"I'll try," she said seriously, then sighed. "But the truth is that knowing he's unhappy doesn't really make me much happier to have him around."
"There'd be something wrong with you if it did," he said, equally seriously, then bounced his hips to tumble Nimitz off the edge of the bed. The 'cat twisted agilely in midair to hit the floor on all six feet with a solid thud, and Paul's eyes laughed at Honor. "In the meantime, if you're looking for something that that make you feel happier, I'm game if you are," he purred.
"I believe we're all here now, so let's get started." Mark Sarnow nodded from the com screen at his assembled captains and flag officers. The terminal in Paul's quarters was too small to display all the others at anything like a normal image size, but it was big enough for Honor to tell who was who. The admiral's screen, of course, was big enough to show him every detail, and she was happy her uniform hadn't gotten rumpled last night.
"The first item, of course, is a critique of yesterday's exercise," Sarnow went on. "An exercise which, I might note in passing, seemed to go better for some of us than for others." His cheerful tone took the potential sting from his words, and Commodore Banton grinned wryly.
"What you mean, Sir, is that some of us got taken to the cleaners," she replied. Her eyes moved to Honor's image, and she shook her head. "That was some major league sneakiness, Dame Honor. You suckered me completely."
"I was lucky, Ma'am."
"Lucky!" Banton snorted, then shrugged "Well, I suppose you were, but some people seem to make their own luck. Mind you, I intend to pin your ears back next time, but don't sell yourself short."
Two or three other voices murmured agreement, and Honor's face heated.
"I agree with Commodore Banton's assessment," Sarnow said firmly, "which brings me to one of the points I wanted to raise. We're already planning to use the parasite pods to thicken up our missile salvos. What if we used the EW drones in the same way Dame Honor did, as well?"
"You mean to sneak into missile range on a powered-down intercept while they look the other way?" Commodore Prentis said with a thoughtful frown. "Be a bit risky against a real wall of battle, wouldn't it, Sir? If they picked up our fire control before we let fly—"
"Hold it, Jack," Banton cut in. "The Admiral may be onto something. Even if they do spot us, at optimum missile range we'd have two or three minutes to bring our impellers up. If we hold them at maximum readiness, we can get them up in ninety seconds. Sidewall, too—and we'd still get our launch off."
"True," Captain Rubenstein said, "but there's still—"
The debate was off and running, and Honor sat back, content to listen to the others. Personally, she liked the idea, at least as one possible option. Too much would depend on the actual tactical situation to lay detailed plans in advance, but she certainty approved of the way Sarnow involved his officers in his skull sessions. If his captains knew how he thought ahead of time, they were far more likely to react quickly rather than wait for detailed orders.
The discussion moved on to finer details of the maneuvers and ended with an update from Ernestine Corell and Commander Turner on the fire control modifications for the parasite pods. Things were looking good all around, Honor decided. There was still an undertone of anxiety, for the task group was only too well aware of how naked it was out here by itself, but it was taking its cue from Sarnow's battlecruiser skippers and digging in to do something about its situation.
"... that just about ties everything up, then," Sarnow said finally. "Captain Corell will have those new targeting patterns to all of you by lunch, and I'd like to go over the final version of the parasite firing codes with you and Commander Turner, Isabella. Can you screen me at, oh, thirteen hundred?"
"Of course, Sir."
"In that case, ladies and gentlemen, good morning. Go have your breakfasts." Faces smiled at him as people prepared to cut the circuit, but Honor paused, her finger already on the key, as he looked straight at her.
"Hold on just a moment, Dame Honor," he requested, and she sat back, eyes curious, as the other faces disappeared. Then they were alone, and she raised an eyebrow.
"Was there something special, Sir?"
"Yes, Honor, there was." He leaned back and brushed a finger over his mustache, then sighed. "I thought you should know that there's been a change in Commodore Van Slyke's chain of command."
"Indeed, Sir?" She managed to hang onto her natural tone.
"Yes. Captain Young is senior to any of his other COs. That makes him Van Slyke's second in command."
"I see," Honor said quietly.
"I thought you would." Sarnow frowned for a moment, then shrugged. "I'm not entirely happy about it, but there's no way to change it. I'm afraid, however, that it may involve us in helping Van Slyke bring him up to speed, and I wanted you to hear about it from me."
"Thank you, Sir. I appreciate that."
"Yes." Sarnow shrugged again, then straightened. "Well, so much for the unpleasant news. Will you join me for lunch? Bring Commander Henke with you, and we'll make it a working meal."
"Of course, Sir. We'll be there."
"Good." Sarnow nodded to her and killed the circuit, and she leaned back and gathered Nimitz in her arms.
"Time for breakfast before you go?" Paul called from the tiny attached dining cabin, and she shook herself.
"Always," she told him, "and I hope you've got some celery for a certain furry bandit."
Pavel Young stepped through the tube from his cutter into HMS Crusader's boat bay. Crusader was older and smaller than his own Warlock, but even Young could find nothing to fault in the sharpness of the side party or the spotlessness of the boat bay gallery, and he nodded approvingly, for a neat ship was an efficient ship.
"Welcome aboard, Lord Young. I'm Commander Lovat, the Exec. The Commodore asked me to escort you to his briefing room."
"Of course, Commander." Young took in the slender commander's intricately-braided chestnut hair and attractively curved figure and gave her a gracious smile. He wouldn't mind having her for his exec, and he let his eyes linger unobtrusively on her hips and nicely filled trousers as he followed her to the lift.
Lovat led him to the flag briefing room without conversation and pressed the hatch admittance key for him.
"Here we are, Sir." Her voice was pleasant but cool, and Young gave her an even more gracious smile as the hatch opened.
"Thank you, Commander. I hope we meet again." He brushed against her as he stepped past her into the briefing room, then paused as he saw not the commodore but another commander with the aiguilette of a staff officer.
"Good morning, Lord Young," the commander said. "I'm Arthur Houseman, Commodore Van Slyke's chief of staff. I'm afraid the Commodore ran into a last-minute delay after you were already in transit. He asked me to assure you that he'll be here as soon as he can and to make you welcome until he arrives."
"I see." Young advanced across the compartment and took one of the chairs at the table with a suppressed frown. It always irritated him to be fobbed off with some junior officer, but he supposed it wasn't really Houseman's fault. "Please, sit down, Commander," he said, indicating another chair, and Houseman sat.
Young leaned back, considering the staff officer from under lowered lids. Houseman. One of the Waldsheim Housemans from New Bavaria, no doubt—he had the look. Young curled a mental lip in contempt. The Housemans were notorious for their extreme Liberal politics, always whining about "the little man" and "social responsibility." Which, Young had noticed, didn't prevent any of them from enjoying every advantage their own lofty birth and wealth provided. It only gave them a smug sense of complacency when they looked down their noses at other people who did the same things without mouthing pious platitudes to proclaim their own worthiness.