A Rising Thunder

was Honor’s turn to shrug.

“All I can tell you about that is that as far as Nimitz and the other treecats are concerned, Simoes is telling the truth to the best of his own knowledge. And as far as Admiral Hemphill and the rest of her tech people are concerned, what he’s told them so far seems to be holding together. The general feeling among our intelligence types is that all the technical information he’s provided so far appears to be both genuine and theoretically valid.”

Rabenstrange gazed into her eyes very steadily, then nodded, and Honor tasted his satisfaction. She couldn’t be positive, of course, but it seemed to her that he was satisfied on several levels. At least with her.

“That’s what I expected to hear,” he said after a moment.

“You expected to hear that I thought he was telling the truth, or you expected me to tell you he was telling the truth anyway, like a good, loyal Queen’s officer?” she asked with a smile that was a bit more crooked than usual.

“That you’d tell me what you personally believe to be the truth…and that you’d distinguish between what can be realistically evaluated and what can’t be,” he said.

Honor’s eyebrows rose a millimeter or so at the unusual candor — or un-diplomat-like directness, at least — of his response, and he snorted in amusement.

“Honor, you’re never going to make a good liar,” he told her, “and only a fool — which Empress Elizabeth obviously isn’t — would expect you to be any good at it. I’m quite sure that’s why she wants me to talk to you before she talks to me.”

“Why is everyone always telling me I’m an incompetent liar?” Honor demanded a bit plaintively. “I admit, I don’t get as much practice as, say, a professional diplomat or a used air car saleswoman, but still—!”

“It’s nothing personal,” Rabenstrange told her with a reassuring smile, “but no one can be accomplished at everything. It’s just that you’ve been too busy learning how to blow up starships and things like that to master the difficult arts of duplicity and chicanery as well.” He reached out to pat her on the arm. “Don’t take it too hard.”

“I’ll try to remember that,” she promised with an answering smile.

“Good.”

“But I’d still be interested to hear your interpretation of why Elizabeth sent you to me, first.”

“It’s simple really. She wants me to satisfy myself that she and Pritchart have been telling the Emperor the truth before she and I sit down to discuss the details. She wants that settled in my mind so that I can listen to what she’s proposing without worrying about whether or not she’s telling me the truth about her reasons for proposing it.”

“I see.”

Honor cocked her head thoughtfully. Elizabeth hadn’t told her exactly why she wanted her to speak to Rabenstrange first. Oh, the Empress had touched on several reasons, including the professional and personal rapport Honor and Rabenstrange had established over the years. Yet Honor had sensed that wasn’t everything Elizabeth had in mind. Now, as she thought back over the way the Empress’ mind-glow had tasted at the time, she decided Rabenstrange had a point.

“Well, if you’re right about that,” she said, “I suppose we should go ahead and discuss the rest of what Simoes — and McBryde — had to say. But first, have a seat.”

She gestured at the comfortable armchairs, and Rabenstrange nodded. The two of them crossed the day cabin, followed by Major Shiang Schenk and Captain Spencer Hawke. Schenk, whose uniform bore the skeleton shoulder flash of the Totenkopf Hussars, the elite regiment of the Andermani Empire, was technically Rabenstrange’s senior military aide, but that was simply a polite fiction. In fact, the Totenkopfs were responsible for the personal safety of members of the Anderman Dynasty, and Schenk and Hawke had developed a comfortable relationship based on mutual respect and professionalism. Neither of them was entirely happy about the side arm riding at his counterpart’s hip, but they’d been forced to learn to deal with it, since both of them were responsible for protecting people who were required by law to be accompanied by armed bodyguards at all times.

That restriction could make things awkward enough under most circumstances, but the situation was worse than usual in Rabenstrange’s case, despite his and Honor’s personal friendship. In fact, it would have been the next best thing to impossible if Emperor Gustav hadn’t granted a very specific dispensation in Honor’s case to his across-the-board rule that no one aside from assigned Andermani security personnel was allowed into proximity with any member of the Anderman Dynasty when armed. Partly that was because Andermani security knew about the pulser built into Honor’s artificial hand, which she would have found just a bit difficult to leave behind on social occasions. But it was also a special declaration of trust in her, and she often wondered how hard it had been for Rabenstrange to talk the compulsively suspicious Emperor around.

Which had a certain bearing on the present conversation, she supposed.

Rabenstrange seated himself, and she sank into another armchair, facing him. Nimitz, who’d been watching the Andermani’s arrival from his perch, hopped down and sauntered across to the visitor. He looked up for a moment, cocking his head thoughtfully, then launched himself into Rabenstrange’s lap, and the herzog chuckled as the ’cat stood on his four rearmost limbs and extended his right true-hand.

“It’s good to see you, too, Nimitz,” he said, shaking the offered true-hand. He and the treecat were old acquaintances, and Nimitz settled down on his lap comfortably.

“You do realize that I realize the two of you are setting out to double-team me, don’t you?” Rabenstrange inquired, looking up to smile at Honor.

“If there’s any double-teaming going on here, it’s his idea, not mine,” she protested. “On the other hand, you’re probably right. He’s about as shameless at manipulating the two-legs around him as any ’cat I’ve ever seen. Darn good at it, too.”

“Yes, he is,” Rabenstrange agreed, then nodded as James MacGuiness entered the day cabin. “Ah! The inimitable — and inestimable — Mr. MacGuiness!”

“Your Grace,” MacGuiness responded, bowing slightly. “I was wondering if I could get you and Her Grace some refreshment?”

“Actually, if you have any of that truly excellent coffee of yours, I would kill for a cup.” Rabenstrange shook his head. “We do many things well in New Potsdam. Unfortunately, brewing potable coffee isn’t one of them.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” MacGuiness acknowledged, with only the smallest flicker of a smile, then turned to Honor. “And for you, Your Grace?” he inquired innocently.

“If Herzog von Rabenstrange is prepared to drink your coffee, then I’m happy for you, Mac,” she assured him gravely. “In my own case, however, I believe I’d prefer an Old Tillman.”

“Of course,” he murmured once more, and departed for his pantry.

“You’ve really gotten to know me and my menagerie entirely too well for my peace of mind, Chien-lu,” Honor said, and he chuckled.

“Perhaps I have,” he acknowledged, but then his smile faded. “Perhaps I have,” he repeated in a softer voice, “but I haven’t had the chance yet to tell you how distressed I was to hear about Colonel LaFollet. I know how much he meant to you.”

“Thank you.” Honor paused to swallow, then cleared her throat. “Thank you,” she repeated, “but I’m scarcely alone in having lost people I cared about.”

“No, you aren’t. Which rather brings me to the most burning issue, from my cousin’s perspective, I’m afraid.”

“Of course it does.” Honor nodded. “And on that particular point, I’m afraid I can’t give you the sort of positive assurance I can provide where Simoes’ veracity is concerned.”

“That was our impression in New Potsdam.” Rabenstrange shook his head. “Of course, His Majesty and I had very little time to examine the documentation Empress Elizabeth sent to him before I got bundled aboard that miserable little dispatch boat. I had rather more time to consider it at length on the trip here, however, and it seemed evident that ‘positive assurance’ would be…elusive, under the circumstances. Which puts us in what I believe novelists call ‘a delicate position.’”

“I’ve been instructed by Empress Elizabeth and President Pritchart to inform you that if you wish to personally interview Dr. Simoes, you’ll certainly be free to do so. For that matter, if you wish, you can bring along an intelligence expert of your choice. And we’re also willing to provide a treecat to tell you whether or not Simoes is telling you the truth in response to specific questions.” She shrugged. “I realize we’d