the planet on which she had been born and raised. She would miss them—oh, how she would miss them!—but there was always a price to pay for dreams, and she'd known ever since she'd been a very little girl sitting in her father's lap what her dream was.
Honor didn't really know where it had come from. Part of it was probably her father's example, although she had no temptation to become a physician as both he and her mother had. Besides, he'd been only the third member of her family to serve in the Royal Navy, and the only one in the last three or four generations. He hadn't started in the Navy, either, although he'd never explained to her exactly why he'd transferred into it from the Royal Marines. She'd asked—once, when she'd been much younger—but he hadn't told her. That was unusual, because he and her mother always answered her questions. She was pretty sure that meant it had been something ugly, something he hadn't wanted to talk about with her until she was older. Or maybe even at all. Fathers could be like that. Especially, she suspected, with daughters, which was pretty silly, since he was the one who'd taught her how to dress out her own game when she'd been only ten T-years old and she'd been cleaning fish for at least two T-years before that. But she supposed there was a difference between skinning and butchering prong bucks or a Baxter Goose and killing another human being.
She'd found her father's medals two years ago and looked them up. That was how she'd found out that the Osterman Cross was the Star Kingdom's second highest decoration, that it could be earned only for “extraordinary heroism” in combat, and that it could be awarded only to enlisted personnel and noncommissioned officers. But she'd also discovered that the award was classified. Or if it wasn't officially classified, where, when, and how Platoon Sergeant Harrington, RMMC, had earned it wasn't part of the public record, at least, for some reason. Then there were the three wound stripes he'd been awarded. He hadn't gotten those as a Navy doctor, either, and if he hadn't wanted to discuss how he had earned them with his then eleven-year-old daughter, he'd earned that right, as well. Someday, she knew, he would tell her about them, if only to be sure she truly understood the possible consequences of the career she'd already chosen. Until that day, she could wait.
Her mother seemed a bit more baffled by her plans than her father did, but she'd never tried to talk Honor out of them. A military career wasn't exactly high on the probable career tracks of upper-class Beowulfers like Allison Harrington, but unlike some star nations, Beowulf did regard it as an honorable profession. Uncle Jacques had served in the Biological Survey Corps, too, and despite its peculiar name the BSC, was one of the best special forces organizations in the Solarian League. Whatever anyone else might think of the military, her mom had always been a firm supporter of both the BSC and her father's Navy career.
No, Allison's bafflement had far more to do with how early—and how firmly—Honor had made her decision. And the amount of planning she'd already put into it. They'd discussed it more than once, and her mom had suggested that perhaps she might have waited at least until she was, oh, nine or ten before deciding what to do with the entire rest of her life. Ambition was a good thing, and so was clear thinking, forethought, and planning, her mother had pointed out, but most people seemed to wait just a bit longer before diving into such decisions. That seemed pretty silly of them to Honor. If you knew what you wanted to do with your life, then you ought to start working on it as soon as possible. That was only sensible. The female Dr. Harrington had muttered something about “forces of nature,” “stubbornness,” and “statistical outliers” (not to mention an occasional “just like her father!”), but she'd finally conceded the point. Which had simply proven to Honor how much her mother loved her . . . and that she was smart enough to recognize when discretion was the better part of valor. Perhaps she still hoped Honor might grow out of it, but if she didn't, Allison would be just as supportive as her husband.
Honor treasured knowing that, even if she didn't know what had originally sparked