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On Basilisk Station

David Weber
Contents ( 36)
  2. On Basilisk Station
  3. Prologue
  4. Chapter One
  5. Chapter Two
  6. Chapter Three
  7. Chapter Four
  8. Chapter Five
  9. Chapter Six
  10. Chapter Seven
  11. Chapter Eight
  12. Chapter Nine
  13. Chapter Ten
  14. Chapter Eleven
  15. Chapter Twelve
  16. Chapter Thirteen
  17. Chapter Fourteen
  18. Chapter Fifteen
  19. Chapter Sixteen
  20. Chapter Seventeen
  21. Chapter Eighteen
  22. Chapter Nineteen
  23. Chapter Twenty
  24. Chapter Twenty-One
  25. Chapter Twenty-Two
  26. Chapter Twenty-Three
  27. Chapter Twenty-Four
  28. Chapter Twenty-Five
  29. Chapter Twenty-Six
  30. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  31. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  32. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  33. Chapter Thirty
  34. Chapter Thirty-One
  35. Chapter Thirty-Two
  36. Appendix

Having made him look a fool, she’s been exiled to Basilisk Station in disgrace and set up for ruin by a superior who hates her. Her demoralized crew blames her for their ship’s humiliating posting to an out-of-the-way picket station. The aborigines of the system’s only habitable planet are smoking homicide-inducing hallucinogens. Parliament isn’t sure it wants to keep the place; the major local industry is smuggling; the merchant cartels want her head; the star-conquering, so-called “Republic” of Haven is Up To Something; and Honor Harrington has a single, over-age light cruiser with an armament that doesn’t work to police the entire star system. But the people out to get her have made one mistake. They’ve made her mad.

David Weber

On Basilisk Station

Honor Harrington - 1

ePub r1.0

Titivillus 24.10.16

Original title: On Basilisk Station

David Weber, 1993

Digital editor: Titivillus

ePub base r1.2

With thanks for hours of enjoyment,

years of inspiration,

and a lifetime of admiration.

Prologue

THE ticking of the conference room’s antique clock was deafening as the Hereditary President of the People’s Republic of Haven stared at his military cabinet. The Secretary of the Economy looked away uncomfortably, but the Secretary of War and her uniformed subordinates were almost defiant.

“Are you serious?” President Harris demanded.

“I’m afraid so,” Secretary Frankel said unhappily. He shuffled through his memo chips and made himself meet the president’s eyes. “The last three quarters all confirm the projection, Sid.” He glowered sideways at his military colleague. “It’s the naval budget. We can’t keep adding ships this way without—”

“If we don’t keep adding them,” Elaine Dumarest broke in sharply, “the wheels come off. We’re riding a neotiger, Mr. President. At least a third of the occupied planets still have crackpot ‘liberation’ groups, and even if they didn’t, everyone on our borders is arming to the teeth. It’s only a matter of time until one of them jumps us.”

“I think you’re overreacting, Elaine,” Ronald Bergren put in. The Secretary for Foreign Affairs rubbed his pencil-thin mustache and frowned at her. “Certainly they’re arming—I would be, too, in their place—but none of them are strong enough to take us on.”

“Perhaps not just now,” Admiral Parnell said bleakly, “but if we get tied down elsewhere or any large-scale revolt breaks out, some of them are going to be tempted into trying a smash and grab. That’s why we need more ships. And, with all due respect to Mr. Frankel,” the CNO added, not sounding particularly respectful, “it isn’t the Fleet budget that’s breaking the bank. It’s the increases in the Basic Living Stipend. We’ve got to tell the Dolists that any trough has a bottom and get them to stop swilling long enough to get our feet back under us. If we could just get those useless drones off our backs, even for a few years—”