Field Of Dishonor

she frowned in thought. Clinkscales was right about their fiscal position. Grayson was a poor planet, and the costs of establishing a new steading were enormous. If she'd known about Gerrick's idea, she would cheerfully have waived the construction of Harrington House, despite Clinkscales' argument that it had been an unavoidable necessity, if only as the steading's administrative center. As it was, Harrington Steading was in the black, barely, for the first time in the two local years since its founding, and that wasn't going to last.

She looked back up, then shook her head.

'Forget about the Privy Purse, then,' she said. 'And while I'm thinking about it, Howard, make a note that I want all of my income reinvested. I don't need the money, and the steading does.'

'Yes, My Lady.' Clinkscales sounded both surprised and gratified, and Honor cocked her head at Gerrick.

'As for you, Mr. Gerrick, how would you like a partnership with an off-worlder?'

'An off-worlder, My Lady?' Gerrick looked puzzled. 'What off-worlder?'

'Me,' Honor said simply, and laughed at his dumbfounded expression.

'It happens, Mr. Gerrick, that I'm a modestly wealthy woman back in the Star Kingdom. If you want to build your demonstration project, I'll bankroll it.'

'You will?!' Gerrick stared at her in disbelief, and she nodded.

'I certainly will. Howard,' she looked back at Clinkscales once more, 'Mr. Gerrick is about to submit a letter of resignation to the steading. At the same time you accept it—with regrets, of course—I want you to draw up a permit for a privately held corporation called, um, Grayson Sky Domes, Ltd. Mr. Gerrick will go on salary as chief engineer and development officer, with a suitable salary and a thirty percent interest. I'll be chairman of the board, and you'll be our CEO, with another twenty percent interest. My agent on Manticore will be our chief financial officer, and I'll have him cut a check immediately for a few million austins for start-up costs.'

'Are—are you serious, My Lady?' Gerrick blurted.

'I am, indeed.' She rose again, extending her hand once more. 'Welcome to the private sector, Mr. Gerrick. Now go out there and make it work.'

Yeltsin's Star had long since set, but Honor and Clinkscales had hardly noticed as they worked through their demanding schedule. Nimitz was on the corner of Honor's blotter now, amusing himself by dismantling an old-style stapler, when she finally pushed back her chair with a sigh.

'I know we're not done yet, Howard, but I've got to take a break. Will you and your wives join Nimitz and me for supper?'

'Is it that—?' Clinkscales checked his desk chrono and shook himself. 'I see it is that late, My Lady. And, yes, we'd be honored to join you. Assuming,' he regarded her suspiciously, 'that your steward promises not to serve fried squash again.' He shuddered in memory, for Manticoran squash was subtly different from the vegetable of the same name on Grayson, and he'd suffered a violent allergic reaction when MacGuiness introduced him to it.

'No squash,' Honor promised with a smile. 'I don't know what's on the menu, but Mac and I took that off it for the rest of our stay here. In fact, he's been taking lessons in local cuisine, and—'

A buzz from her com console interrupted her, and she grimaced.

'I may have invited you too soon,' she muttered, and pressed the acceptance key.

'Yes?'

'I'm sorry to disturb you, Ma'am,' a Manticoran voice said.

'I was about to com you, Mac. What is it?'

'We've just received word from Air Traffic, Ma'am. There's an inbound pinnace, ETA twelve minutes.' Honor's eyebrows rose. The arrival of a pinnace, especially this late in the evening, was unusual to say the least. And why was MacGuiness informing her of its arrival instead of her Grayson security chief?

'A pinnace? Not an aircar?'

'No, Ma'am. A pinnace... from HMS Agni. I understand Captain Henke is aboard in person,' MacGuiness added.

Honor stiffened. Agni here? The Manticoran element might explain why Mac was making the call instead of Colonel Hill, but why hadn't Mike written to warn her she was headed for Yeltsin's Star? For that matter, why come down in a pinnace instead of screening her from orbit? If Agni was in small craft range of Grayson, she could have sent a message on ahead hours ago.

'Did Captain Henke say anything about why she's here?'

'No, Ma'am. All I have is an official request for immediate access to you. Your security force passed it to me for clearance.'

'Clear it at once,' Honor said. 'I'll be in my office.'

'Yes, Ma'am.' MacGuiness cut the circuit, and Honor sat back in her chair with a pensive frown.

Someone rapped once, lightly, on the office door, then opened it without awaiting permission. It was Michelle Henke, with James MacGuinness at her heels instead of the regular Grayson armsman.

'Mike!' Honor cried in delight, and started around her desk, both hands extended. She expected Henke to grin at the absurd sight of Honor Harrington in a Grayson gown, but she didn't. She only stared at her, her face that of a woman who'd just taken a pulser dart, and Honor came to a stop, hands falling to her sides, and braced her shoulders in sudden, formless dread.

'Honor.' Her name came out in a tight, painful parody of Henke's normal tone, and Honor reached for her link to Nimitz. Reached for it and gasped at the anguish writhing behind Henke's tormented face. Her emotions were too intense, too painful, for Honor to sort out, but they hit Nimitz like a club. The dismantled stapler thudded to the floor as he rose up, ears flattened against his skull, and hissed in sibilant challenge, and Honor reached out again in quick compassion, stunned by the ferocity of her friends pain.

'What is it, Mike?' She forced her voice to remain level and gentle. 'Why didn't you screen me?'

'Because—' Henke drew a deep breath. 'Because I had to tell you in person.' Each word seemed to cost her physical agony, and she ignored Honor's hands to grip her shoulders.

'Tell me what?' Honor wasn't frightened yet. There hadn't been time, and she was too concerned for her friend.

'Honor, it's—' Henke drew another breath, then pulled her close, hugging her fiercely. 'Paul was challenged to a duel,' she whispered into Honor's shoulder. 'He—Oh, God, Honor! He's dead!'

CHAPTER NINETEEN

There ought to be a better way to do this, but Georgia Sakristos couldn't think of one, and at least she was cautiously pleased with the contact she'd finally decided upon. She had to contact someone, and her choice should get it to the right people without letting anyone who knew about her own part in the operation guess she was the leak; if she hadn't been sure of that she wouldn't be doing this at all.

Unfortunately, that didn't mean no one on the other side could ever connect her to it. That would be almost as bad as having her employer discover she'd talked, and making personal contact added measurably to her risk, yet time was short, and she had to convince the other person her information was reliable. The absence of any documentary evidence would make that hard enough without fumbling around through time-wasting intermediaries.

It was a risk, but her com was plugged through enough layers of cutouts to make it effectively untraceable. The filtration devices should make her voice unrecognizable, and she intended to screen her contact's private and unlisted civilian number. Her ability to find that number should encourage its owner to take her seriously; more importantly, civilian exchanges incorporated antirecording security circuits which could be overridden only with a court order. All of which should make her risk minimal, but Georgia Sakristos, ne'e Elaine Komandorski, hadn't stayed out of prison by relying on 'should.'

On the other hand, she thought, her lovely face (the best biosculpt money could buy) grim, some things were worth risking prison to escape, and she'd kept her own name, face, and voice out of the transaction. She'd handled the entire thing through blind drops... and deliberately chosen a specialist who would insist on knowing