The Service of the Sword

connected with ONI, I gather, though they've been closed-mouth as usual about it.'

'Really,' Honor said, looking at Wallace. But if he knew anything, it wasn't showing in his face.

'I wouldn't worry about Commander Wallace,' Trent went on, misinterpreting her look. 'He's a perfectly adequate tac officer, as well as being thoroughly briefed on everything happening in Silesia at the moment.' He held out the chip. 'Here's your copy of the orders.'

'Thank you,' Honor said, resisting the impulse to point out that it would have been nice to have some advance warning. Apparently, this conversation—and the orders chip—was all the notice she was going to get. 'Welcome aboard the Fearless, Commander. I trust you'll be ready to go by the time my convoy is assembled?'

'I'm ready to go now, Ma'am,' Wallace said. 'And allow me to say I'm looking forward to serving with you.'

And to vindicating his belief that that was indeed an Andermani ship out there? Probably. 'And I with you, Commander,' she said softly. 'If there's nothing more, Admiral . . . ?'

'That's all, Honor,' Trent said, standing up and offering her his hand. 'Good hunting to you.'

Commodore Robert Dominick of the People's Navy gave a little grunt as he slid the data pad halfway across the polished conference table. 'Satisfactory,' he proclaimed. 'Most satisfactory. Wouldn't you agree, Captain?'

'Yes, Sir,' PN Captain Avery Vaccares said, reaching over and pulling the data pad the rest of the way across the table to himself.

'Yes, indeed,' Dominick said, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands across his bulging belly. 'Efficiently and professionally done. I think we can be extremely proud of our people, wouldn't you say?'

'Our people performed their duties quite efficiently, Sir,' Vaccares said, choosing his words carefully. Yes, the men and women of the PNS Vanguard had indeed carried out their orders well.

But whether their actions had been professional . . . well, that was a different subject entirely. Certainly enemy commerce was a legitimate target in time of war; and certainly there had been enough provocation from the Star Kingdom of Manticore to try the patience of a saint.

But even if everyone for three hundred light-years in all directions could see the dark clouds gathering on the horizon, the bald-faced fact was that there was not a state of war between Haven and the Manties.

Which, in Vaccares's opinion, made what the Vanguard was doing nothing more or less than piracy.

Right down to the piratical tradition of dividing up of the loot.

'I presume your people will want first choice again?' Dominick asked, turning to the third man at the table.

The man they knew only as Charles waved a casual hand. 'As a matter of fact, Commodore,' he said in that soft, sincere voice that went so well with his genial smile, 'I think that this time I'd like to donate our share to be distributed among the crew.'

Dominick blinked. 'The crew?'

'Certainly,' Charles said. 'As you so correctly pointed out, they performed their duties well. It seems to me they should occasionally share in the rewards of their effort.'

He turned the smile on Vaccares. 'Wouldn't you agree, Captain?'

'The crew are servants of the People's Republic of Haven,' Vaccares said, not returning the other's smile. 'They do their duty, and they receive their pay accordingly. Personally, I feel that offering them a share of—' the booty'—the outcome of that duty is improper.'

Dominick's face darkened; but Charles merely smiled some more. 'Come now, Captain,' he said soothingly. 'This is really no different than the prize money traditionally due a crew for the capturing of an enemy ship.'

Except that the Manties are not officially our enemies. 'You asked for my opinion, and I gave it,' Vaccares said, keeping his voice neutral. 'But Commodore Dominick is in command here. Whatever he decides is what will be done.'

'And I decide the crew deserves some reward,' Dominick said gruffly, leaning over the table to snag the memo pad again and angling it so that he and Charles could both look at it. 'Let's see . . .'

Vaccares leaned back in his chair, trying not to see his commander as one half of a pair of vultures discussing the best way to divide a particularly juicy sheep carcass.

And once again, as they had so often over the past few months, he found his eyes and thoughts drifting to Charles.

Charles. Medium height, medium build, light brown hair, dark brown eyes. Round expressive face, not handsome but not ugly either. As completely nondescript as it was possible for a human being to be.

Charles. He had no last name, or at least none he'd ever mentioned. He also had no age, no address, no family, and no planet of origin. His accent sounded distinctly Beowulfan, but that didn't help much. Vaccares had known too many people who could turn accents on and off like a set of light switches, and he wouldn't have bet a Dolist's savings account that Charles was letting his true voice show through.

Did the Octagon know anything more about the man? Vaccares fervently hoped so. Operating secretly in Silesian space this way, their necks were stretched out in six different directions. The last thing they needed was the chance that their new ally might suddenly cut the ground out from under them.

On the other hand, perhaps the Octagon didn't really care who Charles was or where he'd come from. Perhaps all it cared about was getting the PRH's hands firmly on the dazzling bit of technological magic he'd dangled under their noses: the magic weapon the Vanguard and her crew had been ordered out here to test.

And from all appearances, that magic weapon was performing exactly as advertised.

Which, for Vaccares, was precisely the crux of the problem.

Charles must have felt the unfriendly eyes on him. Maybe he felt the unfriendly thoughts, too, for all Vaccares knew. Whichever, he glanced up, gave the captain another smile, then returned his attention to the list of the goods Vanguard's crew had looted from their latest Manty victim.

Vaccares rubbed gently at his chin, his eyes still on Charles. Yes, the weapon Charles called the Crippler worked, all right. Eight times in a row now it had completely knocked out its target's impeller drive, leaving it dead in space. And also as advertised, each time it had done so from a range of just over a million kilometers.

And the implications for those dark clouds on the horizon were profound. Classic military doctrine started from the most basic possible assumption: that a warship's impeller wedge was completely and totally impenetrable. Every ship design, every weapon, counter-weapon, and tactical approach—everything started from that point. And up to now it had been an assumption that had always been true.

Up to now.

Charles was a Solly, of course; that much Vaccares had long ago deduced. Only the Solarian League could possibly have the technological expertise to have created something like the Crippler. Only the Solarian League, too, would have the ability to keep something like this so dead a secret that no one had ever even heard a whisper of its existence.

So why was it now being offered to the People's Republic of Haven?

Vaccares knew all the standard answers, or what would be the standard answers if anyone else had been interested in discussing the issue. Haven's governmental public relations spin-masters had been successful in painting the Manties as the bad guys in all this. They'd used the 'People' part of the PRN's name to turn the democratic instincts of the Solly man-in-the-street against the Manties; and they'd used the Manties' arrogance and control of the Wormhole Junction to alienate the Solly leadership, who weren't nearly so easily fooled by meaningless words.

But alienated or not, the official Solly stance was for strict neutrality, including a total arms and technology embargo against both Haven and Manticore. True, it leaked like every other embargo throughout the history of mankind, but the Solly leadership had proven themselves reasonably serious about clamping down on those they caught breaking the rules.

And the penalties for selling something with such an awesome potential for destroying the balance of power would be severe indeed.