“So he has them confined in the secure quarters I had fitted up for pirates,” Bachfisch said, smiling approvingly at his executive officer. “They don’t know where we are at the moment. In fact, they don’t even know we’re not still underway. So if you prefer, we can continue on to a Silly naval base and turn them over to ‘proper authorities’ there.”

“I’m impressed, Commander Gruber,” Honor said. “And I appreciate your forethought.” She didn’t add that she felt confident his forethought had been exercised more because of what he knew his captain would want than because he really cared all that much himself about relations between Manticore and Haven.

“All the same,” she said thoughtfully, “I think handing them over to us would probably be the best course. We’re the closest naval base to the point at which this action actually occurred. It would make sense for a ship as badly damaged as the Bane to head for the closest authorities, particularly since you have wounded from both ships’ companies who need medical attention.”

“But if we hand them over to you,” Bachfisch pointed out, “then you have to take official cognizance of their presence, and you have enough hand grenades to juggle just now without that.”

“Yes, I have to take ‘official cognizance,’ ” she agreed. “On the other hand, the way I do that is up to me. I think I’ll just hold these people here until my own medical people are willing to sign off on their release from hospital, then send them home by way of the Star Kingdom aboard one of our regularly scheduled supply runs.” She smiled thinly. “Right off the cuff, I’d estimate that it will probably take at least a couple of months to get them as far as Manticore. By which time, hopefully, things will have settled down.”

“And if they haven’t?” Bachfisch asked.

“And if they haven’t,” Honor said much more bleakly, “then things are probably going to be so bad that throwing this into the mix won’t matter at all.”

· · • · ·

“Fritz says Captain Bachfisch will recover fully,” Honor told her assembled staff and senior flag officers two hours later in the briefing room aboard Werewolf. “Unlike some of us,” she added wryly, “the captain responds quite well to regeneration. It will take him a while to grow new legs, but he should be fine. And under the circumstances, I believe he and all the rest of his wounded personnel are definitely entitled to have the Navy pick up the tab on their medical bills.”

“You can say that again,” Alistair McKeon agreed.

His expression was grim, and he shook his head. The handful of survivors from Hecate were still in a state of semi-shock, but they’d been remarkably and uniformly reticent about precisely what their ship had been doing. Some of that was probably inevitable, given the history between the RMN and the Havenite navy, but this went beyond traditional dislike or antipathy. These people were clearly maintaining operational security, and like everyone else in the briefing room, McKeon could think of only one star nation against which any Havenite operation in Silesia could possibly be directed.