“I’ll see to it,” McKeon promised.

“Good. In that case, I think that just about takes care of everything… except for one other little matter.”

“Oh? What’s that?” McKeon asked.

“I talked to Fritz this morning,” Honor told him. “He’s just tickled pink to have decent medical facilities again, and he specifically asked me to deliver you into his hands, Commodore McKeon!”

“I beg your pardon?” McKeon blinked, and she chuckled.

“He’s got an entire, semicapable hospital over there, Alistair. They don’t have regen capability, and, frankly—no offense, Warner—I’m not sure I’d trust myself to Peep regen even if anyone’s regen worked for me. But they do have a fairly sophisticated dentistry setup.” McKeon’s hand rose to his mouth, as if suddenly reminded of the jagged gaps the Peep pulse rifle’s butt had left in his teeth, and she smiled. “We can’t grow you new teeth till we get you home again, Alistair, but in the meantime, Fritz tells me he’s read the handbook and he’s just itching for a chance to try out his new knowledge on some poor, unsuspecting guinea pig. He’s all ready to build you some truly outstanding old-fashioned bridges, so once you’ve dealt with the things we’ve been discussing, I want you over at the hospital for him to take impressions.”

“But I’ve got too many other things to—” McKeon began, only to shut his mouth with a click as she cut him off.

“But nothing, Commodore McKeon,” she told him firmly. “You and Fritz and Andrew—yes, and you, too, Warner Caslet! Every one of you helped Fritz bully me after we got down from Tepes. Well now it’s my turn, by God, and you will report to the surgeon. Do you read me on this, Commodore?”

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” he demanded, and the living side of her face smiled serenely.

“Darned right I am,” Lady Dame Honor Harrington said smugly.

Chapter Twenty-Six

“ARE you out of your mind?” Rear Admiral Harold Styles rose from his chair, planted his fists on Honor’s desk, and glared at her furiously. “The questionable basis on which you’ve chosen to insist on retaining command puts you on dangerous enough ground already, Admiral Harrington! If you insist on convening courts-martial in time of war on your own authority, then you’d better make damned sure all the ‘I’s are dotted and the ‘T’s are crossed! Because if they aren’t, Admiral, I swear to you that I personally will see you prosecuted to the full extent of the Articles of War!”

Nimitz half-rose on his perch, baring snow-white fangs with a warning hiss as Styles’ fury flooded his empathic sense, and Honor felt an answering flicker of rage deep within herself. But it was Andrew LaFollet who drew her attention from Styles’ outrage-purpled face, and she raised her hand quickly, flicking her fingers in a wave-off just in time to keep her armsman from grabbing the Manticoran by the scruff of his neck and physically expelling him from the office—preferably with a spectacular set of bruises. A part of her longed to let Andrew do just that, but she couldn’t, however much she wanted to.