“Of course. If you’ll accompany me to my briefing room?”

She stepped aside with a courteous gesture for Hauptman to precede her into the lift, and McKeon fell in at her back. The three of them entered the car and rode it in silence to the bridge. It wasn’t a restful silence. Honor could feel the bare fangs and flexing claws beneath its surface and told her heart sternly not to race. This was her ship, and the fact that the Hauptman Cartel could undoubtedly have bought Fearless out of petty cash didn’t change that.

The lift stopped at the bridge. It was Lieutenant Panowski’s watch, and the acting astrogator rose from the command chair as his captain stepped onto the command deck.

“Carry on, Lieutenant,” she said, and guided her guest toward the briefing room as Panowski sank back into his chair. No one else even looked up from his or her duties. It was a studied refusal to acknowledge Hauptman’s presence, and she smothered a wry smile at her bridge crew’s unspoken disapproval of the man as the briefing room hatch opened before them. Of course they all knew or suspected why Hauptman was here, and their silent support was even more precious after the listless depression and covert hostility those same people had once shown her.

The hatch closed, and she waved Hauptman to a chair. The business magnate crossed to it, but paused without sitting and glanced at McKeon.

“If you don’t mind, Commander Harrington, I would really prefer to speak to you in private,” he said.

“Commander McKeon is my executive officer, Sir,” she replied with cool courtesy.

“I realize that, but I’d hoped to discuss certain… confidential matters with you. With all possible respect to Commander McKeon, I’m afraid I really must insist on discussing them privately.”

“I regret that that won’t be possible, Mr. Hauptman.” Her face was serene, and no one else needed to know how hard it was for her to keep a brittle edge out of her voice. She drew out her own chair and sat in it, beckoning for McKeon to sit at her right hand, and smiled at Hauptman.

The first true expression crossed her visitor’s face—a slight flush on the strong cheekbones and a subtle flaring of the nostrils—as she rejected his demand. Clearly, Klaus Hauptman was unused to having his will crossed. That was too bad, but he might as well get used to it now.

“I see.” He smiled thinly and sat in his own chair, leaning back and crossing his legs with elegant ease as if to place the seal of his personal possession on the briefing room. Honor simply sat waiting, head slightly cocked, wearing an attentive smile. McKeon’s face was less open. He wore the formal, masklike expression she’d come to know and hate, but this time it wasn’t directed at her.

She studied Hauptman from behind her smile, waiting for him to begin, and her brain replayed all that she knew and had heard about him.