“You may be onto something,” Truman said. “But even if you are, I’m afraid it’s too late for your insight to change anything. Whatever Theisman and Pritchart may be up to, Gustav is obviously planning on devouring the choicer bits and pieces of Silesia. And our own brilliant leaders haven’t done a thing to seriously dissuade him. Except, of course, for hanging this task force out to dry. It’s a bit late in the day to expect the current government to do anything more serious than that, however accurate your analysis may be. Assuming, of course, that anyone in Landing was inclined to listen to anything that came from you or Earl White Haven, anyway.”

“Yeah, sure!” McKeon grimaced. “I can just see High Ridge or Descroix changing their foreign policy on the basis of anything you suggested, Honor!”

“I wasn’t necessarily thinking about them,” Honor said very slowly.

“What?” McKeon set up straight so that he could swivel his chair to face her directly, and his expression could only have been called a scowl. “Just who were you thinking about, then?” he inquired in tones of profound suspicion.

“Come, now, Alistair!” she chided. “If I’m not thinking about anyone on our side, then who else could I be thinking about?”

“And what makes you think Admiral Rabenstrange would believe any message you sent him about this putative ‘Second Fleet’ we’ve never even been able to find?” McKeon demanded. “Hell, for that matter what makes you even think he’d read it?!”

“Who said anything about sending him a message?” Honor asked, and suddenly all three of her subordinates were staring at her in disbelief.

· · • · ·

“It’s what?”

Chien-lu von Rabenstrange looked at his chief of staff in complete and total disbelief.

“According to Perimeter Security, Sir,” Kapitän der Sternen Isenhoffer said in the tone of a man who wasn’t quite certain he believed his own report, “it’s a single Manticoran ship of the wall. She’s identified herself as HMS Troubadour, one of their Medusa-class SD(P)s. According to our current Intelligence appreciations, Troubadour is the flagship of their Rear Admiral McKeon.”

“And this ship has arrived here at Sachsen all by herself?”

“As nearly as Perimeter Security can tell,” Isenhoffer confirmed, and Rabenstrange frowned in thought. Sachsen’s passive sensor arrays might not be as exquisitely sensitive as those which protected a system like New Berlin, but they would certainly have detected the transit footprints of any other ships which might have accompanied Troubadour out of hyper.

“And has this ship said anything beyond identifying herself?” he asked after a moment.

“As a matter of fact, Herr Herzog, she has,” Isenhoffer said.

“Well, please don’t make me drag each word out of you one at a time,” Rabenstrange said tartly.

“Forgive me, Sir,” Isenhoffer said. “It’s just that, on the face of it, it’s so absurd that—” He stopped and seemed to give himself a mental shake. “Sir,” he said, “according to Troubadour, she has Duchess Harrington aboard. And the Duchess has formally requested to speak personally to you.”