When that day ultimately came, McBryde knew, it would be his job to stop Simões, and the awareness gnawed at him. Gnawed at his sympathy, and at his own doubts.

Because the truth is that Bardasano's actually right about how quickly we're finally coming up on Prometheus, he thought. I never really expected it to happen in my own lifetime, which was pretty stupid, given how young I am, and how much I knew about what was going on on inside the "onion." But we've been working towards that moment for so long that, emotionally, I never really realized I might be one of the ones to see it. Now I know I will be . . . and Herlander's kicked every one of those doubts I didn't really know I had fully awake, hasn't he?

How many more Herlanders is the Board going to create? How many people—and just because they're "normals" doesn't keep them from being people, damn it!—are going to find themselves in his position? Hell, how many billions or trillions of people are we going to end up killing just so that the Long-Range Planning Board can steer the entire human race into the uplands of genetic superiority? And how willing are we really going to be to accept Leonard Detweiler's challenge to improve every single member of the human race to our own pinnacle of achievement? Are we really going to do it? There'll have to be at least some beta lines, of course. And probably at least a few gamma lines. Obviously we won't be able to do without those, now will we? We'll find plenty of reasons for that, and some of them will probably even be valid! But what about Manpower's slaves? What about all those "normals" out there? Are we really going to treat them as our equals . . . aside, of course, from the unfortunate necessity of dictating what children they're allowed to have? Assuming, of course, that their chromosomes offer sufficient promise for them to be allowed to have children at all? And if we don't treat them as our equals—and you really know we damned well won't, Jack—are the children we allow them to have really going to end up our equals? Or will they be sentenced forever to never climb above the gamma level? And who the hell are we to tell an entire galaxy of it has to do things ourway? Isn't that the very thing we've been so pissed off over at Beowulf for so long? Because the sanctimonious bastards insisted that we couldn't do things our way? For telling us what to do, because that's what it comes down to in the end, however high the motivations we impute to ourselves.

He looked down into his own bottle of beer for several seconds, then shook himself and looked back up at Simões.

"You know, Herlander," he said conversationally, "it's going to be those letters to Fabre that finally yank the rug out from under you. You do realize that, don't you?"

"Yeah." Simões shrugged. "I'm not going to just give her a pass on it, though, Jack. Maybe I can't do anything to stop her from doing it to some other Frankie, and maybe I can't do anything to . . . get even with the system. Hell, I accept that I can't! But I can at least make damned sure she knows how pissed off I am, and why. And telling her's the only relief I'm likely to find, now isn't it?"

"I happen to know that there are no surveillance devices in this kitchen." McBryde leaned back in his own chair, and his tone was almost whimsical. "At the same time, you might want to consider the wisdom of telling someone who works for Security for a living that you want 'to get even with the system.' That's what we call in the trade becoming an active threat."

"And you don't already know I feel that way?" Simões actually smiled at him. "For that matter, you're the only person I can say it to knowing that someone isn't going to report it to Security! Besides, you're supposed to be keeping me on the rails as long as you can, so I figure you're not going to turn me in as a security risk—which would undoubtedly come as a huge surprise to your superiors, I don't think—as long as you can keep on getting at least some work out of me for the Center."

"You know it's not as cut and dried as that anymore, don't you, Herlander?" McBryde asked quietly, and the hyper-physicist's eyes flicked up for a moment, meeting his.

"Yeah," Simões said after a moment, his own voice quiet. "Yeah, I know that, Jack. And"—he smiled again, but this time it was a smile fit to break a statue's heart—"isn't it a hell of a galaxy when the only true friend I've got left is the man who's ultimately going to have to turn me in as an unacceptable security risk?"

Chapter Thirty-One

"I think we should talk to Admiral Harrington," said Victor Cachat. "As soon as possible, too—which means going to see her where she is right now, not spending the time it would take to set up a meeting on neutral ground."

Anton Zilwicki stared at him. So did Thandi Palane.

So did Queen Berry and Jeremy X and Web Du Havel and Princess Ruth.

"And they say I'm barking mad!" exclaimed Ruth. "Victor, that's impossible."

"Harrington's reported to be at Trevor's Star," said Zilwicki. "In command of Eighth Fleet, to be precise. What do you think the chances are that she'll agree to let a Havenite secret agent on board her flagship?"

"Fairly good, actually, if everything I've learned about her is accurate," replied Victor. "I'm more concerned with figuring out how I can protect Haven from having information forced out of me if she decides to get hardnosed."

He gave Zilwicki a look that might be called "injured" if Cachat had been someone else. "I will point out that I'd be the only one taking any real risks, not you and certainly not Admiral Harrington. But that's easy enough to handle."

"How?" asked Berry. She glanced apologetically at Ruth. "Not that I think the Manticorans would violate their word to allow you safe passage, assuming they gave it in the first place. But you really don't have any way to be certain, and once they got their hands on you . . ."

Zilwicki sighed. Palane looked as if she couldn't decide between just being very unhappy or being furious with Victor.

"Are you kidding? We're dealing with Mad Dog Cachat here, Berry," Thandi said. Her tone of voice was not one you'd expect from a woman describing the love of her life. It had a greater resemblance to a file peeling off metal. "He'll handle it the same way that presumed Manpower agent Ronald Allen handled it. Suicide."

Cachat didn't say anything. But it was obvious from the look on his face that Thandi had guessed correctly.

"Victor!" Berry protested.

But Anton knew how hard it was to talk Victor Cachat out of a course of action once he'd decided upon it. And the truth was, Anton wasn't inclined to do so anyway. It was less than a day since they'd returned to Torch and learned about the assassination attempt on Berry that had happened three days earlier. Anton Zilwicki was as furious as he'd ever been in his life—and Cachat's proposal had the great emotional virtue of being something concrete they could do—and do it now.

Besides, leaving emotional issues aside, there were a number of attractive aspects to Victor's proposal. If they could get Honor Harrington to agree to meet with them—a very big "if," of course—they'd have opened a line of communication with the one top Manticoran leader who, from what Anton could determine, was skeptical of the established wisdom in the Star Kingdom when it came to Haven.

Of course, even if Anton was right, it was still a stretch to think she'd agree to let a known Havenite agent—who, if he wasn't precisely an "assassin," was certainly a close cousin—into her physical presence. Given that she herself had been the target of an assassination attempt less than six T-months earlier.