He admired that, just as he admired the way she maintained her distance from her subordinates, always there, always approachable, but never letting anyone forget that she was in charge. Yet at the same time, she could rattle someone’s cage any time she chose—like the way she’d forced Rafe Cardones into finding the answer to that problem with the drones—and she seemed to know everything there was to know about all of them. She even knew that while Cardones liked being called “Rafe,” Webster passionately hated it when people called him “Sam.” He rather doubted that information was listed anywhere in their personnel jackets, and he was at a loss to figure out how she’d acquired it.

Another message flickered on his display, the jumbled symbol groups flowing magically into clear text, and he paused. His eyebrows rose in surprise, and then he began to smile as he read it through. He sat for a moment, tapping on the edge of his console in thought, then nodded to himself. This one would go into the hopper last, he decided. It was only a routine “information” message, but Webster had a keener sense than most of the infinitely polite infighting between the Navy’s first families. He rather thought it would make the Captain’s day—if not her week—and it would be a nice surprise to finish out the traffic.

He tapped a priority number into the terminal and brought up the next message with a grin.

Honor sat working at her own terminal in the quiet of her cabin. She’d been spending too much time in her bridge briefing room. Knowing the Captain was just on the other side of that hatch, hovering over them, could have an inhibiting effect on junior officers, and with McKeon coming around it was no longer necessary to hover. They’d made great strides over the past week and a half. Not enough to completely compensate for the time they’d lost building their professional relationship, but certainly enough to leave the day-to-day affairs of the ship completely in his hands. So she’d brought her workload “home” to deal with.

She finished Dominica Santos’s weekly maintenance report, approved the suggestions the engineer and McKeon had made for dealing with several minor problems, and paused to rub her eyes. The dining cabin hatch slid open, and MacGuiness padded through it with a fresh cup of hot cocoa as if her thoughts had summoned him.

“Thank you, Mac.” She sipped with a smile, and he smiled back.

“You’re welcome, Ma’am,” he said, and vanished as quietly as he’d appeared. She took another sip and set the mug aside, preparing to jump back into the minutiae of her reports, when the admittance buzzer sounded. She hit the intercom key.

“Yes?”

“Communications Officer, Ma’am,” her Marine sentry announced, and she made a face. Not because it was Webster, but because it meant he was bringing her the day’s routine message traffic.

“Come in, Samuel,” she said, and opened the hatch.

Webster walked in with the message board tucked under his arm, came briefly to attention, and extended it.