The Honor of the Qween

"Yes, Sir—Ma'am." Brentworth corrected himself quickly, but there was no more hesitation in him. He actually gri

"Forgive me, Commander," Langtry said, "but what you mean is that Admiral Garret is an old woman—if you'll pardon the expression, Captain Harrington—who's hovering on the edge of outright panic."

Brentworth flushed, but the ambassador shook his head.

"I'm sorry for my bluntness, Commander, and I'm probably doing the admiral something of a disservice, but we need brutal candor now, with no misunderstandings. I'm perfectly well aware that no one could fill High Admiral Yanakov's shoes, and God knows Garret has every reason to be scared to death. I don't mean to imply that it's for his own safety, either. He never expected to have this job dumped on him, and he knows this is a threat he can't defeat. That's enough to keep anyone from `thinking very clearly.' But the fact remains that he isn't going to voluntarily relinquish his command to a foreign officer who's not only a mere captain but also happens to be a woman, doesn't it?"

"I didn't say anything about assuming command!" Honor protested.

"Then you're being naive, Captain," Langtry said. "If this planet is going to be defended, your people are going to do the lion's share of the fighting—give Garret credit for understanding that much. And as you yourself said, no Grayson officer knows how to use your capabilities to fullest advantage. Their plans are going to have to conform to yours, not the other way around, and that makes you the de facto SO. Garret knows that, but he can't admit it. Not only would it be an abandonment of his own responsibilities in his eyes, but you're a woman." The ambassador glanced at Commander Brentworth but continued without flinching. "To Admiral Garret that means, automatically, that you're unfit for command. He can't entrust the defense of his homeworld to someone he knows can't handle the job."

Honor bit her lip, but she couldn't refute Langtry's assessment. The old warhorse behind the ambassadorial facade knew too well how fear could shape human reactions, and few physical fears cut as deep or killed as many people as the moral fear of failing. Of admitting failure. That was the fear which made a commander out of her depth cling to her authority, unable to surrender it even when she knew she couldn't discharge it, and Langtry was also right about the way Garret's prejudices would dovetail with his fear.

"Commander Brentworth." Her voice was soft, and the Grayson officer's eyes darted to her face. "I realize we're putting you in an invidious position," she went on quietly, "but I have to ask you—and I need the most honest answer you can give me—if Ambassador Langtry's assessment of Admiral Garret is correct."

"Yes, Ma'am," Brentworth said promptly, though manifestly against his will. He paused and cleared his throat. "Captain Harrington, there isn't a man in Grayson uniform who's more devoted to the safety of this planet, but ... but he isn't the man for this job."

"Unfortunately, he's the man who's got it," Langtry said, "and he isn't going to cooperate with you, Captain."

"Then I'm afraid we have no choice but to go over his head." Honor squared her shoulders. "Who do we talk to, Sir Anthony?"

"Well... ." Langtry rubbed his lip. "There's Councilman Long, the Navy Minister, but he doesn't have any military service background of his own. I doubt he'd overrule an experienced flag officer on something this critical."

"I'm almost certain he wouldn't, Sir Anthony," Brentworth put in. The Grayson officer took a chair of his own with an apologetic little smile, but the gesture was a statement, ranging him firmly on the foreigners' side against his own military commander in chief. "As you say, he doesn't have any Fleet background. Except in administrative matters, he always deferred to Admiral Yanakov's judgment. I don't see him changing that policy now, and if you'll forgive me, Captain, he's a bit on the conservative side, too."

"Commander," Honor surprised herself with a genuine laugh, "I've got a notion we're never going to get anything done if you keep apologizing for everyone who's going to have trouble with the fact that I'm a woman." She waved a hand as he started to speak. "It's not your fault, and it's not really theirs, either—and even if it were, assigning fault is one thing we definitely don't have time for. But my skin's thick enough to take what it has to, so just plow right ahead and let the chips fall where they may."

"Yes, Ma'am." Brentworth smiled at her, relaxing even further, then furrowed his brow in thought.

"What about Admiral Stephens, Sir Anthony?" He glanced at Honor. "He's—or, rather, he was until last year—Chief of the Naval Staff."

"No good," Langtry decided. "As you say, he's retired. Even if he weren't, he and Long hate each other's guts. A personal thing." He made a shooing gesture with one hand. "Doesn't have anything to do with naval policy, but it'd get in the way, and we don't have time for that."

"Then I don't know who's left." Brentworth sighed. "Not short of the Protector, anyway."

"The Protector?" Honor cocked an eyebrow at Langtry. "That's a thought. Why don't we ask Protector Benjamin to intervene?"

"That would be completely without precedent." Langtry shook his head. "The Protector never intervenes between ministers and their subordinates."

"Doesn't he have the authority to?" Honor asked in surprise.

"Well, yes, technically, under the written constitution. But the unwritten constitution says otherwise. The Protector's Council has the right to advise and consent on ministerial appointments. Over the last century or so, that's turned into de facto control of the ministries. In fact, the Chancellor, as First Councilman, really runs the government these days."

"Wait a minute, Sir Anthony," Brentworth said. "I agree with what you just said, but the Constitution doesn't exactly cover this situation, either, and the Navy's more traditional—" he smiled at Honor "—than the civilians. Remember, our oaths are sworn to the Protector, not the Council or Chamber. I think if he asserted his written powers, the Fleet would listen."

"Even if it's to put a woman in command of it?" Langtry asked skeptically.

"Well... ." It was Brentworth's turn to hesitate, but Honor sat up crisply and put both feet on the floor.

"All right, gentlemen, we're not going to get this ship off the field if we don't decide who to talk to, and I don't think we have much option. From what you're both saying, it has to be the Protector if we're going to cut through all the layers of insulation."

"I could put it to him," Langtry mused aloud, "but first I'll have to get Chancellor Prestwick's okay. That'll mean going through the Council, and I know some of them will stonewall, despite the situation. It's going to take time, Captain. A day or two, at least."

"We don't have a day or two."

"But—" Langtry began, and Honor shook her head.

"No, Sir Anthony, I'm sorry, but if we go that route, I'll end up defending this planet all by myself. Assuming the Masadans intend to continue operations now that my squadron's returned, I can't believe they'll delay that long. And, frankly, if they've moved all their LACs to this system to support their remaining hyper-capable units and two Peep cruisers, I'll need all the help I can get to keep them off my back while I deal with the big ones."

"But what else can we do?"

"We can take advantage of the fact that I'm a bluff, plain-spoken spacedog without the least notion of diplomatic niceties. Instead of putting a written proposal or diplomatic note through cha