“While I fully appreciate the need to maintain confidentiality under some circumstances, Madame Secretary,” Alexander replied, “I find it somewhat difficult to believe these circumstances require it. These negotiations have been ongoing for more than four T-years. The newsfaxes have covered every aspect of them in minute detail. Unless President Pritchart’s note contains some new and total departure from the Republic’s previous positions, I cannot see any legitimate need to conceal her ‘proposals’ from the members of this House. After all,” he allowed himself a wintery smile, “she already knows what they are.”

Descroix found it even more difficult not to play with her note cards this time. Under the unwritten but ironbound constitutional precedents which governed the Official Questions List, she could refuse to answer Alexander’s questions only if she were prepared to assert that the security of the Star Kingdom required that she do so. That option was always available to her, but while there might be one peer who would be stupid enough to believe her claim was anything other than a desperate political maneuver, there couldn’t possibly be two of them. And if she invoked security concerns, then she effectively confirmed that Pritchart’s “proposals” did, in fact, constitute a major escalation in the tension between the two star nations.

There was, however, an appeal which should remove her from the horns of this particular dilemma without resorting to that dangerous alternative.

“I regret that Her Majesty’s Government must find itself in disagreement with you on this point, My Lord,” she said firmly. “In the Government’s opinion, and in my own, as Foreign Secretary, the best interests of the Star Kingdom and our hope for progress in our negotiations with the Republic of Haven would not be well served by a violation of the confidentiality of the negotiating process. I must, therefore, appeal to the judgment of the House at large, praying that its noble members will sustain my position and that of Her Majesty’s Government.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen of the House,” the Speaker announced, “the Honorable Secretary craves your indulgence and asks you to sustain her in declining further specific response to the noble member’s Question. Please indicate your pleasure on this matter.”

Descroix stood calmly, her expression confident, as the members of the House entered their votes into their own consoles. It didn’t take long, and then the Speaker looked up from the display which tallied them before him.

“Ladies and Gentlemen of the House,” he said, “you have indicated your pleasure. The vote is three hundred and seventy-three in support of the Honorable Secretary’s position and three hundred and ninety-one opposed, with twenty-three abstentions. The Honorable Secretary’s position is not sustained.”

Descroix stiffened. Several decades of political experience allowed her to maintain her calm expression, but she felt herself pale in dismay. In the entire four-plus T-years of the High Ridge Government, the House of Lords had never failed to sustain the Government when it declined to answer an Official Question. The same could not be said in the Commons, but the Lords had been a bastion of solid support, and she’d expected it to sustain the government today, as well.