David Weber - Mission of Honor

The woman the treecats had named “Soul of Steel” looked out of all those countless HD displays, and there wasn’t a single millimeter of retreat in those eyes of blazing ice.

“Despite the damage we’ve suffered, Home Fleet remains intact. Despite the damage to our production lines, Home Fleet’s magazines are fully loaded. Our system-defense missiles are untouched. If the Solarian League wants a war, the Solarian League will have one. If that is the choice the League makes, then the war which began at New Tuscany and continued at Spindle will resume right here. Whatever they may think, the fleet they’ve dispatched against us is no match for our remaining combat power. If they choose to send a second, equally large, fleet after this one, the Admiralty is confident we have sufficient strength to defeat it, as well. No doubt the League believes we’ll refuse to fight because of the vast difference between our ultimate capabilities. The League is wrong.

“Within six T-months, we will have reestablished our missile production capability. It won’t be as great as it was prior to the recent attack, but it will be sufficient to guarantee the security of our own star systems against any ships or weapons currently in the Solarian League Navy’s inventory. That is the bottom-line analysis of the Admiralty, and you have my word—and the word of the House of Winton—that I am telling you the absolute truth when I say that.”

She paused once more, letting that soak into her audience’s minds. Then she smiled thinly.

“There is, of course, a vast difference between being able to guarantee our own security in the near term and being able to defeat a behemoth like the Solarian League in the long term. I don’t pretend to have a magic bullet to guarantee our ultimate victory. But I do have this. I have the courage of the Manticoran people. I have my own refusal to fail the trust those people have placed in the House of Winton. I have the determination of all Manticorans—those of the Old Star Kingdom and those of the Star Empire who have newly and freely joined us—to live in freedom. I have the skill and the high professionalism and the dauntless determination of the men and women of the Manticoran armed forces. And I have the absolute certainty that those things will never fail me… or you.

“I don’t bring you any ‘magic bullet,’ because there is none. I make no promises of easy triumphs, because there will be no easy triumphs. I promise you only the truth, and the truth is that the price we will ultimately pay will be even higher than the one we’ve already paid. That the cost of the battle which waits for us will be sacrifice, loss, backbreaking toil, blood, and grief. But I also promise you this one more thing. I promise you victory . For seventy-plus T-years, the Star Empire has lived under sentence of death, yet we’re still here. And we will still be here when the smoke finally clears. However long it takes, whatever sacrifice it entails, wherever the battle takes us, and no matter what foe we may face, we will triumph, and those who have wrought such destruction and suffering upon us, who have butchered our civilians, who have attacked us from the shadows like assassins, will discover to their infinite regret that in the defense of our homes, our families, and our children, we can be just as merciless as them .”

The alarm buzzed in the darkness, and Honor Alexander-Harrington sat up in bed, reached out a long arm, and pressed the acceptance key.

Nimitz had rolled off of her chest when she moved, and his green eyes glowed like molten emeralds in the come terminals’ reflected light as he blinked sleepily. She felt his mind glow nestled close to her own, and she gave him a quick caress with her free hand as the display came fully alive with the wounded lion of HMS Invictus ‘ wallpaper.

“Yes?”

She hadn’t slept well over the three months since the attack on the home system. She’d hoped that might change once she got back aboard her flagship here at Trevor’s Star, but it hadn’t. Yet there was no sign of that in her crisp acknowledgment as she accepted the com request audio only.

“Your Grace,” Captain Rafael Cardones’ voice replied, “I think we need you on Flag Bridge. Now.”

Honor’s eyebrows rose as Cardones’ strained tone registered. She’d seen him in the midst of combat, seen him cradling broken ribs while he continued to man his station, seen him in the most stressful situations she could imagine, and yet she’d never heard that note in his voice before.

“What is it, Rafe?” she asked sharply.

“Your Grace, we’ve just picked up a hyper footprint. It’s a single ship, about four light-minutes outside the system limit. It’s quite near one of the FTL platforms, and it’s squawking its transponder code.”

“And?” she prompted a bit sharply when he paused.

“And it’s a Havenite ship, Ma’am. In fact, according to its transponder, it’s Haven One .”

“All right, Hamish, what’s this all about?” Elizabeth Winton demanded irritably as she sat down in front of the com. The two T-weeks since her defiant speech hadn’t been restful, and the anticipated arrival of Admiral Filareta’s fleet within the next week to ten days wasn’t likely to improve things one bit.

“I’m sorry, Elizabeth. It isn’t Hamish,” a voice said, and Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose in surprise. She punched the key to bring the visual on line and stared in plerplexity at the white-bereted woman looking back at her as the Admiralty House wallpaper disappeared.

“Honor?” The queen shook her head. “What are you doing on this channel? Or even here, instead of at Trevor’s Star, for that matter? I thought you weren’t due back until the middle of next week!”

“There’s been a slight… change in plans,” Honor said. “Something came up rather unexpectedly. I decided I’d better come home to discuss it with you personally, and I got Hamish to tap me in through Admiralty House’s secure channels. That’s why his identifier showed on your com.”

Elizabeth frowned. Something about Honor’s expression perplexed her, and she wondered why the other woman had gone to such obvious lengths to wake her up in the middle of the night to sit down in front of a secure com.

“What ‘came up rather unexpectedly’?” she asked.

“It seems we have an unanticipated visitor,” Honor said simply, and expanded her own com’s field of view.

For a moment, it failed to register. But then Elizabeth Winton’s jaw dropped as she recognized the platinum-haired, topaz-eyed woman standing at Honor’s side.

“I apologize for waking you up in the middle of the night, Your Majesty,” President Elizabeth Pritchart said calmly, “but I think we need to talk.”

The pinnace which docked with HMS Invictus ‘ forward boat bay was Duchess Harrington’s personal small craft. As such, it had priority over any other auxiliary assigned to her flagship, although it was just a bit unusual for even her pinnace to be accompanied—one might have said “escorted”—by a pair of Royal Manticoran Army trans-atmospheric sting ships.

The flight operations officer in charge of Invictus ‘ small craft movements didn’t seem surprised to see them, however. He simply acknowledged their presence and assigned them berthing slots on either side of Duchess Harrington’s craft.

But if he’d been warned what to expect, it quickly became evident that the boat bay officer of the deck (who, at this extremely late hour of Invictus ‘ shipboard day, was an extremely junior ensign with red hair, fair skin, and blue eyes, rejoicing in the name of Hieronymus Thistlewaite) hadn’t been. That young man had spotted the duchess’ arrival and mustered the proper side party for an admiral of her towering seniority. He looked just a bit nervous, since there were no older and wiser heads looking over his shoulder this time, but Ensign Thistlewaite seemed reasonably confident he had the situation under control.