“Yes, Ma’am.” McKeon’s lips worked for a moment, then he raised his eyes to meet hers. “You know Hauptman is going to deny they had anything to do with it.”

“Forty-three million in illegal peltries? Of course they will—just as Mondragon’s captain insists the space fairies must have brought them,” Honor said ironically. “I wonder what else Tremaine is going to turn up when he tears into the ship’s main holds?”

“Trouble, Captain.” McKeon spoke softly and seemed to be struggling with some inner conflict, and she raised her eyebrows. The exec shifted uneasily in his chair, then sighed, and some of his stiff formality seemed to fall away. “Whatever else Tremaine finds, Hauptman is going to insist they didn’t have anything to do with it, and you can bet they’ve got the paper to ‘prove’ they didn’t. The best we’re going to manage is to nail Mondragon’s master and, probably, her purser.”

“It’s a start, Exec. And the paper may not be as cut and dried as you think.”

“Look, Ma’am, I know we don’t always—” The lieutenant commander broke off and bit his lip. “What I mean is, you’re going to make the cartel very unhappy with you, and they’ve got the friends in high places to make their unhappiness felt. You’ve caught a shipment of illegal furs, but is it worth it? Really worth it?” Honor’s eyes hardened dangerously, and he went on quickly. “I don’t mean it wasn’t illegal—God knows it was!—and I can see what you’re trying to do. But the day we leave Basilisk Station, things are going to go right back to the way they were. This is probably a fleabite to them, something their cash flow won’t even notice, but they’re going to remember you.”

“I sincerely hope they will, Commander,” Honor said icily, and McKeon stared at her, his eyes worried. For the first time in far too long he was worried about his captain because she was his captain, but there was no give in that dark, armor-plated glare.

“But you’re going to jeopardize your entire career over something that won’t even make a difference!” he protested. “Captain, this sort of thing is—”

“Is what we’re supposed to stop.” Her voice cut across his like a dagger, and he winced as he saw something like hurt under the anger in her eyes. Hurt and something else. Contempt, perhaps, and that cut deep, too deep. He closed his mouth, and her nostrils flared.

“Commander McKeon,” she said in that same, cold voice, “my duty is not affected by what others may or may not do to discharge their own. Nor do I care which criminals may engage in a criminal activity on my watch. We will support Ensign Tremaine to the maximum. In addition, I want an extra effort devoted to all other vessels—all other vessels, Commander—chartered by the Hauptman Cartel. Is that understood?”

“Understood, Ma’am,” he said unhappily. “I only—”

“I appreciate your concern, Exec,” she said sharply, “but Fearless will discharge her responsibilities. All of her responsibilities.”