Van nodded.
“So now we find ourselves between conflicting powers, and we have little interest in being allied to any of those. Your government is one of the least objectionable, but even your RSF wishes to enhance its position here and throughout the Arm so that the Taran Republic is considered close to an equal of the Coalition or the Revenant theocracy.”
“Theocracy?”
Petrov shrugged. “That is what they are. It has been less than a year since they annexed Samarra, and already there are tales of what has happened….”
“Tales?” Van said, wondering how Petrov might respond.
“What one would expect from a theocracy. Those who protest excessively either have no jobs or exceedingly low-paid jobs for long hours. Professionals who do not convert find themselves slowly isolated. But…as I was saying, too often those in our line of work are forced to use political terms of little meaning. In private, I prefer to be more accurate.”
Van laughed. “How would you describe the Taran Republic…accurately?”
“Do you wish to know?”
Van wasn’t sure he wanted to. “It would be best if I did.”
“Ah…an honest man. You do not particularly wish to know, but know you must. Very well…the Taran Republic is a system moving from controlled democratic anarchy to bureaucratic democracy, on its way to greater power and Byzantine complexity and ethical degeneration. There will be more unrest, and a possible military coup if the government does not seem to respond to the events perceived to threaten the Republic.”
A coup? “Don’t all governments risk ethical degeneration as the territory they control increases?”
“They do indeed. That is one reason why Scandya never sought more systems. The other was that by the time we regained an adequate technological basis to expand, all the systems around us were already controlled by others with larger fleets. We like to claim ethical reasons for our comparative weakness.” Petrov laughed.
Van smiled. Petrov’s directness was both refreshing and disarming, as it was certainly intended to be. “Don’t we all like to claim we’re acting ethically?”
Petrov did not answer that question, remaining silent for a moment before speaking again. “I understand you were commanding the Fergus, and that you ran into some…difficulty…after you came out of jump. Our EDI records suggest it might even have been some sort of conflict. With a much larger vessel. You have more skill than your RSF will admit.”
Van shrugged. “We noted some strange EMP activity. I’m sure you understand. You seem to have very competent personnel, and I imagine that they’re usually quite accurate in their analyses of these sorts of things.”
Petrov nodded. “They are indeed, and, I’m most glad to know that you feel that way as well. The EDI patterns could not have matched an Argenti or a Revenant ship, and it would have been highly unlikely that it could have been a Coalition vessel.”
Van smiled. “You mean, if there had been a conflict, any Eco-Tech vessel of that size would have prevailed because it would have been worth twice its size in combat?”
“Sometimes three times. Coalition corvettes have destroyed battle cruisers.” Petrov sipped his tea. “How are you finding Valborg?”
“I’ve seen very little, so far.”
“You should see the Cliff Spire—the real home of Scandyan independence, you know, although you won’t find it listed as such in the histories. And the purple surf at Eschen, and in the winter, the ice caves of Maloa.”
“I’ll see what I can do after I dig my way clear of all the reports.” Van took another sip of the café. “Do you have any other suggestions?”
Petrov rested his forefinger against his temple for a moment. “I will have to think about that. I like to suggest things that appeal to each individual, and I fear I do not know you well enough to make further suggestions.” He leaned back and lifted a datacube, which he extended to Van. “This contains all the public releases the SDF has made since the death of your predecessor. There is a great amount of information there, and I thought that you would find it helpful in this form. That way, when we meet again, we may be able to discuss any of those items about which you may have questions.”
Van took the cube, slipping it into his jacket pocket. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”
“Not at all. You need to know what we are doing, and I need to know how your government feels. That I cannot know unless you are well informed.” Petrov pushed back his chair and stood. “Next time, we will have more to discuss, but it has been a pleasure.”
“For me as well.”
As Van rose, Petrov added. “You know that Commander Cruachan was not only a fine sailor, but he had once been an underwater operative? A most accomplished and amazing man, and I do miss him. It is a pleasure to see that you share some of his traits, and I do hope that we will have many more meetings where we can exchange information.”
“So do I, Commodore. So do I.”
Petrov remained standing and smiling as Van left the office.
As Van let the wand guide him back toward the front of the headquarters building, he considered Petrov’s parting words. Cruachan had once been an underwater operative? That meant subconscious-level nanite breathing capacity. The man couldn’t have drowned—not accidentally. How would Petrov have known? What did Petrov have to gain, either by revealing the truth, if that were what he did, or lying?
As he hurried toward the waiting groundcar, Van had the feeling that Petrov had told the truth. That in itself was chilling. And why had he offered Van a datacube rather than shooting a straight transmission to Van at the embassy? Until he studied the contents of the cube, Van couldn’t even guess at that.
After reaching the embassy, on the way back to his office, he stopped at Emily Clifton’s door, paused, then knocked.
“Come in, Commander.”
“Thank you.” Van closed the old-fashioned
