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Authors: David Weber
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pointed out that Jonas had passed every security check the Navy had ever thrown at him with flying colors. He’d suggested that when the analysts concerned over Jonas Adcock’s patriotism and loyalty had demonstrated their own patriotism and loyalty one half as clearly he might be more inclined to listen to them. And he’d finished by pointing out that treecats’ ability to identify anyone who harbored ill will towards their human partners was proverbial . . . and that Monroe liked Jonas immensely.
And that, as his mother had observed rather dryly into the ringing silence which followed his explanation, had been that.
Still, Jonas had been nineteen when his family left Maslow behind forever. However passionately loyal he might be to his new homeland, that was where he’d been born, where the childhood friends he’d left behind still lived. And that was why his usual sense of humor had become more than a little strained when the Peoples Navy occupied the Maslow System and it, too, was “voluntarily associated” into the People’s Republic of Haven.
Not, unfortunately, without a certain degree of bloodshed among Maslowans who didn’t want to become Havenites. That much had leaked out before the news blackout slammed down completely. No open reports were getting out at this point, but Manticoran intelligence still had some assets on the planet, and Roger suspected that he knew more about just how ugly the situation on Jonas’ original homeworld actually was at the moment than Jonas himself did.
“Now,” Jonas went on a bit more briskly, putting the moment firmly behind him, “I’ve been following some of that research at Grendel U for a month or so now, Rog, and if you’re here to talk about what I think you’re here to talk about, I’m definitely interested. I think we may need to get Chief Thompson in to discuss it with us, as well, since it’s going to fall into her bailiwick, unless I’m mistaken. But before we do that, Angel happened to be in town and decided to drop by to drag her ancient and decrepit brother off to lunch. Under the circumstances, I’d like to invite you to accompany us . . . if you’ll leave that reader right here on my desk and promise not to say a single word about it until we get back. Deal?”
Roger started to refuse politely. He knew Angelique lived on Gryphon, the single habitable planet of Manticore-B, where she was one of the planet’s leading silviculturalists. She didn’t get to Manticore all that often, and he had no business intruding into a family lunch. But then he glanced at Angelique and noticed her quick, fleeting smile at Jonas’ stern tone.
It was a very attractive smile, he thought, bending over to scoop up Monroe and lift him to his shoulder perch.
“Deal . . . Sir,” he said with a smile of his own, and dropped the reader on Jonas’ desk.
July 1852 PD
“ —SO I’M AFRAID I CAN’T quite agree with you there, My Lord,” Roger Winton said politely, looking across the palatial conference table at Jackson Denham, the Baron of Seawell and the Star Kingdom’s Chancellor of the Exchequer.
“Indeed, Your Highness?” Seawell arched his eyebrows, then let his eyes flick very briefly—so briefly it was almost unnoticeable—towards the head of the table before he focused intently on Roger’s expression. “I’m afraid I don’t follow your logic. Perhaps you could explain it a bit more clearly?”
Roger made himself smile calmly, despite a frission of anger. He kept his own eyes on Seawell, without so much as a glance in his mother’s direction.
“I’m not questioning your current figures, My Lord,” he said. “My problem is with the basis for some of your projected future numbers. Specifically, the ones you’re showing for trade in the Haven Quadrant. I think the underlying assumptions are far too optimistic given what we’ve seen out of the People’s Republic’s current economy.”
“Those assumptions are based on quite a few
And that, as his mother had observed rather dryly into the ringing silence which followed his explanation, had been that.
Still, Jonas had been nineteen when his family left Maslow behind forever. However passionately loyal he might be to his new homeland, that was where he’d been born, where the childhood friends he’d left behind still lived. And that was why his usual sense of humor had become more than a little strained when the Peoples Navy occupied the Maslow System and it, too, was “voluntarily associated” into the People’s Republic of Haven.
Not, unfortunately, without a certain degree of bloodshed among Maslowans who didn’t want to become Havenites. That much had leaked out before the news blackout slammed down completely. No open reports were getting out at this point, but Manticoran intelligence still had some assets on the planet, and Roger suspected that he knew more about just how ugly the situation on Jonas’ original homeworld actually was at the moment than Jonas himself did.
“Now,” Jonas went on a bit more briskly, putting the moment firmly behind him, “I’ve been following some of that research at Grendel U for a month or so now, Rog, and if you’re here to talk about what I think you’re here to talk about, I’m definitely interested. I think we may need to get Chief Thompson in to discuss it with us, as well, since it’s going to fall into her bailiwick, unless I’m mistaken. But before we do that, Angel happened to be in town and decided to drop by to drag her ancient and decrepit brother off to lunch. Under the circumstances, I’d like to invite you to accompany us . . . if you’ll leave that reader right here on my desk and promise not to say a single word about it until we get back. Deal?”
Roger started to refuse politely. He knew Angelique lived on Gryphon, the single habitable planet of Manticore-B, where she was one of the planet’s leading silviculturalists. She didn’t get to Manticore all that often, and he had no business intruding into a family lunch. But then he glanced at Angelique and noticed her quick, fleeting smile at Jonas’ stern tone.
It was a very attractive smile, he thought, bending over to scoop up Monroe and lift him to his shoulder perch.
“Deal . . . Sir,” he said with a smile of his own, and dropped the reader on Jonas’ desk.
July 1852 PD
“ —SO I’M AFRAID I CAN’T quite agree with you there, My Lord,” Roger Winton said politely, looking across the palatial conference table at Jackson Denham, the Baron of Seawell and the Star Kingdom’s Chancellor of the Exchequer.
“Indeed, Your Highness?” Seawell arched his eyebrows, then let his eyes flick very briefly—so briefly it was almost unnoticeable—towards the head of the table before he focused intently on Roger’s expression. “I’m afraid I don’t follow your logic. Perhaps you could explain it a bit more clearly?”
Roger made himself smile calmly, despite a frission of anger. He kept his own eyes on Seawell, without so much as a glance in his mother’s direction.
“I’m not questioning your current figures, My Lord,” he said. “My problem is with the basis for some of your projected future numbers. Specifically, the ones you’re showing for trade in the Haven Quadrant. I think the underlying assumptions are far too optimistic given what we’ve seen out of the People’s Republic’s current economy.”
“Those assumptions are based on quite a few
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