Honor climbed down off the examining table, opened the door, and stuck her head out into the hall. LaFollet started to turn towards the door as it opened, then stopped, facing rigidly away from it.
"Oh, don't be silly, Andrew!" she scolded fondly. "I'm perfectly decent."
He turned his head, and his mouth twitched, hovering on the edge of a smile, as he took in her uniform trousers and blouse.
"Yes, My Lady?"
"I'm just wondering where Doctor Frazier is."
"Do you want me to go check, My Lady?"
"No, no." She shook her head. "I just wanted to poke my head out and look around. I'm sure she'll get here as soon as possible. I wonder what's holding her up, though."
"If you'd like-" LaFollet began, then broke off as Doctor Frazier came briskly down the hall with a memo board tucked firmly under her left arm.
Janet Frazier was trim, slender, auburn-haired, and a good twenty-five centimeters shorter than Honor. She moved with a brisk confidence and habitually exuded the sense of authority which was one of the hallmarks of a good physician. She looked just as composed as usual, but both of Honor's eyebrows rose as she tasted the doctor's actual emotions. Consternation predominated, mingled with something very much like apprehension-flavored amusement.
"Your Grace," Frazier said. "I apologize for the delay. I had to, ah, recheck some test results and do a little research."
"I beg your pardon?" Honor said.
"Why don't we step back into the exam room, Your Grace?"
Honor obeyed the polite command. She stepped back up onto the stool, and parked herself on the edge of the padded table. Nimitz took one look at Frazier, then sat up beside Honor, ears cocked. The raised diagnostic sensors just cleared the top of Honor's head as she sat down, and Frazier tossed her memo board onto the polished top of a low cabinet and folded her arms across her chest.
"Your Grace," she said after a moment, "I'm pretty sure I have a surprise for you. The nausea you've been experiencing?"
She paused, and Honor nodded.
"It's morning sickness, Your Grace."
Honor blinked. For a long moment, perhaps five seconds, she had absolutely no idea what Frazier was talking about. Then it registered, and she sat bolt upright. In fact, she sat up so quickly she bashed the top of her head on one of the sensors.
Not that she even noticed the impact.
"That's ridiculous!" she snapped. "Impossible!"
"Your Grace, I checked the results three times," Frazier said. "Trust me. You are pregnant."
"But-But... I can't be!" Honor shook her head, thoughts skittering like a treecat kitten on ice. "I can't be," she repeated. "On more levels than you can possibly imagine, Doctor, I can't be."
"Your Grace," Frazier said, "I'm not in any position to comment on exactly how much opportunity you've had to become pregnant. But I can tell you, without any doubt whatsoever, that you are."
Honor's head spun. Frazier couldn't be right-she just couldn't.
"But... but my implant," she protested.
"I thought about that as soon as I saw the initial result," Frazier admitted. "That's one reason I checked it three times."
Honor stared at her. All active-duty female naval personnel eligible for shipboard duty were required to maintain current contraceptive implants as insurance against accidental pregnancy. The Navy provided a perfectly adequate implant good for one T-year, renewable with each annual physical, as part of its basic medical care, but anyone who wanted to pay for her own implant could do so, as long as it met the minimum one-year requirement of the Service and was kept current. Without that implant, she was restricted to dirt-side duty, safely away from the risk of accidental radiation exposures. Given her own career plans, Honor had opted for a ten-year implant. It could have been deactivated at any time, in the unlikely event her plans had changed, and it was simply one less detail to bother about.
"I'm not positive yet, Your Grace," Frazier continued, "but I think I may have figured out what happened. To the implant, I mean."
Honor shook her head and settled back down on the edge of the examining table. Nimitz flowed into her lap, leaning back against her, and she wrapped her arms tightly about his soft, comforting warmth and rested her chin on the top of his head.
"If you have any idea how it happened, it's more than I have," she said.
"I think it's a data entry error, Your Grace."
"A data entry error?"
"Yes." Frazier sighed. "This probably wouldn't have happened if Doctor McKinsey hadn't been called back to Beowulf, Your Grace. Unfortunately, he was, and I've been your personal physician only since your return from Cerberus. And your file was delivered to me from Bassingford when I first saw you."
Honor nodded.
"Apparently what happened was that when the Peeps announced your 'execution,' the Navy removed your files from the medical center's active database. After all, you were dead. So, when you turned up alive again, they had to reactivate your records. And I'm guessing there was some glitch, because according to your file, your implant was renewed after your return from Cerberus."
"After my return?" Honor shook her head vigorously. "Certainly not!"
"Oh, I'm well aware of that, Your Grace," Frazier said. "In fact, this is at least partly my fault. I didn't do a complete enough review of your records, or I might have realized the date indicated for your implant renewal was flatly impossible."
"But how could someone have screwed it up?" Honor demanded. Her brain, she realized, was not functioning especially well at the moment.
"My best guess?" Frazier said. "It looks to me as if when your records were reactivated all entries specific to Navy-monitored requirements-like the requirement that your contraceptive implant be current-were somehow reset to the date they were reactivated. Which means that so far as I knew from my records, which were based on Bassingford's, your implant should have been good for another three and a half T-years. Which, obviously, it wasn't."
Honor closed her eyes.
"I realize the timing on this is... awkward, Your Grace," Frazier said. "There are, of course, several options available to us. Which one you choose is up to you, but at least it's very early in the pregnancy. There's time to decide what you want to do."
"Doctor," Honor said, without opening her eyes, "I'm due to deploy to Trevor's Star in less than two weeks."
"Oh."
Honor opened her eyes at last, and smiled crookedly at Frazier's expression.
"That does put rather a tighter time constraint on it, doesn't it?" the doctor continued.
"You might put it that way... assuming you're given to understatement."
"Well, in that case, Your Grace," Frazier said, "and speaking as your physician, I think you'd better inform the father as quickly as you can."
Chapter Eleven
"My Lady?"
Honor twitched in her comfortable limousine seat and looked up.
Nimitz was curled tightly in her lap, pressing against her while he radiated comfort. The 'cat clearly didn't understand all of the reasons behind her consternation and anxiety, but his loving concern and support poured into her, and she treasured them. Unfortunately, Nimitz couldn't begin to resolve all of the potentially disastrous consequences which might stem from her condition.
"Yes, Spencer?" she said, looking at the fair-haired armsman who'd spoken.
"We just received a com call from the spaceport, My Lady," he said respectfully. Her youngest armsman obviously also realized something was wrong, but he didn't know what, and his tone was cautious. "The Tankersley just made orbit," he continued.