“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Uh, I think we have a problem, Ma’am,” Cardones said uncomfortably. Honor raised an eyebrow, and he flinched. “It’s, uh, it’s the drones, Ma’am.”

“What about them, Lieutenant?”

“I, well, you see—That is—” The young officer stopped and visibly took a grip on himself. “I’m afraid I misprogrammed the sensor parameters, Ma’am,” he admitted in a rush. “I set them up for directional, not omnidirectional, and I, well, I think I made a little mistake in their telemetry packages, too. I… I can’t seem to access them to accept remote reprogramming, Ma’am.”

“I see.” Honor leaned back in her chair and propped her elbows on its armrests, steepling her fingers under her chin. The lieutenant looked like a puppy waiting to be kicked. Worse, he looked like a puppy who thought he deserved to be kicked. His humiliation was obvious, and she wanted to pat his head and tell him everything would be all right, but she stepped on the surge of compassion.

“Well, Lieutenant,” she went on after a moment, “what do you suggest we do about it?”

“Me, Ma’am?” Cardones almost squeaked. “I don’t—” He stopped and inhaled. “I suppose we’ll have to pick them up and reprogram, Ma’am,” he said at last.

“Not acceptable,” Honor said coolly. He stared at her in consternation, and she had to bite her tongue rather firmly. A more experienced tactical officer would already have seen the solution. Recon probe sensor heads were designed to tie directly into their mother ship’s tactical data net, and the tac channel was dedicated. It couldn’t have been affected by any mistakes he’d made in his telemetry programming because it was hardwired to prevent that very accident. Going in through the tac channel would be difficult—more because of the time involved than because of the task’s complexity—but it would allow the standard telemetry to be accessed and even completely reprogrammed from Cardones’ console through the CIC update links.

Honor knew that, but she had no intention of telling him so. He should have known to approach McKeon before exposing himself to his captain’s wrath—and McKeon should have supervised an officer this junior more closely in the first place. It was a point she intended to make—with both of them—in a fashion she hoped would stick.

“Well, Lieutenant?” she said at length. He blinked. “How do you intend to fix the problem?”

“I don’t—” He stopped himself again and glanced away for a moment, then looked back at her. “Do… Would the Captain care to make a suggestion, Ma’am?”

“I would not.” He wilted under her cool soprano, and she struggled to keep her compassion out of her eyes. “You’re Tactical Officer aboard this ship, Mr. Cardones,” she went on, her voice equally devoid of condemnation or sympathy. “The drones’ programming was your responsibility. So is the correction of your problem. Deal with it, Lieutenant.”

He gave her one more appealing look, then swallowed and nodded.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said in a tiny voice.

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