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Authors: David Drake
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that is. I can give you as much official support as you want—and for Captain Leary, as well. If he’d care to take the Princess Cecile to the Ribbon Stars under RCN auspices, I can arrange that.”
“I will pass on your offer to Captain Leary,” Adele said. She felt no need to inform Mistress Sand of what Daniel was thinking. “Does the Republic have a position on the Corcyra situation?”
“Neither we nor the Alliance cares what happens to Corcyra,” Sand said. “Oh, there are functionaries on both sides, some of them wearing uniforms, who feel very strongly one way or another. But the position of the Senate and of Guarantor Porra as best we can determine— I can determine—is that all the parties involved on Corcyra can go to Hell in their own way, and the more quickly the better.”
Sand sighed, touched her glass, and pushed it firmly aside as she had the decanter. “Despite that,” she said, “there’s a very real possibility that we’ll shortly be at war over some silly business involving Corcyra, even though nobody wants it. No sane person wants that.”
Adele pursed her lips, looking for the correct phrasing. People in general did not use words as precisely as she did, and she needed to be understood this time.
“If I go to Corcyra as a private citizen,” she said, meeting the older woman’s eyes, “as I expect at the moment I will do, I cannot guarantee that the actions I take will be to the benefit of the Republic.”
Mistress Sand laughed. “Mundy,” she said, “I can’t guarantee that the sun will rise in the east tomorrow, but I would bet on it with almost as much certainty as I would bet that whatever you do will be in Cinnabar’s best interests.”
She paused. She was fully herself again: Bernis Sand, whose mind controlled an intelligence apparatus which was more valuable to the safety of the Republic than any battleship in the RCN.
“I can justify all the help my organization provides you, Mundy,” she said forcefully. “But in my own mind, I am very clear that you are going to Corcyra as a favor to a colleague.”
Adele rose. “I’ll get back to preparations, then,” she said. “Captain Leary and I will need to talk to your son, probably this afternoon.”
“Yes, of course,” Sand said, rising also. “I’ll tell him to expect your call.”
And I’m not doing this for a colleague, Adele thought as she opened the door to the grill room. I’m doing it for a friend.
Bergen and Associates Shipyard, Cinnabar
Mon had an office on the top of what was now the Administration Building—it had been Hangar One when Daniel first visited the yard as a boy—but Daniel had asked to amble along the waterside with his manager while they talked. As expected, Mon was delighted to give his co-owner—Daniel had given Mon a ten percent share out of the fifty percent Daniel had inherited—a tour to show how well the yard was doing.
The “Associates” of the yard’s name was Uncle Stacey’s financial backer—Corder Leary, who had married Stacey’s sister and sired Deirdre and Daniel on her. Corder had little or nothing to do with his wife while Daniel was growing up, but he had made financial provision for his brother-in-law on Stacey’s retirement from the RCN at the rank of commander.
Deirdre handled all business between the yard and its silent partner. Daniel preferred not to deal with his father, and to the degree that Mon cared—Daniel wasn’t sure that Mon even knew the full ownership arrangements—he was probably pleased as well.
“We’re replacing all her thrusters,” Mon said, gesturing to the Ezwal , a small freighter in dry dock. “Three or four might still pass, but the new owner plans to trade in the Nugget Cluster, where his own crew’ll have to handle the refits. He wants to put the first major overhaul as far into the future as he can.”
Daniel nodded approvingly at the work. Six of the Ezwal ’s eight thrusters were on a flatcar beside the
“I will pass on your offer to Captain Leary,” Adele said. She felt no need to inform Mistress Sand of what Daniel was thinking. “Does the Republic have a position on the Corcyra situation?”
“Neither we nor the Alliance cares what happens to Corcyra,” Sand said. “Oh, there are functionaries on both sides, some of them wearing uniforms, who feel very strongly one way or another. But the position of the Senate and of Guarantor Porra as best we can determine— I can determine—is that all the parties involved on Corcyra can go to Hell in their own way, and the more quickly the better.”
Sand sighed, touched her glass, and pushed it firmly aside as she had the decanter. “Despite that,” she said, “there’s a very real possibility that we’ll shortly be at war over some silly business involving Corcyra, even though nobody wants it. No sane person wants that.”
Adele pursed her lips, looking for the correct phrasing. People in general did not use words as precisely as she did, and she needed to be understood this time.
“If I go to Corcyra as a private citizen,” she said, meeting the older woman’s eyes, “as I expect at the moment I will do, I cannot guarantee that the actions I take will be to the benefit of the Republic.”
Mistress Sand laughed. “Mundy,” she said, “I can’t guarantee that the sun will rise in the east tomorrow, but I would bet on it with almost as much certainty as I would bet that whatever you do will be in Cinnabar’s best interests.”
She paused. She was fully herself again: Bernis Sand, whose mind controlled an intelligence apparatus which was more valuable to the safety of the Republic than any battleship in the RCN.
“I can justify all the help my organization provides you, Mundy,” she said forcefully. “But in my own mind, I am very clear that you are going to Corcyra as a favor to a colleague.”
Adele rose. “I’ll get back to preparations, then,” she said. “Captain Leary and I will need to talk to your son, probably this afternoon.”
“Yes, of course,” Sand said, rising also. “I’ll tell him to expect your call.”
And I’m not doing this for a colleague, Adele thought as she opened the door to the grill room. I’m doing it for a friend.
Bergen and Associates Shipyard, Cinnabar
Mon had an office on the top of what was now the Administration Building—it had been Hangar One when Daniel first visited the yard as a boy—but Daniel had asked to amble along the waterside with his manager while they talked. As expected, Mon was delighted to give his co-owner—Daniel had given Mon a ten percent share out of the fifty percent Daniel had inherited—a tour to show how well the yard was doing.
The “Associates” of the yard’s name was Uncle Stacey’s financial backer—Corder Leary, who had married Stacey’s sister and sired Deirdre and Daniel on her. Corder had little or nothing to do with his wife while Daniel was growing up, but he had made financial provision for his brother-in-law on Stacey’s retirement from the RCN at the rank of commander.
Deirdre handled all business between the yard and its silent partner. Daniel preferred not to deal with his father, and to the degree that Mon cared—Daniel wasn’t sure that Mon even knew the full ownership arrangements—he was probably pleased as well.
“We’re replacing all her thrusters,” Mon said, gesturing to the Ezwal , a small freighter in dry dock. “Three or four might still pass, but the new owner plans to trade in the Nugget Cluster, where his own crew’ll have to handle the refits. He wants to put the first major overhaul as far into the future as he can.”
Daniel nodded approvingly at the work. Six of the Ezwal ’s eight thrusters were on a flatcar beside the
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