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# Chapter Twenty-Five

"...So as soon as the necessary probe data are in hand, we'll be sending a fully equipped survey ship through," Michel Reynaud told the reporter.

"And how long will it take you to amass the information you need, Admiral?" the woman followed up quickly, before anyone else in the crowded auditorium could take the floor away from her.

"That's an imponderable, of course," Reynaud told her patiently. "As all of you are no doubt aware, there simply aren't that many junctions, even today, which means our comparative information base is limited. We can describe the observed properties of the phenomenon mathematically, but our grasp of the underlying theory lags behind our ability to model. All I can tell you for certain is that we know what data it is that we need, but until we actually insert the first probes, we don't have any idea how long it's going to take us to acquire it."

"But—" the reporter began stubbornly, and Reynaud gritted his teeth behind a pleasant smile. He could feel Sir Clarence Oglesby standing beside him, and that didn't help his mood at all. He didn't much like Oglesby at the best of times, and the Government spokesman's blandly optimistic comments about the vast possibilities the new terminus created were largely to blame for the press pool's demands that Reynaud somehow provide them with an exact timetable for the cornucopia's arrival.

I've never been at my best dealing with situations like this, he thought. And if I told this airhead what I really think of her obvious inability to understand simple English . . .

"If I may, Admiral?" Jordin Kare, on his very best behavior here in the public eye, asked diffidently, and Reynaud managed to conceal his relief somehow and nodded.

"As Admiral Reynaud just suggested," the astrophysicist told the reporter in his best, authoritative professorial mode, "each wormhole junction with which we're familiar has been a distinct and unique case. Our own Junction isn't quite like any of the others which have been explored, and none of the others are identical to one another, either. I've spent the better part of my adult life studying this particular field, and while I can speak with authority about the known junctions, that doesn't apply to new ones. Or even to previously unexplored termini of known ones. We're largely in the position of, say, the last century or so Ante Diaspora where gravity was concerned. They could describe, model, and predict it in considerable detail, but no one had a clue how to generate and manipulate it the way we can today. All of which means that while we've made certain working assumptions about this terminus based on the Junction's other termini and what we know about other junctions, they remain just that: assumptions. Until we can positively confirm their accuracy, the notion of sending a manned vessel through is out of the question."

He smiled with easy authority, wrapped in the mantle of his academic credentials, and the reporter nodded with profound respect, as if he hadn't just told her exactly what Reynaud had already said. The RMAIA director was grateful for Kare's intervention, but that didn't prevent him from thinking slightly homicidal thoughts about the reporter as she finally sat down.

The rest of the newsies instantly stabbed at their attention buttons, and Reynaud nodded to a slightly built, dark-haired man as a holographically projected green light appeared above him to indicate he'd won the competition.

"Ambrose Howell, Admiral," the reporter identified himself. "Yawata Crossing Dispatch."

"Yes, Mr. Howell?"

"We've heard a great deal about the potential value of this discovery, and you and Dr. Kare have both cogently explained the difficulties and scale of the discovery and exploration process. I have two questions, if I may. First, since we've known for centuries that the math models of the Junction suggested there were additional termini, why has it taken us this long to look in the right place for this one? And, second, why did we go looking for it at this particular moment?"

"Both of those are excellent questions," Oglesby replied, cutting in in his deep, resonant baritone before Reynaud could respond, "and, if I may, I'll answer the second one first."

He bestowed a self-deprecating smile on the RMAIA director, apparently totally oblivious to Reynaud's blistering anger at his uninvited intervention.

"Obviously," he went on, transferring his modest smile to Howell, "as a layman and a total ignoramus where hyper-physics are concerned, I'm not in any position to reply to your first question. The timing, however, was the result of equal parts serendipitous circumstance and foresight. Although the thorny issues which have prevented the negotiation of a final peace treaty remain, the determination by both parties to the recent war that even an uneasy truce is superior to active bloodshed provided a window of opportunity in which it was possible for the Government to consider other substantive issues. No one could reasonably blame previous governments for their preoccupation with matters of interstellar security and naval budgets. And, of course, until we do have a formal peace treaty, the present Government is also under a powerful obligation to secure the Star Kingdom's security as its first priority. But the present political realities mean we've been able to step back from the abyss of active warfare and turn our thoughts to something besides better ways to kill our fellow human beings.

"The present Government, aware of the absolute necessity of maintaining the momentum towards peace domestically, as well as internationally, sought an entire array of initiatives to, as the Prime Minister and Chancellor of the Exchequer put it, 'build the peace.' Some were designed to ease the transition of military personnel back into the civilian economy, while others were intended to repair the ravages individuals and certain sectors of the economy—as in Basilisk, for example—had suffered during the fighting. And the creation of the Royal Manticoran Astrophysics Investigation Agency, with Admiral Reynaud as its head, was another. The Government saw this as an ideal opportunity to make a fundamental investment in the Star Kingdom's future. And, to be perfectly honest, the Government also saw the RMAIA and its audacious search as precisely the sort of peaceful challenge which would bring out the very best in a citizenry weary of the sacrifice and violence of a decade-long war. I'm very pleased, as, I'm sure, is every other individual associated with the Government in general, and the RMAIA in particular, that success has attended the effort with such unanticipated promptness."

Oglesby beamed at Howell and the HD cameras, and Reynaud reminded himself that it would never do to strangle the pompous, fatuous opportunist in front of so many witnesses. And at least he wasn't as poisonous a personality as Makris. For a moment, the admiral considered the alternative of asking Oglesby to brief the newsies about the . . . ambiguities Reynaud's own staffers had discovered in the Agency budget statements Makris had approved. But, no, that would never do, either. And so he simply waited until Oglesby had stepped back from the podium, and then looked directly at Howell, ignoring the Prime Minister's press secretary entirely.

"Since Sir Clarence has done such an . . . admirable job of answering your second question, Mr. Howell," he said, "I'll confine my own response to the first one. The simplest answer is that there was a flaw in the most widely accepted models of our Junction—one which Dr. Kare and his team at Valasakis University first identified only about six T-years ago. To be perfectly honest, it was his work there which led to his selection to head this project.

"The discrepancy they identified wasn't really a fundamental error, but it was sufficient to throw all of our predictions as to the probable loci of additional termini off to a significant degree. The Manticoran Wormhole Junction is a spherical region of space approximately one light-second in diameter. That gives it a volume of approximately fourteen quadrillion cubic kilometers, and any given terminus within the Junction is vastly smaller than that, a sphere no more than three thousand kilometers across. Which means that a terminus represents less than seven hundred millionths of a percent of the total volume of the Junction. So even a very small error in our initial models' predictions had an enormous impact. In addition, this terminus's 'signature' was extremely faint, compared to those of the termini we already knew about. Our theoretical studies had always suggested that would be the case, but that faintness meant we required further advances in the sensitivity of our instruments and their computer support before we could realistically hope to detect it."

The admiral shrugged.

"Compared to the difficulties associated with the hunt for this terminus, the proverbial needle in a haystack would have been no challenge at all. Indeed, honesty compels me to admit that even with the strong support RMAIA has received, it was as much old-fashioned luck as anything else which allowed us to detect the terminus this quickly.

"I trust that answers your questions, Mr. Howell?"

The reporter nodded and sat down, and Reynaud moved on to the next holographic halo.

* * *

"Well, I thought Clarence did rather well," Baron High Ridge remarked as he held up his cup. He'd brought his own butler to the Prime Minister's official residence with him, and now that well-trained servant responded instantly with his coffeepot to the silent, peremptory command. High Ridge sipped the fragrant brew appreciatively. He did not, of course, thank the man or even acknowledge his existence.

"I suppose," Elaine Descroix conceded across the remnants of her own breakfast. She drank a little coffee, patted her lips with an old-fashioned linen napkin, and then grimaced ever so slightly.

"Clarence certainly did his best to see to it that credit went where credit was due," she told High Ridge." And I particularly liked the way he kept managing to slip our 'building the peace' slogan into his replies. But that Kare, and especially Reynaud—!" She shook her head. "What a deadly dull pair!"

"One can hardly expect acute political awareness out of career bureaucrats and scientists, Elaine," High Ridge chided gently.

"No," she agreed. "But I was watching Reynaud, in particular. He didn't care one bit for the way Clarence kept 'stealing his thunder,' and it showed. Are we going to have problems with him down the road?"

"What sort of problems?" High Ridge frowned.

"Oh, come now, Michael! He's the RMAIA's director, and however much I may dislike him, he obviously has a brain. I'm quite certain he can do simple math, and not even Melina can change the fact that he has access to his own books."

High Ridge set down his cup, and glanced over his shoulder at the butler. Descroix had a disturbing tendency to ignore the ears of servants. The Prime Minister was particularly aware of it because it was something he had to constantly watch in himself, but he'd seen too many examples of what ungrateful and resentful servants could do to their employers when those employers were careless about what they said in front of them. It wasn't a lesson he intended to forget, and although his butler had been in his employ for almost thirty T-years, there was no point in taking chances.

"That will be all, Howard," he told the man. "Just leave us the coffeepot. I'll buzz when we're done."

"Of course, My Lord," Howard murmured, and disappeared with discreet promptness.

"Now then, Elaine," High Ridge said, gazing at her intently, "what, specifically, are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting that he has access to his own books. I admit that Melina has done a better job than I'd expected in managing the fiscal details, but in the end, she can't simply refuse to let the man who's technically her superior look at his own agency's accounts. And Reynaud may be an admiral, but he came up through Astro Control, Michael. He's had plenty of bureaucratic experience of his own. He may not be an accountant, but I'm not at all sure that he wouldn't be able to see through Melina's little . . . subterfuges. And given that he so obviously disapproves of Clarence, and so, by extension, of us, he also has the potential to see himself as a knight on a white horse. It's just possible that his delicate conscience could turn him into a whistleblower."

"I think that's unlikely," High Ridge said after a moment. "If he were likely to do something like that, why hasn't he already done it? So far as I'm aware, he hasn't even asked any difficult questions, much less shown any inclination to take his suspicions—if any—public. And even if it turned out that he were so inclined after all, it would effectively be his word against the full weight of Her Majesty's Government." He shook his head. "No. I don't see any way he could hurt us under the circumstances."

"You're probably right . . . for now," Descroix replied. "On the other hand, I wasn't thinking about right this minute, or even any time in the next several months or even the next few years. But let's face it, Michael. You and I both know that eventually there's going to be a change of governments."

"Cromarty hung on to the premiership for the better part of sixty T-years with only three interruptions," High Ridge pointed out just a bit stiffly.

"And he had the enthusiastic support of the Crown the entire time. A happy state of affairs which," Descroix observed dryly, "scarcely obtains in our own case."

"If the approval of the Crown were critical to the survival of a government, we'd never have been permitted to form one in the first place!" High Ridge shot back.

"Of course we wouldn't have. But that's not really the point, is it? However temperamental the Queen may be, she's also an astute political observer, and she was right. Our differences in priorities and ideology—especially between you and me, on the one hand, and Marisa, on the other—are too fundamental for us to maintain our cohesion indefinitely. And that completely overlooks potential outside forces. Like that idiot Montaigne." Descroix grimaced. "I don't think she has a hope in Hell of pulling it off, but it's perfectly clear what she's up to with that dramatic renunciation of her title. And while I think the odds against her are high, I didn't expect her to win her precious little special election, either. So I don't have any desire to stake my own political survival on my faith that she can't do it after all."

"You think she could effectively challenge Marisa's control of her party leadership, then?" High Ridge asked.

"Probably not as things stand," Descroix replied. "But that's my point. You and I both know politics are a dynamic process, not a static one. Things change, and Montaigne's challenge could weaken Marisa enough for someone else higher up in the party hierarchy to challenge her successfully. Or, for that matter, to pull Marisa back towards the Liberals' 'true faith' and away from her coalition with us. Frankly, I think that's what's most likely to bring this Government down in the end, because let's face it, she's never really been comfortable working with us in the first place."

"It doesn't help any when you snipe at her in Cabinet meetings," High Ridge said in a painfully neutral tone.

"I know that. It's just that she's so damned sanctimonious and pious that I can't help myself. Come on, Michael! You know that when it comes right down to it, she's at least as willing as you or I—probably more willing—to do whatever it takes to hang on to power. But, of course, she's only doing it because of the absolute sanctity of her holier-than-thou, save-the-universe, rescue-mankind-from-original-sin ideology."

"I suppose so." High Ridge drank a little more coffee, using the cup to obscure his expression until he was certain he had it back under control. He'd known Descroix's impatience with New Kiev had been growing steadily, but the sheer venom in the Foreign Secretary's biting tone still came as something of a shock. Particularly if it proved to be the first rumbling of the very discord Descroix was warning him against.

"Oh, don't worry," she told him, almost as if she could read his mind. "I detest the woman, and I'm quite sure she detests me, right back. But we're both fully aware of how much we need one another right now, and neither of us is likely to do anything stupid.

"In the end, however," she went on, promptly undermining his momentary sense of relief, "we're either going to accomplish what made us political bedfellows in the first place, or else Alexander and the Queen are going to manage to take us out of office before we do. In the first case, I think we can take it for granted that there's going to be a certain . . . acrimoniousness to the ultimate dissolution of our partnership. And in the latter case—which, I hasten to add, I consider an unlikely, worst-case scenario—you can bet anything you like that Her Majesty's going to be out for blood. Our blood. Either way, there are going to be plenty of sharp knives waiting to be parked in someone's back, and Reynaud could be one of them."

"I think you're worrying unduly," the Prime Minister said after a moment. "There are always . . . irregularities of one sort or another, but neither side has any interest in making them public when the government changes hands. After all, as you've just pointed out, it will always change hands again at some point. If the incoming government smears its predecessors over every potential little discrepancy, then it invites the same treatment when it's time for it to leave office, in turn, and no one wants that."

"With all due respect, Michael, we're not talking about 'little discrepancies' in this instance," Descroix said coolly. "While I would be the first to argue that our decisions were completely justifiable, they hardly represent unintentional errors or sloppy paperwork. There's not much point in pretending that someone like Alexander couldn't exaggerate them all out of proportion and start some sort of witch hunt. And whatever he might want to do as a realistic and pragmatic politician, the Queen is going to want the biggest, noisiest witch hunt she can possibly arrange in our case. In fact," Descroix smiled thinly, "I'm pretty sure she's already stockpiling wood for the barbecue at Mount Royal Palace."

"It's just a bit late to be developing a case of cold feet, Elaine," High Ridge told her. "If you thought we were taking unjustifiable risks, you should have said so at the time."

"I just finished saying that I felt they were justified," she said with calm deliberateness. "I'm simply pointing out that that doesn't mean I'm blind to the potential consequences if they come home to roost later."

"And just why are you so assiduously pointing it out?" he asked in a tone he realized was beginning to verge rather too closely on querulous for the Prime Minister of Manticore.

"Because Reynaud's attitude towards Clarence crystallized my concerns about them. I've been aware of them from the beginning, but the need to concentrate on day-to-day tactics has tended to push them further down my list of things to worry about. Unfortunately, if we don't start worrying about them now, then we're going to spend a lot more time worrying about them later."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning that it's time you and I started making sure our lifeboats don't spring any leaks when the ship finally sinks." She allowed herself a small, amused smile at his exasperated expression, but she also decided it was time to show some mercy and come to the point at last.

"Eventually, someone's going to ask some very pointed questions, Michael. Elizabeth will see to that, even if no one else wants to. So it's occurred to me that this would be a very good time to begin establishing the documentary evidence to support the answers we're going to want to give."

"I see," the Prime Minister said slowly, leaning back in his chair and regarding her speculatively. And, he admitted, respectfully.

"And just how do you suggest we do that?" he asked finally.

"Obviously, we begin by seeing to it that any little . . . financial irregularities lead back to our esteemed Chancellor of the Exchequer and Home Secretary MacIntosh." She sighed. "How tragic! To think that such high-minded and selfless servants of the public weal should turn out to have actually been so venal and corrupt as to divert government monies into slush funds and vote-buying schemes. And how truly unfortunate that your own trust in the Liberal Party's well known probity prevented you from realizing in time what they were doing."

"I see," he repeated, even more slowly. He'd always known Elaine Descroix was about as safe as an Old Earth cobra, yet even now, a part of him was appalled by her ruthlessness.

"Of course," she admitted cheerfully, "it needs to be done carefully, and to be completely honest, I'm not at all sure how to go about doing it properly. A clumsy job, with fingerprints pointing in our direction, would be worse than useless."

"I can certainly agree with that!"

"Good. Because in that case, I think we should put Georgia to work on it."

"Are you sure you want to bring her that fully into this?" High Ridge knew his doubtfulness showed, but Descroix only smiled.

"Michael," she said patiently, "Georgia already has access to the North Hollow Files. I'm sure there are more than enough smoking guns tucked away in there to destroy anyone she really wants to destroy. She doesn't need any more information to be a threat to us, if that's what she decides to become. Besides, you've already used her for half a dozen things I can think of whose legality might be . . . questioned by a real stickler. The surveillance of Harrington and White Haven, springs to mind.

"My point is that she already knows enough to blow us out of the water. But she can't do that without doing herself in right along with us. The same is true of Melina. After Reynaud, she's the most dangerous potential leak where RMAIA is concerned. but she's also the one who's done such a good job of insulating Marisa from harsh reality, which means that if the Agency goes down, she goes right with it."

Descroix shrugged.

"Georgia and Melina both have very, very good reasons to see to it that any nasty suspicion is directed away from themselves to someone else. In fact, if I thought Melina were up to it, I'd advise leaving the entire affair in her hands. Unfortunately, I don't think she is . . . whereas Georgia has clearly demonstrated her own capability in such matters. So, given how very good she is at this sort of thing anyway, it strikes me that it wouldn't make any sense to bring anyone else in. The more people we involve, the more likely something is to leak entirely by accident, much less what someone like Reynaud could do to us if our efforts came to his attention. So let's put the project in the hands of a single individual with a powerful interest in seeing to it that her tracks are buried right along with ours."

"I see," he said for a third time. And then, slowly, he smiled.

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