Rabenstrange stared at him for a long moment, and then the herzog’s nostrils flared.

“Graf von Sternhafen,” he said, enunciating each word with extreme precision, “while I intend to make all due effort to address you with the courtesy you’ve reminded me a station commander in His Imperial Majesty’s service deserves, you make that extremely difficult. I am interested in getting to the bottom of what happened; as nearly as I can tell, you are primarily interested in justifying Kapitän der Sternen Gortz’s actions in their totality. And, I repeat, you apparently made no effort whatsoever to investigate Duchess Harrington’s statements or to consider the possibility that, however patriotic and noble he may have been, Kapitän zur Sternen Gortz might-might, I say!—have committed an error in this instance.”

“Errors were certainly made, Gross Admiral,” Sternhafen replied. “They were not, however, made by Kapitän der Sternen Gortz.”

Rabenstrange forced himself not to shout in the other man’s face. It was difficult. And not least because the herzog found himself in fundamental disagreement with his imperial cousin’s Silesian policy. Despite his own lofty birth and accomplishments, Chien-lu Anderman was not an especially vain man. He saw no point in pretending to be any more modest than he was, either, but he wasn’t one of those individuals who worried particularly about what others might think of him or about matters of reputation and “face.”

Despite that, he was aware that the Emperor regarded him more as a favored brother than as a mere cousin, and that very few individuals in the Andermani Empire had as much influence with Gustav as he did. But there were limits in all things, and try though he might, he’d been unable to dissuade Gustav from embarking upon his grand adventure in the Confederacy.

Truth to tell, Rabenstrange found it impossible to fault Gustav’s basic determination to secure the Empire’s legitimate frontiers in Silesia. Unlike the Star Kingdom of Manticore, the Andermani Empire was physically close enough to Silesia to suffer occasional border violations by Silesian pirates and freebooters. That situation had become even worse (although, he admittedly, not enormously so) in the wake of the steady trickle into the Confederacy of outlaw warships which had once belonged to the People’s Navy. Which, if one wanted to look at it that way, was at least partly the fault of the Manticorans, since it was their war with the People’s Republic which had ultimately created the situation. And whatever implications Silesian instability might have had for the Star Kingdom’s merchant marine, that instability offered no direct, immediate threat to the security of Manticore’s territory or citizenry at large. The fact that Manticore had presumed for so long to dictate Andermani behavior in Silesia under those circumstances certainly explained the long-standing, deep-seated anti-Manticoran prejudices of old-line wardogs like Sternhafen. For that matter, Rabenstrange himself was far from immune to the same sort of burning anger when some fresh example of Manticoran high handedness fanned the flames.

But this was the wrong way to go about seeking redress. Rabenstrange had argued strenuously against the policy of gradually increasing the pressure on Manticore. Not because he disagreed with Imperial Intelligence’s estimates of the fundamental gutlessness of the High Ridge Government, but because of the dangerous potential for provocations to get out of hand and spill over into acts of war. Far better, he’d argued, for the Ministry of State to formally inform the Star Kingdom that the Emperor proposed to press his legitimate security interests in Silesia. Get it all out in the open. Give High Ridge his options and call in the debt the Star Kingdom owed the Empire for the way in which Andermani “neutrality” had favored it in its confrontation with the People’s Republic of Haven. And if Manticore persisted in refusing to concede the Empire its just due, then pursue the military option, openly and straightforwardly.