The Honor of the Qween

'Good morning, Sir. This is an unexpected honor. How may I serve you?'

'Come into my briefing room, please,' Simonds replied, somewhat mollified, despite himself, by Yu's unfailing courtesy.

'Of course, Sir. Commander Manning, you have the watch.'

'Aye, Sir,' the commander—not, Simonds noted with fresh grumpiness, a Masadan—acknowledged crisply, and Yu followed Simonds into the briefing room and turned an attentive countenance to him as the hatch closed behind them.

Simonds studied that bland, waiting expression and wondered, not for the first time, what the mind behind those dark eyes thought. Yu had to know how critical he and his ship were to Masada's plans—or, at least, to the plans he knew about—and a third of Thunder of God's crew were still heathens filling the specialist roles no Masadan could. They looked to Yu for their orders, not Simonds, and not simply because he was the captain of their ship. Simonds had survived thirty years of internecine political and doctrinal warfare within Masada's theocracy, and he knew perfectly well Yu had his own superiors and his own agenda. So far, that agenda had marched side-by-side with the Faith's, yet what would happen on the day that was no longer true? It wasn't something Simonds liked to contemplate, but it was also something he had no choice but to ponder—and the reason it was so critical to handle Yu perfectly. When the time came for their ways to part, it must be on the Faithful's terms, not theirs.

He cleared his throat, banishing his moody thoughts, and waved at a chair.

'Sit, sit, Captain!'

Yu waited with punctilious courtesy until Simonds had taken his own seat, then dropped neatly into the indicated chair, and the Sword swallowed the bitter bile of envy at how easily Yu moved. The captain was ten years older than Simonds and looked half his age. Looked? Yu was half Simonds' age, physically, at least, for his people were so lost to God they saw no evil in tampering with His plan for their species. They used the prolong process liberally, among their military and ruling families, at least, and Simonds was disturbed by how much he envied them. The temptation to drink from that spring of youth was a deadly one. Perhaps it was as well Masada's medical community was incapable of duplicating it, even if that inability was one more galling indication of the things these infidels could do and the Faithful couldn't.

'We have a problem, Captain,' he said at length.

'A problem, Sir?' Yu's foreign accent, with its longer vowels and sharper consonants, still fell strangely on Simonds' ear.

'Yes. Our agents on Grayson have just discovered that the convoy will arrive with a powerful escort.'

'How powerful, Sir?' Yu asked, sitting straighter, and Simonds smiled sourly.

'We don't know yet—only that it will be `powerful.' ' He snorted. 'We should have anticipated it, I suppose. Their bitch of a queen will guard her thirty pieces of silver well until Mayhew sells Grayson to her.'

Alfredo Yu nodded, carefully concealing his reaction to the savagery of Simonds' voice. The mere idea of a woman as a head of state appalled Masada—didn't the Bible itself say it was Eve's corruption which had tainted all humanity with sin?—and Simonds' disgust at the thought that even Grayson might consider allying itself with such a vile and unnatural regime was clear. Yet it probably gave him a certain horrified satisfaction, as well, for it must pander to his own sense of superiority as one more indication of Grayson's apostasy beside the uncorrupted fidelity of the Faithful. But Masadan bigotry was less important at the moment than the information that the convoy had a real escort to worry about, and the captain frowned in thought.

'Have you been able to discover anything about this escort's orders, Sir?'

'How can we?' the Sword grumbled in a deliberately sour voice. 'It's hard enough to discover what the Apostate are up to! But we have to assume the Manticorans won't sit idly by while we eliminate their potential ally.'

'They might, depending on their orders, Sir.' Simonds' eyes flashed, and the captain shrugged. 'I didn't say it was likely, Sir, only that it was possible. And I sincerely hope it is the case, under the circumstances.'

Yu's quiet tone held a carefully measured bite, and Simonds flushed. Yu and his superiors had pressed the Council of Elders for weeks—respectfully, but strongly—to move forward on Operation Jericho. Simonds was more than a little frightened of taking the plunge himself, but he knew Yu had been right from a purely military viewpoint, and he'd said so. Not that it had mattered. The Council as a whole had been determined to wait until after the Manticoran bribe was delivered to Grayson. Their own ally, unable to match the efficiency of Manticoran industry, would have been hard pressed to provide the same sort of infrastructure boost, and the Elders, intent on gathering in that largess for Masada's benefit, had delayed too long.

Or perhaps not. Not even the majority of the Council of Elders knew everything, and the inner circle had its own reasons to delay. Of course, it was always possible that they'd waited too long, as well, but they had more than one way to their end. And even if it came down to the operation everyone else expected, the escorts would withdraw with their unloaded freighters once the clique ruling Grayson had sold what was left of their souls as the vassals of infidels who let themselves be ruled by women. There would be a window, however brief, between the signing of the draft treaty and its ratification. If the Faithful struck then, before the treaty was formalized, and eliminated the government which would have ratified it ...

'The Council of Elders is unanimous on this, Captain.' The Sword made himself sound pleasant. 'Until and unless we can confirm that the Manticoran escort commander has orders not to intervene, we will postpone Jericho.'

'With all due respect, Sir, their escort would have to be very powerful to offset Thunder's presence in our own order of battle. Particularly when they don't know we have her.'

'But if they intervene, Jericho will result in a shooting confrontation with Manticore, and we can't possibly stand off the Royal Manticoran Navy.'

'Not alone, no, Sir,' Yu agreed, and Simonds bared his teeth in a tight grin of understanding. He knew where Yu was headed—and he had no intention of following him there. The Council of Elders wouldn't thank the Sword for creating a situation in which their continued existence depended upon Yu's true masters dispatching a powerful fleet to 'protect' them! They would become little more than prisoners under house arrest if they allowed that to happen—which would no doubt suit their 'ally's' purposes perfectly. Not that he could say that to Yu.

'There's too much room for error in precipitate action, Captain,' he said instead. 'Manticore is much closer than your friends are. If it came to open combat and any of their ships escaped, their reinforcements would get here before yours could. Under those circumstances, even a victory would be a disaster. And, of course,' he added, 'it's much too late for us to preposition Republican naval units here before we launch Jericho.'

'I see.' Yu leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. 'What does the Council want to do instead, then?'

'We'll proceed with the planning and initial deployments for Jericho, but we won't mount the actual operation until the Manticoran escort withdraws.'

'And if it doesn't withdraw, Sir? Or if they replace it with a regular picket force before it does?'

'We believe that to be unlikely—and the risk of precipitating open war with Manticore outweighs the possibility.' It was Simonds' turn to lean back. While there were things it would never do for the captain to learn, it was time for a few unambiguous, if carefully chosen, words, he decided.

'Captain Yu, your superiors' objectives and ours are not identical. We both know that, and much as we appreciate your help, the Council isn't blind to the fact that you're helping us because it suits your own purposes.'

Simonds paused while Yu cocked his head. Then he nodded, and the Sword's smile turned more genuine. Infidel or not, there was a core of frankness in the captain, and Simonds appreciated it.

'Very well, then,' he continued. 'We know your fundamental objective is to keep Manticore out of the region, and we're willing to guarantee that outcome after our victory. We are not, however, prepared to risk the survival of the True Faith in pursuit of it. We've waited over six centuries to crush the Apostate; if we must, we can wait another six, because unlike you, if you'll forgive my frankness, we know God is on our side.'