At All Costs

Chapter Thirty

"Excuse me, Your Grace."

Honor paused in her conversation with Mercedes Brigham, Alice Truman, Alistair McKeon, and Samuel Mikl¢s, and one eyebrow rose in surprise. It was very unlike James MacGuiness to obtrude into a serious meeting like this. He was a past master at unobtrusively refilling coffee and cocoa cups, sliding food in front of people when they started looking peaked, and otherwise keeping them provided with whatever they needed. But the key word was "unobtrusively." Most of the time, people never even realized he'd been there until he was already gone.

That was her first thought. Her second was more concerned as she tasted his emotions.

"What is it, Mac?" she asked as Nimitz sat upright on the back of her chair and pricked his ears at the man who still insisted on functioning as Honor's steward.

"You have a personal message, Your Grace. From your mother." Honor stiffened, eyes darkening with concern. "I have no idea what it's about," he continued quickly, "but it came up in the standard mailbag from Jason Bay. If it were really bad news, I'm sure it would have been delivered by special courier. For that matter, Miranda would have dropped me a line about it, as well."

"You're right, of course, Mac," she said, smiling in thanks for his reassurance.

"On the other hand, Your Grace," he said, "it does carry a priority code. I really think you ought to view it as soon as possible."

"I see."

MacGuiness bobbed his head and withdrew, and Honor frowned thoughtfully for a moment. Then she shook herself and returned her attention to her guests.

"I think we're just about at a decent stopping point, anyway, aren't we?" she said.

"I think so," Truman agreed. "We need to spend a little more time kicking around what happened at Chantilly, but we can do that later. I'd never heard of this Admiral Bellefeuille until she screened me after the shooting was over to thank us for arranging the full evacuation of the civilian platforms before we blew them. She was floating around in a pinnace-or maybe even a life pod-for most of that time, I understand. But I think we need to bring her name to ONI's attention. This woman is sneaky, Honor. She reminds me a lot of what you've said about Shannon Foraker, and if she'd had better information on our defensive capabilities, we'd have gotten hurt a lot worse."

"It was bad enough, anyway," McKeon growled, shaking his head. "Hector's going to be out of action for at least three months."

"I know, I know," Truman sighed. "But at least Hanover's personnel casualties were light. To be perfectly honest, I'm more distressed by what happened to my Katanas. We managed a four- or five-to-one exchange rate even after Bellefeuille tricked us into firing off so many of their missiles, but that's pretty cold comfort. And," she looked at Honor, "Scotty blames himself."

"That's ridiculous," McKeon said sharply.

"I agree entirely," Truman replied. "The deployment decision was mine-not his, not Mike Henke's, but mine. Given what I knew at the time, I'd do the same thing again, too. But Scotty seems to think he should have argued with me, although exactly what form of clairvoyance was supposed to tell him this was coming eludes me."

"And how is Mike taking it?" Honor asked quietly.

"Better than I was afraid she might, actually," Truman said. "She's not happy about it, and especially not about the fact that she was the one who suggested using Hector and Nike as her point. But the truth is that she was right. Hector may have gotten hammered, but her core hull was never penetrated, and she and Nike stood up to missile attack even better than BuShips predicted they might. And if Dillinger hadn't used up so many of his Vipers defending Oversteegen's division, he'd have made out much better against the Peep LACs. I think she's drawn the right conclusions."

Honor nodded. She knew both Truman and McKeon well enough to be confident they understood why she was concerned without getting any more specific.

"I hope you and she both have," she said aloud, smiling wryly at Truman. "The two of you are developing a nasty habit of always finding the feistiest system defense forces! I'd appreciate it if you'd cut that out."

"Hey, you're the one assigning the targets," Truman shot back. "Well, you and Mercedes here."

"Don't blame me!" Brigham protested. "My idea of how to assign the task forces was to pull system names out of a hat. For some reason, neither Andrea nor Her Grace thought that was a wonderful idea."

"Nonsense," Honor said as the other admirals laughed. "What I said was that it didn't seem very professional and it wouldn't do very much for the public's confidence in the Navy if we did it that way and word got out."

"As long as it works as well as it seems to be working so far, I don't think they'd have any problems," McKeon said, and Truman and Mikl¢s nodded in agreement.

"Then let's keep it that way, shall we?" Honor replied. "And on that note, I think we should probably adjourn and let me find out what's on Mother's mind. Alice, could you have dinner with me this evening? And invite Mike and Oversteegen along? For that matter, bring Scotty and Harkness, too; I haven't seen either of them in a while, and their perspective on something like this is almost always worth getting. Let's go over it with all of them in person. As you say, we need to get a better feel for what Bellefeuille did to us, and I'd like to give Mike and Oversteegan, especially, a chance to talk out their own reactions to it."

"I think that would be a good idea," Truman agreed.

"In that case, people, let's be about it."

"Hello, Honor," Allison Harrington said, and smiled from Honor's display. "We got the news about your return this morning-Hamish screened from Admiralty House to tell us you and Nimitz are back safe and sound. Obviously, we're all delighted to hear that... some even more than others."

She smiled again, wickedly, but then her expression grew more serious.

"I'm sure you have all sorts of Navy things you need to attend to, but I think it would be a very good idea if you could come home for a day or two. Soon."

Honor felt herself tightening internally. Nothing about her mother's expression suggested anything terrible, but she was a little surprised to realize how much it bothered her to be unable to taste Allison's emotions from the recorded message. Had she become that reliant upon her odd empathic capabilities?

"There are several reasons I feel that way, dear," Allison continued. "Among them, the fact that Reverend Sullivan's extended his visit to the Star Kingdom. They were going to put him up at the Royal Arms, but I put a stop to that, and he's been comfortably ensconced here at the Bay House. I'm sure that one reason he's stayed over longer than he originally planned was to see you before he returns to Grayson. So take care of anything you really need to deal with, and then hop one of the shuttle flights home as soon as you can. We're all really eager to see you. I love you. Bye!"

The display blanked, and Honor frowned. A lifetime's instincts told here there was more to her mother's request than a simple desire for her to have dinner with Sullivan before the Reverend went home. Not that that wouldn't have been a perfectly valid consideration. It just wasn't the only thing on her mother's mind, and she wondered exactly what sort of devious scheme was revolving inside that agile brain.

Unfortunately, there was only one way to find out, and she punched a button on her com.

"Admiral's Quarters, MacGuiness speaking," a voice said.

"Mac, please check my calendar with Mercedes. You and she both know what I'm doing better than I do, anyway. I need to clear a couple of days, the sooner the better, for a quick hop back to Manticore."

"I thought you might, Ma'am." Even across the voice-only circuit, Honor could almost feel his satisfaction. "I've already checked. I believe that if you shift a few of your meetings-and possibly combine the meetings you'd scheduled with the division and squadron commanders into a single session-you could be on the evening shuttle flight tomorrow. Would that be satisfactory?"

"And have you already discussed your proposed agenda with my chief of staff, O Puppetmaster?"

"Not in any specific detail, Ma'am." MacGuiness's dignified response was somewhat flawed by the chuckle lurking in its depths.

"Well, do so."

"Of course, Your Grace."

"There's the limo, My Lady."

Honor turned her head, looking in the indicated direction, and saw Jeremiah Tennard, the senior of Faith's personal armsmen, standing beside the door of one of the VIP lounge's private air car stages.

"So I see, Andrew," she said, and chuckled. "I wonder how Mother pried him loose from fending off assassination attempts on Faith to send him after us?"

"Actually," Andrew LaFollet said seriously, "we have a very good team in place at the house. Especially since Captain Zilwicki upgraded our electronic systems for us. He's not really running any risks leaving her uncovered, My Lady. You know I wouldn't tolerate that, don't you?"

"Andrew, it was a joke," she said, turning back to him. "I didn't-"

She stopped speaking as she tasted her personal armsman's emotions. No one, looking at his expression, could doubt for a moment the earnest seriousness of his response to her question. She, however, had certain additional advantages, and her eyes narrowed.

"All right," she told him. "You got me. For a minute, there, I actually thought you were serious."

"My Lady," he said in shocked tones, "I'm always serious!"

"You, Andrew LaFollet," she said severely, "have been hanging around with Nimitz entirely too long. His questionable excuse for a sense of humor seems to have infected you."

Nimitz bleeked a laugh on her shoulder, and his hands flashed.

The first two fingers of his right true-hand closed onto his thumb. Then the hand rolled over, palm downward, and folded into the sign for the letter "N" and jerked slightly downward. Next, it rose to his temple, curled into the closed fist sign for the letter "E," and moved forward. Both true-hands folded their fingers over in the palm-up sign for the letter "A," then swung inward and down twice, ending palm-down. The right hand extended all three long, wiry fingers, while the left hand extended only two, signing the number five in one of the compromises forced upon the treecats by the fact that they had fewer digits than humans did. Next, both true-hands rose, slightly bent, fingertips just touching his chest, and the right hand flicked back slightly before turning to form a palm-out "A" that moved slightly to his right. Then the two opened fingers of the letter "P" circled his face before the right true-hand touched its fingers to his chin, then dropped into the palm of his left true-hand. The bent second finger of his right true-hand tapped behind his ear, then fell to meet his left true-hand as he linked the thumb and first fingers of both hands before raising both hands to the corners of his mouth in the "H" sign.

"So there was no need for you to infect him, since he already had a good sense of humor?" Honor said.

Nimitz nodded and raised his right true-hand, palm-in, to press his forefinger to his forehead, then twisted it into a palm out position before it closed into the upright, thumb-extended fist of the letter "A." Then he held up two fingers and patted the thigh of his right leg with his right true-hand formed into the extended forefinger and thumb of an "L."

"Oh, for a 'two-legs' is it?" she demanded, and he nodded again, even more complacently, while she shook her head. "You're riding for a fall there, Stinker. Besides, I know your sense of humor, and I don't think the sign for 'good' means quite what you think it does."

The 'cat only looked away, flirting his tail airily, and LaFollet chuckled.

"Don't take that as a compliment," Honor told him darkly. "Not until you've discussed some of his ideas of what constitutes a joke with the Harrington House staff, at any rate."

"Oh, I have, My Lady!" LaFollet assured her. "My favorite was the one with the stuffed treecat and the cultivator."

"Stuffed treecat?" Honor's eyebrows arched, and he chuckled again.

"They were using the robotic cultivators to trench for the new irrigation system," the armsman explained. "So Nimitz and Farragut kidnapped one of the lifesized stuffed treecats from Faith's bedroom."

"They didn't-" Honor began, dark eyes starting to laugh, and LaFollet nodded.

"Oh, but they did, My Lady. They used those sharp little claws of theirs to... disconnect the front and back ends, then burrowed down on either side of the trench and left the tail sticking up on one side and one poor, pathetic true-hand poking up on the other. The assistant gardener almost died on the spot when he found it."

"Stinker," Honor said, as severely as a sudden attack of giggles would permit, "when they finally come for you with pitchforks, I'm not going to protect you from the mob. I hope you realize that right now."

Nimitz sniffed, elevating his muzzle. Timothy Mears had hopped the same shuttle flight back to Manticore with his Admiral, and he laughed out loud. Honor gave him a glare and shook her head at him.

"A proper flag lieutenant does not encourage his Admiral's 'cat in the ways of evil, Lieutenant Mears!"

"Of course not, Ma'am!" Mears agreed, eyes twinkling. "I'm shocked that you should think I would even consider doing such a thing!"

"Sure you are," Honor growled. Then she smiled at him as Tennard started across the lounge towards them. "As Andrew says, our ride is here, Tim. Can we drop you anywhere?"

"No, thanks, Ma'am. I'll catch a cab. I need to do a little shopping before I head home to surprise Mom and Dad."

"All right, then you'd best be about it," she said, and he smiled back at her, saluted, and trotted off just as Tennard reached them.

"My Lady, Colonel." The armsman bowed to Honor in greeting.

"Jeremiah." Honor nodded back. "It's good to see you."

"And you, My Lady. We've missed you-all of us. Especially Faith, I think."

"How is she?" Honor asked.

"Excited about her new nephew," Tennard replied, with a smile.

"Is she really?"

"Really, My Lady," Tennard said, reassuringly. "Don't forget, she's seen what Bernard Raoul has to put up with, and she's a smart child. She's already figured out that she's been getting off light where her own security detachment is concerned, compared to most steadholders' heirs, and I don't think she really wants to have to put up with any more of us armsmen than she has to. At this particular point in her life, avoiding that is a lot more important than being Steadholder Harrington could ever be."

"Good," Honor sighed. Then she smiled. "And I suppose you're here to ferry me off to meet the Reverend at the house?"

"To meet the Reverend, yes, My Lady. But not at the Bay House. You and your parents are having dinner at White Haven this evening, and he's joining you there."

"He's what?" Honor blinked, but Tennard only shrugged.

"That's the itinerary I was given, My Lady. If you want to argue with your Lady Mother about it, you go right ahead. I have better sense."

"Mother's been a terrible influence on all of you armsmen," Honor said. "I don't remember you being this uppity before she got hold of you!"

"It's all purely self-defense, My Lady, I promise," Tennard said earnestly, and she laughed.

"That I can believe. All right. If it's White Haven, it's White Haven. Let's get this cavalcade in the air."

"What the-?!" Timothy Mears jerked back as he opened the air cab door and got hit in the face with an eye-stinging spray of moisture.

"Oh, shit!" a voice said, and he blinked his burning eyes, then found himself glaring somewhat blearily at the cabby on the other side of the opened partition between the cockpit and the passenger compartment. She was an attractive, if not spectacular, blonde, and she held a bottle of commercial air freshener in one hand, still pointed almost directly at Mears. She also wore an expression of almost comical dismay.

"I'm so sorry, Lieutenant!" she said quickly. "I didn't see you coming, and my last fare was a smoker." She shook her head in angry disgust. "Big sign, right there," she jabbed her head at the "No Smoking In This Vehicle" notice on the partition, "and the jerk sits right down and lights up. A cigar, of all damned things. And not a very expensive one, from the stink!"

The air freshener's scent was almost overpowering, but as it began to dissipate, Mears could smell the tobacco reek to which she'd referred. And, he admitted, it really was pretty bad.

"So I was just turning around to spritz some of this stuff-" she waved the air freshener "-and you opened the door, and, well...."

Her voice trailed off, and her expression was such a mixture of dismay and apology that Mears had to laugh.

"Hey, I've had worse happen, okay?" he said, wiping the last film of air freshener off his face. "And you're right. It is pretty ripe back here. So I'll just stand back and let you spray away to your heart's content."

"Oh, gee, thanks!" she said, and applied the air freshener industriously for several seconds. Then she sniffed critically.

"That's about as good as it's going to get, I'm afraid," she said. "You still want a ride? Or do you want to wait for something that smells a little fresher?"

"This smells just fine to me," Mears said, and climbed into the cab.

"Where to?" she asked.

"I need to do some shopping, so let's hit Yardman's first."

"You got it," she agreed, and the cab whined away towards the capital's best known shopping tower.

Behind it, a nondescript man watched it with carefully incurious eyes, then turned and walked away.

"Hello, Nico," Honor said as Nico Havenhurst opened the front door for her. "You seem to have quite a mob out here this evening."

"Oh, it's been more crowded than this upon occasion, Your Grace," Havenhurst said, stepping back with a welcoming smile. "Not in the last few decades, you understand, but-"

He shrugged, and Honor chuckled. Then she stepped past him into the entrance hall, and paused in mid-stride. Emily, Hamish, and her parents were there. So was Reverend Sullivan, but Honor had expected that. What she hadn't expected was the distinguished, dark-haired man in the episcopal purple cassock and glittering pectoral cross. She recognized him almost instantly, although they'd never met, and she wondered what Archbishop Telmachi was doing at White Haven.

Surprise kept her focused on him for at least a few heartbeats. Long enough for her feet to get reorganized and resume carrying her forward. She'd just noticed the younger man standing at Telmachi's elbow and recognized him as Father O'Donnell, Emily and Hamish's parish priest, when the mingled flow of the welcoming committee's emotions swept over her.

There were too many individual sources for her to analyze their feelings clearly, but Hamish and Emily's strands stood out more clearly than those of anyone else, including her parents. She felt herself reaching out for them, as automatically as breathing, and then both eyebrows rose as she tasted the mingled love, determination, apprehension, and almost giddy anticipation rising off of them like smoke.

Obviously, she'd been right to suspect her mother was up to something. But what?

"Hello, Honor," Emily said calmly, reaching out her hand. "It's good to see you home."

The meal, as always, was delicious, although Honor decided Mistress Thorne could have taught Tabitha DuPuy a thing or two about poaching salmon. The company had also been convivial, and Honor was pleased by the genuine friendship and mutual admiration she tasted between Sullivan and Telmachi. The Star Kingdom was legally nondenominational, with a specific constitutional bar against any state religion. Despite that, the Archbishop of Manticore was recognized as the "dean" of the Manticoran religious community, and she was glad he and Sullivan had hit it off so well.

But despite that, and despite her happiness at being home, she found it increasingly difficult not to select someone at random to strangle as supper went on and on and the strange combination of the Alexanders' emotions-and her parents', and even Sullivan's, now that she thought about it-continued to swirl about her. She still didn't have a clue what they were all so... energized about, which was maddening enough. But what made it even more maddening was her absolute confidence that it all focused on her, somehow.

At last, finally, the dessert dishes were cleared away, the servants withdrew, and the Alexanders and their guests were left alone around the huge table. It was the first time Honor had ever eaten in White Haven's formal dining salon, and despite its low ceiling and ancient wood paneling, she found it just a bit overpowering. Possibly because it was half the size of a basketball court, or seemed that way, at least, after the more intimate quarters in which she, Hamish, and Emily normally dined.

"Well," her mother said brightly as the door to the serving pantry closed, "here we all are at last!"

"Yes," Honor said, handing a last celery stalk to Nimitz, "here we are, indeed, Mother. The question in my mind-and it does appear to be in my mind, alone, since everyone else at this table obviously already knows the answer-is why we're all here."

"Goodness!" Allison said placidly, and shook her head. "Such youthful impetuosity! And in front of such distinguished guests, too."

"I might point out that the guests in question are Hamish and Emily's, not yours, Mother," Honor replied. "Except, of course, that whenever someone is pulling the strings and you're present, I never have to look very far for the puppetmaster."

"Honor Stephanie Harrington!" Allison shook her head mournfully. "Such an undutiful child, too. How could you possibly think of me in that way?"

"Sixty years of experience," the undutiful child in question responded. "And now, if someone could possibly answer my question?"

"Actually, Honor," Hamish said, and his voice-and emotions-were far more serious than her mother's droll tone, "the person 'pulling the strings,' inasmuch as anyone is, isn't your mother. It's Reverend Sullivan."

"Reverend Sullivan?" Honor looked at the Grayson primate in surprise, and he nodded back gravely, although there was a twinkle in his dark eyes and she clearly tasted the affectionate amusement behind it.

"And just which strings are being pulled?" she asked more warily, looking back at Hamish and Emily.

"What it comes down to, Honor," Emily said, "is that, just as we'd feared, the news about your pregnancy-and mine-has gotten back to Grayson. It's already started to die down a bit here in the Star Kingdom, actually. Especially," a bubble of pure, malicious delight danced in her mind-glow, "since the Landing Tattler's new management discovered certain irregularities in Solomon Hayes' financial records and let him go. I believe he's currently discussing those irregularities with the LCPD and the Exchequer.

"But," the brief flicker of amusement faded, "the situation on Grayson was about what you and I had feared it might be. In fact, a delegation of Steadholders called on the Reverend to discuss their... concerns."

Her mouth tightened bleakly for a moment, then she flipped her right hand in a shrug.

"Needless to say, Reverend Sullivan supported your position strongly," Honor glanced at Sullivan, who bent his head gravely in response to the gratitude in her eyes, "but it was clear some of them-especially Steadholder Mueller, I understand-are prepared to use this situation to attack you as publicly as possible. So the Reverend decided to take matters into his own hands, pastorally speaking."

Emily paused, and Reverend Sullivan looked at Honor.

"In some ways, My Lady," he said, "I suppose my decision to involve myself in such a deeply personal matter must be considered intrusive, especially since none of you are communicants of the Church of Humanity Unchained, and I hope I haven't offended by doing so. I might argue that my position as Reverend and First Elder and head of the Sacristy, and the constitutional obligations of those offices, give me a responsibility to involve myself, but that would be less than fully honest of me. The truth is," he looked directly into her eyes, and she tasted his utter sincerity, "that my own heart would have driven me to speak, were I Reverend or not. You, as a person, not simply as Steadholder Harrington, are important to far too many people on Grayson, myself included, for me to do otherwise."

"Reverend, I-" Honor paused and cleared her throat. "I can think of many things people could do which I might find offensive. Having you take a hand to help in a situation like this certainly isn't one of them."

"Thank you. I hope you'll still feel that way in a few minutes."

Despite the ominous words, there was a very faint gleam in his eye, and Honor frowned in puzzlement.

"The thing is, Honor," Emily continued, reclaiming her attention, "the Reverend's come up with a solution for all our problems. Every one of them."

"He's what?" Both of Honor's eyebrows rose, and she looked back and forth between Sullivan, Hamish and Emily, and her parents. "That's... hard to believe."

"Not really," Emily said, with a sudden, huge smile and a matching internal swell of delight. "You see, Honor, all you have to do is answer one question."

"One question?"

Honor blinked as her eyes prickled suddenly and unexpectedly. She didn't even know why-just that the joy inside Emily had reached out and blended with a matching tide of joyous anticipation from Hamish into something so strong, so exuberant and yet so intensely focused on her, that her own emotions literally couldn't help responding to it.

"Yes," Emily said softly. "Honor, will you marry Hamish and me?"

For an instant that seemed an eternity Honor simply stared at her. Then it penetrated, and she jerked upright in her comfortable chair.

"Marry you?" Her voice trembled. "Marry both of you? Are... are you serious?"

"Of course we are," Hamish said quietly, while Samantha purred from the high chair beside him as if the bones were about to vibrate right out of her body. "And if anyone can be certain of that," he added, "you can."

"But... but..." Honor looked at Archbishop Telmachi and Father O'Donnell, finally understanding why they were both here. "But I thought your marriage vows made that impossible," she said hoarsely.

"If I may, My Lord?" Telmachi said gently, looking at Hamish, and Hamish nodded.

"Your Grace," the Archbishop continued, turning to Honor, "Mother Church has learned a great deal over the millennia. Many things about human beings and their spiritual needs never change, and God, of course, is always constant. But the context in which those humans confront their spiritual needs does change. The rules evolved to handle those needs in a pre-industrial, pre-space civilization simply cannot be applied to the galaxy in which we live today, any more than could the one-time religious ratification of slavery, or of the denial of the rights of women, or the prohibition of women in the priesthood, or the marriage of priests.

"Hamish and Emily chose to wed monogamously. The Church didn't require that of them, for we've learned that what truly matters is the love between partners, the union which makes it a true marriage, and not simply a convenience of the flesh. But that was their decision, and at the time, I believe it was the proper one for them. Certainly, anyone looking at them or speaking with them today, after all their marriage has endured, can still see the love and mutual commitment they share.

"But we live in an era of prolong, when men and women live literally for centuries. Just as Mother Church was eventually forced to deal with the tangled problems of genetic engineering and of cloning, she's been forced to acknowledge that when individuals live that long, the likelihood that even binding decisions must be revisited increases sharply.

"The Church doesn't look lightly upon the modification of wedding vows. Marriage is a solemn and a holy state, a sacrament ordained by God. But ours is a loving and an understanding God, and such a God wouldn't punish people to whom He's given the joyous gift of a love as deep as that which binds you, Hamish, and Emily together by forcing you to remain apart. And because the Church believes that, the Church has made provision for the modification of those vows, so long as all parties are in agreement and there's no coercion, no betrayal. I've spoken with Hamish and Emily. I have no question in my mind that they would welcome you into their marriage with unqualified joy. The only question which must be answered before I grant the necessary dispensation is whether or not that's what you most truly and deeply desire."

"I-" Honor's vision wavered, and she blinked back tears. "Of course it's what I desire," she said huskily. "Of course it is! I just never thought, never expected-"

"Forgive me for suggesting it, dear," her mother said gently, rising from her chair to fold her arms about her seated daughter, "but sometimes, much as I love you, you can be just a tiny bit slow."

Honor gurgled with tearful laughter and hugged her mother tightly.

"I know. I know! If I'd ever thought for a minute-" She broke off and looked at Hamish and Emily through her tears. "Of course I'll marry you, both of you! My God, of course I will!"

"Good," Reverend Sullivan said, and smiled when Honor turned to look at him. "It just happens that Robert, here," he waved one hand at Telmachi, "has already granted the necessary dispensation, contingent upon your acceptance of the idea. And it also just happens that Father O'Donnell, here, has brought along his prayerbook and a special license, and that I happen to know the Alexander family chapel just happens to have been given a most thorough cleaning this morning. And it just so happens that at this particular moment there's a representative of Father Church here on Manticore to serve as the temporal witness required for any steadholder's marriage. So since the bride's family," he bowed to include Nimitz and Samantha in that family, "are present, I don't really see any reason why we couldn't get this little formality out of the way tonight."

"Tonight?" Honor stared at him.

"Indeed," he replied calmly. "Unless, of course, you had other plans?"

"Of course I had-!"

Honor chopped herself off, torn between laughter, more tears, and a sense of the entire universe whirling further and further out of control.

"What?" her mother demanded, still hugging her. "You want a big fancy, formal wedding? Piffle! You can always have that later, if you really feel the need, but all that hoopla isn't what makes a marriage-or even a wedding. And even if it were, I'd think having the Archbishop and the Reverend assist in the ceremony should satisfy even the highest social stickler!"

"It isn't that, and you know it!" Honor half-laughed, giving her mother a shake. "It's just all moving so quickly. I hadn't even considered it ten minutes ago, and now-!"

"Well, it's something you ought to have considered long ago, My Lady," Sullivan said with twinkle-eyed severity. "After all, you are a Grayson. And if you think I'm going to permit you and this man-" he jabbed a finger at Hamish "-to spend one more night cavorting in sin, then you have another think coming."

He waved the jabbing finger at Honor, smiling as she simultaneously laughed and blushed.

"All right. All right! You win, all of you. But before we get to the 'I do's, we've got to get Miranda and Mac out here. I can't get married without them!"

"Now that," Allison congratulated her, "is the first reasonable objection you've raised all night. And, as the Reverend is fond of saying, it just so happens I sent Jeremiah back to fetch them-and Farragut and the twins-about the time we sat down to dinner. They should be here in-" she checked her chrono "-another thirty minutes or so. So," she cupped Honor's face between her hands, and her own smile was just a little misty, "why don't you and I spend the time between now and then making you even more beautiful, love?"