Honor Among Enemies

'If I could have fired sooner, some of those people would still be alive, and I'm genuinely sorry that I couldn't.'

Caslet nodded stiffly, unwilling to trust his voice. Or, for that matter, to respond openly in front of Jourdain. The people's commissioner was in just as much trouble as Caslet, but he was still a commissioner, and just as stubbornly aware of his duty as Caslet himself. Was that, the citizen commander wondered wryly, one reason they'd gotten along so much better than he'd initially expected?

'I'd also like to thank you for the care you took of Captain Sukowski and Commander Hurlman,' Harrington said after a moment. 'I sent your Dr. Jankowski off with the rest of your crew to see to your wounded, but my own surgeon assures me that her care for Commander Hurlman was all anyone could have asked for, and for that you have my sincere thanks. I've had some experience of what animals can do to prisoners,' her brown eyes turned momentarily into flint, 'and I deeply appreciate the decency and consideration you showed.'

Caslet nodded again, and Harrington picked up her wineglass. She looked down into it for a few seconds, then returned her gaze to her 'guests' face.

'I have every intention of notifying the People's Republic of your present status, but our own operational security requires us to delay that notification for a short time. For the present, I'm afraid I'll have to keep you and your senior officers aboard Wayfarer, but you'll be treated at all times with the courtesy your rank and your actions deserve. You will not be pressed for any sensitive information.' Caslet's eyes narrowed a bit at that, and she smiled another of her crooked smiles. 'Oh, if any of you let anything drop, I assure you we'll report it, but prisoner interrogation is properly ONI's function, not mine. Under the circumstances, I'm just as happy that's true.'

'Thank you, Captain,' he said, and she nodded.

'In the meantime,' she went on, 'I've had an opportunity to go over Captain Sukowski's stay aboard your vessel with him. I realize you didn't discuss any operational matters with him, but given what you did tell him and what we've pulled out of the privateers' computers, I suspect I know what you were doing in Schiller, and why you came to our assistance.' Her eyes took on that flint-like cast once more, and Caslet was just as happy their cold fury wasn't directed at him. 'I think,' she continued in a calm voice that did nothing to hide its anger, 'that the time has come to deal with Mr. Warnecke once and for all, and thanks to you, we should be able to.'

'Thanks to us, Ma'am?' Surprise startled the question out of Caslet, and she nodded.

'We recovered the full database of the ship you disabled. We didn't get anything from the other two wrecks, but we got everything from her... including her astrogation data. We know where Warnecke is, Citizen Commander, and I intend to pay him a little visit.'

'With just one ship, Captain?' Caslet glanced at Jourdain. Disregarding the fact that he himself was on board, it was clearly his duty to do anything he could to insure Wayfarers destruction, but he couldn't shake off memories of what Warnecke's butchers had done to Erewhon's crew, or, for that matter, Sukowski and Hurlman. Jourdain held his eyes for a moment, then nodded ever so slightly, and Caslet looked back at Harrington. 'Excuse me, Ma'am,' he said carefully, 'but our data indicates that they have several other ships. Even if you know where to find him, you might be biting off more than you can chew.'

'Wayfarer's teeth are quite sharp, Citizen Commander,' she returned with a slight, dangerous smile. 'And we've got complete downloads on their fleet. They've taken over the planet Sidemore, in the Marsh System. Marsh is, or was, an independent republic just outside the Confederacy, which may explain why the Silesians never looked there for him, assuming they even know he got away. But it was a fairly marginal system even before they took it, and their sole logistic support seems to be a single repair ship they brought out of the Chalice with them. Their resources are limited, despite whatever contacts Warnecke may have maintained, and by our count, they have, had, a total of twelve ships. You've eliminated two, and we've eliminated another pair, which reduces them to eight, and some of them will be out on operations. From the prize's data, their orbital defenses are negligible, and they have only a few thousand troops on the planet. Trust me, Citizen Commander. We can take them... and we're going to.'

'I can't say I'm sorry to hear that, Captain,' Caslet said after a moment.

'I thought you wouldn't be. And while it may not be much compensation for the loss of your ship, I can at least offer you a grandstand seat for what happens to Warnecke’s psychopaths. In fact, I'd like to invite you and Commissioner Jourdain to share the bridge with me for the attack.'

Caslet twitched in surprise. Allowing an enemy officer, even a POW, on your bridge in time of war was unheard of. Trained eyes were bound to pick up at least a little about things your own admiralty wouldn't want them to know, after all. Of course, he thought a moment later, it wasn't as if he'd be able to tell anyone back home about it, now was it?

'Thank you, Captain,' he said. 'I appreciate that very much.'

'It's the least I can do, Citizen Commander,' Harrington said with another of those sadly gentle smiles. She twitched her glass at him, and he picked his own up in automatic response. 'I propose a toast we can all snare, ladies and gentlemen,' she told the table, and now her chill smile was neither sad nor gentle. 'To Andre Warnecke. May he receive everything he deserves.'

She raised her glass as a rumble of approval came back, and Warner Caslet heard his own voice, and Denis Jourdain's, in that response.

Chapter TWENTY-EIGHT

Aubrey Wanderman trotted into the gym. A dozen Marines who'd gone from incomprehensible strangers to friends over the last few weeks nodded in welcome, and he heard a handful of cheerfully insulting greetings to the 'vacuum-sucker' in their midst. He'd gotten used to that, and, rank permitting, gave as good as he got. It was odd, but he felt more at home here than he did anywhere else in the ship, and he suspected he was never going to be able to share the proper naval disdain for the 'jarheads.'

He was looking forward to his scheduled session, and that, too, was odd for someone who'd only considered such training out of desperation. But the fact was that he'd come to enjoy it, despite the bruises. His slender frame was filling out with muscle, and the discipline, and confidence, was almost more enjoyable than the sense of physical competence which came with it. Besides, he admitted, the gym was his refuge. The people here actually liked him... and he didn't have to worry about Steilman turning up. He grinned. If there was one place where Randy Steilman would never dare show his face, Marine Country was certainly it!

But he came to a surprised halt, smile vanishing, as he saw the two people in the center of the gym. Sergeant Major Hallowell wasn't in his usual, well-worn sweats. Today he was in a formal gi, belted with the black sash of his rank, and Lady Harrington stood facing him.

The Captain, too, wore a gi, and Aubrey blinked as he saw the seven braided rank knots on her belt. He'd known she held a black belt in coup de vitesse, but he'd never realized she ranked quite that high. There were only two formally awarded ranks above seventh; the handful of people who ever hit ninth were referred to simply as 'Master Grade,' and only a particularly foolish individual asked for a demonstration of why.

Sergeant Major Hallowell’s belt, however, had eight knots, and Aubrey swallowed. He'd known the Gunny was holding back in their sessions, but he hadn't guessed Hallowell was holding back quite that much, and he suddenly felt much better about his inability to score on his mentor. Yet the thought was almost lost in his surprise at seeing the Captain here. So far as he knew, she never came to the Marine's gym, and he felt a surge of ambiguous emotion over her presence.

He hadn't exactly been avoiding her, acting third-class petty officers seldom found it necessary to 'avoid' the demigod who commanded a Queens ship, but he'd been acutely uncomfortable in her presence ever since Steilman had beaten him up. Which, he admitted, was entirely because he knew Ginger and Senior Chief Harkness had been right; he should have told the truth about what had happened and trusted the Captain to handle things. But he was still worried about what a nasty customer like Steilman might do to his friends, or have his friends do to them. Besides, he admitted, he'd gone from total disbelief that he could do anything to square accounts with Steilman on his own to a burning