, before her departure for Trevor's Star, stopped by the Briarwood Reproduction Center.'
Hayes blinked.
'Briarwood?' he repeated after a moment.
'Precisely. Now, I suppose it's possible she was there to consult with the doctors because of some fertility problem. That seems a bit unlikely, given her profession and current duties, however. And even if it didn't, according to a little bird who sang into my ear, she was there for a routine outpatient procedure. The tubing of a fetus, I believe.'
Hayes looked at her, his eyes narrower than ever, and she smiled back sweetly.
'How good a source is your 'little bird'?' he asked.
'Quite good, actually.'
'And he-or she-says this is Harrington's child?'
'I can't imagine any other reason for her to have outpatient surgery, can you?'
'Not at Briarwood,' Hayes conceded. 'Not unless, for some bizarre reason, she was trying to get pregnant at this moment.' He thought some more. 'Do you happen to know who the father is?'
'No.'
For just a moment, something ugly flashed in the countess' eyes. Disappointment, Hayes realized. He knew who she wanted the father to be, but she knew equally well that after the way Emily Alexander had rabbit-punched the attempt to link her husband and 'the Salamander,' he wasn't about to leap to any conclusions that couldn't be firmly substantiated. Not in this case, at least, no matter how sharp a personal ax he had to grind. Or perhaps because of how very personal this particular ax was.
'Pity,' he said, picking up his own wine and sipping thoughtfully.
'I do have three other bits of information,' Fairburn said. 'Straws in the wind, one might say.'
'Which are?'
'First, Harrington's declined to declare paternity. She didn't simply ask Briarwood to maintain confidentiality; she didn't tell them. Secondly, and not surprisingly, I suppose, she's designated her mother, Dr. Harrington, to act in loco parentis for her child while she's away or if anything... unfortunate should happen to her. And third-third, dear Derek, Dr. Harrington is also the physician of record for one Emily Alexander, who has mysteriously decided, after sixty or seventy years in a life-support chair, that the time has come for her and her husband to become parents, as well.'
Hayes blinked again. He was sure he could have come up with half a dozen explanations for the coincidences Fairburn had just listed without even trying. But that didn't matter. His instincts told him that, motivated by vengefulness or not, the countess had zeroed in on what was actually going on. Especially in light of Harrington's refusal to declare paternity even to Briarwood's medical staff.
'Those are interesting straws, Elfrieda,' he conceded after several seconds. 'And I do have my own ways of confirming your information-not that I believe for a moment that it isn't accurate.' This time, he didn't add, although he was certain she heard it anyway. 'I imagine you'd like me to maintain confidentiality about your own part in bringing this to my attention?'
'I'm afraid so,' she sighed with what he realized was genuine regret. 'A part of me would dearly love to let that lowborn upstart bitch know precisely who blew the whistle on her. Given the current... unfortunate political climate and the disgusting way the proles are fawning all over her, however, it probably wouldn't be very wise to make myself a target for retaliation. Bertram wouldn't thank me for it, either.'
'I thought as much,' Hayes said, projecting as much sympathy as he could. 'So I'll be very careful to document any hard facts I use without mentioning your name.'
'Such a dear, cautious man!' Countess Fairburn cooed.
'I try, Elfrieda. I try.'
'Honor!'
Sir Thomas Caparelli came to his feet, stepping out from behind his desk and smiling broadly as he reached out to grip Honor's hand firmly.
'It's good to see you,' he said, and Honor smiled as she tasted the personal warmth behind his greeting. 'And you, of course, Nimitz,' Caparelli continued, nodding to the treecat on Honor's shoulder. 'And you, Commodore,' he added with a smile as he released Honor's hand to shake Mercedes Brigham's.
'I see you have your priorities in proper order, Sir Thomas,' Brigham murmured, responding to the twinkle in the First Space Lord's eye.
