“But in that case, how can you tell it’s a fake at all?”

“Because he hasn’t asked to speak to me, even though Dennis knows Therret is my chief of staff and wouldn’t be here without me. Besides, the word choice isn’t quite right,” Chernock told him. “I suspect what we’re actually seeing is an AI-filtered image of someone else’s responses to our transmissions. Someone is sitting down there in Charon Control ad libbing replies to whatever we send, and the AI is translating them into Dennis’ voice, adding his mannerisms, and probably dipping into his personnel records and file copies of earlier com conversations for any background information it needs. But good as whoever built the damned thing was, he didn’t quite get it perfect. Unlike the real Dennis would have done, it hasn’t made the association between Therret’s presence and mine. Either that, or whoever’s running it is trying to avoid talking to me because he’s afraid I’ll trip him up. And either the AI’s word selection criteria is a little off the money, or else its override filters aren’t sensitive enough, because the occasional ’non-Tresca’ word choice is leaking through. At any rate, it isn’t Dennis. I’ll stake my life on that.”

“I see.” Yearman looked grave, and Chernock smiled in somewhat caustic sympathy. For all his dutiful attention to detail, the citizen general knew, Yearman hadn’t truly believed unarmed, dispersed prisoners, with no tech support whatsoever, could somehow make an open-sea crossing and mount a successful amphibious assault on Styx Island. He hadn’t said so, and Chernock couldn’t possibly have faulted how hard he’d worked at whipping his task group together, but the citizen general had known that deep down inside, the Navy officer had been essentially humoring him.

Now Yearman knew Chernock hadn’t been a lunatic, and he was suddenly thinking about all those orbital defenses with absolute seriousness for the first time. The citizen general watched him unobtrusively from the corner of one eye, wondering if the citizen rear admiral would decide to change his tactical approach now that his threat appreciation had just shifted so radically. But Yearman only nodded slowly, then turned and paced towards the master plot. Chernock watched him go, and then turned cold and bitter eyes on the electronic manikin posing as his friend.

They had been in-system for just over three hours now. Let the damned AI and whoever was running it continue to think it had them fooled. They’d made their turnover to decelerate towards Hades three minutes ago. In another hundred and ninety-two minutes, Yearman would turn to open his broadsides and send the bastard a very different sort of message.

Honor Harrington sat in her command chair and listened to the damage and injury reports coming in from all over her ship. She’d known there would be some, no matter how carefully and thoroughly they’d secured for acceleration. Modern warships simply weren’t designed for this kind of maneuver. They didn’t have proper acceleration couches at every station, and the people who crewed them weren’t used to thinking in terms of locking down every piece of gear against a five-gravity acceleration.