If that had been his intention, MacGuiness clearly hadn’t opted to do any quashing, and she felt her initial prick of curiosity grow into something stronger as she reached out to taste the steward’s emotions. He radiated a combination of anticipation, curiosity of his own, minor trepidation, and an echo of something which wasn’t quite amusement.

“May I ask if this merchant captain said who he is and why he wants to see me?” she asked after a moment.

“I understand, Ma’am, that he’s a Manticoran national, although he’s been here in the Confederacy for many years now. According to my information, he’s managed to acquire ownership of a small but extremely successful shipping line. In fact, he holds a special warrant from the Confederacy to permit his vessels to be armed, and Lieutenant Meares tells me that our records indicate that he’s destroyed at least a dozen pirate vessels we know about over the past ten T-years. As to precisely why he wants to see you, all he’s actually told the Lieutenant is that he’d like to pay a courtesy call on you. I believe, however, that the Lieutenant suspects that the good captain has come across some sort of local information which he believes it would be beneficial to share with you.”

Nothing could have been blander than MacGuiness’s expression or tone, but that edge of not-quite-amusement was stronger than ever as he regarded her gravely. And, she noted, his sense of trepidation had grown in direct parallel.

“That’s all enormously interesting, Mac,” she told him with a twinkle of moderate severity. “It didn’t exactly answer my first question, though. I would imagine this mystery skipper has a name?”

“Oh, of course, Ma’am. Did I forget to mention it?”

“No,” she told him. “You didn’t ‘forget’ anything. You chose not to tell me because that curiously twisted faculty which serves you as a sense of humor told you not to.”

He grinned as her shot went home, then shrugged just a bit too casually.

“You have a naturally suspicious personality, Ma’am,” he told her in virtuous tones. “As it happens, however, the gentleman does have a name. I believe it’s… Bachfisch. Thomas Bachfisch.”

“Captain Bachfisch?” Honor jerked bolt upright in her chair, and Nimitz’s head snapped up where he reclined on his bulkhead perch. “Here?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” MacGuiness’s grin had vanished, and he nodded seriously. “Lieutenant Meares didn’t recognize the name. I did.”

“Captain Bachfisch,” she repeated softly, and shook her head. “I can’t believe it. Not after all this time.”

“I’ve heard you speak of him,” MacGuiness told her quietly. “According to Lieutenant Meares, he sounded a bit hesitant about asking to see you, but I felt certain you wouldn’t want this opportunity to slip away.”

“You’re certainly right about that!” she said firmly, then cocked her head. “But you said he sounded ‘hesitant’ about asking to call on me?”

“That was the way Lieutenant Meares put it, Ma’am,” MacGuiness replied. “I’m sure the com section has the actual request on record, if you’d care to view it, but I haven’t seen it myself.”