“Obviously,” she told the crystoplast of the window, never turning to look at Giancola, “High Ridge and Descroix aren’t impressed by the reasonableness of our proposals.”

“If they were interested in reasonable proposals,” Giancola pointed out diffidently, “we could have had a peace treaty years ago. And while I argued before our last note that adopting a still more… assertive stance might be counterproductive, I have to admit that at least it’s had the effect of openly crystallizing their position. Madame President, much as we may dislike admitting it, the demands contained in their response are, in my opinion, precisely where they’ve been headed from the beginning of this process. I know you haven’t wanted to hear that. I know we’ve disagreed at many times during these negotiations. I even know you have certain concerns about my loyalty and commitment to the official positions of this administration’s diplomacy. But whatever our differences in the past may have been, surely the entire tenor of this response represents an admission by the High Ridge Government at last of its intention to forcibly annex the Republican star systems its naval forces currently occupy.”

Something inside Eloise Pritchart tied itself into a knot as his respectful, reasonable tone washed over her. The fact that she still didn’t trust him didn’t necessarily invalidate his observations or his conclusions, she reminded herself yet again. And whatever she might have thought about his motivations, he wasn’t the one who’d drafted the infuriating, arrogant, dismissive note lying on her blotter.

She gazed out at Nouveau Paris, and as her eyes rested on the gleaming walls of the New Octagon, a sudden sense of decision flowed through her. She gazed at the Navy’s central HQ for a moment longer, then turned at last to face Giancola once more.

“All right,” she said flatly. “If they want to play hardball, then we’ll damned well play hardball.”

“Excuse me, Madame President?” he asked, and the sudden edge of concern in his voice wasn’t entirely assumed. He’d never seen Pritchart quite this angry before—never realized she could be this angry—and he felt a brief, uncharacteristic uncertainty about his ability to continue to manage events properly.

“I said I’ll play the game just as hard as they want to play it,” she told him, and crossed to her desk to punch a combination into her com. The connection went through almost instantly, and she nodded briskly as Thomas Theisman’s face appeared on her display.

“Madame President,” Theisman said. He seemed unsurprised to see her, but then, only eleven people in the entire Republic of Haven had the combination to his personal New Octagon com.

“Arnold Giancola is in my office with me, Tom,” she told him without preamble. “He’s brought Descroix’s official response to our last note, and it isn’t good. Not good at all. They’re clearly refusing to give a single centimeter.”

“I see,” Theisman said cautiously.

“I think,” she continued in that same, flat voice, “that it’s time to convince them of the error of their ways.”