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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Crystal Pine’s report was the last on the Cabinet’s schedule. To Elizabeth’s mind, at least, it was also the most interesting.

“The retrofitting work on Hopstead Manufacturing’s Number Three assembly line has been completed,” she said. “Jeffrey has only run it up to half speed, but he can already tell that the change will cut time and costs significantly.”

A murmur of interest ran around the table, reflecting Elizabeth’s own cautious excitement. The difference in complexity and power between an air-car counter-grav coil and an impeller node was impossible to overstate, but she’d been following Hopstead’s progress as closely as her other time demands allowed. Anything that improved processes and trimmed down manufacturing costs—any manufacturing processes and any manufacturing costs—could only bolster the growing industrial capacity that might actually let them recognize her late brother’s dream of manufacturing their own impeller rings and, ultimately, moving the entire shipbuilding process into the Star Kingdom.

Though it was clear that not everyone shared Crystal Pine’s optimism. “What exactly does significantly mean?” Chancellor of the Exchequer Greatgap asked. “Are we talking ten percent? Thirty percent? Half a percent?”

“Right now it looks like it’ll be in the eight to ten percent range,” Crystal Pine said. “I’ll also point out that even with the most optimistic number the costs of the refit mean that the procedure won’t reach breakeven for at least two T-years, possibly longer.”

“Never mind the breakeven for the moment,” Director of Belt Mining Jhomper put in. “What about operating costs? Any idea yet whether there would be any savings there?”

“At this point, those numbers are a bit softer even than the efficiency ones,” Crystal Pine said. “But the projection is also for an eight to ten percent savings in power.”

“Interesting,” Jhomper said. “Do you know if these coil reconfigurations would also work in mining craft?”

“They won’t be applicable to spacecraft at all, I’m afraid,” Crystal Pine said in her most tactful tone. “There are huge differences between a starship’s impeller drive and the counter-grav coils in an air car. We have picked up a few pointers, ways in which the much larger, more powerful coils built into an impeller node could be tweaked when the time comes. But we don’t have the supporting industrial base to build them yet ourselves. In the meantime, though, this has some very positive potential implications for our entire planetary industrial and freight handling infrastructure. Not just air cars and lorries, but warehousing equipment and anywhere else we use counter-grav.”

“I see,” Jhomper said stiffly. Despite Crystal Pine’s diplomatic tone, he looked less than delighted at having been reminded in front of his colleagues about the difference between an air car and the impeller nodes that his own directorate dealt with every day.

“So this is something we can apply across the board?” Greatgap asked, stepping in smoothly in a clear effort to cover his colleague’s embarrassment. “What sort of availability projections are we talking about?”

“My Lady, please remember that we’re still in the early stages of this trial,” Crystal Pine said. “As yet we have no data on durability, failure rate, or any other potential downsides. I recommend we proceed with this as scheduled until we have a better idea of both the plusses and the minuses.”

“Well, if this is what the Andermani use, I can’t imagine there being any serious downsides,” Jhomper growled.

“The Andermani are hardly the Olympian gods of the galaxy,” Crystal Pine replied stiffly. “More to the point, they’re running entirely different manufacturing lines and procedures. It might turn out that using their coil style in our systems will create compatibility problems.”

“Did any such problems show up in the simulations or lab tests?” Jhomper persisted.

“Not to my knowledge,” Crystal Pine said. “But such checks aren’t foolproof. They diminish the chances of unexpected problems, but don’t entirely eliminate them.”

“I suppose,” Jhomper said. “Still, caution and tippy-toeing can only take you so far. Fortunately, belt miners are used to taking risks for the Star Kingdom.”

“Even more fortunately, those risks aren’t as great as they used to be,” Secretary of Education Jakob Oldham, Baron Broken Cliff, put in. “Not with all the MPARS ships out on patrol.” He sent a stern look around the table. “Courtesy of Earl Breakwater, in case the Cabinet has forgotten.”

Elizabeth suppressed a grimace. Breakwater was long gone from the Cabinet, but she’d always suspected he would look for a way to reintroduce his presence, even if it was only second-hand. Apparently, he’d managed to turn the normally apolitical Broken Cliff into his mouthpiece.

She wasn’t particularly happy with the thought of dealing with the Ghost of Exchequers Past, but she could handle the annoyance.

The current Exchequer wasn’t nearly so phlegmatic.

“The Cabinet hasn’t forgotten, thank you,” Greatgap said, sending a stern look at Broken Cliff. “I would also appreciate sticking to the topic at hand and not drifting into political speechmaking and ancient history.”

“I simply wished to remind the Cabinet that belt mining isn’t nearly as dangerous an occupation as it once was,” Broken Cliff said stiffly.

“And I’m sure we all appreciate all the people, past and present, who’ve brought us to this glorious era,” Greatgap countered.

“Very well,” Elizabeth said. Time to cut off the growing tension and send everyone back to their corners. “I believe that concludes today’s scheduled business. If there’s nothing more—” She broke off at Crystal Pine’s hesitantly half-lifted hand. “My Lady?”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I have one more concern.” She glanced around the table. “Though perhaps this is neither the time nor the place.”

“Well, when you settle those questions, be sure to let me know,” Harwich said. “With the permission of the Crown, My Lords, and My Ladies—”

“It concerns you, as well, Lord Harwich,” Crystal Pine interrupted. “As well as some…I believe there are some risks you haven’t fully considered.”

“In that case,” Elizabeth said before Harwich could respond, “perhaps you and the Prime Minister would be willing to stay a few more moments.”

“Certainly, Your Majesty,” Harwich said, his eyes narrowed slightly as he gazed at Crystal Pine. Clearly, he was sensing the oddness in her manner, too. “With the permission of the Crown, My Lords, and My Ladies, I declare this session closed. God save the Queen.”

“God save the Queen,” the others intoned in unison.

The rest of the Cabinet filed out, leaving Elizabeth, Crystal Pine, and Harwich still in their seats. Elizabeth watched the others leave, wanting to urge them to hurry but knowing full well that any additional strangeness to this would only pique their curiosity more than it already was.

Finally, the exodus was over. The door closed behind them all, and Elizabeth shifted her full attention to Crystal Pine. “Very well, My Lady,” she said, keeping her voice calm. “What exactly is this unconsidered threat?”

“I don’t know if it’s a threat, exactly, Your Majesty,” Crystal Pine said, sounding a bit less sure of herself. “But it’s…well, it concerns the gravitic anomaly conference invitation that’s been sent out to the Solarian League.”

“What about it?” Elizabeth asked, keeping her expression neutral. The announcement of the conference, and its subsequent departure, had been mostly met with a collective yawn from both the Cabinet and Parliament as a whole, the only real interest coming from those who wanted to know how much the whole thing would cost. So why was Crystal Pine bringing it up now?

“I’ve been digging into the guest list,” Crystal Pine said. “And I’m seeing some…interesting names there.” She seemed to brace herself. “Specifically, what I’m seeing is that this conference seems to be focused less on gravitic faults like Manticore’s and more on wormholes.”

“Interesting conclusion,” Elizabeth said. “Continue.”

Crystal Pine seemed taken aback. “Continue, Your Majesty?”

“You don’t bring information like that to your sovereign—particularly information she already has available—without further questions, comments, or conclusions,” Elizabeth told her.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Crystal Pine said. She took a deep breath. “I also noted that this conference was arranged after Casey’s trip to Silesia. I’m wondering…did they discover a wormhole junction out there?”

“Another interesting thought,” Elizabeth said, working hard to keep the relief out of her voice. So near, and yet so far. “You’ll understand that any such information would be a very deep secret, to be shared only on a need-to-know basis.”

“Yes, of course,” Crystal Pine said. She was playing it cool, Elizabeth could see, but it was equally clear that she considered the Queen’s studied silence on the matter as confirmation that her guess was right. “I was simply worried about some of the parties who may be coming here.”

“Anyone in particular you’re worried about?” Harwich asked.

Crystal Pine’s lip twitched. “I notice that experts from Axelrod are included in the list, My Lord.” She looked at Elizabeth again. “I’ve heard some unpleasant stories about their efforts—and ability—to get their hooks into local industrial bases. They have a nasty reputation for killing local innovation in order to increase dependence on their products and services, and those of their business partners. They’re part of a growing trend by the Solarian transstellars to create… debt peonage relationships, an economist friend of mine calls them, with fringe systems like ours.”

“I understand your concerns,” Elizabeth said. “I think we’ll be able to keep any industrial and economic espionage to a minimum, though.”

“But you make a valid point,” Harwich said. “Fortunately, we’ll have time to make sure our critical sectors are protected from our guests. And we’ll keep a close eye on any contacts Axelrod might make locally. In fact, you’re one of the people we’ll have doing that.”

“Thank you, My Lord,” Crystal Pine said. “And thank you for taking the time to see me, Your Majesty,” she added to Elizabeth. “I apologize if I wandered into areas I shouldn’t.”

“That’s all right,” Elizabeth said. “Honest thought and new ideas are the hallmarks of the Star Kingdom.”

“Though you probably shouldn’t mention this to anyone else,” Harwich added. “I know the information on the conference is technically public information, but if someone else wants to speculate, let’s make them dig it out for themselves.”

“And certainly keep the potential espionage part quiet,” Elizabeth said.

“Of course,” Crystal Pine said, giving her a small, slightly embarrassed smile. “Thank you, Your Majesty. Good day to you both.”

With another small smile, she turned and left the room.

Harwich waited until she was gone. “Well,” he commented. “I do believe, Your Majesty, that we lucked out on that one.”

“I agree,” Elizabeth said, finally allowing herself to wince.

“But you do realize it’s not going to end with her, don’t you?” Harwich continued. “Eventually, someone else will figure out what’s really behind it…and that someone will probably not privately vet their speculations through you before announcing them.”

“I know,” Elizabeth said. “We’ll just have to handle those brush fires where and when they happen.”

“I’m starting to wonder if keeping this from the rest of the Cabinet was a good idea,” Harwich mused. “They’re going to launch into orbit when we do end up telling them.”

“We’ve been through this,” Elizabeth reminded him. “If our unknown nemesis has a source on Manticore, we don’t want them to know we know.”

Still, paranoia aside, it wasn’t just a matter of the people who’d hired Gensonne knowing that the Manticorans suspected the reason for their interest in the Star Kingdom. There were a lot of other nations out there who might decide that even a possible gravitic anomaly was worth the risk of taking their own shot at profit and glory.

The RMN had barely been able to survive against a single attacker. There was no chance in hell they could fend off two of them.

And if one of those fortune-seekers turned out to be the Andermani themselves?

Basaltberg’s reasons for visiting Manticore had been eminently reasonable, given the close cooperation they’d had with Captain Clegg and Casey in Silesia. But Elizabeth couldn’t shake the discomfiting suspicion that Emperor Gustav might have learned something from his attack on the Volsung base and had decided this was the perfect time to size up his distant neighbors.

“Speaking of launching people into orbit,” Harwich continued, “Countess Calvingdell tells me Admiral Knox was poking around Room 2021 yesterday.”

“Wonderful,” Elizabeth murmured. Admiral Barnum Knox had been director of Manticore’s Office of Naval Intelligence for nearly twenty T-years now, and as such was as much of an institution as Susan Tarleton had been in the Foreign Secretary’s office.

Tarleton’s replacement with Winterfall had sent only minor ripples through the government. Replacing the well-connected Knox, in contrast, would very likely have unleashed a tsunami. That had been one of the reasons Calvingdell had been set up with the brand new Special Intelligence Service instead of simply putting her in Knox’s place in ONI.

Unfortunately, that trick had merely sidestepped the conflict, and in the process changed it from a battle over a chair to a war over jurisdiction. Ever since SIS’s existence had been revealed to ONI, Knox had made it his personal crusade to make sure Calvingdell stayed precisely within her bounds, never encroaching even a millimeter over the line from political intel to military intel.

The problem, of course, was that there was never a fine line between those spheres of responsibility. Which Knox undoubtedly knew.

“What did he want this time?” Elizabeth asked.

“The usual,” Harwich said. “SIS’s complete files on operations, personnel, funding levels, and all the rest.”

“Did Calvingdell remind him that much of that was still classified?”

“He never saw her,” Harwich said. “That receptionist—Flora Taylor—caught him before he could get in and told him he wasn’t authorized for entry without Calvingdell’s express permission.”

“I’m sure he was eloquent in his response to that.”

“I didn’t see any actual blistering on Taylor’s skin when she screened me,” Harwich said ruefully. “I’d hoped he’d settle down once he accepted the fact that SIS is part of the team. Apparently, he hasn’t.”

“So it seems,” Elizabeth said. “We’ll just have to see how it plays out.”

“Indeed, Your Majesty,” Harwich said. “Maybe we should offer them a piece of the conference security system, task them with keeping people with roving eyes and sticky fingers from poking them where they don’t belong.”

“Not really their area,” Elizabeth said. “But we could certainly find something for them to do. I’ll work on that.”

“As will I,” Harwich said. “Unless you have further instructions…?”

“Not for now,” Elizabeth said. “Good day, My Lord.”

“Good day, Your Majesty.” He smiled. “God save the Queen.”

Elizabeth watched him leave, a fresh sense of powerlessness threatening to overwhelm her. The conference, the wormhole, the Andermani, the threat of new attacks on her kingdom and her people. So much that needed to be done. So little that she seemed able to actually influence.

God save the Queen. It wasn’t just a benediction, she knew. At its core, it was also a prayer.

Elizabeth believed that God always answered prayers.

She also knew that often the answer was no.


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Framed