The ship drifted against the stars in her parking orbit, a mountain of alloy and armor jeweled with the green and white lights of a moored starship, and as Honor studied her, she suddenly realized why the IAN had accepted smaller SDs. Derfflinger's lower mass would let her pull a higher acceleration than a Gryphon, assuming equal compensator efficiency, and that liveliness was perfectly suited to the missile-heavy doctrine the IAN seemed to have adopted. Of course, she thought with a carefully hidden smile, the Andies might find that less effective against the RMN than they expected. Manticore's missile pods and improved inertial compensators would go a long way towards negating Derfflinger's advantages. An RMN SD could more than match her throw weight, at least in the opening broadside, and the Manticoran ship's better compensator would make her at least as maneuverable, despite Derfflinger's mass advantage.
On the other hand, she thought, suddenly losing any temptation to smile, their intelligence types were able to find out about the squadron. I wonder if they're working on getting hold of our compensator designs, as well? Now there's a happy thought!
The pinnace swept closer and killed her wedge, coming in beneath the orbiting behemoth on conventional thrusters, and a tractor drew her upward into the glowing cavern of a boat bay. It deposited her neatly in a cradle, and the carpeted deck trembled as mechanical docking arms engaged securely.
A meticulously turned-out lieutenant commander saluted and his side party came to attention as Honor swung herself out of the tube. The intercom omitted the normal announcement of an officers arrival, but bosuns pipes twittered. They were the old-fashioned, lung-powered kind, not the electronic version the RMN used, and Honor held her return salute until they died.
"Permission to come aboard, Sir?" she asked then.
"Permission granted, My Lady," the lieutenant commander replied, snapping his hand down from the brim of his tall, visored cap. His high-collared uniform had to be uncomfortable, Honor thought, and keeping its pristine whiteness spot-free must be a pain, but it did look sharp.
So did the Marines of the honor guard. Like the Grayson Navy, but unlike the RMN, the IAN's Marines were Army units assigned to shipboard duty. Andermani ships also carried fewer of them, since their sole function was to provide a ground combat and boarding force, but their drill was as sharp as anything Honor's own Marines might have turned out, and they looked both competent and dangerous, even in dress uniform. The breasts of their black tunics were elaborately frogged, which looked decidedly odd to Honor, and the officer at their head actually had a fur-trimmed pelisse thrown over one shoulder and wore a tall, furred cap with a silver skeleton on the front.
Honor's eyebrows rose, for that skeleton marked Derfflinger's "Marines" as a detachment of the Totenkopf Hussars, the equivalent of the Queen's Own Regiment of the Royal Manticoran Army. Gustav Anderman had personally designed the Totenkopfs' uniform to reflect his "Prussian heritage," and Honor wondered if it could possibly be as uncomfortable as it looked. On the other hand, like the man who'd designed their uniform, the Totenkopfs' reputation was such that people seldom felt inclined to laugh at them. But they were rarely seen off Potsdam except in time of war, and their presence here was a sign that Rabenstrange stood high in the Emperor's favor. Their officer raised his sword in salute as the troopers came to attention, and Honor acknowledged the courtesy as she followed Schoeninger to the lift. The commander punched in a destination code, then gave Honor a rueful smile as the lift began to move.
"Our people are certainly colorful, aren't they?" she murmured.
"Yes. Yes, they are," Honor replied in a neutral tone, uncertain of where Schoeninger was headed, but the commander only shook her head.
"I assure you, our work uniforms are much more practical, My Lady. There are times I could wish for a little less deliberate anachronism in our dress uniform tailoring, but I suppose we wouldn't be us anymore if we gave it up."
Her tone was so wry Honor smiled, but it also offered an opening.
"Those were Totenkopf Hussars, weren't they?" she asked.
"Yes, they were." Schoeninger sounded surprised Honor had recognized them, though there was no surprise in the emotions Honor sensed through her link to Nimitz.
"I was under the impression they left Potsdam only in wartime." Honor made the statement a question, and Schoeninger nodded.
"That's normally true, My Lady. Herzog Rabenstrange, however, is the Emperors first cousin. They attended the Academy together, and they've always been quite close. His Majesty personally directed that the Totenkopfs be assigned to his flagship."
"I see." Honor nodded slowly, and the commander smiled again. It was a faint smile, but Honor felt Schoeninger's satisfaction and realized the commander had deliberately guided the conversation just so she could make that last statement. Honor wondered if it had been simply to make her own boss's importance clear for social reasons. From the little she'd so far seen of Commander Schoeninger, it seemed unlikely. It was far more probable the commander wanted to be certain Honor was fully aware that anything Rabenstrange said could be taken as coming from the Emperor's inner circle. Whatever her intentions, Schoeninger had been smooth about it, and Honor felt an ungrudging admiration. Subtlety wasn't her own strong suit, but that didn't mean she couldn't appreciate it in others.
The lift reached its destination, and the commander led them down a passage to a hatch guarded by two more black-uniformed Marines, who came to attention at her approach.
"Guests to see the Admiral," Schoeninger said. "We're expected."
"Yes, Ma'am." The Marine who responded spoke Standard English, not German, a courtesy which Honor appreciated, then pressed a com key. "Fregatten kapitanin Schoeninger und Grafin Harrington, Herr Herzog," he announced, and a moment later, the hatch slid open.
"If you'll come with me, My Lady?" Schoeninger said, and led the way into the most magnificently appointed cabin Honor had ever seen. The dimensions were marginally smaller than her own quarters aboard Terrible had been, but the furnishings were on an entirely different scale.
"Ah, Lady Harrington!" Chien-lu von Rabenstrange himself rose to greet her, extending his hand with a smile, and two more officers stood behind him. Both were men, one, stocky for an Andermani, in the uniform of a captain, and the other a commander who, like Schoeninger, wore the aiguilette of a staff officer.
"Herzog Rabenstrange," Honor murmured, shaking his hand. The captain behind him wore a slightly pained expression as he saw her armsmens sidearms, and his eyes cut sideways to his admiral with an edge of worry, but Rabenstrange himself only nodded to his companions.
"Captain Gunterman, my flag captain, and Commander Hauser, my intelligence officer," he said, and his subordinates came forward to shake hands in turn.
"My armsmen, My Lord," Honor said. "Major LaFollet, Armsman Candless, and Armsman Howard."