"You're sure about that?" Teague's question wasn't a challenge, but her eyes were troubled. "You don't think they might have resorted to doing the job themselves only because they'd realized we weren't going to be able to after all?"

"No way." He shook his head. "Just getting their strike forces into position would have taken a long time. Unless I'm sadly mistaken, they would have had to start moving them before the first New Tuscan incident. Certainly before the second one. So that means they had both wings of their plan in motion at the same time. No. They knew we wouldn't be able to take the Manties, but they maneuvered us into a war with them, anyway. And that suggests to me that maybe it wasn't so much that they wanted the Manties at war with us as they wanted us at war with the Manties."

"Why?" Teague's frown was deeper than ever, and al-Fanudahi shrugged unhappily.

"If I knew the answer to that question, I might be able to do something about it," he said. "But what I'm very much afraid of, Irene, is that we just thought this was all about using the League to crush Manticore. I think it goes a lot deeper than that, and as preposterous as it sounds, I can only see one other target on the range at the moment."

He looked across her desk at her, his dark eyes worried.

"Us," he said very, very softly.

"Madam President, Secretary Theisman is on the com."

"Thank you, Antoine," Eloise Pritchart said, suppressing a familiar temptation to smile.

Antoine Belardinelli, her senior secretary, was probably the only member of her staff who persistently "forgot" to refer to Thomas Theisman as "Admiral Theisman." Everyone else was willing to accept that Theisman preferred his naval title (to which he was still entitled, since he was CNO, as well as Secretary of War), but Belardinelli was adamant. As far as he was concerned, one of the most important features of the restored Republic was that elected officials really were in charge again, and so he invariably used Thesiman's civilian title. If that irritated the Secretary, Belardinelli was quite prepared to live with it. In fact, he and Angelina Rousseau, the president's personal aide, had been sparring over that little omission on his part ever since the first post-coup elections. Of course, although the "Two A's," as Belardinelli and Rousseau were commonly referred to, were both highly efficient and both deeply devoted to Eloise Pritchart, they loathed one another with deep and reciprocal passion. Which might be the real reason Rousseau—never one to back away from a fight herself, especially with Bernadelli—was so adamantly on the military side. If they hadn't been squabbling over Theisman's proper title, they would have found something else to fight about, after all.

Personally, Pritchart was just as happy to have them use up at least some of their energy on something fairly harmless, and she knew Theisman found the entire situation amusing.

"You're welcome, Madam President," Belardinelli replied now, and disappeared from Pritchart's display to be replaced by Thomas Theisman.

"And how are you this fine morning, Mr. Secretary?" Pritchart inquired.

"Did it again, did he?" Theisman asked with a smile.

"Unless I miss my guess, Angelina was in the outer office when your call came in. He wasn't using his hush mike, anyway. My observation's been that when he 'forgets' to do that, it's usually on purpose."

"Have you ever considered just locking the two of them in a room with a pair of pulsers to let them settle this once and for all?"

"Often, as a matter of fact," she said gravely. "Unfortunately, Sheila won't let me play with guns anymore."

"Pity."

"Indeed. And now that we have that out of our systems, Admiral, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"We've finished that study you requested," Theisman said in a much more serious tone, and Pritchart let her chair come upright.

"I see. And your conclusions were—?"

"Pretty much what I'm sure you expected." Theisman shrugged. "Frankly, Spindle doesn't make much difference as far as our own strategic situation vis-а-vis Manticore is concerned. We're still where we were—screwed, in other words, if they come after us. What we know now is that we're not alone in that predicament. In fact, it would appear the Sollies are even worse screwed than we are. Personally, I take at least a modicum of dog-in-the-manger satisfaction from that conclusion, given how the Sollies made us pay through the nose for their tech transfers right after the first war started."

Pritchart nodded. She knew Theisman would be sending her the actual report, along with a complete prйcis, but that wasn't what she wanted from him now, and as he said, his summary of the Octagon's conclusions were about what she'd expected.

"So Admiral Trenis' analysts are satisfied that the sensor data Duchess Harrington provided us with is genuine?" she asked.

"The missile performance wasn't quite as good as what we've observed against our own units," Theisman said, "but I suspect that's because their heavy cruisers' fire control isn't sophisticated enough to take full advantage of the FTL link. It certainly wasn't because anything the Sollies did knocked them back, at any rate." He grimaced. "I can admire a professional job as much as the next man, but in this instance, those poor Solly bastards were even more outclassed than we were during Operation Buttercup. Which says really depressing things about how bad Solly intelligence must be, when you think about it. We and the Manties have been throwing multidrive missiles at each other for quite a while now, but it's obvious this Crandall didn't have a clue what that was going to mean. You'd think someone would've mentioned those unimportant little details to their Office of Naval Intelligence."

"Well, one thing I've never had any trouble agreeing with the Manties about is that the Sollies are the biggest, most arrogant pains in the posterior of anyone in the entire galaxy," Pritchart said tartly. "I don't like the thought of that many people getting killed, whoever they are,. At the same time, though, I'd be lying if I said a nasty little part of me doesn't take a certain satisfaction in seeing the almighty Solarian League flat on its face in the mud while somebody tapdances on its spine."

"By and large, I can't disagree," Theisman replied. "Still, as your Secretary of War, it behooves me to point out that the Sollies' value as an additional threat to the Manticorans has just been . . . substantially devalued."

"So you don't agree with Younger's argument that the League's sheer size is still going to keep the Manties running scared of a confrontation with Old Chicago?"

"Madam President—Eloise—let's be serious here." Theisman shook his head. "Whatever else anyone might say about Manticorans, they don't 'run scared' worth a damn. If they'd had any inclinations in that direction, the Legislaturalists would still be running the People's Republic, and the Manticore Binary System would belong to us. Neither of which, you may have noticed, is the case."

"Now that you mention it, I had noticed," she replied with a slight smile.

"In the long term, I'm sure the Manties would vastly prefer to avoid a direct, large-scale confrontation with the League," Theisman continued soberly. "They've already had a graphic demonstration from us about the transitory nature of technological advantages, and the League's so damned big and so damned rich it could afford to scattergun a hundred separate research programs into each and every one of the Manties' current toys. Eventually, they'd manage to duplicate them, too, and when that happened, Manticore would almost certainly be history.

"But unless the Sollies' leadership consists solely of outright lunatics—which, unfortunately, no one over here at the Octagon is prepared to rule out—they're going to realize that for the next several years, any war against Manticore would be a one-sided massacre. It may be they're stupid enough to pull the trigger, anyway, but I seriously question whether even the Solly public would tolerate that sort of bloodbath for any lengthy period."