He drew a deep breath and glowered at White Haven, but even he knew that his expression lacked the voltage of true defiance.

“I feel certain,” he said, with all the dignity he could muster, “that the high-handedness of this arrogant disruption of the Junction’s normal civilian transit patterns will be protested at the highest level of government. There are, after all, proper procedures—procedures allies observe as a matter of simple, minimal courtesy. I, however, am not prepared to compound the diplomatic exchanges which this… incident will inevitably generate. I continue to protest in the strongest possible terms, but we will clear your units for immediate transit upon their arrival. Stokes, clear.”

The com screen blanked, and Hamish Alexander looked at Niall MacDonnell and grinned.

“I don’t think he likes us very much,” the Earl of White Haven observed. “What a pity.”

· · • · ·

“Well,” Commander Lampert said quietly, his eyes on the date-time display, “that’s that.”

“What?” Captain Reumann looked up from the message board in his lap. He let his command chair come fully upright, and swiveled it to face his executive officer. Lampert waved one hand wordlessly at the time display, and Reumann followed the gesture, frowned in brief thought, and then chuckled humorlessly.

“You know, Doug, the die was actually cast, if I may be permitted a somewhat purple phrase, when the Admiral sent Starlight on her way. It’s not like we could have called anything back once she headed off into hyper, you know.”

“Oh, I realize that, Sir.” Lampert shook his head with a lopsided grin. “I suppose it’s just that I’m a compulsive stage watcher.”

“ ‘Stage watcher’?” Reumann shook his head. “I’m afraid am not familiar with that one.”

“We’re the ones who insist on chopping complex operations up into discrete stages so that we can check them off, one at a time.” Lampert shrugged. “I know it doesn’t make a lot of sense, but it’s how I keep things organized.”

“Well, I certainly can’t complain, then,” Reumann told him. “Without you to keep the Sovereign organized, God knows where we’d be. But somehow I don’t think the Admiral would be very happy about the results.”

“Executive officer’s job, Sir,” Lampert replied with another shrug. “All the same, I’ll feel better this time day after tomorrow.”

“You’ll feel better this time day after tomorrow if the ops plan works,” Reumann corrected, and Lampert grimaced.

“I seem to recall having heard somewhere that it was an officer’s job to project cheerful confidence, Sir.”

“Indeed it is. And it’s also an officer’s job to remain constantly aware of potential difficulties which may interfere with the successful completion of the tasks assigned to him. Like, for example, the Manty navy.” Reumann chuckled again at Lampert’s expression.

“Sorry,” he said after a moment, with an edge of contrition. “I don’t really mean to give you a hard time, Doug. Just put it down to the peculiar way I deal with defusing my own tensions.”