WORLDS OF WEBER

David Weber

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2008 by David Weber.

"Introduction" (copyright © 2008); "A Certain Talent" (copyright © 1996, originally published in The Williamson Effect); "In the Navy" (copyright © 2004, originally published in Ring of Fire); "The Captain from Kirkbean" (copyright © 1998, originally published in Alternate Generals); "Sir George and the Dragon" (copyright © 2001, originally published in Foreign Legions); "Sword Brother" (copyright © 2007, originally published in Oath of Swords, revised 2007 edition); "A Beautiful Friendship" (copyright © 1998, originally published in More Than Honor); "Ms. Midshipwoman Harrington" (copyright © 2001, originally published in Changer of Worlds); "Miles to Go" (copyright © 1995, originally published in Bolos 3: The Triumphant); "The Traitor" (copyright © 1997, originally published in Bolos 4: The Last Stand)

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

A Baen Book

Baen Publishing Enterprises
P.O. Box 1403
Riverdale, NY 10471
www.baen.com

ISBN: 978-1-4391-3314-9

Cover art by Bob Eggleton

First Baen paperback printing, October 2009

Distributed by Simon & Schuster
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020


Printed in the United States of America

For Sharon,
Who still cries whenever
she thinks about Lance.

I expect she'll forgive me . . . 
someday.

BAEN BOOKS by DAVID WEBER

Honor Harrington:

On Basilisk Station
The Honor of the Queen
The Short Victorious War
Field of Dishonor
Flag in Exile
Honor Among Enemies
In Enemy Hands
Echoes of Honor
Ashes of Victory
War of Honor
At All Costs
Mission of Honor (forthcoming)

Honorverse:

Crown of Slaves
(with Eric Flint)
Torch of Freedom (with Eric Flint; forthcoming)
The Shadow of Saganami
Storm from the Shadows

edited by David Weber:

More than Honor
Worlds of Honor
Changer of Worlds
The Service of the Sword

Mutineers' Moon
The Armageddon Inheritance
Heirs of Empire
Empire from the Ashes
In Fury Born

The Apocalypse Troll

The Excalibur Alternative

Bolos!
Old Soldiers

Oath of Swords
The War God's Own
Wind Rider's Oath

with Steve White:

Crusade
In Death Ground
The Stars At War
The Shiva Option
Insurrection
The Stars At War II

with Eric Flint:

1633
1634: The Baltic War

with John Ringo:

March Upcountry
March to the Sea
March to the Stars
We Few

with Linda Evans:

Hell's Gate
Hell Hath No Fury

Introduction

Some people (like my beloved wife, Sharon) don't believe that I can write "short" stories. Her theory is that my idea of short doesn't quite match that of other people's. I suppose some of the so-called short stories in this anthology would seem to prove her point. "Ms. Midshipman Harrington," for example. Or "Miles to Go." And, let's face it, this is a fairly hefty tome. In fact, it would probably be fair to go ahead and agree that I'm actually more at home writing novellas than I am writing really short short stories.

Well, I suppose that's reasonable enough. I like to tell big stories, which is the reason I usually write novels, after all. But despite that, I do really enjoy sometimes turning my hand to something a bit shorter than, oh, 285,000 words, let's say. And what you have in this collection is some of those "less than 285,000-word stories."

Actually, shorter pieces of fiction are a better fit for filling in the corners in something like the Honor Harrington series. I made my mind up when I began writing about Honor Harrington that there would never be a novel about Honor set earlier in her life than On Basilisk Station. There were several reasons for this, but the biggest one was that I expected the character to grow and my writing style to develop over the duration of the series. (At least, I certainly hoped both of those things were going to happen!) Because of that, I didn't want someone reading the novels in chronological order according to their internal events, rather than the order in which they were written, who would experience a more fully developed Honor Harrington (and my later writing style) before they read Basilisk Station. That sort of thing can happen all too easily when someone starts writing prequels to a successful series of novels, and it can be very jarring for a reader.

That left me with both a problem and an opportunity. There are details in Honor's earlier life in which readers are interested and which may really need to be told in order to "fill in the blanks." Short stories covering time periods before Basilisk Station—or, in some cases, periods which fall between novels—were one way to do that. And, in addition, writing short stories about those episodes in her life would both let me write some shorter fiction (which I really do enjoy) and also give me the opportunity in the Honor Harrington anthologies to invite other writers whose work I really liked to come and play at my house. In the process, not entirely to my surprise, the viewpoints and contributions of those other writers, most of which I've incorporated into the overall Honor Harrington series and its backgound, have greatly enriched and broadened the "Honorverse."

I really wish I had more time away from the novels to spend working on short stories. I've turned down invitations to several anthologies simply because my delivery schedule was so tight that I didn't believe I could get a story done in time. Or not, at least, a story whose quality I would have been happy about. I have managed to fit a few of them into the schedule, though. For example, of the pieces in this anthology, "The Captain from Kirkbean" was the result of an invitation to contribute to one of the Alternate Generals anthologies, and "Sir George and the Dragon" (which was later expanded into the novel The Excalibur Alternative) was the result of an invitation from David Drake to contribute to his Ranks of Bronze anthology. The genuine short story "The Traitor," and the novella "Miles to Go," resulted from invitations to contribute to the Bolo anthologies Baen Books has been producing. And "A Certain Talent" was chosen by Roger Zelazny for the anthology The Williamson Effect, which was intended as an homage to Jack Williamson. Both of the Honorverse pieces are from anthologies in the Worlds of Honor series, also from Baen, although there I was doing the inviting for the other writers involved. In fact, I think the only story in this collection that wasn't written for an anthology is the novella "Sword Brother," which was specifically written to be included with a reissue of the novel Oath of Swords.

I enjoyed writing all of them, and as time and opportunity allow, I'll continue to write short stories. Well, my version of "short" stories, at any rate.

Another good thing about short stories, from a reader's perspective, is that they are often an opportunity to sample a writer's work without committing to diving into one of those 285,000-word novels. If you've read some of these before, I hope you recognize old friends. If you've read some of my novels, but missed the short stories, I hope they'll give you another perspective on both my writing and on the series in which some of them are set. And if you've never read any of my stuff before, then I hope you enjoy this offering.

And now, having said that, come on over to my house and let's play.

A Certain Talent

Habibula, Giles (2819–?): Hero of Humanity (with cluster), Acclamation of Green Hall (with three clusters), Guardian of the Keeper, Grand Solar Cross (with cluster), Star of Terra (with cluster), Medusean Campaign Medal, Cometeer Campaign medal, Legion of Merit, Fellow of Solarian Institute. One of only three individuals (see also Jay Kalam, Hal Samdu) to be twice awarded humanity's highest award for valor and service, Giles Habibula's career has so far spanned almost a full century of service to the Legion of Space. Although he has persistently refused promotion to officer's rank, Habibula has . . .
—
A Solarian Who's Who, Vol. 36
Star Press, Phobos, 2962

Habibula, Giles, a.k.a. Grenz Harnat, Gorma Habranah, Gerniak Helthir, Gorsah Hamah. Age 35. Brown hair, gray eyes. Height 6'1". Weight 275 lbs. Arrested for: grand larceny, grand theft spacecraft, grand theft technology, burglary, assault with a deadly weapon, resisting arrest, aggravated assault, and public drunkenness. No convictions. Presently wanted on charges of illegal gambling practices. A master of locks and adaptive technology, Habibula should be considered armed and dangerous. A reward of seventy-five thousand dollars has been posted by the Venusberg Gambling Commission for information leading to his arrest and conviction on charges of tampering with electronic gambling devices.
—
Venusberg Police Department
Records Division, 2854

His arrogance was his downfall.

Or perhaps it wrongs him to call it "arrogance." Perhaps "confidence" would be a better word, for he had a certain talent he knew none could equal, and the challenge was irresistible to a man of his nature. And so it should have been, given how carefully it had been crafted to that end. . . . 

Sweat trickled down Giles Habibula's broad face in the steamy, moonless dark. The eerie cries of a night such as Earth had never known came from the jungles, where huge, armored sauroids splashed and grunted as they fought one another for life—and food—while the strange, scaled "birds" of Venus waited to pick the losers' bones. But those were familiar sounds, and they came from the far side of the compound wall, and Habibula paid them no heed. He'd hidden in the shrubbery against the wall since the chalet staff ushered the last public visitor away, and now he waited patiently for the staff to leave, as well.

He must be mad to attempt an escapade such as this when the mortal Gambling Commission had already offered its reward for his poor, underappreciated self, he thought with a smile, but the curse of Giles Habibula's life was ever the same. There was never time enough for all the splendid food, the fine wines, the beautiful women, the challenges to his wit and skill, and when three of the four combined in a single temptation, it was more than mortal man could do to turn his back upon it. Especially when the lass who'd set him onto it was such a fine, beautiful one. Ah, the fire in those blue eyes, and that lovely head of midnight hair! And the spirit of her, too. The Solar System might see her like once in a lifetime, he told himself, and as well for the rest of us, for we'd never survive two of her!

He smothered a chuckle and checked the time once more. Just past twenty-two hundred. He'd spent two days timing the staff's schedule, and he nodded in satisfaction as he stole silently out of the imported Earth shrubbery about the chalet's protective wall.

The grounds were well lit, but the chalet's owners relied on automatic systems, nothing so fallible as humans, so there were no roving patrols, and he'd plotted his course with care. He crept across flower beds and grass like a great, prowling cat, avoiding the cameras and illuminating spotlights as he flowed through puddles of inky shadow. He paused just beyond the chalet itself, scanning for infrared beams, and chuckled once more as he found them. Ah, the wit of the lad who'd planned the security here! It was a mortal fine job he'd done, but not the equal to Giles Habibula!

He sidled to the side, studying the interlinking play of the beams, and for all his massive bulk, he moved quiet as the breeze. Fat other men might think him, and so, indeed, he was, but there was muscle under that fat, and he carried himself with a dancer's grace, placing each foot with feline caution. And even as he surveyed the challenge, his mind went back to the beautiful young woman awaiting him in the Venusberg bar.

"It won't be easy, Mr. Harnat," the woman called Ethyra Coran warned, and Giles Habibula—Grenz Harnat, to her—nodded gravely. "On the other hand," she went on, "my client will pay a half million dollars for the Dragon's Eye, and they may have been just a bit too clever in the way they planned the security."

"Ah, and have they now?" The remnants of a stupendous meal lay in ruins before him, and he sipped more wine—a splendid Martian Burgundy—as he listened to her. A half million was a paltry value to set on the famed Dragon's Eye, yet it seemed reasonable enough under the circumstances. The flawless Martian ruby was priceless, but it was also half the size of a man's head, and the very size which made it so rare and beautiful would make it impossible to fence on the open market.

"Your client's not thinking to have it cut, is he?" Habibula asked after a moment. Ethyra raised an eyebrow at him in perplexity, and he shrugged. "I'll have no part of it if he is," he explained. "A mortal crime against nature it would be to break up a lovely bauble such as that."

"A burglar with esthetics?" She laughed in sheer delight at the thought, then sobered. "No, Mr. Harnat. My client intends to retain it for, ah, his private collection."

"Does he now?" Habibula nodded in approval, opened another bottle of wine, and concentrated on his glass as he poured. "And how might it be they've been 'a bit too clever,' lass?" he asked.

"They're relying as much on misdirection as on security," she replied. "No one on Venus is supposed to know the gem is here, so they've stayed away from banks and regular vaults. Instead, they've lodged it with Samuel Ulnar, and he's hidden it in his chalet."

"The Ulnar Chalet?" Habibula looked up from his glass so abruptly he spilled wine, and his gray eyes brightened. "In his cellars, is it?"

"Why, yes." Ethyra sounded surprised, and he smiled happily. He'd heard of those cellars. "Samuel Ulnar is on Earth, so the chalet is officially unoccupied," she added. "The Dragon's Eye's owners expect that to help divert attention from their own presence, and they were told the Ulnar cellars are one of the most secure places on Venus."

"And so they should be, lass. So they should be," Habibula murmured. The Ulnar cellars, he thought, under the very chalet Zane Delmar, Samuel Ulnar's ancestor, had built seven centuries ago. Its historical significance made it a major tourist attraction, and the Venusian branch of the once all-powerful Ulnar family allowed public tours of its spacious, landscaped grounds. But its interior was private, for it was still home to Samuel Ulnar and his wife . . . and to the finest collection of wines and brandies in the Solar System. A single bottle of Europan champagne from that cellar would fetch five thousand dollars, but what a mortal shame to waste such a vintage on any but the most cultured palate! His eyes gleamed at the thought of what he might find as a byproduct of fetching out the Dragon's Eye, and he beamed at the young woman.

"Just you be telling me all you know of this blessed security," he said.

Habibula continued his cautious circuit of the chalet's inner defenses, then paused. The capacious knapsack on his back—large enough for a dozen bottles plus the Dragon's Eye—held the tools of his trade, and he'd brought along reflectors to defeat the infrared beams if he must. But such a trick was always risky, for even Giles Habibula's wrist could slip and interrupt the beam as he slid them into place. He'd hoped to avoid their use, and he smiled cheerfully as he examined his discovery.

An ornate portico in the neoclassic style of the twenty-second century fronted the chalet, and its sculptures and columns broke up the neat pattern of beams. The security system's designer had done his best to weave an impenetrable net about them, yet there was a small gap where the beams bent and angled about the massive stone sphinxes crouched on either side of the main door. It looked far too tiny for a man of his girth, but appearances could be deceiving, and he estimated its size with care.

Yes, he decided. It would be mortal difficult, but few could match the fearsome agility of Giles Habibula.

He slipped off his knapsack, slid it carefully through the opening, and took another moment to memorize the pattern of the beams before he slipped off his scanners and folded them away into a pocket. Then he folded himself with equal care, embracing the sphinx's stony flank, and eased himself through the same gap. He took his time, creeping past one inch at a time, and sighed with relief as he drew his left foot through at last without sounding an alarm.

A mortal fine job you did, my lad, he thought at the security system's designer, but not so fine as to be stopping Giles Habibula!

He gathered up his knapsack once more, took out his scanners, and checked for any inner perimeter of beams. There was none, and he stepped closer to the chalet's front wall to examine the doors and windows.

"Do you really think he'll come, sir?" the younger man asked.

His older companion never took his eyes from the panel before him. Dozens of alarms, internal and external, reported to that panel, from the motion sensors atop the compound walls to the intricate infrared photoelectric beams covering the chalet's exterior and the manifold internal detection systems on its windows, doors, and hallways. For three nights they'd waited, without even a flicker from any of them, and he understood the youngster's impatience and doubt.

"Oh, he'll come," the older man said. "If he's the man for the job, he'll come."

Habibula slipped cautiously down the hallway. The doors had been too richly fitted with alarms for his taste, but only three separate systems had protected the library windows. The window lock had been a sophisticated Cabloc Seven combination device, but locks were his special talent. A mortal pity an artist of his stature was deprived the recognition his genius deserved, yet such was the way of an uncaring world. And fair or no, there were compensations, he reminded himself with a smile.

He paused in the darkness of a four-way intersection, mentally consulting the map he'd memorized, then nodded with a smile. One more flight of stairs, another door, and then the cellar itself.

"I still wish we could have avoided giving him an accurate map, sir," the younger man fretted. "Couldn't we have had her—?"

"If he noticed any discrepancies, he'd pull out in a second," the older man said patiently. "Besides, this is supposed to be a test, as well, and how good a test would it be if we deliberately fed him false information?"

Habibula crouched outside the wine cellar door and examined the lock with the aid of a small hand light. Well, now! Isn't that a mortal surprise!

He bent closer and ran his fingers over the three combination wheels, and his eyebrows rose in respect. He'd always heard the Ulnar Chalet had first-class security, and any member of the Ulnar clan could afford the very best, but this was more than he'd expected. It was a Cerberus Twelve, possibly the most complex and effective lock yet designed by man, but he smiled, then gave it a fond pat. A good lock was like a trusted friend to Giles Habibula, for he had a certain way with them, and this one was based on a design his own father had created fifty years before. A mortal pity the old man had been a finer locksmith than a businessman, for his creation had been stolen by sharper, craftier minds, but he'd taught his son its secrets before they had.

Giles smiled again, and his short, strong fingers began to turn the knobs with a delicate precision any surgeon might have envied.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but I really don't think he's coming. Or not tonight, at least." The ...