“Me, too,” Honor agreed. She rubbed the tip of her nose. “Well, whatever they’re up to, they’ve obviously been working on it for a long time, and your clan chieftain said his relative warned him the Delta would be a bad place to spend the winter. That’s—what? Another two months from now?”

“About that. So you think we’ve got that long to get on top of this?”

“I don’t know. But I do know that we’re just beginning to put the pieces together, and that’s bound to give us a sense of urgency whether they’re really on the edge of activating their operation or not. On the other hand, we’ve already turned up enough for me to go official with it.”

“Go official? How?”

“I’m putting together a dispatch, complete with all of my facts, suspicions, and conclusions, for the personal attention of the First Space Lord,” Honor said grimly. “He may think I’m crazy—but he may also just get some help out here.”

“How long would that take?”

“At absolute best, given the tenuousness of our information, it would probably take something like fifty hours, and that’s assuming he doesn’t just decide I’m crazy and he has someone he can divert straight out here. Frankly, I’d be surprised if we saw any useful reaction in less than three or four days, but at least it’d be a step in the right direction.”

“And until then, we’re on our own,” Dame Estelle observed.

“Yes, Ma’am.” Honor rubbed her nose again. “What’s the status on Barney’s patrol?”

“They should be pulling out in about—” Dame Estelle glanced at her chrono “—twenty minutes, now. Barney’s down at the hangar for their final brief; then he’ll come back here. They’re under express order not to land anywhere without checking back in, but he’s going to have them keep a close eye on everything they overfly en route to the target area. At least we should be able to determine where this shaman and his parishioners aren’t, anyway.”

“Good. I’d like to add his findings, good or bad, to my dispatch to Admiral Webster. And I’ll feel a lot more comfortable personally once we have some sort of accurate idea of just how bad the situation ground-side really is.”

“So will I.” Dame Estelle shook herself. “All right, Honor. Thanks. I’ll get on my end of things. Keep me posted if anything breaks up there.”

“I will, Ma’am.”

Honor killed the com link and crossed her legs. She steepled her fingers under her jaw in her favorite thinking posture, and the occasional soft murmur of command and response flowed over her as her bridge crew went about its duties. She never knew exactly how long she sat there, but finally she snorted softly and lowered her hands.

“Mr. McKeon.”

“Yes, Ma’am?” The exec looked up. She beckoned to him, and he crossed to her chair as she stood.

“I think we’re moving into the end-game phase,” she said quietly, pitching her voice for his ears alone. “I’m trying to keep an open mind about that, but too many things seem to be coming together here.” She paused, and McKeon nodded in agreement.