"But what's the point? " the commissioner almost groaned. "I've got drug-crazed natives armed with black-powder rifles and primed to slaughter off-worlders in job lots, and you've got two starships with drives on standby! Where's the connection?"
"I don't knowyet. But I am certain there is one, and all this com traffic seems significant to me, too."
"I have to agree with that." Dame Estelle sounded glum. "I'll see what I can find out for you."
"Find out?" Honor raised her eyebrows in surprise, and Dame Estelle produced a tired smile.
"I'm afraid I'm not quite as trusting as my exalted superiors in the Ministry for Medusan Affairs would like. My people and I have, ah, acquired a few communications devices not on the official equipment list for my compound down here. We keep a pretty close watch on the message traffic from the off-world enclaves."
"You do?" Honor blinked in astonishment, and Dame Estelle chuckled.
"You don't have to mention that to anyone, Honor. There'd be all kinds of repercussions if you did."
"I imagine there would," Honor agreed with a slow smile of her own.
"You imagine correctly. But as far as the Havenites are concerned, we can keep an eye on their traffic volume, but we can't do much with specific transmissions. They not only scramble their signals but routinely encrypt them, as well. We've managed to break their latest scramble codesunless they've shifted them again in the last day or so, and I just haven't heard yetbut we can't do much with their encryption."
"Do you think they know you're doing it?"
"Hard to say. They may, though, particularly if there's direct traffic between their courier boat and this freighter of theirs," Dame Estelle said thoughtfully. "We can't touch their ship-to-ship traffic from down here, so that would give them at least one secure com channel."
"But that would assume their mastermind is up here," Honor pointed out. "Otherwise, they'd still have to pass all their command signals through the consulate."
"True." Matsuko's fingers tapped a nervous syncopation on the edge of her desk, and she made a face. "I hate all this guesswork," she sighed.
"Me, too," Honor agreed. She rubbed the tip of her nose. "Well, whatever they're up to, they've obviously been working on it for a long time, and your clan chieftain said his relative warned him the Delta would be a bad place to spend the winter. That'swhat? Another two months from now?"
"About that. So you think we've got that long to get on top of this?"
"I don't know. But I do know that we're just beginning to put the pieces together, and that's bound to give us a sense of urgency whether they're really on the edge of activating their operation or not. On the other hand, we've already turned up enough for me to go official with it."
"Go official? How?"
"I'm putting together a dispatch, complete with all of my facts, suspicions, and conclusions, for the personal attention of the First Space Lord," Honor said grimly. "He may think I'm crazybut he may also just get some help out here."
"How long would that take?"
"At absolute best, given the tenuousness of our information, it would probably take something like fifty hours, and that's assuming he doesn't just decide I'm crazy and he has someone he can divert straight out here. Frankly, I'd be surprised if we saw any useful reaction in less than three or four days, but at least it'd be a step in the right direction."
"And until then, we're on our own," Dame Estelle observed.
"Yes, Ma'am." Honor rubbed her nose again. "What's the status on Barney's patrol?"
"They should be pulling out in about" Dame Estelle glanced at her chrono "twenty minutes, now. Barney's down at the hangar for their final brief; then he'll come back here. They're under express order not to land anywhere without checking back in, but he's going to have them keep a close eye on everything they overfly en route to the target area. At least we should be able to determine where this shaman and his parishioners aren't, anyway."
"Good. I'd like to add his findings, good or bad, to my dispatch to Admiral Webster. And I'll feel a lot more comfortable personally once we have some sort of accurate idea of just how bad the situation ground-side really is."
"So will I." Dame Estelle shook herself. "All right, Honor. Thanks. I'll get on my end of things. Keep me posted if anything breaks up there."
"I will, Ma'am."
Honor killed the com link and crossed her legs. She steepled her fingers under her jaw in her favorite thinking posture, and the occasional soft murmur of command and response flowed over her as her bridge crew went about its duties. She never knew exactly how long she sat there, but finally she snorted softly and lowered her hands.
"Mr. McKeon."
"Yes, Ma'am?" The exec looked up. She beckoned to him, and he crossed to her chair as she stood.
"I think we're moving into the end-game phase," she said quietly, pitching her voice for his ears alone. "I'm trying to keep an open mind about that, but too many things seem to be coming together here." She paused, and McKeon nodded in agreement.
"I've been over Papadapolous's deployment plan, and it looks good," she went on, "but I want two changes made in it."
"Yes, Ma'am?"
"First, I want the Marines moved aboard the pinnaces now. There's room for them to bunk aboardthey'll have to hot-bunk, but they can squeeze inand I want them ready to drop on zero notice. They can armor up on the way down or even after they hit dirt."
"Yes, Ma'am." McKeon pulled out his memo pad and keyed notes into it. "And the second change?"
"I want Lieutenant Montoya and our other medical people back up here. Get them aboard by mid-watch, if you can."
"Excuse me, Ma'am?" McKeon blinked, and Honor hid a sour smile.
"Officially, I've decided that it would be unfair to ask Dame Estelle and the NPA to make do with the services of our junior physician in the event of an incident on Medusa. In light of Commander Suchon's many more years of service, I feel it would be much more reasonable for us to put her experience to good use down there."
"I see, Ma'am." There was a faint gleam in McKeon's eyes. "And the, um, un official reason?"
"Unofficially, Mr. McKeon," Honor's voice was much grimmer, "Dame Estelle and Barney Isvarian have quite good medical staffs of their own, and there are a good many other civilian doctors in the enclaves down there. Between them, they should be able to carry Suchon's dead weight." McKeon winced at the acid bite in his captain's voice, but he nodded.
"Besides," Honor went on after a moment, "Lieutenant Montoya may be ten years younger than Suchon, but he's a better physician than she'll ever be. If we need a doctor up here, we're going to need him in a hurry, and I want the best one I can get."
"Do you really think we're going to need one?" McKeon couldn't quite hide his surprise, and Honor shrugged uncomfortably.
"I don't know. Call it a feeling. Or maybe it's just nerves. But I'll feel much more comfortable with Suchon dirt-side and Montoya in Fearless."
"Understood, Skipper." McKeon put away his memo pad and nodded. "I'll take care of it."
"Good. In the meantime, I'll be in my quarters. I've got a dispatch to write." She produced a smilea strange smile, compounded of fatigue, worry, awareness of her own ignorance, and an odd undercurrent that might almost be excitementand McKeon felt a tingle sweep over him as he saw it.
"Who knows?" she finished softly, still with that same, strange smile. "I may even have something interesting to put in it in a few more hours."