War Of Honor

"Definitely a point to bear in mind," Dumais acknowledged. He thought for a few more moments, then grimaced.

"I don't think we can risk making any assumptions where this bird is concerned, Stephanie. I suppose it still possible that it's pure coincidence that he's back there, but it strikes me as unlikely. And the one thing we can't do is lead anybody straight to the Fleet. Unfortunately, we're already close enough to the Fleet rendezvous that anyone with half a brain should be able to narrow the volume down without much difficulty. So we'd better go see who it is."

"What do we do if it turns out it is a warship?" Singleterry asked.

"If it's a warship, then it's a warship." Dumais sighed. "There's provision in the ops order for the Admiral to shift to another star system if he has to. We don't want to do it, because it's always possible that the jump off order could reach Horus before we got Ambassador Jackson and Hector informed as to the new rendezvous point. Unfortunately, if this is a warship, we won't have much choice, unless I want to risk creating a fresh interstellar incident by opening fire."

"Even if it's a Manty?" Singleterry asked in a deliberately expressionless voice, and Dumais gri

"Especially if it's a Manty," he replied. "Not that the Admiral would thank us if we shot up an Andie or a Silly, either. And," he added conscientiously, "let's not forget that we don't know what size this fellow is. If he's a heavy cruiser, or a battlecruiser, then it might just be a bit . . . foolhardy of us to cross swords with him, don't you think?"

"Oh, yes," Singleterry said fervently. "Foolhardy is exactly the word I'd choose, Sir, and I can't begin to tell you how happy I am to hear you using it under the circumstances!"

"I thought you might approve," Dumais said dryly.

"And if it turns out this really is a merchie?" Singleterry asked.

"In that case, our options are a little broader," Dumais pointed out. "First of all, a merchie isn't going to argue with a warship if it tells him to heave to and be boarded. Secondly, we could put a prize crew aboard her and hand her over to Admiral Tourville. He could hold her at the fleet rendezvous indefinitely, if he had to, and the assumption when she didn't turn up at her destination as scheduled would simply be that one of the pirates operating out here had picked her off. If we're ordered to carry out the attack, he can release her after the fact with an apology and probably a fairly stiff reparations payment from the Government."

"And if we're never ordered to attack?" Singleterry asked very quietly, and Dumais grimaced again. He knew what she was really asking, because their orders had made it crystal clear that if no attack was ever launched, then Second Fleet had never been here. Exactly what the Republican Navy might be expected to do with a merchant ship full of people who knew Second Fleet had been here wasn't something he really wanted to consider. Even so, he knew it would be far better for that to be a merchantman rather than a warship.

"We'll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it," he told his tac officer after a moment. "For right now, we have to concentrate on the matter at hand. If this turns out to be a merchie, we'll put enough of our people aboard to make sure everything stays under control and leave her right where she is while we take Hecate on to the rendezvous and report in to the Admiral. If he wants her brought the rest of the way in to him, we'll come back and get her. If he decides to shift the rendezvous, we'll come back, take our people off, apologize politely, and decamp." He shrugged. "It's not perfect, but it's the most flexible option we have, and the Admiral would expect us to show some initiative."

"It sounds to me like it should work, Skipper," Singleterry said thoughtfully.

"I hope so," Dumais said cheerfully. "Because if it doesn't, we're going to have a hell of a time explaining to the Admiral why we couldn't handle a single merchie!"

Chapter Forty Six

Honor stepped back and allowed Commander Denby to climb to his feet. The commanding officer of Werewolf's third LAC squadron was a little slower than he might have been under other conditions, and he shook his head like a man listening to a ringing sound no one else could hear.

He dropped back into a ready position, but Honor shook her own head and removed her mouth protector.

"Sorry about that, Commander," she said contritely. "Are you all right?"

Denby removed his own mouth protector and then rotated his right shoulder cautiously and gave her a lopsided grin.

"I think so, Your Grace," he replied. "I'll tell you for sure when that damned bird stops singing in my ear!"

Honor chuckled. She and the commander both wore traditional gis. Although Denby's belt showed only five rank knots, he was really very good . . . and like quite a few officers who followed the coup —perhaps somewhat disproportionately represented among the LAC portion of Werewolf's complement—he was always available for a sparring match with the station commander.

Unfortunately, he'd forgotten about Honor's artificial arm. The move he'd just attempted had depended upon its victim's reaction to leverage against her elbow joint. Which hadn't worked out quite the way his reflexes had assumed it would in this particular case. Honor's counter had caught him out of position and completely by surprise, and he'd hit the mat hard. In fact, he'd hit it rather harder than she'd intended, because her reflexes hadn't assumed that he'd be left quite as open as he had by her left arm's failure to flex properly.

"Well," she said now, "we've got enough time for you to finish listening. Take your time."

"Thank you, Your Grace, but I think he's coming to the end of his selection."

Denby gave her another grin and reinserted his mouth protector, and she smiled back before she did the same thing. The two of them stepped back towards the center of the mat and dropped back into the ready position. Honor watched him warily. They'd sparred enough over the course of this deployment for her to have a very good feel for his personality. Even without her ability to sense his emotions, she would have known that his recent misadventure had inspired him to dump her on her very senior posterior. On the other hand, inspiration and success weren't necessarily the same thing, and—"Excuse me, My Lady."

Andrew LaFollet's voice interrupted, and she stepped back from Denby and turned towards her senior armsman.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, My Lady," LaFollet said from where he'd stood watching her back, even here in Werewolf's gym, and she removed the mouth protector once again.

"What is it, Andrew?" she asked.

"I don't know," he replied. "Lieutenant Meares just commed. He says you're needed on Flag Bridge."

"On Flag Bridge?" Honor repeated. "He didn't say why?"

"No, My Lady." LaFollet half-raised his wrist-mounted com. "I can com him back and ask, if you'd like?"

"Please do. And ask him how urgent it is." She waved one gloved hand at her gi. "Unless it's earth shattering, I'd like to at least shower and change before I report for duty!"

"Yes, My Lady," LaFollet acknowledged with a small smile, and spoke into the wrist com. Then he looked up with the slightly absent expression of a man listening to a reply from her flag lieutenant over his unobtrusive earbug.

It was an expression which changed abruptly, and Honor's head snapped up as she tasted the surprise and apprehension in his emotions.

"What?" she asked sharply.

"Tim says Pirate's Bane just passed the perimeter patrols, My Lady," the armsman replied, using the flag lieutenant's first name instead of the more formal rank titles he was usually careful to employ out of deference to a young man's dignity. Now he met his Steadholder's eyes, and his expression was taut. "He says she's damaged—badly."