Three ships in which the Second Member was a partner had been taken by Alliance raiders in the past year. That was partly bad luck and partly a result of the member spreading his investments over nearly a hundred vessels . . . but it was also true that closer patrolling of systems known to outfit privateers might have helped.
As little as the political members liked what they were hearing, none of them had questioned the seriousness of the threat. Mistress Sand wouldn’t have come before the full board this way if she’d thought the matter could be handled through normal channels.
“I don’t foresee the need of a fleet if we act promptly,” Mistress Sand said. “Or for a permanent presence. We can fulfill our requirements with an improvement to Kostroma’s satellite defense system and perhaps some experts to maintain and control it. The personnel wouldn’t have to wear Cinnabar uniforms.”
She rotated the snuffbox between her thumb and forefinger. It was cone-shaped and the carvings on its surface had been worn to tawny shadows.
“We were planning to upgrade the defenses of Pelleas Base,” Anston said to his fellow members. “The new constellation is already being loaded on transports. While I’m not comfortable in my mind about Pelleas, the Kostroma situation appears to be more immediately critical.”
The political members nodded. Guiliani muttered, “You could buy a battleship for what one of those damned satellite constellations cost, but I suppose we’ll find the money somewhere. I’ll have a word with my cousin.”
“We’ll need an escort,” said the Fourth Member. “All it’d take is for illiterate pirates from Rouilly to grab that load!”
“I think we can scare up a few destroyers for a cargo of such importance,” Anston said without cracking a smile. “And it occurred to me that guardships get too little out-of-system time to be at peak performance if they should be needed. The Rene Descartes isn’t as fast as a newer battleship, but she can keep up with a transport.”
“Walter Hajas can be made to understand that the squadron’s presence is temporary,” Ms. Sand said. “Merely a training exercise.”
“A guardship?” the Third Member said. “What are we leaving unguarded, then?”
“Admiral Koffe’s heavy cruiser squadron arrived at Harbor Three yesterday for refit,” Anston said, skirting the nub of the question. “That can wait while . . . Admiral Ingreit, I think I’d recommend . . . returns from Kostroma with the Rene Descartes.”
“Christ,” the Third Member muttered. “Well, if you’re sure, Anston.”
“None of us can be sure of anything except our ultimate demise, Harry,” Mistress Sand said, smiling as she returned the snuffbox to a pocket in the front of her silk jumper. “But I think we can reasonably expect a good result—”
Her words lost the overtone of good humor, though a stranger wouldn’t have thought the stocky woman sounded worried as she concluded, “—so long as the squadron arrives at Kostroma in time. I’m afraid there may be very little time.”
There was a fountain in the plaza fronting the Elector’s palace: a fish-tailed Triton sat on a shell and blew water vertically from a conch. The stream splashed onto the shell and finally drained into the passing canal.
Though the fountain was twenty feet high and therefore imposing, Daniel didn’t find it in any way attractive. He felt much the same way about the palace itself.
Well, unlike the other three members of the delegation, Daniel didn’t even live there. Admiral Martina Lasowski and her senior aides doubtless had more serious concerns than the fact they were housed in a three-story pile of beige brick with pillared arches in the center and windows of many different styles on the wings.
Daniel frowned as he walked over the final narrow pedestrian bridge. Because Daniel was a supernumerary, the admiral had permitted him to find his own accommodation—a harborside apartment. Being billeted in the palace at government expense would have saved money, but at a cost to the freedom of his personal life.
Still, the money would have been nice. Daniel’s spending had exceeded his combined income—naval pay and a small annuity settled on him at his mother’s death—ever since he broke with his father. He’d gotten considerable credit simply because he was a Leary of Bantry, but even that had stretched close to the breaking point.