“Hesitant,” Honor repeated and felt an obscure sort of pain somewhere deep down inside. Then she shook herself. “Well, he may be hesitant, but I’m not! Tell Tim that his request is approved, and that I’ll see the Captain at his earliest convenience.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” MacGuiness acknowledged, and disappeared as quietly as he had come, leaving Honor to her thoughts.

· · • · ·

He’s aged, Honor thought, hiding a pang of dismay as the stoop-shouldered man in the blue uniform swung himself across the interface from the boarding tube’s zero-gee into the boat bay gallery’s standard single gravity. She’d checked Werewolf’s copy of the officers’ list and found Bachfisch’s name on it. Her old captain was a full admiral now, but solely because seniority continued to accrue even on half-pay, because that was precisely where he’d been for almost forty years. Forty hard years, she thought as she gazed at him. The dark hair she remembered was liberally laced with silver, despite his first-generation prolong, and Nimitz shifted ever so slightly on her shoulder, uneasy as both of them tasted the sense of pain and loss which flowed through him as he found himself once again upon a Queen’s ship.

“Pirate’s Bane, arriving!” the boat bay intercom system announced crisply, and the side party came to attention as the bosun’s pipes shrilled in formal salute.

The dark eyes widened in surprise, and the shoulders squared themselves. That pain and loss intensified almost unbearably for just a moment, then turned into something far warmer. Not gratitude, although that was part of it, so much as understanding. An awareness of exactly why Honor had chosen to extend full formal military courtesies to a mere merchant skipper, whatever his half-pay rank might be. He came to full attention and saluted the junior-grade lieutenant boat bay officer at the head of the side party.

“Permission to come aboard, Ma’am?” he requested formally.

“Permission granted, Sir,” she replied, snapping him a parade ground-sharp salute of her own, and Rafe Cardones stepped forward to greet him.

“Welcome aboard Werewolf, Admiral Bachfisch,” Honor’s flag captain said, extending his hand.

“That’s ‘Captain Bachfisch,’ Captain,” Bachfisch corrected him quietly. “But thank you.” He shook Cardones’ hand firmly. “She’s a beautiful ship,” he went on sincerely, but his eyes looked over Cardones’ shoulder at Honor, and the emotions swirling through him were too intense and complicated for her to sort out.

“Thank you,” Cardones told him. “I’m rather proud of her myself, and if you can spare the time, I’d be delighted to take you on the five-dollar tour before you return to your own ship.”

“That’s very kind of you. And if it’s at all possible, I’ll certainly take you up on it. I’ve heard a lot about this class, but this is the first opportunity I’ve had to actually see one.”

“Then I’ll see if our COLAC, Captain Tremaine, can accompany us,” Cardones promised. “He’ll be able to give you the LAC jock’s viewpoint, as well.”