Ruth managed a chuckle, of sorts. "You don't have to be quite so smug about it."
"You certainly don't," chimed in Berry firmly. She tightened her arms around Ruth's shoulders. Berry understood Web's attitude, well enough-Cachat's too, for that matter. She even shared it herself, to a degree. But she also thought both of them had a tendency to err in the other direction; a tendency which, pushed too far, could become every bit as ugly as the callous indifference of the high and mighty.
"It's kind of a screwed-up universe," she whispered into Ruth's ear. "We just do the best we can, that's all."
Ruth was back to sobbing again; or, at least, trying to stifle the sobs. But Berry could feel her head nodding. Quite firmly, in fact.
She found that very reassuring. Especially combined with the sobs.
"I really like you a lot," she whispered. "And I know Laura and Christina did too. They told me, once."
There was no stifling the sobs now. Nor should they have been stifled. Berry just maintained the embrace, while giving Web a meaningful glance.
He didn't mistake the meaning of that glance. Okay, bastard. You've done your job. She'll be fine in a few hours. Now get the hell out of here.
He was on his feet and heading for the door at once. No professor, not even Du Havel, was that absentminded.
Chapter 32
Commander Watson greeted Oversteegen as he stepped onto Gauntlet's bridge.
"Sorry to disturb you, Sir," the XO said, "but I thought you'd better take a look at this." She gestured at the display screen.
"What is it?" Oversteegen came over.
The XO pressed a button, bringing up a display. "It's a recording of a broadcast made less than an hour ago by Countess Fraser. The first official statement on the kidnaping by our ambassador."
Oversteegen tightened his jaws. From the look on Watson's face, he wasn't going to like what he was about to see.
By the end, in fact, he was downright furious. The first two-thirds of Fraser's statement he could have accepted, more or less, as meaningless diplomatic prattle. But the Manticoran ambassador hadn't been satisfied with just leaving it at that. Instead, at the end, she'd placed the blame squarely on Erewhon:
"… outrageous that the Princess' guards were slaughtered, in the middle of Erewhonese security…"
"She is aware that almost two dozen Erewhonese security guards were also murdered by Templeton's gang, isn't she?" grated Oversteegen. The XO, recognizing a rhetorical question-and the seething anger behind it-made no reply.
"… entirely Erewhon's responsibility, and the Star Kingdom of Manticore will hold its authorities responsible for the well-being of the Princess. Furthermore-"
That was the point at which Oversteegen reached out a long finger and ended the recording. The gesture had something of the finality of an executioner pushing a red button.
"Get me the Manticoran embassy," he said. "I'll take the call in my cabin."
Within seconds after Oversteegen entered his cabin, an embassy official was on the screen. Someone named Joseph Gatri, who apparently bore the resplendent title of Third Consular Assistant, or some such.
"I'm afraid the ambassador isn't available at the moment, Captain. Is there something I-"
"Tell Deborah that if she's not 'available' in-" His lips peeled back in a smile that was indistinguishable from a snarl. "-exactly one minute, there will be royal hell t' pay."
The Third Assistant Whatever stared at him. "But, ah, Captain…"
Oversteegen was studying his watch. "Fifty-five seconds. That's also, by the way, a measure of the time left in your probable career. Get Deborah, you nincompoop!"
Countess Fraser appeared with less than ten seconds remaining in Oversteegen's deadline. She did not look like a happy woman.
"What is it, Captain Oversteegen? And I would appreciate it if you'd stick to the proper formalities."
"Get screwed, Deborah. You're one of my multitude of cousins-God must have been a bit absentminded, there-and every bit as incompetent as your whole branch of the family usually is. What in God's name do you think you're doin'? Our relations with Erewhon were bad enough already, without you addin' a completely gratuitous public insult t' the mix."
She drew back angrily. "You can't-!"
"Talk to you this way? The hell I can't. And answer my question!"
The countess' lips tightened. Then, suddenly, what might have been a sly look came onto her face.
"Oh. I see. You only met her once, as I recall, so you probably don't remember."
"What are you talkin' about?"
It was a sly look. "Ha! You've been duped, Michael. The Erewhonese are playing us for fools. Trying to, rather, but I found them out. That so-called 'kidnaped princess' is nothing of the sort. I've met Princess Ruth-and she was on broadcast blabbering about her adventures. They must have used nanotech to change their appearances, but the voice was a giveaway. The girl those maniacs grabbed is the other one, the Zilwicki girl."
Oversteegen shook his head. Not in disagreement, simply in order to clear it. The ambassador's thought processes made no sense at all.
"I fail t' see what relevance that has t' the issue-assuming it's true, which I won't argue. What differencedoes it make, anyway? Regardless of which girl Templeton and his maniacs attacked, we have no business insultin' the Erewhonese over it."
Now, Fraser managed to combined slyness with exasperation. "Oh, for pity's sake, Michael! I didn't make that statement in order to hurt the feelings of your darling little Erewhonese. I did it simply to get us-you, to be precise-out of an impossible situation. If the girl Templeton grabbed had been Princess Ruth, we'd have had to get her out no matter what the cost. As it is-"
She shrugged. "Hopefully, of course, no harm will come to the Zilwicki girl. But it's not as if it really matters to the Star Kingdom, does it? And whatever happens-thanks to my statement-it will be the Erewhonese and not us who take the blame for it."
Oversteegen stared at her for perhaps five seconds. His sheer anger was gone by the end of that time, replaced by something very close to weariness.
"I will leave out of all this the petty consideration that we're talkin' about the life of a teenage girl. I realize that's a matter beneath your contempt. I will just take the opportunity t' tell you, since I don't believe I've ever done it before at one of our family gatherin's-not precisely, I mean-just how brainless you are, Deborah. Truly brainless. Not simply stupid. Bar-ain-less. As in: brains of a carrot."
"You can't-!"
"You imbecile! First of all, the entire inhabited galaxy will most certainly hold us responsible for our own actions-or inaction-in this episode. But it really doesn't matter, Deborah. It certainly won't matter t' you, that's for sure. Because if Anton Zilwicki decides you were responsible for his daughter's death, I can assure you that the man won't be in the least impressed by your official lack of responsibility. He's a rather notorious fellow, don't you know? Not given, so far as I can see, t' much in the way of respect for his betters."
He reached out a finger to the control panel. "This conversation is ended, since it was obviously pointless t' begin with. I will remind you, Madam Ambassador, that as the senior naval officer in the system, I am obliged to 'coordinate' with you but am in no way under your authority. So, Deborah, consider us havin' 'coordinated'-you are a cretin and I told you so-and I will attend t' the Queen's business."