"Be seated, Ladies and Gentlemen," Honor said, striding to her own place.

MacGuiness had contrived a proper perch for Nimitz, bracketed to the back of her chair, and the treecat gave a buzzing purr as he arranged himself upon it. Honor smiled as she tasted his approval of the new arrangements, then seated herself and looked out at her command team.

The senior divisional commanders were present this time, as well, and they were no longer such unknown quantities. There were a few about whom she nursed some minor concerns, but by and large she was supremely confident in the temper of her weapon. Whether it would be enough for the tasks demanded of it was more than she could say, but if it failed, it would not be because of any fault in the quality of the men and women of whom it was composed.

"As you all know," she said after a moment, "we've actually received a few reinforcements. Not as many as we were slated to-other commitments, unfortunately, are drawing off units which otherwise would have been earmarked for us. Nonetheless, we have more striking power than we had last time. And," this time, the wolf at her core showed in her smile, "we're still getting the opportunity to show the Havenites our newest and best."

Several other people smiled, as well, and Honor looked at Michelle Henke.

"I'm sure you were less than pleased when Captain Shelburne reported Hector's engineering casualty, Admiral Henke. I trust, however, that the replacement I've managed to arrange for you until Hector can get that beta node replaced is satisfactory?"

"Well, Your Grace," Henke replied judiciously, "I suppose, under the circumstances, I'll just have to make do."

This time, the people who'd smiled laughed out loud, and Honor shook her head.

"I'm sure you'll manage somehow, Admiral," she told Henke. Then she looked at the other officers again.

"In most ways, this meeting is something of a formality," she told them. "You've all done well in training and preparing your commands for Cutworm II. You've all had time to study our objectives. And I'm confident all of us are well aware of the importance of this operation."

She paused to let that sink in.

"Cutworm II is both more ambitious and less ambitious than our first attacks were," she continued after a moment. "It's more ambitious primarily in terms of timing and how deep we're penetrating to hit Chantilly and Des Moines. Since all of our task forces will have different transit times, and since I've decided to once more orchestrate our strikes to hit our targets simultaneously, Admiral Truman and Admiral Mikl¢s will depart immediately after this meeting. Admiral McKeon will depart for Fordyce the day after tomorrow, and Admiral Hirotaka and I will depart for Augusta four days after that.

"Remember, hitting our assigned objectives-hard-is critically important, but bringing your ships and your people home is equally so. It seems unlikely the Republic will have been able to adjust its defensive stance significantly in the last three weeks. Nonetheless, it isn't impossible, so be alert. We're more likely to see changes in doctrine and tactical approaches than we are to see significant redeployment of covering forces. Eventually, obviously, we hope that's going to change, but simple message transit times are going to preclude their having done it yet. Hopefully," she smiled again, "our modest efforts over the next two weeks will provide additional encouragement for their efforts.

"In just a moment, Commodore Jaruwalski will run through the entire ops schedule one last time. Afterward, I want to go over the plan individually with each task force commander. If any questions or suggestions have occurred to any of you since our last meeting, that will be the time to bring them forward."

She paused a second time, then nodded to Jaruwalski.

"Andrea," she invited, and sat back in her own chair to listen as the ops officer activated the holo display above the conference table.

"Your guests are here, Reverend."

Reverend Jeremiah Sullivan, First Elder of the Church of Humanity Unchained, nodded in response to his secretary's announcement and turned away from the picture window of his large, comfortable office in Mayhew Cathedral.

"Thank you, Matthew. If you'd be good enough to show them in, please."

"Of course, Your Grace."

Brother Matthew bowed slightly, and withdrew. He was back a moment later, accompanied by half a dozen men. Most were of at least middle years. The sole exception was a very young man, indeed, for the office he held. Obviously a prolong recipient, but less than thirty-five T-years old.

He was also the evident leader of the delegation.

"Reverend," he murmured, bending to kiss the ring Sullivan held out to him. "Thank you for seeing us."

"I could hardly say no to a request from such distinguished visitors, Steadholder Mueller," Sullivan said easily. Mueller smiled and stepped aside, and Sullivan extended his ring hand to the next steadholder in line.

Mueller's smile became just a trifle fixed as he watched. It was certainly correct etiquette for visitors, however exalted their rank, to kiss the Reverend's ring of office. But it was customary in cases like this morning's meeting for the Reverend to settle for receiving the courtesy from the senior member of the delegation.

All five of Mueller's fellows kissed the ring in turn, and Sullivan waved a graceful hand at the half-circle of chairs arranged before his desk to await them.

"Please, My Lords. Be seated," he invited, and waited courteously until all of them had settled before seating himself behind the desk once more with an attentive expression on his strong, fierce-nosed face.

"And now, Lord Mueller, how may Father Church serve the people of Grayson?"

"Actually, Your Grace, we're not quite sure," Mueller replied with an air of candor. "In fact, we're here more to consult than for anything else."

"Consult, My Lord?" Sullivan arched one eyebrow, his bald scalp gleaming in the morning sunlight pouring in through the hermetically sealed window behind him. "About what?"

"About-" Mueller started impatiently, then made himself stop.

"About the Manticoran news reports concerning Steadholder Harrington, Your Grace," he said after a moment, his tone and expression once more controlled.

"Ah!" Sullivan nodded. "You're referring to that person Hayes' column about Lady Harrington?"

"Well, to that, and to all the other commentary and speculation he seems to have generated in the Manticoran press," Mueller agreed, and produced a grimace of distaste.

"Obviously, I find the original story and its thinly veiled innuendos an unconscionable invasion of the Steadholder's private life. The sort of thing, I'm afraid, one might expect from such a thoroughly... secular society. Nonetheless, the story's been printed, and widely commented upon, in the Star Kingdom, and it's already starting to make its way through our own news media here in Yeltsin."

"So I'd observed," Sullivan agreed almost placidly.

"I'm sure," Mueller said, his tone more pointed, "you must find that fact as deplorable as I do, Your Grace."

"I find it inevitable, My Lord," Sullivan said in a tone of mild correction, and shrugged. "Steadholder Harrington is one of our most popular public figures, as all of us are perfectly well aware. This sort of speculation about her is bound to create a great deal of public comment."

Despite his formidable self-control, Mueller's eyes flickered as Sullivan referred to Harrington's popularity. He really did look a great deal like a much younger edition of his deceased father, Sullivan mused. It was unfortunate the resemblance went so much deeper than the surface.

"Comment is one thing, Your Grace," Mueller said now, a bit sharply. "The sort of comment we're observing, however, is something else entirely."