Which was exactly what Young had intended. He was leaving her an impossible job, content in the knowledge that her failure to discharge it would go into her record. Unlike him, Honor had yet to make list, and if she botched her first independent command, however it had fallen on her, she never would.

But she hadn’t botched it yet, and she nodded to herself—a choppy, angry nod. Even knowing that Young had set her up, that he intended for her to fail and ruin herself, was better than serving under his command, she told herself. Let him take himself off to Manticore. The sooner he got out of the same star system as her, the better she’d like it! And of one thing she was certain; she couldn’t do any worse at the job than he had.

She’d made a mistake once where he was concerned. She wouldn’t let him push her into another. Whatever it took, she would discharge her own duties and meet her own responsibilities. Not just to protect her career, but because they were her duties and responsibilities. Because she would not let an aristocratic piece of scum like Pavel Young win.

She straightened her spine and looked down at the data chip of her orders, and her dark brown eyes were dangerous.

Chapter Seven

THE officers in the captain’s briefing room just off Fearless’s bridge rose as Honor came through the hatch. She waved them back into their chairs and crossed to her own, her movements brisk and intense. She sat and turned to face them all, and her face was expressionless.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she began without preamble, “Warlock will be departing for Manticore for refit within the hour.” McKeon sat straighter in surprise, but she kept her voice cool and level, almost clipped, as she went on. “Captain Young will be accompanying her, which will leave Fearless the only Queen’s ship in the system… and myself as senior officer.”

She allowed herself a small smile at the almost-sound of dismay that swept the compartment, but her eyes were ice. She’d tried motivating them through opportunity and pride in self and hit a stone wall. Very well. If they wouldn’t respond to her invitations to meet their responsibilities for their own sense of self-worth, she would try other means.

“Needless to say, this will leave us with a great many commitments, many of them mutually contradictory. This, however, is a Queen’s ship. We will discharge our responsibilities, or I will know the reason why. Is that clear?”

Those cold brown eyes seemed to impale each of them in turn, and McKeon moved slightly in his chair as they lingered on him. His chin rose, but he said nothing, and she nodded.

“Good. In that case, let’s move on to precisely what our duties and responsibilities are, shall we?”

She punched buttons on her terminal at the head of the conference table, and a small-scale holo display of the Basilisk System bloomed above it. She manipulated more buttons, and a bright red cursor blinked to life.