War Of Honor

The woman waiting for Honor under the landing pad's crystoplast canopy when the shuttle landed in the misting Grayson rain was dark-haired and eyed. The hair might have been a little more thickly threaded with silver than the first time they'd met, but the comfortable, lived-in face was the same.

The uniform wasn't. Mercedes Brigham was a rear admiral in the Grayson Space Navy, but she was also one of the GSN's many 'loaners' from the RMN, and she wore the Royal Navy's uniform this afternoon. In Manticoran service, her rank was that of a commodore, and Honor had been a little concerned over how she might feel at the notion of accepting a demotion to serve on someone else's staff. She'd known Mercedes well enough for long enough to feel fairly confident the older woman would genuinely wish for the assignment. But she'd also known her well enough to be afraid she would accept the job out of a sense of obligation and friendship whether it was really one she wanted or not.

The taste of Brigham's emotions, coupled with the commodore's enormous smile, put that concern, at least, instantly to rest.

'Mercedes!' Honor said, as she stepped off the foot of the shuttle ramp. The fresh, life-rich smell of the spring rain embraced her, and she felt a familiar twinge of irony. That scent was like the very breath of a living planet after a week on shipboard air, yet it was a world whose atmosphere was potentially lethal in the long term to any human, especially an off-worlder like herself. It was a point her intellect was only too well aware of, but her instincts were another matter, and she drew the smell deep into her lungs despite all her forebrain could do.

'It's good to see you again,' she went on, gripping Brigham's proffered hand and squeezing it firmly but carefully, mindful of her heavy-worlder strength.

'Likewise, Your Grace,' Brigham said, gripping back. She nodded to LaFollet, Hawke, and Mattingly, and the three armsmen came very briefly to attention in response before they reverted to their normal watchful stances. Two more HSG armsmen brought up the rear, shepherding Honor's personal baggage, and Brigham waved her free hand at a waiting air car in Harrington Steading colors.

'If you and your friends will step this way, Your Grace,' she invited, still smiling, 'your chauffeur is waiting to whisk you away to Harrington.'

'Not to Austin City?' Honor asked in some surprise.

'No, Your Grace. High Admiral Matthews was called away to Blackbird this afternoon, and he won't be able to return until sometime late tomorrow morning. He and the Protector decided that it would make more sense for you to get yourself settled at home before any formal meetings. Your parents and the kids are waiting to have supper with you there, and I understand Lord Clinkscales and his wives will be joining you. Your mother said she ... ah, had a few things to discuss with you.'

Honor's lips twitched in a mixture of humor and affectionate dread. It had gotten progressively more difficult to keep her mother here on Grayson and out of the fray on Manticore, yet the effort had become even more urgent once Lady Emily had knocked the scandal on its head. Allison Harrington was not noted for moderation where her family was concerned, and Honor could just imagine the smiling, merciless 'I told you so' daggers she would have planted—as publicly as possible—in at least a dozen prominent Manticoran political figures.

'I think the Regent also has a little Steading business he needs to discuss with you while he has the opportunity,' Brigham continued. And he probably wants to rip a few strips off various Manticoran politicos, too ... at least vicariously, since he can't get at them physically, Honor thought resignedly. 'That's more than enough to keep you busy for your first evening on-planet, and you're scheduled for an informal private audience over lunch with the Protector tomorrow afternoon at the Palace. If it's convenient, we'll meet with the High Admiral afterwards.'

'Of course it will be,' Honor agreed, and glanced at LaFollet.

'I'm sure you want to check the car for possible assassins, Andrew,' she told him with one of her slightly lopsided smiles.

'If Commodore Brigham is prepared to testify under oath that the car has never been out of her sight, then I'm prepared to forego my normal thoroughness, My Lady,' LaFollet assured her with only the smallest gleam of humor, and she chuckled.

'In that case, we'd better go quickly, Mercedes—before he changes his mind!' she said, and Brigham laughed and fell into place a respectful half-step behind Honor as the armsmen spread out in their customary triangular formation about their lady and headed for the vehicle.

Honor climbed into the back seat of the luxurious, armored air limo and settled Nimitz in her lap, and Brigham followed her. LaFollet parked himself in the facing jump seat while Mattingly politely but firmly displaced the original driver and Hawke took the front passenger/EW operator's seat. Mattingly spent a moment or two familiarizing himself with the pre-filed flight plan, then lifted the vehicle smoothly into the air and headed for Harrington City. The inevitable stingships settled into their escort positions, even for this relatively short flight, and Honor turned toward Brigham.

'I almost didn't ask the High Admiral for your services, you know,' she said. 'Both because I know how much Alfredo depends on you in the Protector's Own, and because I hesitated to ask you to step down a grade, even temporarily.'

'Much as I hate to say anything which might undermine your perception of my indispensability, Your Grace, the Admiral can get along without me if he really needs to,' Brigham replied. 'And given the fact that I never really expected to advance beyond lieutenant back when we first went out to Basilisk, commodore isn't too shabby. Besides, I seem to recall a few times you've stepped back and forth between navies yourself.'

'I suppose you do,' Honor acknowledged. 'But I really do want you to know how much I appreciate your willingness to do it this time.'

'Your Grace,' and Brigham said frankly, 'I was honored you chose to ask for me again. And it's not as if I'm the only person who's going to be looking at a drop in grade,' she added in a darker tone.

'I know.' Honor nodded, and Nimitz's ears flattened ever so slightly as he tasted her emotional response to Brigham's obvious reference to Dame Alice Truman.

Like Hamish Alexander, but with even less excuse, Truman had found herself a victim of the Janacek purges. Honor's contacts within the current Admiralty were much less extensive than they'd been when Baroness Mourncreek was First Lord, but there were rumors that Alice had stepped on someone's rather senior toes when she'd been captain of HMS Minotaur. That, coupled with the fact that the Trumans had served in the Royal Navy for almost as many generations as the Alexanders had, and that they were equally fervent members of the anti-Janacek faction, had consigned Alice to half-pay and cost her confirmation of her promotion to vice admiral.

Even Sir Edward Janacek and Jeanette Draskovic had found that one just a bit difficult to rationalize away, given the fact that Rear Admiral Truman, temporarily 'frocked' to the acting rank of vice admiral, had commanded Eighth Fleet's CLACs throughout the campaign which had driven the People's Republic to its knees. Not that they'd allowed that to stand in their way, and Alice's obvious and none too private disagreement with current Admiralty policies had made it easier for them to justify it—or her lack of employment, at least—on the basis of irreconcilable policy differences. Which, as Honor had fully recognized, was yet another reason for Draskovic's pettiness over the slate of officers she'd requested.

'At any rate,' Honor went on after a moment in a deliberately more cheerful tone, 'your misfortune—and Alice's—is my good fortune. Janacek and Chakrabarti may not be able—or willing—to cough up the ship strength I think we're going to need, but at least we're going to have an excellent command team. So if I can't get the job done, we'll know whose fault it is, won't we?'

'I wouldn't put it quite that way myself, Your Grace. But I do agree that you seem to have pulled together a pretty good bunch. And I'm looking forward to seeing Rafe and Alistair again. And,' she grinned suddenly, 'especially to seeing Scotty and 'Sir Horace!' '

* * *

'That was delicious.' Honor sighed, and leaned back in her chair with a pleasant sense of repletion.

The picked-over rubble of lunch lay strewn across the table between her and Benjamin IX, Protector of Grayson. They sat on one of Protector's Palace's private, domed terraces, a continent away from Harrington Steading, but it was raining here, as well. Not the gentle, misty rain which had welcomed Honor, but a hard, driving fall downpour that pounded the overhead dome hard. The occasional rumble of thunder was clearly audible, and Honor glanced up as a fork of lightning split the charcoal overcast. The gray, water-soaked afternoon was dark,