The Shadow of Saganami

memory. Impressed, yes. Even awed. But seeing Cortez perform the same feat so often had worn away the outright amazement.

'Yes.' Cortez tipped back in his chair, frowning. 'I'm just not entirely comfortable with his orders.'

'With all due respect, Sir,' Shaw said, 'I think this may be exactly what he needs.'

Some people might have thought it odd that the commander of the Bureau of Personnel and his chief of staff should be spending time discussing the assignment of a single senior-grade captain. Some people might even have called it 'wasting' their time, given all of the other emergency decisions demanding their attention. But Sir Lucien Cortez had demonstrated a master's touch at -nourishing the careers of outstanding officers too often for Shaw to wonder about it now.

'His combat record is too good,' Cortez said. 'And God knows we need all the proven combat commanders we can get!'

'I agree with you, Sir. But given what happened at Hyacinth...' He let his voice trail off, and Cortez grimaced.

'I know all about Hyacinth, Terence. And I also know all the medals in the universe won't make a man like Terekhov feel any better about losing his ship or the destruction of so much of his convoy. But BuMed's psychiatrists say he's fit for duty again.'

'I've read their evaluation, Sir, and I'm certainly not attempting to dispute their conclusions. I'm just saying that whether he's fit for duty again or not, letting him slip back into active command someplace a bit quieter than Trevor's Star might be advisable. And another point to consider is his Foreign Office experience.'

'Um.' Cortez frowned, but he also nodded.

Aivars Terekhov had left active RMN service for almost thirty T-years to pursue a diplomatic career. He'd done well during his twenty-eight T-years with the Foreign Office, but he'd maintained his reserve commission. Promotions had been much slower in the reserve than among active-duty regulars, and he'd advanced only to the rank of lieutenant commander before-like many reservists-reporting for active duty after the Battle of Hancock. Also, as with a lot of 'retreads,' Cortez's own BuPers had spent longer than it should have recognizing his raw ability and steering him into the promotions and more demanding duties it had deserved.

Which had ultimately gotten him sent to Hyacinth and disaster, the admiral reminded himself grimly.

'You know Admiral Khumalo's going to need experienced, smart captains, Sir,' Shaw continued. 'And I can't think of anyone we could send him who could match Terekhov's diplomatic experience. He could be invaluable to Baroness Medusa and the Admiral, especially with his demonstrated ability to think outside the box. And, speaking frankly, you know as well as I do how few officers with that ability Admiral Khumalo has.'

'And how poor he is at it himself,' Cortez said with another grimace. Shaw didn't say anything in response. However true Cortez's assessment might be, it wasn't a captain's place to pass judgment on a rear admiral of the green.

'Actually, what I'd really prefer would be to recall Khumalo,' Cortez continued. 'Unfortunately, that's a political decision as much as a military one. Besides, who would we send out to replace him? To be brutally honest, Talbott doesn't exactly have the same priority as the front. Or as Silesia, for that matter.'

He leaned further back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose wearily.

'Too many fires,' he muttered, mostly to himself. 'Too many fires, and not enough people to piss on all of them.'

He sat that way for several seconds, then let his chair come back upright.

'Maybe you're right, Terence,' he sighed. 'We've got to prioritize somehow , and Earl White Haven's been as clear about that as anyone could ask. First, the front and our main combat formations. Second, the integration of our share of Silesia into the Star Kingdom. Third, commerce protection. And Talbott comes fourth. Not because it's unimportant, but because it's less important-or at least less vital-than the others... and so much less likely to turn around and bite us on the ass. At least everyone there got to vote on their future!'

And, Terence Shaw added silently, whether the Government wants to admit it publicly or not, Talbott isn't going to be a matter of life or death for the Star Kingdom, whatever happens there. I hope.

Cortez sat drumming on his desk with his fingers for a moment, then shrugged.

'All right. I'm still not entirely happy about it, but someone has to draw the Talbott duty, and Lord knows they need at least a few modern ships on the station, whatever happens. And Khumalo does need someone with diplomatic experience who can also help him think unconventionally. And maybe you're right. Maybe Terekhov really does need-or deserve, at least-the opportunity to get back up on the horse on a fairly quiet station.'

Chapter Five

Five men and three women sat in the luxurious conference room. Their clothing was perfectly suited to their surroundings, expensive and tailored in the latest Solarian styles, and their jewelry-understated, for the most part-was equally expensive. They were elegantly groomed, with the sort of sleek self-assurance that came with knowing they were masters of the worlds about them.

And, at the moment, they were not happy.

'Just who the fuck do these frigging neobarbs think they are?!' the man at the head of the table demanded. He was perhaps a bit overweight, but his face was normally quite handsome. At the moment, however, the anger blazing in his brown eyes and turning his jowls brick red made that easy to forget. ''The Star Kingdom of Manticore!' Pfehhh! ' His lips worked, as if he were about to spit on the conference room's expensive carpet.

'I admit it's ridiculous, Commissioner Verrochio,' one of the women said in a much calmer tone. Her gray eyes were just as angry as Verrochio's, but cold. Very cold. 'Nonetheless, it's happening.'

'Not while I can do anything about it, it isn't, Ms. Anisimovna!' Verrochio spat.

'The problem, Lorcan,' one of the other men at the table said, 'is that it's beginning to look as if there's not a great deal we can do. Openly, at least.'

'That's ridiculous!' the commissioner snapped. 'We're the Office of Frontier Security, and they're a jumped-up, Johnny-come-lately, neobarb 'kingdom' with delusions of grandeur! Hell, Old Sol alone has three or four times the population of their entire fucking 'star kingdom.' It's like a toenail threatening the entire rest of the body!'

'No, it isn't, Commissioner,' the woman who'd already spoken said.

The commissioner glared at her, and Anisimovna shrugged. Her spectacularly beautiful face had profited from the finest biosculpt and genetic modifications money could buy, and at the moment, it was as calm and focused as Verrochio was choleric.

'It's not like that on two counts. The first is that the Manticorans aren't just any old 'neobarbs' as far as the League is concerned. Their home system is barely a week away from the Sol System itself, via the Beowulf terminus of their damned junction. And it's been settled for centuries-longer than some of the systems in the Old League itself. Certainly longer than several of the Shell systems! They get along fine with Beowulf and manage to stay on fairly good terms with Sol, unlike most neobarb kingdoms. They got hammered by the media during their first war with Haven, and most of the other systems of the League think of them as being isolated out on their little fringe of the explored galaxy, but they have remarkably good contacts on Old Earth. Which, of course, is the capital of the entire League. And they've had those contacts for over three T-centuries now, ever since the Manticore Junction was discovered and explored.'

She shrugged, her voice and manner as calm as her expression, and paused, as if daring anyone to dispute what she'd just said. No one did, and she smiled ever so slightly.

'The second reason it's not like a toenail threatening the rest of the body is that, truthfully, the Manticorans haven't threatened anyone who's a citizen of the League,' she pointed out. 'And the way their ambassador is presenting matters to the Executive Council back on Old Earth, all they're doing here is accepting the results of a freely organized— self— organized-vote by the citizens