War Of Honor

Thomas Theisman tipped back his chair at the head of the enormous table in the New Octagon conference room as Roland Henneman's deep-voiced question rolled from the HD mounted above the table.

Henneman had been an employee of the now defunct Office of Public Information for the better part of four standard decades. He'd begun in the usual way, working as a writer, and then as a reporter. Like all reporters in the People's Republic of Haven, he'd been very careful about what he reported, but he was a handsome man, with a resonant baritone voice and a reassuring manner. As such, he'd soon found his way to a larger and more visible role, and for the last five T-years of the People's Republic's existence, he'd hosted a daily talk show on HD here in the capital.

But PubIn had been thoroughly discredited in the eyes of the PRH's citizens. Universally recognized as no more than the Committee of Public Safety's propaganda mouthpiece, no one had trusted it. It had, in fact, been seen as one of the emblems of the discredited governments of the past, and its elimination had been one of Eloise Pritchart's first priorities as President. Which meant that, like all of his fellow employees, Henneman had found himself abruptly out of a job.

Fortunately for him, the new administration had disposed of PubIn's massive holdings in broadcast facilities and equipment at rock bottom prices as a part of its media privatization drive. Although Henneman had been no more than modestly wealthy by the standards of the pre-Committee of Public Safety Legislaturalists, he'd managed to amass sufficient wealth under Rob Pierre to put him in position to organize a bidding cartel. He'd mortgaged himself to the hilt, even taking full advantage of the low-interest loan programs the Pritchart Administration had made available, but he and his colleagues had been able to acquire more than enough of PubIn's old infrastructure to emerge as a power in the fledgling private broadcast industry.

Henneman's own visibility during the heady days of PubIn's monopoly of the airwaves had paid another sort of dividend when it came to finding programming to fill his new network's broadcast schedule. He continued to host his daily talk show, although the blend of topics it examined had acquired a new, eclectic balance (and a harder edge) that PubIn would never have permitted. In addition, however, he produced, directed, and anchored The Henneman Hour, a political analysis and commentary program which aired every weekend.

In Theisman's opinion, Henneman remained more of a showman than a brilliant political analyst. But the Secretary of War had to admit that, whatever his shortcomings in that role, Henneman was probably the closest thing to it that the resurrected Republic had so far managed to produce. It never ceased to amuse Theisman when he reflected on the total disappearance of the 'analysts' who had once served Public Information. One or two of them had actually found niches as producers on the programs which featured their replacements, but most of them had simply vanished into total obscurity. Not because of any deliberate purge on the part of the new government, but simply because they were supremely unsuited to the new political matrix. Most of them had excelled at delivering the 'analysis' which PubIn had wanted delivered. Very few of them had possessed the skill, the tools, or the backbone to dig into questions of public policy and report things the government might not want reported.

Henneman, at least, didn't have that particular problem, and Theisman had deliberately scheduled this meeting so that all of its participants could watch this interview with him.

'Well, Roland,' Senator McGwire replied now, 'that's a complicated question. I mean, while the President and Secretary Giancola have, of course, consulted with Congress all along, the entire situation where the Manticorans are concerned has been in something of a state of flux ever since the collapse of the Committee of Public Safety.'

'Don't you mean, Senator, that the Manties have persistently refused to negotiate seriously with us? Or, for that matter, that they've systematically rejected, ridiculed, or ignored every proposal our negotiators have made?'

Theisman winced internally. Henneman hadn't raised his voice, and his expression remained courteously attentive, but that only lent his questions even more weight.

And that, the Secretary of War thought unhappily, is because he isn't saying anything a surprisingly large percentage of the electorate hasn't already thought.

'I don't think I'd put it in quite those terms myself, Roland,' McGwire reproved mildly. 'Certainly, the negotiations have dragged on far longer than anyone might have anticipated. And I would have to admit that it's often seemed to me, as to many of my colleagues in the Congress and, especially, on the Foreign Affairs Committee, that Prime Minister High Ridge and his government have preferred for them to do so. So I suppose I would have to agree with you that the Star Kingdom has declined to negotiate in what we might consider a serious or timely fashion. But I assure you that they have not 'ridiculed' our negotiators or the Republic.'

'I think we're going to have to agree to disagree—respectfully, of course—about the exact verb we want to use for what they have done in that case, Senator,' Henneman said after a moment. 'But you would agree with me that the practical effect has been a complete deadlock?'

'I'm afraid I'd have to say yes,' McGwire agreed, nodding regretfully. 'In particular, I would have to acknowledge that it doesn't seem to me, both as an individual and as Chairman of the Foreign Affairs Committee, that the present Manticoran government has any interest whatsoever in restoring the occupied systems of the Republic to our control.'

One of the other officers in the conference room inhaled sharply, and Theisman bestowed a wintery smile on the HD. He couldn't really say McGwire's pronouncement came as a surprise, but it was one the senator had been careful not to make publicly before Pritchart's speech.

'You believe that they intend to keep all of those systems permanently? Like Trevor's Star?' Henneman asked intently, and McGwire shrugged.

'In fairness to the Manticorans, Trevor's Star is something of a special case,' he pointed out. 'Given the brutality with which Internal Security and State Security operated on San Martin, I would have to say I don't find it surprising that the San Martinos should desire a complete break with the Republic, despite all of our reforms. At the same time, Trevor's Star is one terminus of the Manticorans' wormhole junction, and the Star Kingdom no doubt has a legitimate interest in maintaining its security. I don't say I'm happy by the precedent the star system's annexation represents. If it does turn out that they're inclined to keep other occupied systems, they might choose to argue they were doing nothing more than following the example set in Trevor's Star's case and for the same reasons. Should they choose to employ that pretext—which, I hasten to add, we've seen no indication they intend to do—it would be a lie. But despite any concerns I might have for the future, I believe we have no choice but to accept the Star Kingdom's decision to permanently retain control of this particular star.'

'Even without a formal treaty under which the Republic agrees to resign sovereignty?' Henneman pressed.

'I would certainly prefer to see the situation regularized under a formal treaty,' McGwire replied. 'But in light of the San Martin electorate's clearly expressed desire to become subjects of the Star Kingdom, and bearing in mind the formal declaration of the Constitutional Convention that no star system of the old People's Republic would be compelled against its will to remain a part of the new Republic, I see no other practical outcome.'

'I see.'

It was obvious to Theisman that Henneman was dissatisfied with McGwire's position on Trevor's Star. That was disturbing. McGwire was entirely too close to Arnold Giancola for Theisman's peace of mind, but it had begun to seem evident, especially in the thirty-six hours or so since Pritchart's speech, that in some respects the man in the street had become even more of a hardliner than Giancola. Trevor's Star, in particular, had become a hot button issue. So far as Theisman could see, what McGwire had just said should have been self-evident to anyone, but a sizable chunk of the newsfaxes and the public discussion groups appeared to disagree.

The disappearance of the People's Republic's onetime curbs on freedom of speech had created a chaotic, often vociferous ferment on the boards. The mere fact that people were now free to speak their minds seemed to provoke a large number of them into what often struck Theisman as public lunacy. Certainly, the old term 'lunatic fringe' was the only one he could think of to describe a great deal of what found itself posted, and among the inhabitants of that fringe, there was a near hysterical demand that all of the occupied systems be restored to the Republic. Including Trevor's Star. In fact, especially Trevor's Star, which had become a rallying cry for the extremists despite the fact that anyone with half a brain had to know it wasn't going to happen.

What Theisman couldn't decide right now was whether Henneman belonged to that extreme fringe himself, or if he'd simply been looking for a sound-byte which could have been used to play to it. He rather hoped it was the