McKeon looked away from Honor long enough to glance at the others around the table and felt reassured by what he saw. None of them really understood why Honor hadn’t already crushed Styles, and while none of them wanted to get involved in a fight between her and an officer of her own navy—or one of her own navies, at least—they were entirely prepared to support her against him now. McKeon happened to agree with them that Honor should have stepped on the loathsome bastard the first time he got out of line, but he also knew (far better than they) that she didn’t do things that way. Sometimes—as in McKeon’s own case, once upon a time—that could be a good thing. This time, as far as he was concerned, she’d waited far too long, and he felt an anticipation very much like Andrew LaFollet’s as Styles went right on running his mouth.

“I’ll accept that you believe you’re doing the right thing and performing to the very best of your ability,” the Manticoran went on, his voice oozing damning-with-faint-praise scorn, “but one of the things experience teaches is the ability to recognize the limitations of reality. Yes, and the true nature of responsibility, as well! Your primary duty as a Queen’s officer is—”

“I don’t believe you heard me, Admiral Styles,” Honor said, still in that conversational tone, her body language completely relaxed. “I said I had heard enough, and I remind you—for the final time—of the penalties laid down by the Articles of War for insubordination.”

“Insubordination?” Styles glared at her, apparently oblivious to the dangerous glitter in her single working eye. “It’s not ‘insubordination’ to point out to a manifestly inexperienced officer that her conception of her own duty and importance is obviously and completely divorced from reality and—”

“Major LaFollet!” Honor’s voice was no longer calm. It was a blade of chilled steel, cutting across Styles’ hotter, bombastic bellicosity like a sword.

“Yes, My Lady?” LaFollet snapped to attention behind her.

“Do you have your side arm, Major?” she asked, without so much as looking over her shoulder or taking her steely gaze from Styles’ congested face.

“I do, My Lady,” her armsman replied crisply.

“Very good.” The right side of her lips curled up in a thin, dangerous smile, and Styles’ eyes began to widen as the fact that she had been anything but intimidated by his bluster finally started to seep into his awareness. LaFollet was already moving, circling the table towards Styles in anticipation of Honor’s orders, but the rear admiral didn’t even notice that. He stared at Honor instead, opening his mouth as if to speak, but it was much too late for that.

“You will place Rear Admiral Styles under arrest,” Honor went on to LaFollet in that arctic voice. “You will escort him immediately from this conference room to the brig, and you will there place him under close confinement on my authority. He will not be allowed to return to his quarters. He is not to be permitted contact with any other individual between this conference room and his cell.”