“Impounded? Not quarantined?”

“I gather it's some sort of legal entanglement, sir.”

I smell diplomacy . Miles grimaced. “Well, no doubt the sealed message will make it more plain. Bring it to me, and I'll take a look while we get packed up.”

“Yes, sir. The Kestrel will be locking on in just a few minutes.”

“Very good, Lieutenant.” Miles cut the com.

“We?” said Ekaterin in a quiet tone.

Miles hesitated. Not a quarantine, the lieutenant had said. Not, apparently, a shooting war either. Or not yet, anyway . On the other hand, he couldn't imagine Emperor Gregor interrupting his long-delayed honeymoon for something trivial. “I'd better see what Gregor has to say, first.”

She dropped a kiss on the top of his head, and said simply, “Right.”

Miles raised his personal wrist com to his lips and murmured, “Armsman Roic—on duty, to my cabin, now.”

* * *

The data disk with the Imperial Seal upon it that the lieutenant handed to Miles a short time later was marked Personal , not Secret . Miles sent Roic, his bodyguard-cum-batman, and Smolyani off to sort and stow luggage, but motioned Ekaterin to stay. He slipped the disk into the secured player that the lieutenant had also brought, set it on the cabin's bedside table, and keyed it to life. He sat back on the edge of the bed beside her, conscious of the warmth and solidity of her body. For the sake of her worried eyes, he took her hand in a reassuring grip.