That measure had been taken at Rozsak's request.
"I'd really be much happier if I knew that none of those survivors was in a position to tell anyone—and that includes Haven—exactly what happened here and what weaponry I possessed and what tactics I used."
"Certainly, Admiral," Web Du Havel had said. "But . . . ah . . . that still leaves the population of Torch itself. Which, at last count, numbers a little over four and a quarter million people and grows—this is immigration alone—by almost fifteen thousand people every T-week."
Rozsak had shrugged. "It's not a perfect world. But the State Sec survivors would have an incentive to talk—spill their guts, rather, once Haven gets hold of them—and your people don't. In fact, from what I've heard, you've launched a very effective public campaign to establish and maintain tight security."
"Yes, we have," Hugh had said.
Berry had glanced at him, smiled—and then made a face. "I still think 'loose lips sink ships' is a corny slogan."
"It is. It also works." There were some subjects concerning which Hugh Arai had no shame whatsoever. "How long do you want us to hold them, Admiral?"
"To be honest, I don't know. There are still too many variables involved in the equation for us to know yet what'll be happening. If it's a financial strain to maintain the prisoners, I can talk to Governor Barregos and see if—"
Du Havel had waved that aside. "Don't worry about it. The one thing Torch is not, is poor or strapped for funds, even with having to provide initial support for most immigrants, who usually arrive with nothing much more than the clothes they're wearing. But the support doesn't normally last long, because the job market is booming. Plenty of pharmaceutical companies have been quite happy to come here and replace Manpower's operations with their own."
Web had exchanged looks with Jeremy and Berry and Thandi Palane.
"Consider it done, Admiral," Palane had said then, with one of her simultaneously dazzling and ferocious smiles. "We'll keep 'em on ice for as long as you want."
"Are you sure, Luiz?" Berry repeated now. "You paid a terrible price for this ship, and the others."
For a moment, Rozsak's face looked a bit drawn. "Yes, we did. But there are some very good reasons why it'd be better if the surviving State Sec ships were pressed into Torch service rather than Mayan service."
"Such as?" Berry asked.
He looked at her for a moment, then shrugged.
"Trust me, it's not a case of misplaced gallantry on my part, Your Majesty!" He snorted in obvious amusement, then sobered. "The truth is, that they'd be white elephants as far as we're concerned. There are . . . reasons we'd just as soon not have anyone from Old Earth poking around in Maya, Berry, and if we start taking ex-Havenite ships into service, someone's likely to do just that.
"And they're not likely to when word of the battle gets there? Or were you thinking you could get away with just not mentioning it?" Berry knew she looked skeptical. "We're willing to keep our mouths shut, Luiz, but don't foget all of those pharmaceutical companies. I imagine we're going to have newsies out here from the League sometime real soon now, and there's no way we're going to be able to keep the fact that there was a battle here in the system under wraps whan that happens! Weapons and actual losses are one thing, but . . ."
She gave a little shrug, and he nodded.
"Understood. But we're going to tell the galaxy it was the Erewhon Navy that did the real fighting. Our ships were limited to the flotilla everyone knows about, watching the planet against any missiles that might have come your way. And we don't plan on advertising how heavy our losses were, either." It was his turn to shrug, with a flicker of pain in his eyes. "We can't keep the rest of the galaxy from knowing we lost some people out here, but all our official reports are going to indicate that the people we lost were acting as cadre to help fill out the Erewhonese crews. The only people who could tell anyone different on stuck on your island, and no newsie—or League flunky—is going to get to them there, now are they?"
"No, they're not," Berry agreed with a certain flat steeliness. Then she drew a breah tna nodded.
"Okay, then. If you're sure." When she looked around the flag bridge this time, she seemed a little less bewildered. "I still can't figure out most of what's happening here. But I know Thandi's happy about getting this ship—it's a heavy cruiser, right?—and the rest of them."
She smiled. "Well . . . 'happy' isn't quite the right term. 'Ecstatic' might be better. Or 'beside herself with joy.' Or 'delirious.' "
Rozsak smiled also. "I'm hardly surprised. She'll have a fleet that goes almost overnight from having a frigate as its flagship to—yes, it's a heavy cruiser, Your Majesty."
"Please, Luiz. Call me Berry."
She returned from the Spartacus in a pensive mood. Visiting that ship had driven something home to her in a way that the inconvenience of living in what amounted to a bunker had not. Life—even with prolong—was simply too damn short to dilly-dally around the fundamentals.
So, when she returned to the palace, her first words were to Saburo.
"You're promoted, starting immediately. Now please leave Hugh and me alone, for a bit."
Saburo nodded, and left the room.
Hugh's face had no expression at all. As the months had gone by, Berry had learned that he was very good at that. It was one of the things she planned to change.
"Have I displeased you, Your Majesty?"
"Not hardly. I just can't deal with this any longer. I want your resignation. Now."
Hugh didn't hesitate for more than perhaps a second. "As you wish, Your Majesty. I resign as your chief of security."
"Don't call me that. My name is Berry and you damn well don't have any excuse any longer not to use it."
He bowed, slightly, and then extended his elbow. "All right, Berry. In that case, may I escort you to J. Quesenberry's?"
The smile that came to her face then was the same gleaming smile that had captivated Hugh Arai since the first time he'd seen it. But it was as if a star had become a supernova.
"Ice cream would be nice. Later. Right now, I'd be much happier if you'd take me to bed."
Chapter Sixty-Two
December 1921
"So you've finished your analysis?" Albrecht Detweiler asked after his son had settled—still a bit cautiously—into the indicated chair.
"Such as it is, and what there is of it," Collin Detweiler replied, easing his left arm. "There are still a lot of holes, you understand, Father." He shrugged. "There's no way we're ever going to close all of them."
"Nobody with a working brain would expect otherwise," Collin's brother, Benjamin, put in. "I've been pointing that out to you for—What? Two or three weeks, now?"
"Something like that," Collin acknowledged with a smile that mingled humor, resignation, and lingering discomfort.
"And did your brother also point out to you—as, now that I think about it, I believe your father has—that you could have delegated more of this? You damned near died Collin, and regen"—Albrecht looked pointedly at his son's still distinctly undersized left arm—"takes time. And it also, in case you hadn't noticed, is just a teeny-tiny bit hard on the system."