“You know Haven doesn’t accept that interpretation of interstellar law, Ma’am.” McKeon’s voice was low, and Honor nodded. For centuries, Haven had championed the legal claim that the right of examination meant no more than the right to interrogate a ship by signal unless it intended to touch or had, since its last inspection, in fact touched the territory of the star system in which the examination was demanded. Since turning expansionist, the Republic had changed its position (within its own sphere) to the one most of the rest of the galaxy accepted: that the right of examination meant the right to physically stop and search a suspect ship within the examiner’s territorial space regardless of its past or intended movements. But Haven had not accepted that interpretation in other star nations’ territory. In time, they would have no choice but to do so, since the double standard they claimed was so irritating to the rest of the galaxy (including the Solarian League, which had all sorts of ways to retaliate short of war), but they hadn’t yet, and that meant Sirius’s master might very well assert Haven’s old, traditional interpretation and refuse to stop when called upon to do so.

“If he won’t stop willingly, then I’ll stop him by force,” she said. McKeon looked at her in silence, and she returned his gaze levelly. “If Haven can disavow the actions of an admiral or vice admiral, Her Majesty can disavow those of a commander,” she pointed out in that same quiet voice.

McKeon stood looking at her a moment longer, then nodded. She didn’t have to mention the next logical step in the process, for he knew it as well as she did. A flag officer could survive being officially disavowed; a commander could not. If Honor fired into Sirius and provoked an interstellar incident which left Queen Elizabeth no choice but to disavow her actions, then Honor’s career was over.

He started to say so, but a tiny shake of her head stopped him. He turned away and walked towards the tactical station, then stopped. He stood for a second, and then he retraced his steps to the command chair.

“Captain Harrington,” he said very formally, “I concur completely in your conclusions. I’d like to log my agreement with you, if I may.”

Honor looked up at him, stunned by his offer, and her brown eyes softened. He could hardly believe what he’d just said himself, for by logging his agreement he would log his official support for any actions she took in response to her conclusions. He would share her responsibility for them—and any disgrace that came of them. But that seemed strangely unimportant as he looked into her eyes, because for the first time since she’d come aboard Fearless, Alistair McKeon saw total, unqualified approval of himself in those dark depths.

But then she shook her head gently.

“No, Mr. McKeon. Fearless is my responsibility—and so are my actions. But thank you. Thank you very much for the offer.”