“Alistair is right, Honor,” Ramirez said before she could reply. “Certainly there are going to be people—like Styles—who second-guess you however things work out. And some of the people who criticize you won’t be idiots, too, because it’s a question that can be legitimately argued either way. But the bottom line is that for everyone else, it would be a hypothetical question… and for you, it isn’t. You’re the one who has to make the call, and you have to make it now. So make it. In your considered judgment, does holding this ship in Cerberus improve your odds of success more than sending her for help the Alliance may or may not be in a position to extend to us?”

Honor sat back in her chair, feeling Nimitz’s warm, supporting presence at her shoulder, and gazed into the mouth of Ramirez’s stark options. She’d already considered the consequences and the odds, of course. If she hadn’t, she never would have stated the intention which had so horrified Styles. But she knew herself too well—knew that this time was different, for Marchant and McKeon and Ramirez were right. It was her call, and they were waiting for her to make the decision which would commit them all not to an “intention” which left room to wiggle later but to a hard and firm plan they would all carry through together… or die trying to.

“If we were talking about a lighter ship,” she said finally, “my decision might be different. But this is a Mars-class. She masses six hundred thousand tons—almost as big and tough as most of their prewar battlecruisers—and if we’re going to make this work, we’ve got to have some mobile combat units with real fighting power.” Her nostrils flared. “Which means I can’t justify sending her off.”

“I agree,” Ramirez said softly, and other heads nodded around the table.

Honor felt their support and knew how much it meant to her, but she also knew it was only support. The responsibility was hers, and the responsibility for the deaths of all of them would also be hers if she blew it.

Yet she had no choice. She simply could not abandon the POWs who hadn’t run out of defiance for their captors after their time on Hell, just as she could not abandon the non-Allied POWs who had actively aided her in capturing and securing Camp Charon in the first place.

A “calculated risk,” she thought. Isn’t that what they called a decision like this back at Saganami Island? And they were right, of course. But it’s an awful lot easier to analyze past examples of them in a classroom and decide where the people who took them screwed up than it is to take responsibility for them yourself!

“All right, then,” Admiral Lady Dame Honor Harrington said with calm, confident assurance, “we keep her. Alistair, I want you and Harry to grab Gerry Metcalf and Master Chief Ascher. We’re going to need as many people trained to combat-ready status on Peep hardware as we can get, because if this is going to work at all, we’ll need a lot more hardware than a single heavy cruiser. But she’s got simulators on board as well as complete manuals on all of her hardware in her data banks. So we’ll use her for a training ship while we start getting our people brought up to speed.”