Flag In Exile

Benjamin looked up with a grin.

'Did you turn the thermostat up just for me, Your Grace?' Matthews inquired, and Benjamin looked innocent.

'Of course not, Wesley. Why would I do such a thing?'

Matthews arched a polite eyebrow, and the Protector chuckled. Wesley Matthews was extraordinarily young for his rank, even for a world like Grayson, where the prolong anti-aging treatments were only just becoming available. He'd jumped from commodore to commander-in-chief of the Grayson Space Navy less than four T-years ago, and like Bernard Yanakov, the man he'd succeeded, he was baffled by his Protectors taste in hobbies. Floriculture and flower arrangement were high art forms on Grayson, but they were traditionally female ones. Matthews willingly admitted that his ruler produced breathtaking arrangements, yet it still seemed an... odd avocation for a head of state. Bernard Yanakov, however, had been Benjamin Mayhew's older cousin, as well as his senior admiral, which had given him certain advantages Matthews lacked. He'd known the Protector literally since birth and twitted him about his hobby for years; Matthews couldn't do that, which hadn't kept Benjamin from guessing how he felt.

Matthews had been vastly relieved when the Protector chose to be amused rather than offended, yet sometimes he wondered if things had worked out so well after all. Benjamin took a positive glee in summoning him for meetings during which he puttered about with vases and cut flowers or which just happened to take place in spots like this greenhouse furnace. It had become a sort of shared joke, and Tester knew they both needed any relaxation they could find these days, but this time the heat and humidity were almost overwhelming.

'Actually,' Benjamin said after a moment, 'I hadn't intended to inflict anything quite this, ah, energetic upon you, Wesley, but I didn't have much choice.' His voice was genuinely contrite, yet he also returned his attention to the blossom before him, and Matthews stepped closer, fascinated despite himself, as the Protector manipulated a collecting probe with surgical precision and continued his apology, if such it was.

'This is a specimen of Hibson's Orchid from Indus, in the Mithra System. Beautiful, isn't it?'

'Yes, it is, Your Grace,' Matthews murmured. The bell-shaped flower was an incredibly subtle blend of blues and dark purples with a deep-throated, golden core shot with scarlet, and the admiral felt an odd, drifting sensation, as if he were falling into its perfumed depths. The feeling was so strong he had to shake himself and Benjamin laughed softly.

'Indeed it is, but it's extremely difficult to propagate off-planet, and the male flower only blossoms for a single day once every three T-years. I've been fascinated by it since I first saw it in a conservatory on Old Earth, and I think I'm on the brink of developing a hybrid that will bloom about twice as frequently. Unfortunately, timing is everything in a project like this, and reproducing its natural environment is critical. I'm afraid I didn't expect it to flower today, and I hadn't actually expected to drag you out here when you asked to drop by, but if I don't jump on it right now...'

He shrugged, and Matthews nodded, forgetting for once to assume his proper attitude of martyred tolerance as the orchid's beauty worked upon him. He stood in respectful silence while Benjamin finished collecting the pollen and examined his treasure under a magnifier with intense satisfaction.

'Now we just have to wait for these to open,' he said more briskly, waving to the tight-furled buds on another vine.

'And how long will that take, Your Grace?' Matthews asked politely, and Benjamin chuckled again.

'At least another forty hours, so I don't expect you to stand around and wait.' The Protector slid his pollen into a storage unit, wiped sweat from his forehead, and gestured to the door, and Matthews sighed in relief.

He followed his ruler from the greenhouse, and Benjamin's armsman fell in at their heels while they crossed to a comfortable nook beside a splashing fountain. The Protector took a seat and waved Matthews into a facing chair, then leaned back as a servant appeared with towels and iced drinks. The admiral scrubbed his soaking hair briskly, then mopped his face and sipped gratefully, and Benjamin crossed his legs.

'Now, Wesley. What was it you wanted to see me about?'

'Lady Harrington, Your Grace,' Matthews replied promptly. Benjamin sighed, and the admiral leaned forward persuasively. 'I know you still think it's too soon, Your Grace, but we need her. We need her very badly, indeed.'

'I understand that,' Benjamin said patiently, 'but I'm not going to push her. She's still recovering, Wesley. She needs time.'

'Its been over nine months, Your Grace.' Matthews' tone was respectful but stubborn.

'I realize that, and I also realize how valuable she could be to you, but her life's hardly been what you could call easy, now has it?' Benjamin held the admirals eyes, and Matthews shook his head. 'She deserves however long she needs to heal,' the Protector went on, 'and I intend to see she has it. Wait till she's ready, Wesley.'

'But how will we know when she is ready if you won't even let me ask her about it?'

Benjamin frowned, then nodded as if against his will.

'A point,' he admitted. 'Definitely a point, but...' He broke off with an angry little shrug and sipped his own drink before he continued. 'The problem is that I don't think she's gotten herself put back together again. I can't be certain, she's not the sort to cry on people's shoulders, but Catherine's gotten more out of her than I think she realizes, and it was bad, Wesley. Really bad. I was afraid we were going to lose her completely for a few months, and the way certain elements have reacted to her hasn't helped.'

Matthews grunted in understanding, and a look of something very like guilt crossed Benjamin's face.

'I knew some of the reactionaries would come into the open once they got over the initial shock, but I didn't expect them to be quite this blatant, and I should have.' The Protector's free hand fisted and pounded his knee while he grimaced in distaste. 'I still think it was the right move,' he went on, as if to himself. 'We need her as a steadholder, but if I'd realized what it was going to cost her, I never would have done it. And when you add the protesters to Captain Tankersley's death...'

'Your Grace,' Matthews said firmly, 'this isn't something for you to blame yourself over. We didn't have anything to do with Captain Tankersleys murder, and Lady Harrington knows it. Even if she didn't, you were right; we do need her as a steadholder if the reforms are going to stand, and whatever the lunatic fringe thinks, most of our people respect her deeply. I'm quite sure she knows that, too, and she's a very strong person. We both know that, because we've both seen her in action. She'll get through this.'

'I hope so, Wesley. I hope to God she will,' Benjamin murmured.

'She will. But that brings me back to my point. We need her naval experience just as badly as we need her as a steadholder, and with all due respect, Your Grace, I think we're doing her a disservice by not telling her so.'

It was the admiral's strongest statement of disagreement with his own view Benjamin had heard yet, and he frowned. Not angrily, but in consideration. Matthews recognized his expression and sat waiting while Grayson's ruler ran back through the arguments and counter arguments.

'I don't know,' he said finally. 'You may be right, but I still want to give her as much time as we can.'

'Again with all due respect, Your Grace, I think that's a mistake. You're the one who insists we have to learn to treat women with full equality. I believe you're right about that, and I think most of our people are coming around to the same view, whether they like it or not. But I also think you haven't quite learned to do it yourself yet.' Benjamin stiffened, and Matthews went on in a calm, measured tone. 'I mean no disrespect, but you're trying to protect her. That's a very fine thing, exactly what I would expect from any decent Grayson... would you try quite so hard if she were a man?'

The Protector's eyes narrowed, his expression arrested, and then he shook his head in chagrin. Unlike most Graysons, he'd been educated off-world, on Old Terra herself. The traditional Grayson view held that asking women to bear the same responsibilities as men was a perversion of nature, but he'd been exposed to a society in which the notion that men and women might possibly be considered unequal would have been regarded as equally grotesque, and he'd accepted that view. Yet at the bottom of all his genuine commitment to it, he was a Grayson, and one who owed his entire family's lives to Honor Harrington. How much had his auto-