"David Weber - Honor 09 - Ashes of Victory" - читать интересную книгу автора (Weber David)

had confined her to a life-support chair for almost fifty T-years. No
honorable man would have let that happen, yet he had, and he'd been too self-
honest to deny it once his face had been rubbed sufficiently in it.

Or I like to think I'm too "self-honest" to lie to myself, he thought
mordantly as the tractors urged the pinnace from the outer darkness into the
illuminated boat bay. Of course, I had to wait until she was safely dead
before I got around to that sudden burst of honesty. But I did get there in
the end . . . damn it.

The pinnace rolled on thrusters and gyros, settling towards the docking
buffers, and he made himself a silent promise. Whatever he might feel, Honor
Harrington was a woman of honor. He might not be able to help his own
emotions, but he could damned well see to it that she never knew about them,
and he would. That much he could still do.

The pinnace touched down, the docking arms and umbilical locked, and Hamish
Alexander pushed himself up out of his comfortable seat. He looked at his
reflection in the view port's armorplast and studied his expression as he
smiled. Amazing how natural that smile looked, he thought, and nodded to his
reflection, then squared his shoulders and turned towards the hatch.

***
A green light glowed above the docking tube, indicating a good seal and
pressure, and Honor tucked her hand behind her as the gallery-side hatch slid
back. It was amazing how awkward it was to decide what to do with a single
hand when it had no mate to meet it halfway, but she brushed that thought
aside and nodded to Major Chezno. The senior officer of Farnese's Marine
detachment nodded back, then turned on his heel to face the honor guard drawn
up behind the side party.

"Honor guard, attennnnnn-hut!" he barked, and hands slapped the butts of ex-
Peep pulse rifles as the ex-prisoners snapped to parade-ground attention.
Honor watched them with a proprietary air and wasn't even tempted to smile. No
doubt some people would have found it absurd for men and women packed into
their ship like emergency rations in a tin to waste time polishing and
perfecting their ceremonial drill, especially when they all knew they would be
broken up again once they reached their destination. But it hadn't been absurd
to Farnese's ship's company . . . or to Honor Harrington.

I suppose it's our way of declaring who and what we are. We're not simply
escaped prisoners, huddled together like sheep while we run from the wolves.
We are the "wolves" of this piece, and we, by God, want the universe to know
it! She snorted in amusement, not at her Marines and their drill, but at
herself, and shook her head. I think I may be just a wee bit guilty of hubris
where these people are concerned.

The Navy side party snapped to attention as the first passenger floated down
the tube, and Honor drew another deep breath and braced herself. The Royal
Manticoran Navy's tradition was that the senior passenger was last to board