He brought his focus back to the moment. “The point, Lady Catherine, is that I simply don’t know enough of any real value to the Peeps to make it worth their while to commit such a crime.”
“They are brutal bastards,” stated the countess. “Especially those sadists in State Security. I wouldn’t put anything past thosethugs.”
Again, Anton was surprised by the countess. Most Liberals and Progressives he’d met, especially aristocrats, were prone to downplay or even semi-excuse the viciousness of the Havenite regime with a lot of left-wing jargon. As if tyranny stopped being tyranny when you added more syllables to the term.
He shook his head. “That’s irrelevant. They might well be brutal enough—SS is certainly brutal enough—but—”
He couldn’t resist another chuckle. Talk about role reversals! “Lady Catherine, I am hardly an apologist for the Peeps but I’m also not a cretin. However foul that regime may be, they’re not storybook ogres out of a child’s fairy tale. There’s simply no purpose to this. Not enough, anyway.” He leaned forward, elaborating. “I was sent here to keep track of technology transfers from the Solarian League to the People’s Republic of Haven. Because of my technical background, I can make sense out of information that most intelligence specialists—” He hesitated. “Oh, hell, let’s call ourselves ‘spies,’ why don’t we?”
The countess smiled; Anton continued: “Which most spies can’t. But it’s in the nature of my work that I am trying to ferret out the enemy’s secrets, rather than keeping our own. So why would the Peeps go to the extreme of kidnapping my daughter in order to force information out of me that they already have? It’s not as if they need me to tell them what technology they’re getting from the League.”
“What about—”
“That idiot theory of the admiral’s? That the Peeps are playing a long-term game, figuring they can use me to pass along disinformation?”
The countess nodded. Anton turned his head and stared at the giant windows along the wall. Even sitting where he was, a good twenty feet away, the view was breathtaking. But he was completely oblivious to it.
“That brings me to the third reason this doesn’t make sense. It just isn’t done, Lady Catherine.” He sighed heavily. “I don’t know if I’ll have any more success trying to convince you of that than I did with the ambassador and the admiral.”
Anton hesitated, gauging the personality of the woman sitting across from him. The noble-woman. Then, moved by a sudden feeling that he understood her nature—some of it, at least—decided for straightforwardness.
“Lady Catherine, I will say this bluntly. Almost every aristocrat I know—sure as hell Ambassador Hendricks and Admiral Young—screws up when they try to understand the Peeps. They always look on them from the top down, instead of the bottom up. If they’re right-wing, with a sneer; if left-wing, with condescension. Either way, the view is skewed. The Havenites are people, not categories. I’m telling you, this kind of personal attack on a man’s family is so utterly beyond the pale that I can’t imagine any professional Peep intelligence officer authorizing it. Not a field man, at least. It just—” He paused, setting his jaws stubbornly. “It just isn’t done, that’s all. Not by us, not by them.”
Lady Catherine cocked her head again. “Are you trying to tell me that spies follow a ‘code of ethics’? Including Haven’s State Security?”
Anton’s gaze remained steady. “Yes.” He spread his hands slightly. “Well… I wouldn’t call it code of ethics, exactly. It’s more like a code of honor—or, better yet, the code duello. Even the Ellington Protocol doesn’t allow you to just up and shoot somebody whenever you feel like it.”
“That’s true. But there’s an official sanction standing behind—”
“And there is here too, ma’am,” said Anton forcefully. “Any code of conduct has a practical basis to it, no matter how buried it might be under the formal trappings. Spies don’t go around attacking each other’s families, if for no other reason, because once you open that can of worms there’d be no end to it.” He grimaced. “Well, I’m putting the thing too sharply. Certain kinds of attacks are permissible—long hallowed, in fact. Seducing a spy’s spouse, for instance. But kidnapping a child and threatening to kill her—” Again, he set his jaws stubbornly. “It just isn’t done, Lady Catherine. I can’t think of a single instance, for all the savageness of this war between us and the Peeps, when anything like that has happened.”
He took a deep breath before continuing. “As for State Security…” Another pause; then: “The thing is much more complicated, Lady Catherine, than people realize. The image most Manticorans have of State Security is that they’re simply an organization of goons, thugs and murderers. Which”—he snorted—“they certainly have plenty of, God knows. Some of the foulest people who ever lived are wearing SS uniforms, especially the ones who volunteer for duty in concentration camps.”
Seeing the countess’ little start, Anton nodded. “Oh, yes. You didn’t realize that, did you? The fact is, ma’am, that State Security allows its people a lot more latitude in choosing their assignments than the Peep navy does. Or the Manticoran navy, for that matter. It’s quite a democratic outfit, in some ways, as hard as that might be to imagine.”
He eyed her shrewdly. “But it makes sense, if you think about it. Whatever else Oscar Saint-Just is, he is most definitely not stupid. He knows full well that his precious State Security is a—a—” When he found the metaphor he was looking for, Anton barked a laugh. “A manticore, by God! A bizarre creature made up of the parts of completely different animals.”
Again, Anton started ticking off his fingers. “A goodly chunk—undoubtedly the majority, by now—are people who joined after the Revolution looking for power and status. They’ve got as much ideological conviction as a pig in a trough. A fair number of those are former officers in the Legislaturalist regime’s secret police. That’s where you find your pure goons and thugs.”
Another finger. “Then, there are a lot of young people who join up. Almost all of them are Dolists, from the lowest ranks of Havenite society. Some, of course, are just sadists looking for a legitimate cover or angry people looking to inflict revenge on the so-called ‘elites.’ ” He shook his head. “But not most of them, ma’am. Most of them are genuine idealists, who believe in the Revolution and can see the gains it’s starting to bring their own class—”
Lady Catherine started to interject a denial but Anton drove over it.
“Sorry, ma’am—it has. Don’t ever think otherwise. A lot of people in Manticoran intelligence thought the Havenite empire would collapse, after the Revolution.” He snorted. “Especially in the diplomatic service. Bunch of upper class snobs who think poor people are nothing but walking stomachs. Sure, Rob Pierre’s war has brought Haven’s Dolists a lot of bloody grief—not to mention that he’s even frozen their stipend. But don’t think for a moment that those Dolists are nothing but mindless cannon fodder. For them, the Revolution also meant lifting the Legislaturalists’ hereditary yoke.”
For a moment, Anton’s eyes seem to smolder. Gryphon highlanders had chosen a different political course than Peep’s Dolists—like Anton himself, they were fierce Crown Loyalists down to the newborn babes—but no highlander had any difficulty understanding the fury of the underdog. Over the centuries, highlanders had had their own bitter experience with Manticore’s aristocracy. Anton himself hated the People’s Republic of Haven—for killing his beloved wife, if for no other reason—but he had never shed any tears over the Legislaturalists executed by Rob Pierre and his cohorts after the Revolution. In Anton’s opinion, a fair number of the Manticoran aristocracy would look pretty good, hanging by the neck. Half the members of the Conservative Association, for a certainty—with Ambassador Hendricks and Admiral Young right at the front of the line.