“I don’t think this is something the First Space Lord should know about.”

“In that case, don’t tell him.” Alexander flashed a sudden, boyish grin. “Don’t tell me you don’t sometimes forget to mention things to your official persona!”

“It’s been known to happen from time to time,” Webster allowed. “What won’t I be telling myself this time?”

“I’m going to go up and have a little talk with Craig, I think. Can I tell him that you’ve blessed my mission—unofficially, of course?”

“Unofficially, but fervently,” Webster agreed.

“Good. Thanks, Jim. Sorry to have dragged you out of bed.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just go do a good job on Craig.”

“Oh, I will,” Alexander agreed with a smile. “I will.”

Vice Admiral of the Red Sir Craig Warner, Commanding Officer of Her Majesty’s Space Station Hephaestus, stole the time from his schedule to meet the private yacht personally. Longer ago than he liked to remember, a very young Commander Warner had found himself embroiled in a duel over a drunken insult to the good name of a lady. His captain at the time, a most well-born nobleman, had disapproved rather strongly of the practice of dueling, but when the circumstances and graphic nature of the insult had been explained to him, he had astounded Commander Warner by offering to act as his second. The lady in question was now married to Vice Admiral Warner and the mother of his four children, and his then captain had become a very close friend—and godfather to Warner’s oldest son. So when Hamish Alexander asked for a few hours of his time, Warner was only too happy to oblige.

Now the yacht completed its docking maneuver, and Warner stepped up to the personnel tube to greet his visitor. It was an unofficial visit and Alexander was in civilian dress—he’d been on half-pay since the first week Sir Edward Janacek took over the Admiralty—so no formal courtesies intruded.

“Good to see you again, Craig,” Alexander said, shaking his hand firmly. “About ready for a real space-going command again?”

“They also serve who stand and weld,” Warner replied solemnly. “On the other hand, I did hear something about a battle squadron that needs a good flag officer.”

“Really?” Alexander grinned. “When?”

“I’ve got another seven months here first, unfortunately. BuShips likes me more than I’d like them to.”

“It’s because you’re so damned efficient,” Alexander teased as they headed for the personnel capsules.

“True. Too true. But what can I do for you, Hamish? Want a tour of my little workshop?”

“Maybe later. In fact, I’m sure I would later. But first, I need to bend your ear for a few minutes. In private.”

Warner shot his superior a very sharp look indeed, then shrugged and waved him into the capsule.

“In that case, let’s take this to my office,” he suggested, punching buttons, and Alexander nodded.

The capsule deposited them at a terminal less than fifty meters from Warner’s office, and the two admirals walked down the passage side by side, chatting amiably and harmlessly. Warner’s aide and personal yeoman were waiting, but their boss shooed them out and closed the hatch firmly behind them. Then he gestured Alexander into a comfortable chair, poured drinks, and sat down behind his desk.