“You can catch up shortly, I’ve been getting your messages for the last several days.” She resumed her seat. “Please take a chair, lord captain.” She glanced up at the senior lieutenant. “Thank you, Kazakov.” The premiere withdrew.
Chenforce was no longer in the Zanshaa system: once the two great transport ships carrying the Lords Convocate had vanished into Wormhole 2, the fleet guarding the system had followed, leaving the system to the mercies of the Naxids. Chen’s squadron had remained with the Convocation until their escape could be declared certain, then separated from the rest of the fleet and swung through a series of wormhole gates to arrive at its present location, the Seizho system.
Martinez’s journey had been more direct: he was able to head from Zanshaa straight to Seizho, accelerating all the while, and found Chenforce waiting for him there, and decelerating at a modest one gravity.
Given that the squadron was in Seizho, Martinez thought he could guess why Chenforce was reducing its velocity.
Time would tell if he was right.
“I imagine you’re tired,” Lady Michi said, “and that you’d like to square your gear away and get some rest, but I wanted to greet you and to invite you to join me for supper tonight.”
“I would be honored, my lady,” Martinez said.
“Why don’t you give me your captain’s card,” Lady Michi said, “and I’ll get you into the tactical computer.”
For the second time, Martinez gave up his captain’s card. Lady Michi slotted it, gazed for a moment at the display, then tapped at her display.
“Thumbprint and signature please, Captain Martinez,” she said. “Supper will be at 25:01.”
“Thank you, my lady.”
Martinez took his card, braced, walked to the door, and hesitated.
“You cabin will be to your right,” Lady Michi said. “Your name will be on plate by the door.”
Martinez thanked the squadcom and made his way out. It wasn’t difficult to find his cabin: his orderlies were still in the process of installing his baggage. Martinez supervised this task, particularly the stowing of the various wines and delicacies that had been brought across onDaffodil.
Afterward Martinez inspected his four servants’ own quarters, and made certain they had no complaints. Though it was very unusual for captains to decorate the rooms of the enlisted—usually a slap of new paint would do—the crew quarter ofIllustrious were, like the rest of the ship, a work of art. Martinez slipped Alikhan enough money to cover any dues for the petty officers’ lounge, then headed one deck forward—or “above,” in the current deceleration—to his own quarters.
At the top of the companionway he was surprised to encounter an old friend, but then he saw that Chandra Prasad was accompanied by an older man in the uniform of a senior captain, and Martinez snapped to the salute, staring the recommended hand’s breadth above the captain’s head.
“Captain Martinez, lord captain,” he said.
Senior Captain Lord Gomberg Fletcher took his time about replying. “Yes,” he judged. “Apparently you are he. You may stand at ease.”
The Fleet’s most celebrated aesthete was a thin-faced man with carefully waved silver hair and ice-blue eyes set in deep, craggy sockets. His uniform was soft and well tailored and immaculate, and the silver buttons gleamed.
“Captain Martinez,” Fletcher said, “may I present Lieutenant the Lady Chandra Prasad?”
“Her ladyship and I are already acquainted,” Martinez said.
“Ye-es,” Chandra said. There was a mischievous gleam in her long brown eyes, and Martinez did his best not to respond to it. He and Lady Chandra had done a two-month communications and cipher course some years ago, on a long hot summer on Zarafan, and the summer had been all the hotter for the two of them being together.
Chandra’s hair had gone auburn in the years since—Martinez recalled it being brown—but the pointed chin and the full, amused lips were exactly as Martinez had stored them in his memory.
Martinez dragged his eyes away from Chandra, and decided that the situation merited the tribute direct. “My lord,” he said. “Please allow me to compliment you on the appearance of your ship. It’s the most complete vision I’ve ever seen.”
Fletcher accepted the praise with easy tolerance. “You should have seen my oldSwift. It was a much smaller ship, so I was able to make use of mosaic.”
“That must have been exquisite,” Martinez said.
Fletcher smiled graciously. “It was a worthy effort, I believe.”
“I understand you’ve married,” Chandra interrupted. “My congratulations.”
Martinez turned to her. “Thank you.”
The mischievous gleam still burned in her eyes. “Are you enjoying it?” she asked.
Surprise at the question caused Martinez to hesitate a fraction of a second. He knew better than to express any vacillation over his marriage, particularly to this woman, particularly on a ship with a Chen on board. “Marriage is delightful,” he said. “Have you tried it yet?”
Now it was Chandra’s turn to hesitate. “Not yet,” she said finally.
Fletcher’s blue eyes scanned like a receiver dish from Martinez to Chandra and back, searching for the source of the intimacy that smouldered beneath their words.
“Well,” he said finally, “my congratulations on your nuptials, captain. I hope you find your stay onIllustrious a pleasant one.”
“Thank you, my lord. Ah…I should mention that I’ve brought a full complement of servants, and that these include a rigger and a machinist. As I don’t need four servants in my current situation, I’d be happy to offer these two for any purposeIllustrious requires.”
Fletcher received this with a frown. When he spoke, it was with solemn gravity. “I believe you will find, my lord, that an officer of your stature requires a full complement of servants to uphold his dignity.”
Martinez blinked. “Yes, my lord,” he said.
With an enviable mixture of ease and eminence, Fletcher began to move away down the corridor, Chandra in his wake.
Mystature? Martinez thought. Mydignity?
“Oh, Captain Martinez, one more thing.” Fletcher had paused, and turned to speak over his shoulder. “We wear full dress for dinner aboardIllustrious.”
“Very good, my lord,” Martinez said automatically. Chandra lifted a cynical eyebrow at Martinez, then followed the captain on his way out.
Martinez went to his cabin. Four servants to uphold hisdignity? For a moment he pictured his four orderlies hustling him down the corridor in a sedan chair. Then he shrugged and went to his quarters.
For all that it was intended for a lieutenant, Martinez’s sleeping cabin was twice the size of the captain’s cabin onCorona. On the walls were murals that seemed a deliberate contrast from the trompe l’oeil he’d seen elsewhere: against a lush tropical background of greens and turquoise were objects—people, furniture, vehicles—painted to seem two-dimensional, as if the artist had worked from photographs. It was an amusing enough idea and Martinez probably wouldn’t get tired of it, unlike the decor of his office, which featured a motif of chubby, naked, male Terran children, unaccountably winged, who struggled to make use of a collection of ancient weaponry, swords and helmets and armor, that had been designed for grownups. It was unclear whether the children intended to massacre each other or had some other idea in mind. Whatever their purpose, Martinez suspected he would grow to hate their sweet faces and plump buttocks before very many days had passed.
The art, Martinez saw on closer inspection, hadn’t been actually painted on: it had been created in a graphics program, run off on long sheets, and installed like wallpaper.
As an antidote to the treacle on his office walls, he installed a picture of Terza in his desk display, an image of her in a long high-necked white gown, sitting in front of a vast spray of flowers that she had arranged. The picture would glow there at all hours, migrating in silence from one corner of the display to the next, a reminder of the marri
age that still eluded his comprehension.
Michi Chen had kindly suggested that Martinez would need rest, but in fact he’d had plenty of relaxation aboardDaffodil during his transit, and he didn’t feel particularly sleepy. He paged Perry for a cup of coffee, settled himself at his desk, and contemplated his discomfort at the memory of Chandra Prasad.
Chandra was as provincial a Peer as was Martinez himself, and from a less distinguished family on her home world. She’d told him that she joined the Fleet out of a desire to escape her home, and indeed restlessness seemed to be her greatest trait. During their months together, she and Martinez had mated, quarreled, reconciled, and then done it all over again. Chandra had been spectacularly unfaithful to him, and as a result he made it a point of honor to be unfaithful to her. Two months of this had left him feeling as if he’s done ten rounds with a prizefighter, and had been more than a little thankful that their connection had come to an end.
Martinez had no intention of becoming involved with Chandra again, especially on a ship with one of his in-laws aboard. He would take that glimmer he’d seen in Chandra’s eye as a warning, and stay clear.
He wished, now that he had time to consider it, that he’d had more practice at being a husband. All his social reflexes were aimed at making himself pleasant and available to any eligible woman in his vicinity. Sexual continence was not a virtue he’d ever felt the need to practice. He was going to have to guard himself against the well-honed gallantry that had been practiced for so long that it amounted to a reflex.
At this point he remembered that he had messages waiting, and with a degree of relief at the mental change of subject he slotted his captain’s key into his desk and called them up. There were several from Terza, the latest from four days ago, and he keyed them.
Most were brief. Life on theEnsenada, speeding toward Laredo, was without care but hardly a gay round of social excitement. Roland was consistently beating Walpurga and Terza in games of hyper-tourney. The several hours spent each day at two gees weren’t causing her any discomfort. Terza read a great deal and had a lot of time to practice her harp.
Martinez found himself warming at the sight of her face, at the lovely moment, just before speaking, when her eyes first lifted to the camera. Once she spoke he detected a slight hesitation in her manner. They hadn’t spent enough time together to develop complete ease in one another’s company, let alone while talking over a distance of light-days. Martinez wondered if his own discomfort showed in the audio and video he’d sent fromDaffodil, and thought he might try writing letters in reply. It would let his manner develop more naturally, without the hesitations of video.
He triggered the latest of the messages and saw Terza on a loveseat in her quarters dressed in a high-collared blouse of blue silk moiré, her hair an asymmetric waterfall over one shoulder. He sensed a slight flush in her cheeks, and perhaps an elevated pulse rate as well, though how he knew that he couldn’t imagine.
“I was right,” Terza said in her soft voice. “I told you I felt fertility coming on, and I was correct. I’ve known for twenty or more days that I was pregnant, but I know a lot of accidents can happen early on, and we were dealing with acceleration and so on, so I didn’t want to tell you until I was certain that…well, that it would last. It looks as if there’s no going back now.” Her lips turned up in a smile. “I’m very pleased. I hope you are as well.” She put one of her long, exquisite hands over her abdomen. “All sorts of magical hormone things seem to be happening to me right now. I wish you were here to share them. Please stay safe for the two of us.”
The message ended. Martinez let out the long breath he’d been holding, and then played the message again. Sensation surged through his blood; he could feel his skin warming.
He was going to be a father. The realization was so staggering that Perry had to knock three times before Martinez heard it and called his steward in. Perry appeared in full dress, with white gloves, with a pot of coffee on a tray. Martinez looked at him in surprise.
“Has someone told you to put on your number ones?” he asked.
Perry placed a cup and saucer before Martinez and poured. “The other servants told me that full dress was customary aboardIllustrious, my lord.”
“I see.”
Perry replaced the coffeepot on the tray and stood back. “I’m sorry your coffee was delayed, my lord. I should let you know that there may be a problem with our meals.”
Martinez had been sufficiently wrapped in his thoughts that he hadn’t realized that his coffee had taken longer than expected to turn up “Yes?” he said. “Why’s that?”
“It’s because you’re in the premiere’s cabin, my lord. The squadcom’s cabin has a kitchen, of course, and so does the captain’s. The wardroom has a kitchen for the lieutenants, and of course the enlisted have their mess. But the first lieutenant’s cabin has no kitchen facilities.”
“Ah. I see.”
Martinez should have anticipated this. Lady Michi had her own cook, of course, as did the captain. The wardroom was a kind of club for the lieutenants, and the tactical officer, normally a lieutenant, would under normal circumstances mess there. But as a full captain Martinez couldn’t impose on his juniors for his meals, and in order to dine with either Fletcher or Michi Chen, he’d have to be invited.
On all ofIllustrious, there was no place for Perry to prepare his meals. He nodded at the coffeepot.
“Where’s you get this?”
“The wardroom steward very kindly lent it to me, my lord.” Perry’s face darkened. “This was after the captain’s steward refused to let me into his kitchen.”
“Well, that’s within his rights.” For a moment Martinez pictured himself living out of boxes and cans for the length of his posting, and then he laughed. “Have a talk with Lady Michi’s cook,” he said, “and with the wardroom steward again. Perhaps something can be worked out.”
“Very good, my lord.”
“And if all else fails,” Martinez said, “there’s alwaysDaffodil. ” Since the Fleet hadn’t provided a pilot to take the commandeered yacht away once it had delivered Martinez, the boat, with its full kitchen, would remain grappled toIllustrious for the foreseeable future.
Perry cheered at this. “That’s true, my lord.”
“I’ve been invited to supper with the squadcom tonight, so there isn’t any urgency.”
Perry left, and Martinez returned his attention to his video display, where Terza’s image remained frozen, her lips parted in a soft smile, her hand touching her abdomen as if protecting the child.
A child…An unfamiliar sensation shivered through Martinez, and to his immense surprise he discovered that it was bliss.
He needed to respond to the message at once, if he could manage it without babbling.
Martinez told the display to record a reply, and began the babbling at once.
“This isn’t a spy ring,” Sula said to Lord Octavius Hong, “this is a fucking holiday association. Dreamed up by the same people who join the Fleet because they think it’s a yacht club.” She snarled.“Everyone in the neighborhood knows by now that Fleet personnel are living in our apartment. When the Naxids come, they’re going to be on us in three minutes.”
“Steady, Four-nine-one,” her superior murmured. “I don’t think it’s as bad as all that.”
They had met in a sidewalk café after Sula had stuck a strip of tape on a lamppost in the Old Square, the sign for an immediate meeting. In the balmy weather of early summer Hong had draped his jacket over the back of his chair and sat at the table in his shirt-sleeves. His face bore an expression of handsome, quiet confidence as he set about dismembering a flaky pastry.
He had showed respect for procedure by calling Sula by her code name, though because they’d trained together he knew her real name perfectly well, just as she knew his despite the fact that, as head of Action Group Blanche, she should refer to him as “Blanche.” Awarding code names had come rather late in the training, and by that time th
ey’d all got used to one another’s genuine identities. Another aspect, Sula realized now, of the amateurishness with which this operation had been set up.
“You’re based in a Terran neighborhood,” said Lord Octavius. “If you were living with Naxids, you might have cause to worry, but your neighbors will have no reason to betray you.”
“How about money or favor?” Sula said as she stirred more honey into her tea. “What if the Naxids offer a cash reward for turning us in?”
Hong gave her a stern look. “Loyal citizens—” he began.
“I want backup identities for my whole team,” she said, stirring. “And everyone else in your group should get them, too.” She raised her spoon and licked it, the flavor of warm clover honey bursting on the tip of her tongue.
For the first time in their acquaintance Hong’s face displayed a moment of doubt. “I’m not sure that’s in the budget,” he said cautiously.
Sula raised her cup of tea to her lips. “Oh, for all’s sake, Blanche,” she said. “Our sidecoins the money.”
Hong’s decisive look returned. “I’ll push a memorial up to higher authority, shall I?”
“I’ll do the work myself,” Sula said. It was an offer, and also a decision.
She still had her special warrant from the lord governor. Sula used one of the cameras with which the Intelligence Section had equipped Team 491 to take pictures of herself and her group, then put on her uniform and took the funicular to the High City. She flashed her warrant in the Records Office and took advantage of a slight ambiguity in its wording—“require cooperation in the matter of records”—to get herself a desk and the passwords necessary to do her job.
The passwords, strings of long numbers, she recorded with her sleeve camera while no one was looking.
Thus enabled, her task was simple enough that once she had her three backup identities, she saw no reason to stop. By the time the office closed at the end of day, each member of Action Team 491 had four false identities, counting the ones they’d started with.
Sula collected the last of these, the heavy plastic card still warm from the thermo printer, the seal of the government embossed on its surface.
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