“This is the Captain, Lieutenant. Please ask the Bosun to come to my briefing room.”

“Aye, aye, Ma’am.”

Honor released the button and leaned back, hiding her enjoyment behind a serene expression as Isvarian and McKeon looked first at her and then at one another. She hummed softly to herself, letting them wonder, until the hatch hissed open.

Senior Chief Boatswain’s Mate Sally MacBride stepped through it and braced to attention. MacBride’s left sleeve bore five gold hash marks, each representing three Manticoran years—over five T-years—of service, and she was just about due for a sixth. She was a sturdy, level-eyed woman, and the senior non-commissioned officer aboard Fearless.

“The Captain sent for me?”

“Yes, thank you, Bosun.” Honor nodded for MacBride to stand easy. “I need some people with rather specialized talents, and I thought you might be able to help me out.”

“Whatever the Captain requires, Ma’am.” MacBride was a native of Gryphon, as were a surprisingly high percentage of the RMN’s noncoms, given the planet’s relatively sparse population. Manticore-B’s single habitable planet was the least hospitable and last settled of the Manticore System’s three Earth-like worlds, and native Manticorans and Sphinxians argued that Gryphons only joined the Navy to escape Gryphon’s weather. For their own part, the Queen’s Gryphon-born subjects seemed to feel a sort of divine mission to keep the sissies of Manticore-A in shape. The divergence of opinion led to occasional off-duty “discussions” that could make them a bit difficult to live with, but Honor was glad she had MacBride. The bosun was the indispensable link between the bridge officers and enlisted people aboard any warship, and MacBride had all the tough, professional confidence of her years of service.

“I’m not going to ask you to betray any secrets, Bosun,” Honor said, “but what I’m looking for are people who—from their own experience, let us say—would be intimately familiar with the best way to hide contraband aboard a shuttle or a starship.” MacBride’s left eyebrow rose fractionally; otherwise there was no change in her expression at all. “I need them to form the core of the customs inspection party I’ll be detailing to Medusa, so in addition to their, um, expertise, I need people with initiative and discretion. Can you find them for me?”

“How many people was the Captain thinking of?”

“Oh, let’s say fifteen,” Honor said, ignoring the atypical amusement glinting in McKeon’s gray eyes. “We’ll be running three pinnaces and two shuttles, and I’d like to have one in each watch aboard each of them.”

“I see.” MacBride thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, Ma’am. I can find them. Will the Captain require anything else?”

“No, Bosun. Let the Exec have a list by the end of watch.”

“Aye, aye, Ma’am.” MacBride braced back to attention, turned smartly, and disappeared through the hatch. It closed behind her.

“Excuse me, Captain,” Major Isvarian said in a very careful voice, “but did I just hear you ask the Bosun to find you fifteen smugglers to man our customs flights?”