"David Weber - Honor 01 - On Baslisk Station" - читать интересную книгу автора (Weber David)

see the implications once we started expanding around their northern frontier.
They'd have no choice but to try to stop us."
"We couldn't cut a deal with them?" Frankel asked Bergren, and the foreign
secretary shrugged.
"The Manticoran Liberal Party can't find its ass with both hands where foreign
policy is concerned, and the Progressives would probably dicker, but they
aren't in control; the Centrists and Crown Loyalists are. They hate our guts,
and Elizabeth III hates us even more than they do. Even if the Liberals and
Progressives could turn the Government out, the Crown would never negotiate
with us."
"Um." Frankel plucked at his lip, then sighed. "Too bad, because there's
another point. We're in bad enough shape for foreign exchange, and three-
quarters of our foreign trade moves through the Manticore Junction. If they
close it against us, it'll add months to transit times . . . and costs."
"Tell me about it," Parnell said sourly. "That damned junction also gives
their navy an avenue right into the middle of the Republic through the
Trevor's Star terminus."
"But if we knocked them out, then we'd hold the Junction," Dumarest murmured.
"Think what that would do for our economy."
Frankel looked up, eyes glowing with sudden avarice, for the junction gave the
Kingdom of Manticore a gross system product seventy-eight percent that of the
Sol System itself. Harris noted his expression and gave a small, ugly smile.
"All right, let's look at it. We're in trouble and we know it. We have to keep
expanding. Manticore is in the way, and taking it would give our economy a
hefty shot in the arm. The problem is what we do about it."
"Manticore or not," Parnell said thoughtfully, "we have to pinch out these
problem spots to the southwest." He gestured at the systems Frankel had dyed
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gray-green. "It'd be a worthwhile preliminary to position us against
Manticore, anyway. But if we can do it, the smart move would be to take out
Manticore first and then deal with the small fry."
"Agreed," Harris nodded. "Any ideas on how we might do that?"
"Let me get with my staff, Mr. President. I'm not sure yet, but the Junction
could be a two-edged sword if we handle it right. . . ." The admiral's voice
trailed off, then he shook himself. "Let me get with my staff," he repeated.
"Especially with Naval Intelligence. I've got an idea, but I need to work on
it." He cocked his head. "I can probably have a report, one way or the other,
for you in about a month. Will that be acceptable?"
"Entirely, Admiral," Harris said, and adjourned the meeting.

CHAPTER ONE
THE FLUFFY BALL OF FUR in Honor Harrington's lap stirred and put forth a
round, prick-eared head as the steady pulse of the shuttle's thrusters died. A
delicate mouth of needle-sharp fangs yawned, and then the treecat turned its
head to regard her with wide, grass-green eyes.
"Bleek?" it asked, and Honor chuckled softly.
"'Bleek' yourself," she said, rubbing the ridge of its muzzle. The green eyes
blinked, and four of the treecat's six limbs reached out to grip her wrist in
feather-gentle hand-paws. She chuckled again, pulling back to initiate a