'No,' Honor said flatly, 'it isn't, Admiral Henke. And not just because Ajax is your ship. There are seven hundred and fifty other men and women aboard her.'
Henke looked at her for a moment, then inhaled sharply and nodded.
'When they see our accel drop, they'll have to act on the assumption Imperator has enough impeller damage to slow the rest of the task force,' Honor continued. 'Bogey Three should continue to pursue us on that basis. If you can get the after ring back within the next forty-five minutes to an hour, you should still be able to stay clear of Bogey Two, and Bogey One is pretty much scrap metal at this point. But if you don't get it back-'
'If we don't get it back, we can't get into hyper anyway,' Henke interrupted her. 'I think it's the best we can do, Honor. Thank you.'
Honor wanted to scream at her friend for thanking her, but she only nodded.
'Give Beth my best, just in case,' Henke added.
'Do it yourself,' Honor shot back.
'I will, of course,' Henke said. Then, more softly, 'Take care, Honor.'
'God bless, Mike,' Honor said equally quietly. 'Clear.'
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The communicator on her desk buzzed, and she looked up from the report and pressed the acceptance key.
'Yes?'
'Your Grace,' Harper Brantley's voice said, 'you have a message.'
'What is it?'
'We've just been informed that the First Lord and First Space Lord are aboard the midday shuttle flight, Your Grace. Their pinnace will dock with Imperator in thirty-seven minutes.'
'Thank you, Harper.'
Honor's courteous voice was calm enough to fool anyone who didn't know her very well indeed. Harper Brantley was one of those who did.
'You're welcome, Your Grace,' he said quietly, and cut the circuit.
Honor sat back in her float chair, and Nimitz crooned comfortingly from his perch. She looked up and smiled, acknowledging both his love and his effort to cheer her, but they both knew he hadn't succeeded.
She looked back at her terminal, and the latest in the merciless progression of reports floating in its display. There was never an end to any Queen's officer's paperwork, and she'd found that was even truer after a resounding defeat than it was after a victory. In many ways, she was grateful. It gave her something to do besides sitting in the stillness of her quarters, listening to her ghosts.
Nimitz hopped down onto the desk and rose on his haunches, leaning forward to rest his true-hands on her shoulders while the tip of his nose just touched hers. He stared into her eyes, his own grass-green gaze as deep as the oceans of Sphinx they had sailed together in her childhood, and she felt him deep inside her. Felt his concern, and his scolding love as they both grappled with her sense of guilt and loss.
She reached out and folded her arms about him, holding him to her breasts while she buried her face in his soft, soft fur, and his croon sang gently, gently through her.
Honor stood in Imperator's boat bay, Andrew LaFollet at her shoulder, as the pinnace settled into the docking arms. The green light glowed, the inner end of the personnel tube opened, and the bosun's pipes shrilled as Major Lorenzetti's Marine side party snapped to attention.
'First Lord, arriving!' the intercom announced, and Hamish Alexander, Samantha on his shoulder, swung himself through the tube first, as befitted his seniority as Sir Thomas Caparelli's civilian superior.
'Permission to come aboard, Captain?' he asked, as Rafe Cardones saluted.
'Permission granted, My Lord.'
'Thank you.' Hamish nodded and shook Cardones' proffered hand. Then he stepped past the captain and his eyes met Honor's for just a moment before he held out his hand to her. She shook it without speaking, her empathic sense clinging to the concern and love in his mind-glow, acutely aware of all the other, watching eyes, as the bay speakers spoke again.
'First Space Lord, arriving!'
'Permission to come aboard, Captain?' Sir Thomas Caparelli asked in the ancient ritual.
'Permission granted, Sir,' Cardones gave the equally ritualistic response, and Caparelli stepped across the painted line on the deck.
'My Lord, Sir Thomas,' Honor said in formal greeting as she released Hamish's hand to shake Caparelli's in turn.
'Your Grace,' Caparelli replied for both of them, and Honor tasted his emotions, as well. The anger she'd half dreaded and yet half desired was absent. Instead, she tasted sympathy, concern, and something very like compassion. Part of her was glad, but another part-the wounded part-was almost angry, as if he were betraying her dead by not blaming her for their deaths. It was illogical and unreasonable, and she knew it. And it didn't change her emotions one bit.
'Would you and Earl White Haven care to join me in my quarters?'
'I think that's an excellent idea, Your Grace,' Caparelli said after only the briefest glance at Hamish.
'In that case, My Lords,' Honor said, and waved her right hand at the waiting lifts.
The short journey to Honor's quarters was silent, without the casual small talk which would normally have filled it. LaFollet peeled off outside the day cabin hatch, and Honor waved her visitors through it.
She followed them, and the hatch slid shut behind her.
'Welcome to Imperator, My Lords,' she began, then chopped off in astonishment as Hamish turned and enfolded her in a fierce embrace. For just a moment, conscious of Caparelli's presence, she started to resist. But then she realized she tasted absolutely no surprise from the First Space Lord, and she abandoned herself-briefly, at least-to the incredible comfort of her husband's arms.
The embrace lasted several seconds, and then Hamish stood back, his left hand on her right shoulder, while his feather-gentle right hand brushed an errant strand of hair from her forehead.
'It's... good to see you, love,' he said softly.
'And you.' Honor felt her lower lip try to quiver and called it sternly to order. Then she looked past Hamish to Caparelli and managed a wry smile. 'And it's good to see you, too, Sir Thomas.'
'Although not, perhaps, quite as good, eh, Admiral Alexander-Harrington?'
'Oh, dear.' Honor inhaled and looked back and forth between the two men. 'Have we gone public while I was away, Hamish?'
'I wouldn't put it quite that way,' he replied. 'A few people have either figured it out or been informed because it's just so much simpler that way. Thomas here falls into both categories. I informed him... and he'd already figured it out. Essentially, at least.'
'Your Grace-Honor,' Caparelli said with a crooked smile, 'your relationship with Hamish has to be one of the worst kept secrets in the history of the Royal Manticoran Navy.' Alarm flickered in her eyes, but he only chuckled. 'I might add, however, that I doubt very much that any Queen's officer would breathe a word about it. If nothing else, he'd be terrified of what the rest of us would do to him when we found out.'
'Sir Thomas,' she began, 'I-'
'You don't have to explain anything to me, Honor,' Caparelli cut her off. 'First, because I think Hamish is probably right where the Articles of War are concerned. Second, because I've never seen any indication of your allowing personal feelings to influence your actions. Third, because you've made it crystal clear throughout your career that you have absolutely no interest in playing the patronage game and relying on 'interest' to further that career. And, fourth, and probably most importantly of all, the two of you-the three of you-have damned well earned it.'
Honor closed her mouth, tasting the rock-ribbed sincerity behind his words. It was an enormous relief, but she made herself bite off any thanks. Instead, she simply waved for the two of them to be seated on the couch, then seated herself in one of the facing armchairs.
Hamish smiled faintly but said nothing as she deliberately separated the two of them from one another. Samantha hopped down from his shoulder, and she and Nimitz leapt up into the other armchair, curling down beside
