by Jaleta Clegg
I was dozing again when the flitter began to spiral down. I sat up, carefully rubbing sleep away. I didn't want to smudge the unfamiliar makeup on my face. The flitter touched down on the top of a tall building, more than a mile above the surface of the planet. I patted my hair to see if it was still where it belonged. Vance brushed my hand out of the way and tucked a strand of hair back into the roll. His face was distant, as if he were across the planet and not in the same flitter with me.
"You look perfect," he said. It sounded like an accusation, as if I'd morphed into something without asking him first, as if perfection were bad.
"I can run my fingers through it and make it stand up if that's any better."
He smiled, this time it touched his eyes. But there was sadness and some other emotion I couldn't quite place. "You'd really make an entrance then." He smoothed my hair back. "Save it for an even stuffier function. I'm sure there will be plenty of them."
He got out of the flitter, opening the door for me and helping me out. He tucked my hand through his elbow and squeezed it.
"You'll be fine," he said as we approached the entrance.
A man stood there, dressed in what could only be considered a uniform, but not military. This was even more creased and starched and fussy. He stared down his nose at us as if we didn't measure up to his exacting standards. He bowed to Vance and then to me before turning to the open door.
"The Second Speaker, Vance Shiropi, and his betrothed, Admiral Dace of the Enforcers, retired," he announced.
The murmur of voices from inside the room hushed. Strains of music wafted out, the quiet undertone to the gathering. Vance tugged my arm. We walked forward into the room. I smiled until my face hurt, trying to match the gracious haughtiness of the other women. I remembered the look on Dariana Grace's face as she played the Emperor's daughter in Satin and Steel. She had managed to convey a look of superiority and haughtiness that made the other women look conniving and arrogant in comparison. I did my best to match her face and manner. Within moments, most of the women in the room were swarming around us, congratulating me with smug, knowing smirks. They were looking for tidbits to feed the rumor mill. I kept my smile bland and aloof and gave them as little as possible.
Vance excused himself and crossed the room to join a boisterous group of men. They welcomed him with slaps on his shoulder and loud comments on both his appointment to Second Speaker and his engagement to me. I stood in the middle of the vicious women and entertained myself with thoughts of Vance being subjected to them instead of me. I would torture him later, I'd get my revenge on him somehow.
"And how are you feeling?" one of the women asked. She had to be twice my age, but her carefully sculpted face and body gave her the appearance of someone years younger. She smiled solicitously, but her eyes measured my waist greedily.
"I'm much better, thank you," I said blandly, deliberately misinterpreting her look.
"How many months along are you?" a woman closer to my age asked point blank.
"Pardon?" I stared her down, even though I had to look up to meet her eyes.
"It's common knowledge. The baby?" Her look said I was dense, stupid, and someone she would gladly change places with in an instant.
"What baby?" I said, baiting her.
"The one you're expecting."
"I'm afraid you're mistaken. There is no baby. Excuse me." They parted to let me through.
I went to the refreshment table and helped myself to a glass of pink sparkling liquid. One sip told me it had alcohol or something else in it. I didn't drink more. The food on the table was all exotic, things I didn't recognize. I nibbled, tasting those dishes that looked most enticing. Vance came to join me. The women watched, whispering to each other. I was one of only a handful of people actually eating.
"I see you're enjoying yourself," Vance said.
"I'd rather strip engine mounts," I said with a false smile.
He laughed, covering his mouth and pretending it was a cough. "Were they that vicious?"
"Yes. Can we go yet?"
"The guest of honor isn't here yet, so no, we can't."
I swore under my breath. Vance coughed again.
"Does anything exciting happen at these gatherings?" I asked.
"Other than vicious gossip and bad jokes, no. Sorry. Although there should be dancing later." He looked at me hopefully.
"Dancing? Me?" I shook my head. "I don't know how."
"It's easy. I can teach you." His look told me I'd better agree.
"You owe me for this, Vance." I said it through clenched teeth, still pretending to smile.
"More than you know," he whispered into my hair as a couple, elderly and oozing wealth, crossed the room towards us.
"Look at you, Vance," the woman crowed. "All grown up and getting married. Why, only yesterday you were barely bigger than a bun and getting into mischief." She must have been deaf, her voice carried clearly across the room.
"Lady Victoria," Vance greeted her. He let her pull him close and kiss his cheeks. "And Lord Baltimore, how are you, sir?" He shook hands with the man.
"Never better, son," Lord Baltimore boomed. He must have been as deaf as his wife. "This your bride?" He peered at me, scrutinizing me closely. "Heard you were an admiral. I expected someone much taller and older."
"Harrison, you mind your manners," Lady Victoria chided. "I think she's charming, Vance." She caught me in a powdery hug before I could avoid it.
"Glad you could make it tonight," Lord Baltimore boomed, shaking my hand. "Been a few stories about you. A bit under the weather, were you?"
"An old war wound," I said loud enough to carry across the room to the clot of women in their expensive dresses. I watched the gossip wriggle through them at my statement.
"War, now there's a bleeding shame," Harrison said. "Never thought I'd see the day. Never, in all my years of service."
"Harrison was a fleet admiral," Lady Victoria informed me. "Long before your time, I'm sure."
"Those upstart Federationalists should be punished," one of the men said.
Harrison turned to him. "Breaking the Empire apart, it's a crying shame," he agreed.
Other men chimed in with their opinion. I noticed the women stayed apart. Mostly they watched me.
"You're an admiral," a man about my age said. He held a mostly empty glass. He stared belligerently at me. "What's your opinion on this war with the so called Federation?"
Vance nudged my elbow, warning me to watch what I said.
"I wouldn't presume to speak in the presence of so much experience," I said smoothly. I nudged Vance back. I could tell when to keep my mouth shut.
"Where did you serve?" the man continued. "You're very young to be an admiral."
"Lester, leave her alone," Vance said with a bite to his voice.
"My last post was to Tivor," I said and smiled. "Excuse me a moment."
I ignored their stunned stares and whispers as I walked away, my back stiff. I asked the man pouring punch where the facilities were located. He directed me down a back hallway.
I found the small room and locked myself in. I stared at the stranger in the mirror and wondered how much more of this I would have to live through. I didn't see how this could possibly help me unearth a conspiracy against the Emperor. I closed my eyes and wished I were far away, on the Phoenix, where I could punch anyone who dared gossip about me.
But I wasn't there. I was on Linas-Drias. What strategy could I use to survive this? I couldn't fight it with fists or guns. I couldn't run away. I'd have to fight with words and rumors. I could shock them with stories. I could be something they didn't expect. Maybe in doing it I'd shake something loose, enough information so Leighton would give me Tayvis' location. And then I would be gone.
I splashed a little water on my face. My makeup was still perfect. My hair was beginning to escape its pins. Ringlets curled down my neck. I was tempted to pull out all the pins. Not yet. Save that for a future party. Tonight I'd swap stories wi
th Lord Baltimore about the Patrol. And thoroughly shock the women.
A lot of women were in the Patrol, but not those of the upper crust, apparently. It didn't change who I was or what I'd done.
I brushed my dress straight and marched back out into battle.
By the time it was acceptable to dance, half the men were around me, swapping stories of the various Patrol Academies we'd attended. The women were trying to insinuate themselves into the conversation. I gave them a painfully tolerant smile when they tried and then told another story, cutting them out of the conversation. Vance stood at my elbow and smiled a lot.
The music and the lights changed, signaling the dancing. The women began to pair off with the men. Vance looked at me, holding out his hand in invitation.
"I'm rather tired," I said. I was, too. I'd been standing a long time. "Is it appropriate to leave now or do we have to stay?"
"Since our hosts are gone, we can leave. If you want."
I couldn't read his expression.
"I do want," I said.
He was trying not to smile. "Then we'll go." He helped me with my wrap, pulling it around my shoulders. He took my hand, tucking it through his elbow again. "And next time," he said, leaning in close, "you won't get out of the dancing so easily."
Out on the landing pad, the wind was light, pulling at my dress and hair. The night had cooled off considerably. I shivered. Vance slipped his arm around me.
"I think you made an unforgettable impression tonight," he said. "And one they were not expecting."
"Good," I said and yawned.
He opened the door of the flitter. I stepped in and settled into the seat. I was tired. My side ached. I rubbed it while Vance climbed in.
"Does it still hurt?" he asked.
"Not really," I answered.
He was quiet as the flitter lifted off. We rose up into the night sky, joining the unending line of flitters cruising the atmosphere.
"Did you really do all of that at the Academy?" he asked.
"Most of it was my roommate."
He laughed. "You'll have them talking for a month, at least."
"At least they aren't speculating about a baby anymore." I smiled in satisfaction at his wince. "Maybe I should tell them it's due in about eight months."
"Dace, I never meant them to think that about you," he protested.
"What did you think they'd say, Vance? We were alone together for who knows how long on the yacht. Then you announce we're getting married. I'm not anyone they know about so it must be something like that. I think it's noble of you, to try to save my reputation that way."
"There is no saving your reputation after your performance tonight." He grinned, but there was still an edge to him. "You aren't still mad at me?"
I just smiled. Let him squirm for a while. I snuggled back into the seat and closed my eyes.
Chapter 19
The bales were heavy. It was hard work shifting them, packing them into the cargo bay. Tayvis muscled the latest one into place, webbing it securely. He paused, catching his breath, leaning against the bale. Dace did this and enjoyed it? He shook his head. That didn't matter anymore. She was marrying Vance. Don't think about her, don't let the pain in.
He pushed himself upright and headed for the doors to load another bale. The work was good for him. It took his mind away from the past, gave him something else to focus on. It was the long stretches between, when he had little to do, that he tended to brood. He'd volunteered for kitchen duty as often as the others would let him, which was most of the time. It didn't involve much, though. The galley consisted of a reheater unit and a recycler. Doing the dishes took less than ten minutes.
Most of the crew played endless games of Comets or dice. Tayvis rarely joined in. They gambled for money. When they played a friendly cutthroat game for points, he played with them.
He stopped by the cargo doors. There were voices outside raised in anger. One of them was Captain Jefferes. His ears pricked up, trying to listen without being seen. It was an old habit that had served him well in the past. He saw no reason to break it now.
"You have no right," Jefferes shouted.
"Legally, we do," the other voice answered, calm and reasonable even if it was loud to be heard over the Captain's shouting. "Emergency provision passed by the Council of Worlds just last week."
"It's piracy, pure and simple."
"It's expediency," the other man answered.
Tayvis frowned, the voice was familiar. He risked a peek around the door frame.
Captain Jefferes and his second in command, a burly man named Peit, were surrounded by silver uniforms. Most of the Patrol held guns and looked ready to use them. Their leader, wearing a sector commander's clusters, held a sheet of mem paper. Tayvis swore under his breath, he knew the commander. He'd had the misfortune of serving with him once. It had been mutual distrust and dislike.
Captain Jefferes took the paper, grumbling loudly.
"This ship and all personnel on the crew manifest are now auxiliary Patrol, vessel and crew, under my command," Commander Wexford said pompously. "You will assemble your crew immediately. And Captain, they had better match the crew listings. We wouldn't want to have to arrest you for smuggling, piracy, or consorting with the enemy."
"And what of my cargo?" Jefferes protested. "Food shipment for Rugravia. Tell me that isn't high priority right now and make me believe it." The rumors of food shortages were widespread and beginning to cause panic.
"Your shipment will be redirected," Wexford said. "That is no longer your concern. Patrol logistics will see that the food is delivered."
Not to Rugravia, Tayvis thought. Rugravia was too far down the pecking order, too poor to pay the requisite bribes. It was only a couple tons of grain and yeast cultures, but it represented normalcy in the Empire. It would stave off food riots for a few more days.
"Your crew, Captain," Wexford said impatiently. "They will assemble here, immediately." He snapped his fingers at the Patrol uniforms standing behind him, they spread out, heading for all possible exits from the ship. "My men will see that you comply."
Captain Jefferes' comment was vicious enough to peel paint from the ship. Wexford merely smiled, all teeth and cold as ice.
"What's going on?" Lyvert, the cargomaster, asked behind Tayvis.
"Congratulations," Tayvis said, "we're all part of the Patrol now."
Lyvert's jaw dropped. "They can't do that, they can't make us."
"According to him," Tayvis jerked his thumb at the scene out the hatch, "the Patrol now has the authority, given by the Council."
"You used to be Patrol, didn't you?" Lyvert asked. "We've seen your mark."
Tayvis had a diamond tattoo on the inside of his left wrist, all Enforcers had one. "What about it?" He resisted the urge to tug his cuff over the tattoo.
"At least you got something to bargain with," Lyvert said. "Me, I got three convictions. I was all mixed up until Jefferes took me on and straightened me out. They're going to shoot me."
"Commander Wexford will probably shoot me, too," Tayvis said. "We weren't exactly friendly. I left him in charge of a garrison on Kluger Outpost."
"Kluger Outpost is an unmanned science station," Lyvert said. His eyes widened as the implications came clear.
"Exactly." Tayvis couldn't help the half grin on his face. It had been the perfect practical joke on a pompous newly promoted Commander.
"Wait a minute," Lyvert said, his face wrinkled in thought, "you put him in charge? That means your rank—"
"Don't go there," Tayvis said. "You don't want to know."
Lyvert gave him an odd look. "You ordered him. Why are you on this ship working cargo?"
"It's a really long story."
"You there," a man in a silver uniform shouted. "Out with the rest. Now." He motioned with his blaster.
They stepped out of the cargo bay and onto the plascrete. The rest of the crew assembled outside, most muttering curses under their breath. Tayvis glanced a
round. There were six ships in a port built for dozens. That little fact started to take on more significance. Someone had known about the actions of the Council far enough in advance to warn the ships. Most of them, anyway.
He hadn't bothered to check the registry of any other ships at the ports they'd stopped at. He'd been too wrapped up in his own personal pain. Now he mentally kicked himself for being stupid. He'd noticed there seemed to be far fewer ships than normal, but he'd attributed that to the war with the Federation, assuming the other ships must have somehow crossed the border, leaving the Empire. Now he wasn't so sure.
He stayed at the back of the group, keeping his head down in the vain hope that Wexford wouldn't notice him. Commander Wexford strutted back and forth in his perfectly polished boots and creased uniform while his underlings checked the crew listing against the actual people present. There were other groups at other ships in the port. Tayvis could see the mingling of uniforms and shipsuits. Why was the Black Rose singled out for the personal attention of Commander Wexford? Probably because it was the biggest and newest of the almost decrepit ships currently in port. That wasn't saying much about the Black Rose.
The underlings read off the crew manifest, comparing names and prints. Each crew member was required to step forward as his name was called to scan his hand for an id match. Tayvis briefly entertained the idea of sneaking away. That was impossible. There were at least ten guards watching them from all sides.
"We seem to have a problem, Captain," Wexford said before they'd reached the end of crew members waiting. "Your crew manifest lists eight. I count eleven from your ship."
"We aren't required to list cargo haulers," Captain Jefferes said, with a sharp glance at his crew.
"They are still part of your crew," Wexford said. He eyed Jefferes suspiciously.
"Temporary labor, I don't have to register them unless I offer them permanent berths," Jefferes objected. "Check your regulations, Commander. The ones for private, independent cargo ships."
"You will be paid, Captain," Wexford said. "Your crew and your company will be reimbursed according to the currently accepted—"