“Now, Commander,” Honor said, turning to him, “you were saying?”

“Captain, Klaus Hauptman is coming aboard this ship to complain about our actions—your actions—in this system,” McKeon said flatly. “I warned you at the time that he’d be furious. You’ve embarrassed and humiliated him, at the very least, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he or his cartel ends up facing some fairly substantial charges in court.”

“I’m aware of that.” Honor folded her arms under her breasts, facing the lieutenant commander squarely, and her voice was uninflected.

“I know you are, Ma’am. And I also know you’re aware of his reputation.” Honor nodded. Klaus Hauptman’s ruthless ambition, his fierce pride and bursts of volcanic fury, made good copy for the media.

“I don’t think he’d have come this far if all he wanted to do was complain, Ma’am.” McKeon met her eyes just as squarely, his expression an alloy of concern and more than a trace of embarrassment. “I think he intends to pressure you to change your operational patterns. At least.”

“In which case, he’s had a wasted journey,” Honor said crisply.

“I know that, Ma’am. In fact—” McKeon stopped himself, unable even now to explain his own complex, ambiguous feelings. He knew Harrington had to be worried sick, but he also knew—had known, from the outset—that she wouldn’t let herself be bullied into anything less than she believed her duty required of her. The possible fallout for the ship and for McKeon personally was frightening, but he felt a curious sort of pride in her, despite his resentment. And that only made him more ashamed of his own persistent inability to rise above his feelings and be the sort of executive officer she deserved for him to be.

“Captain, my point is that Klaus Hauptman is known for playing hardball. He’s tough, powerful, and arrogant. If you don’t agree to change your operations, he’s going to try every way he can to… talk you into it.” He paused again, and Honor raised her eyebrows. “Ma’am, I don’t think you should let him do that in private. I think—” he committed himself in a rush “—that you should have a witness to whatever is said.”

Honor almost blinked in astonishment. At the moment, McKeon had very little to worry about, personally, even from someone with Klaus Hauptman’s reputation for elephantine memory and vindictiveness. He was her exec. He’d obeyed her orders, but the orders had been hers. If he made himself a witness to any discussion with Hauptman, particularly as a witness in her favor, that would change, and he was five years older than she and a full rank junior. If he turned a man like Hauptman into an enemy, the consequences to his career scarcely bore thinking on.

She cocked her head, studying his strained expression, almost able to taste the anxiety behind it. She was tempted to decline his offer, both because this was her fight, not his, and because she couldn’t forget in a heartbeat the way he’d steadily avoided exposing himself since she came aboard. But as she looked into his eyes, she knew she couldn’t. Whatever his reasons, he’d made his gesture. She couldn’t reject it without rejecting him, without refusing his offer, however anxious it might be, to become her exec in truth for the very first time.