The Short Victorious War

mug in poisonous memory.

'You know,' Henke went on, her voice carefully light, 'you never did tell me what really happened that night.'

'What?' Honor shook her head and blinked.

'I said, you never told me what really happened that night.'

'Which night?'

'Oh, don't be silly, Honor! You know perfectly well which night.' Henke sighed as Honor looked at her without expression. 'The night,' she explained, 'when you beat the holy living hell out of Mr. Midshipman Lord Pavel Young. You do remember that night?'

'He fell down the stairs,' Honor said almost automatically, and Henke snorted.

'Sure he did. That was why I found you hiding under the covers with Nimitz ready to go rip someone's face off!' Honor winced, remembering a time when Nimitz had done just that, but Henke didn't seem to notice. 'Look, Honor, I know the official story. I also know it's bullshit, and in case no one's ever told you, there are all sorts of rumors floating around about it—especially since Basilisk.'

'Rumors?' Honor set her mug down, feeling a sort of distant surprise as she saw the tremors in her fingers. 'What rumors? I haven't heard anything about them!'

'Of course not. Who's going to breathe a word about them around you? But after the way he tried to stab you in the back at Basilisk, there aren't too many people who doubt them.'

Henke leaned back, eyes steady, and Honor shifted uncomfortably under their weight. She'd done her level best never to reveal any hint of what had actually happened, and she'd hoped—more desperately than realistically, she thought now—that the story had finally died a natural death.

'All right,' Henke said after a moment, 'let me tell you what I think happened. I think the bastard tried to rape you, and you kicked his balls up between his ears. Yes?'

'I—' Honor stopped and took a sip of cocoa, then sighed. 'More or less,' she said at last.

'Well, for God's sake, why didn't you say so at the time?! Lord knows I tried to get it out of you, and I'm sure Commandant Hartley did, too!'

'You're right.' Honor's soprano was uncharacteristically soft, almost inaudible, as she stared down into her mug. 'I didn't realize it at the time, but he must have known. Or guessed. But I was just—' She broke off and inhaled deeply. 'I felt so dirty, Mike. Like he'd soiled me somehow, just by touching me. I was... ashamed. Besides, he was an earl's son, and I wasn't even pretty. Who would have believed me?'

'I would have,' Henke said quietly, 'and so would Hartley. So would anyone who knew both of you and heard both sides of the story.'

'Oh?' Honors smile was crooked. 'You would have believed the Earl of North Hollow's son tried to rape a hatchet-faced overgrown horse like me?'

Henke flinched inside at her friends bitter tone but bit her tongue against a quick reply. She suspected very few people guessed how ugly Honor had thought she was at the Academy. And, in truth, she had been on the homely side then, but her sharp-planed face had matured into a clean-cut beauty in the years since. She wasn't 'pretty,' and she never would be, Henke thought, but she also had no idea how other women envied her unique bone structure and dark, exotically slanted eyes. Her face had a mobile, expressive alive-ness, despite the slight stiffness of its left side, and she didn't even know it. Yet the pain in her eyes now wasn't for her supposed homeliness. It was for the girl she had been, not the woman she was. And, Henke knew, for the way she'd betrayed that girl by not seeking justice for her.

'Yes,' she said softly. 'I would have believed you. As a matter of fact, that was pretty much what I thought had happened at the time. That's why I went to Hartley.'

'You went to Hartley?!' Honor's eyes widened, and Henke shrugged uncomfortably.

'I was worried about you—and I was fairly sure you weren't going to come forward with the truth. So, yeah, I told him what I thought happened.'

Honor stared at her, and her memory replayed the agonizing scene in the commandant's office, the way he'd almost begged her to tell him what had really happened, and she wished—again—that she had.

'Thank you,' she said softly. 'You're right. I should have spoken up. They might've have broken him if I had... but I didn't think about all that then, and it's too late now. Besides—' she squared her shoulders and inhaled again '—he finally got his.'

'Yes and no,' Henke countered gently. 'His reputation's shot to hell, and he knows it, but he's still in the service. And he's still on active duty.'

'Family influence.' Honor gave a ghost of a smile, and Henke nodded.

'Family influence. I guess none of us who have it can really help using it, whether we want to or not. I mean, everyone knows who we are, and there's always someone who wants us to owe them a favor, even if we never asked for it. But North Hollow—' She shook her head distastefully. 'People like him make me sick. Even if you weren't my friend, I would have loved to see Young busted. Hell, with a little luck, he might even have drawn brig time, but—' Henke's mouth quirked '—I forgive you. It's hard, you understand, but I guess I'm just naturally big- hearted.'

'Gee, thanks,' Honor said, relieved by the lightening tone of the conversation, and Henke grinned.

'Don't mention it. But I think you should know that Paul never did like Young, and he likes him a lot less now. As far as I can tell, it's mutual, too. Something about Paul's helping the brass deliberately sabotage his refit so Warlock didn't get back to Basilisk in time to keep you from making him look like the stupid sack of shit he is.'

'What? I never knew that was deliberate!'

'Paul never said it was, but he sure did something Admiral Warner liked. They pulled him out of Warlock and transferred him to Hephaestus before you were even back from Basilisk, and he's been playing yard dog ever since. He's up to captain junior grade now, and Daddy tells me they're probably going to sneak him onto the list sometime soon. But don't you dare tell him I told you that!' Henke said with a sudden, ferocious frown. 'He'd be madder than hell if he thought someone was pulling strings for him.'

'Is someone?'

'Not as far as I know. Or, at any rate, not any more than they do for anyone they think is good at his job. So don't breathe a word to him.'

'My lips are sealed. Not that I expect to have much opportunity to exchange confidences with him.'

'No?' Henke cocked her head again, then grinned. 'Well, just remember to keep mum if you do get the chance,' she said. 'Now, about those orders—'

CHAPTER FIVE

'—so we're on schedule for our construction projects, and the yard is fully operational for local repairs,' Commander Lord Haskel Abernathy concluded.

The commander shut his memo pad down, and Vice Admiral of the Green Sir Yancey Parks nodded in approval.

'Thank you, Hack,' he said to his logistics officer, then raised his eyes to the staff officers and squadron commanders in the flag briefing room of the super-dreadnought HMS Gryphon. 'And well done,' he went on. 'That goes for all of you, and especially for Admiral Sarnow's people. Between you, you've put the yard a good month ahead of projections.'

Abernathy smiled at the compliment, and Sarnow gave a silent nod. It was a courteous gesture, yet Parks felt an instant stir of irritation.

He stepped on it quickly, castigating himself for feeling it at all, but it was hard. There was always a certain awkwardness when an officer relieved a junior who stayed on under him, and Parks resented being put in such a position. Knowing the situation couldn't be any easier for Sarnow didn't help much, either. Parks had been in Hancock for barely a T-month, and the rear admiral would be more than human if a part of him weren't gauging Parks' successes against what he might have achieved if he'd retained command. To his credit, he'd never let a sign