Admiral of the Red Lady Dame Honor Harrington, Steadholder
and Duchess Harrington, sat beside Vice Admiral of the Red
Dame Beatrice McDermott, Baroness Alb, and watched
silently as the comfortable amphitheater seating of the
huge holographic simulator filled up. It was an orderly
audience. It was also quite a bit smaller than it would
have been a few years earlier. There were fewer non-
Manticoran uniforms out there, as well, and the vast
majority of the foreign ones which remained were the blue-
on-blue of the Grayson Space Navy. Several of the Star
Kingdom's smaller allies had cut back sharply on the
midshipmen they sent to Saganami Island, and there were no
Erewhonese uniforms at all. Dame Honor managed-somehow-to
maintain her serene expression as she remembered the tight-
faced midshipmen who had withdrawn from their classes in a
body when their government denounced its long-standing
alliance with the Star Kingdom of Manticore.
She didn't blame the young men and women, many of whom had
been her students during her own time on the Island,
despite her personal sense of betrayal. Nor could she
really blame their government. Part of her wished she
could, but Dame Honor believed in being honest with
herself, and it had not been Erewhon which betrayed the
Star Kingdom's trust. It had been Manticore's own
government.
She watched the final midshipman take his place with a -
military precision fit to satisfy even a Saganami Marine.
Then Dame Beatrice rose from the chair beside hers and
walked with brisk yet measured strides to the traditional
podium.
"Atttten-SHUN!"
Command Sergeant Major Sullivan's harsh voice filled even
the vastness of the simulator with a projection the finest
opera singer would have been hard-pressed to match, and a
perfectly synchronized, thunderous "Bang!" answered as
eleven thousand brilliantly polished boots slammed
together in instant response. Fifty-five hundred
midshipmen and midshipwomen came to attention, eyes front,
shoulders square, spines ramrod straight, thumbs on
trouser seams, and she looked back at them unblinkingly.
They were graduating early. Not as early as some of their
predecessors had before Eighth Fleet's decisive offensive
under Earl White Haven. But much earlier than their
immediate predecessors had, now that Eighth Fleet's
triumph had been thrown away like so much garbage. And
they were headed not to the deployments of peacetime
midshipman cruises, but directly into the cauldron of a
new war.
A losing war, Dame Beatrice thought harshly, wondering how
many of those youthful faces would die in the next few
desperate months. How many of the minds behind those faces
truly understood the monumental betrayal which was about
to send them straight into the furnace?
She gazed at them, a master swordsmith contemplating the
burnished brightness of her new-forged blades, searching
for hidden flaws under the glittering sharpness. Wondering
if their whetted steel was equal to the hurricane of
combat which awaited them even as she prepared their final
tempering.
"Stand easy, Ladies and Gentlemen."
The Academy Commandant's voice was even, a melodious
contralto that flowed into the waiting silence, filling
the stillness with its own quiet strength.
A vast, sibilant scuffing of boots answered her as the
thousands of midshipmen assumed the parade rest position,
and she gazed at them for several more seconds, meeting
their eyes levelly.
"You are here," she told them, "for one final meeting
before you begin your midshipman cruises. This represents
a custom, a final sharing of what naval service truly is,
and what it can cost, which has been a part of Saganami
Island for over two centuries. By tradition, the
Commandant of the Academy addresses her students at this
time, but there have been exceptions. Admiral Ellen
D'Orville was one such exception. And so was Admiral
Quentin Saint-James.
"This year is another such exception, for we are honored
and privileged to have Admiral Lady Dame Honor Harrington
present. She will be on Manticore for only three days
before returning to Eighth Fleet to complete its
reactivation and take up her command once more. Many of
you have had the privilege of studying under her as
underclassmen. All of you could not do better than to hold
her example before you as you take up your own careers. If
any woman in the Queen's uniform today truly understands
the tradition which brings us all together this day, it is
she."
The silence was utter, and Honor felt her cheekbones heat
as she rose from her chair in turn. The cream and gray
treecat on her shoulder sat stock still, proud and tall,
and the two of them tasted the emotions sweeping through
the assembled midshipmen. Emotions which were focused on
her, true, but only partially. For today, she truly was
only a part, a spokeswoman, for something greater than any
one woman, whatever her accomplishments. The silent
midshipmen might not fully understand that, yet they
sensed it, and their silent, hovering anticipation was
like a slumbering volcano under a cool, white mantle of
snow.
Dame Beatrice turned to face her and came to attention.
She saluted sharply, and Honor's hand flashed up in
answer, as sharp and precise as the day of her own Last
View. Then their hands came down and they stood facing one
another.
"Your Grace," Dame Beatrice said simply, and stepped
aside.
Honor drew a deep breath, then walked crisply to the
lectern Dame Beatrice had yielded to her. She took her
place behind it, standing tall and straight with Nimitz
statue-still upon her shoulder, and gazed out over that
shining sea of youthful eyes. She remembered Last View.
Remembered being one of the midshipwomen behind those
eyes. Remembered Nimitz on her shoulder that day, too,
looking up at Commandant Hartley, feeling the mystic
fusion between her and him, with all the other middies,
with every officer who had worn the Star Kingdom's black
and gold before her. And now it was her turn to stand
before a new arsenal of bright, burnished blades, to see
their youth and promise ... and mortality. And to truly
sense, because this time she could physically taste it,
the hushed yet humming expectancy and union which
possessed them all.
"In a few days," she said finally into their silence, "you
will be reporting for your first true shipboard
deployments. It is my hope that your instructors have
properly prepared you for that experience. You are our
best and brightest, the newest link in a chain of
responsibility, duty, and sacrifice which has been forged
and hammered on the anvil of five centuries of service. It
is a heavy burden to assume, one which can-and will-end
for some of you in death."
She paused, listening to the silence, feeling its weight.
"Your instructors have done their best, here at the
Island, to prepare you for that burden, that reality. Yet
the truth is, Ladies and Gentlemen, that no one can truly
prepare you for it. We can teach you, train you, share our
institutional experience with you, but no one can be with
you in the furnace. The chain of command, your superiors,
the men and women under your orders ... all of them will
be there. And yet, in that moment when you truly confront
duty and mortality, you will be alone. And that, Ladies
and Gentlemen, is a moment no training and no teacher can
truly prepare you to face.
"In that moment, you will have only four things to support
you. Your training, which we have made as complete, as
demanding, and as rigorous as we possibly could. Your
courage, which can come only from within. Your loyalty to
the men and women with whom you serve. And the tradition
of Saganami. Some of you, most of you, will rise to the
challenge of that moment. Some will try with all that is
within you, and discover that all the training and courage
in the universe do not make you immortal. And some,
hopefully only a very few, will break."
The sound of a single indrawn breath would have been
deafening as every eye looked back at her.
"The task to which you have been called, the burden you
have volunteered to bear for your Queen and your Kingdom,
for your Protector and your Planet, for whatever people
you serve, is the most terrifying, dangerous, and
honorable one in the universe. You have chosen, of your
own free will, to place yourselves and your lives between
the people and star nations you love and their enemies. To
fight to defend them; to die to protect them. It is a
burden others have taken up before you, and if no one can
truly teach you the reality of all it means and costs
until you have experienced it for yourself, there remains
still much you can learn from those who have gone before.
And that, Ladies and Gentlemen, is the reason you are here
today, where every senior class of midshipmen has stood on
the eve of its midshipman cruise for the last two hundred
and forty-three T-years."
She pressed a button on the podium before her, and the
lights dimmed. For an instant, there was nothing but
dense, velvet darkness, broken only by the pinprick
glitter of the LEDs on her podium's control panel, burning
in the blackness like lost and lonely stars.
Then, suddenly, there was another light. One that glowed
in the depths of the simulator.
It was the light-sculpted image of a man. There was
nothing extraordinary about his appearance. He was of
somewhat less than average height, with a dark complexion,
a strong nose, and dark brown, slightly receding hair, and
his dark eyes had a pronounced epicanthic fold. He wore an
antique uniform, two T-centuries and more out of date, and
the visored cap which the Royal Manticoran Navy had
replaced with berets a hundred and seventy T-years before
was clasped under his left arm.
"Your Majesty," he said, and like his uniform, his
recorded accent was antique, crisp and understandable, but
still an echo from another time. A ghost, preserved in an
electronic shroud. And yet, despite all the dusty years
which had swept past since that man breathed and slept and
dreamed, there was something about him. Some not quite
definable spark that burned even now.
"I beg to report," he continued, "that the forces under my
command have engaged the enemy. Although I deeply regret
that I must inform you of the loss of HMS Triumph and HMS
Defiant in action against the piratical vessels based at
Trautman's Star, I must also inform you that we were
victorious. We have confirmed the destruction of thirteen
hostile cruisers, light cruisers, and destroyers, and all
basing infrastructure in the system. In addition, we have
captured one destroyer, one light and two heavy cruisers,
and two battlecruisers. Several of these units appear to
have been of recent Solarian construction, with
substantially heavier armaments than most 'pirates' carry.
Our own casualties and damage were severe, and I have been
forced to detach HMS Victorious, Swiftsure, Mars, and
Agamemnon for repairs. I have transferred sufficient of
their personnel to the other units of my command to fully
crew each of my remaining vessels, and I have instructed
Captain Timmerman, Swiftsure's commander, as the
detachment's senior officer, to return to the Star
Kingdom, escorting our prize ships.
"In light of our casualties, and the reduction in my
squadron's strength, it will be necessary to temporarily
suspend our offensive operations against the pirate bases
we have identified. I regret to inform you that we have
captured additional corroborating evidence, including the
quality of the enemy's warships, of the involvement of
both Manpower, Incorporated, and individuals at the
highest level of the Silesian government with the so-
called 'pirates' operating here in the Confederacy. Under
the circumstances, I do not believe we can rely upon the
Confederacy Navy to protect our commerce. Indeed, the
collusion of senior members of the government with those
attacking our commerce undoubtedly explains the
ineffectiveness of Confederacy naval units assigned as
convoy escorts.
"Given this new evidence, and my own depleted numbers, I
see no option but to disperse my striking force to provide
escorts in the areas of greatest risk. I regret the
factors which compel me to temporarily abandon offensive
action, but I fully intend to resume larger scale
operations once I receive the reinforcements currently en
route to Silesia.
"I have prepared a detailed report for the Admiralty, and
I append a copy of it to this dispatch. Your Majesty, I
have the honor to remain your most loyal and obedient
subject.
"Saganami, clear."
He bowed, ever so slightly but with immense dignity, and
his recorded image faded away.
There was another moment of darkness, one that left the
watching audience alone with the memory of his message.
His final message to Queen Adrienne, the monarch who had
sent his squadron to Silesia. And then, the holo display
came back to life.
This time there were two images, both command decks. One
was the command deck of a freighter; the other, the bridge
of a warship.
The freighter's command crew sat at their stations, their
shoulders taut, their faces stiff, even terrified. The
merchantship's skipper looked just as anxious as any of
his officers, but he stood beside his command chair, not
seated in it, looking into the communications screen which
linked him to the second ship.
The warship's bridge was quaint and cramped by modern
standards, that of a "battlecruiser" smaller than many
modern heavy cruisers, with displays and weapons consoles
that were hopelessly out of date. The same almond-eyed
officer stood on the command deck, his old-style vac suit
far clumsier and bulkier than a modern skinsuit. Battle
boards blazed crimson at his ship's Tactical station, and
the flow and rush of his bridge personnel's disciplined
combat chatter rippled under the surface of his voice when
he spoke.
"My orders aren't open to discussion, Captain Hargood," he
said flatly. "The convoy will disperse immediately and
proceed across the hyper limit on least-time courses. Now,
Captain."
"I'm not refusing your orders, damn it!" Captain Hargood
shot back, his voice harsh. "I'm only trying to keep you
from throwing away your own ship and the lives of every
man and woman aboard her!"
"The effort is appreciated," Commodore Saganami said with
a thin smile. "I'm afraid it's wasted, however. Now get
your ship turned around and get out of here."
"God damn it to Hell, Eddy!" Hargood exploded. "There are
six of the bastards, including two battlecruisers! Just
what the fuck do you think you're going to accomplish?
Unlike us, you've got the legs to stay away from them, so
do it, damn it!"
"There won't be six when we're done," Saganami said
grimly, "and every one we destroy, or just cripple badly
enough, is one that won't be chasing you or another unit
of the convoy. And now, I'm done arguing with you, James.
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