Musketeer Space

by Tansy Rayner Roberts

  They emerged on the East Side of the Palace, and now she had her bearings quite clearly. She was only a few minutes from the Mecha hub where her barracks were located. No excuse to keep following Conrad to his mysterious appointment.

  He headed past the practice yards, and towards the tunnel that led to the mecha graveyard. That fired up Dana’s curiosity even more.

  When Lunar Palais was first built, hundreds of years earlier, it was considered too dangerous to have ships zooming in and out of the main dome. The original space dock was set up in a secondary, smaller dome, with a tunnel connecting the two. This secondary dome was disused now, except as a storage space for abandoned tech that had not yet been pillaged for recyclable parts. Old spaceships, building units and especially rundown old mecha clotted the area.

  Mecha Squad Essart and their engie crew sometimes held drinking parties here, among the debris and broken-down vehicles. When a suit was smashed beyond reasonable use, there would be a ceremonial drag-and-ditch, in which all members of the Squad were expected to participate. Dana had also sneaked in here once or twice on her own, so she could get extra mecha practice away from the kind but mocking eyes of her friends and/or the other squaddies.

  There had been no terraforming here, nothing to disguise the surface of the moon as anything but what it was – a pitted, rocky landscape that looked like death. Dana liked it out here better than within the proper dome of Luna Palais – it felt more honest, somehow. More moon.

  She had not thought about the fact that, as a former spacedock, the dome must be fully-functional.

  Up ahead of her, past a heap of severed steel heads and giant armour, Conrad stopped in a recently cleared patch of ground. He stood in the flickering pool of light from a neon beacon, swaying with exhaustion. The light caught the occasional movement that should belong to a person, despite whatever shielding Conrad’s “invisible” companion was using. Dana hid in the shadows of a disused hangar. Guilt stung her as she caught a glimpse of despair on Conrad’s face. Did she have a right to spy on him because she had partly rescued him today?

  Dana was about to turn and leave when she heard a sound so familiar to her that she could not move her feet.

  The plexi-glass above them shifted and rotated out in layers, allowing for a ship to descend. Dana caught her breath as she watched it come down. It wasn’t just that it was a musket-class dart, which automatically made it beautiful in her eyes. A scrolling pattern of fleur-de-lis and sacred constellations tattooed its back fin, clear enough that Dana was able to identify the ship. It was the Morningstar.

  He belonged to Aramis.

  If Dana had learned anything from her time in Paris it was that the Musketeers had their own secrets, many secrets, and a history she did not share. Whatever covert assignation was happening here, Aramis was involved, and she had said nothing about it even while helping with the escape back on Paris. Humiliation burned through Dana as she stared at the ship.

  The pilot emerged first, wiping flight gel from the white-blond stubble of her scalp, and stretching her legs. A Musketeer, but not Aramis. This was Captain Tracy Dubois. Dana had seen more of that particular pilot than she should thanks to a certain personal photosilk belonging to her friend, but they had never met in person. Dubois wore a full Musketeer uniform, but you would have to be a long way away to mistake her soft pink face for Aramis’s honey brown tones.

  Captain Dubois spoke briefly to Conrad on the ground, and they shared a handshake of forearms gripping each other, colleague to colleague. She used greater deference in greeting Conrad’s companion, the one that no one could see. Then she opened up the side hatch of her ship.

  Another woman stepped out, in a silver flight suit. Her hair was long and braided in loops – no longer purple, but a violent pink colour. Dana recognised her, if only by vid-image and reputation. This was the exiled former Minister of PR and Emerald Knight, the one called Chevreuse.

  Another of Aramis’ lovers. Dana held her breath, waiting for her friend to emerge as part of this blatantly conspiratorial group. Instead, a different woman emerged from the ship, bronzed and beautiful in a scarlet flight suit.

  The Duchess of Buckingham. She had not been formally exiled from Lunar Palais but she was most definitely not supposed to be here.

  A conspiracy against the Crown. It had to be. Dana had helped Conrad set up this illicit gathering! She was in so much trouble aleady. Time to get out of here.

  Dana turned and ran across the pitted surface of the moon. In this charged, silent atmosphere, she could not help her feet scuffing the ground, and the noise of it sent echoes in all direction.

  Not fast enough to escape. She heard the heavier footsteps of pursuit, and ran faster.

  13

  Conspiracy is Bad For the Blood Pressure

  Conrad caught Dana before she reached the hatch. The gravity was softer than in the main dome, spongier underfoot, and it slowed her down. He was a Zero-G athlete. He slammed into her back, one elbow crunching between her shoulder blades.

  Dana fought back, tucking and rolling, jabbing at his legs with her feet. She didn’t think about drawing her stunner, not that he gave her time to do so.

  His head took her in the stomach, and she clawed the side of his face, struggling to be free of him. His arms were grappled hard around her waist, though, and when they hit the surface of the moon with only a slight bounce, Dana was underneath.

  For a man only a little taller than her, Conrad had a lot of muscle to him. He also had an arc-ray beneath that soft civilian shirt of his, and he now drew it, pointing the bead directly into her face.

  An arc-ray, not a stunner. Lethal.

  “Who sent you after us, Dana?” he whispered.

  “No one sent me,” she snarled, shifting her weight to see if there was any give in the hold he had her in. “You know who I am.”

  “I know you convinced Planchet you were on the side of the angels, but if a burning comet promised that girl a spaceship to play with, she’d follow it like a puppy.” Conrad breathed slowly, in and out, his hand steady on the arc-ray. “Who are you really, and why did you follow me?”

  “Who are you?” Dana hissed. “What the hell have you got yourself into? Whatever the three of you are doing here, it’s hardcore treason. And you made me a part of it.”

  “I didn’t invite you!” he said incredulously. “You made yourself part of this.” He stared at her, as if he could read her intentions from extremely close eye contact. Whatever he saw, it made a difference.

  Conrad rolled off her and stood up, holstering the weapon beneath the concealing swing of his royal blue coat. “For the Crown,” he said, testing her as he had before. “Everything I have done here tonight is in service to the Crown. God help me.”

  Could she honestly say the same? Had she followed him out of curiosity, jealousy, or genuine patriotism? Dana felt vaguely ashamed of herself. He was right. She had invited herself into this mess.

  “For the Crown,” she replied sullenly. “Always.”

  Conrad held out a hand, and helped her to her feet. “Come and join the Royalist pity party. We have coffee.”

  As they walked back towards the dart, his fingers remained tangled in hers. She did not pull her hand away.

  Dubois and Chevreuse had made themselves comfortable on the surface of the moon, beside the ship. Now she came to look more closely at it, Dana was not certain it was the Morningstar after all. There was a shimmer about the tail fin that made her wonder if another sight-shield illusion was in play here. Could they do that, make a ship tattoo look like another?

  If they could make a person invisible, why not?

  Speaking of invisible, there was no sign of the Duchess, or the sight-shielded Prince.

  Dubois sipped coffee from a thermos cup, and Chevreuse produced a pack of cards that she dealt in an elaborate pattern on the white rock beneath them. They both glanced up as Conrad and Dana approached.

  “Absolutely,” said Chevreuse, shifting from
suspicious to sarcastic with barely a second’s pause. “That’s an excellent way to keep a low profile, Conrad. Bring a date.” She was pregnant, with a large dome of a stomach visible as soon as you saw her at an angle.

  “This is Dana D’Artagnan,” said Conrad. “She helped me get away from Special Agent Cho earlier, and she’s reliable backup. Aramis would vouch for her, they’re friends.”

  Both women raised their eyebrows at that, and Dana remembered she was looking at Aramis’ current secret girlfriend as well as her ex.

  “Actual friends,” Dana said with more emphasis than was strictly necessary. “Does she know you’ve got her ship?”

  “Pretty, isn’t it,” said Captain Dubois fondly. She touched a stud at her wrist, and the tail fin of the dart shimmered suddenly, the pattern shifting from stars and fleur-de-lis to a different image of sword hilts tangled in vines, with the silhouette of a mountain range high across the top of the fin. It was the tattoo from the Parry-Riposte. Athos’ ship.

  “Don’t do that,” Dana growled. “You’re implicating them in whatever’s going on here.”

  “Aramis owes me a favour, she can wear the inconvenience,” said Dubois, her hand going back to the stud.

  “Athos owes me nine,” said Chevreuse. “Leave it as it is.” She surveyed Dana thoughtfully. “You don’t know why we’re here? Would you prefer it to stay that way?”

  That was a good question. Conrad’s hand was warm in Dana’s. She was well and truly compromised now, even without knowing what she was compromised about. “I assume if you were merely conspiring against the Cardinal, or the Regence, or the Musketeers, you could do it somewhere more comfortable,” Dana observed, waving a hand around the mecha graveyard.

  Dubois laughed at that.

  Chevreuse wore a grim expression. “Oh for a warm tavern and a simple conspiracy.”

  Dubois finished her coffee, eyeing up Dana like she was working something out. “D’Artagnan, you said? I have heard of you.”

  Dana fervently hoped that whatever the glamorous pilot had heard did not in any way involve a photosilk. “You’re taking the Duchess of Buckingham home,” she blurted. “To Valour. Isn’t that right?”

  “Ten out of ten,” said Dubois. “An official assignment from the Crown, no less. I’m not the one breaking rules to be here. Well, mostly,” she added with a slightly ashamed look at Chevreuse, who made a rude gesture in her direction. “Coffee?”

  “And me,” said Conrad, finally letting go of Dana’s hand. “Lots of sugar, Trace. It’s been a long week.” They both found seats on the pitted ground. Dubois handed around more coffee, while Chevreuse flipped cards back and forth in a game of her own devising.

  “A simple mission,” said Dubois. “Buck has playing diplomacy across the various continents of Honour ever since the Grand Exile…”

  “Less of the grand,” said Chevreuse, screwing up her nose. “Can we call it the Shit Exile? Captain Dubois here was given the job of taking our worthy Ambassador back home now her term of service is up. Implied in that order, of course, was to make sure she bloody well went home by a direct route. Do not pass Lunar Palais, do not collect 200 credits.” She gave Dubois a dirty look.

  “Given how much the well-being of the entire solar system relies on Buck getting home without being caught in the presence of his Royal Highness, the Prince Consort…” Dubois continued, returning the dirty look with one of her own. “We thought that the best possible chance we had was for Chev to travel to Honour, meet Buck on the ground and keep damned close to her for the entire trip, while Conrad stayed on Lunar Palais to prevent the Prince from making contact.”

  “It was a workable plan, right up to the point that I was abducted, and incommunicado for several days,” groaned Conrad. “Guess who took the opportunity to make a bunch of subspace messages to his ‘family’ back on Honour?” It was his turn to shoot a dirty look, this time to Chevreuse. “I don’t know what the excuse at your end was.”

  Chevreuse’s eyes glittered dangerously. “Forgive me for assuming Buck wasn’t completely self-destructive,” she hissed back. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

  “So many bad decisions,” sighed Dubois, leaning her head back against her ship. “And here we are. Champions of the fucking solar system, with an emphasis on fucking.”

  Dana looked from one to the other of them. “Is that it?” She was almost shocked at the simplicity of the explanation. “Not some big political conspiracy, it’s just an affair?”

  All three of them groaned and shook their heads.

  “Of course it’s big and political,” Chevreuse said. “It’s the Prince Freaking Consort.”

  “It’s technically treason,” muttered Conrad.

  “This would be the perfect excuse,” explained Dubois. “To get rid of PrinceAlek, at the very least – the Cardinal has never been happy about the Regence marrying an Elemental New Aristocrat. It could bring down the Regence, too. If one of her brothers turns up at the right time, putting on a moral front in the face of her scandal…”

  “There had better not be a scandal,” said Chevreuse between gritted teeth. “Oh, I hate this. I need to be at the Palace, doing my bloody job. That big-toothed hologram they hired to replace me will never save the Regence from this catastrophe.”

  “He’s in there with her right now, isn’t he?” Dana said carefully. She had figured that much out. Dubois’s ship was the site of the dangerous liason, while the Prince’s friends sat outside and complained about it.

  “I can’t refuse his orders,” Conrad explained. “That’s the curse of serving the Crown.” He sighed heavily. “I brought him here under a sight-shield. No one will know. We can do that much. Chevreuse is right. There doesn’t have to be a scandal, as long as…”

  “As long as they don’t get it in their thick heads to elope,” Chevreuse whispered, not even wanting to speak the words. “That’s what we’re really here to prevent. There will be no evidence that they spent the night together – clearing up that kind of mess is what I do best – and as long as they go their separate ways, we’re done.”

  “How do you make sure of it?” Dana asked. “I mean – is it enough that Dubois has her orders to get Buckingham home?”

  “Yeah,” Dubois said, looking just as sick as the rest of them. “Except that Buck is an Ambassador. That gives her royal privilege. The flight contract specified she was not to be allowed to land on Lunar Palais, through any of the three docks. But -” She waved a hand around the barren landscape of the secondary dome. “Loophole. Maybe they should give her your old job, Chev. She’s sneaky. No one’s given me orders to make sure the Prince Consort stays on the moon. If he chooses to leave, I can’t stop him – I have to grit my teeth and fly the ship.”

  Dana frowned. “If all of you working together couldn’t keep them apart tonight, what on earth makes you think they won’t keep trying to see each other?”

  There was a long, painful pause.

  “You need to find him someone else,” Chevreuse told Conrad sternly. “A nice sporty mistress with a good rack and no political status. Which I told you six months ago.”

  “My job description does not include getting my boss laid,” Conrad snapped back.

  “Tonight suggests otherwise.”

  “Wouldn’t that add up to more treason?” Dana suggested. They all turned cynical expressions on her that made her feel about twelve years old.

  “It wouldn’t be so bad if it was anyone but Buck,” said Conrad. “Too political. She’s not just aristocracy back on Valour – if they get their referendum through to secede from the system, Buck is prime candidate to be their First Minister, maybe even their Regence. She’s Elemental, on top of it, so there’s the religious shit in there too. Any hint of an alliance between Alek and Buck reads like a conspiracy, even if it is just two people who fancy the hell out of each other.”

  “Fancy,” Chevreuse teased, mocking him.

  He leaned forward, and punched her lightly on the
arm. “All we can do is hope they get it out of their systems tonight.”

  “Cheers to that,” said Dubois, and they clinked coffee cups.

  There was no more talk of politics after that. They talked TeamJoust, mostly, with Chevreuse interrogating Conrad about the “lamb” who had replaced her in the Emerald Knights.

  Dubois joined in, knowledgeable about the sport, and Dana found herself able to follow most of the chatter thanks to the games she had watched with Porthos. She was even able to contribute a comment or two when they discussed an upcoming cinquefoil game between Serpentin and the Mousers which promised to be especially violent thanks to an emotionally fraught team line up.

  They no longer felt like conspirators who had failed to save their master from falling into the wrong bed; it was a gathering of friends. Dana found to her great surprise that Aramis, Porthos and even Athos had trained her, somehow, over the last couple of months, to make comfortable friendly conversation. It was a skill that had eluded her, back home on Gascon Station.

  Conrad slung an arm around her shoulder at one point, and she leaned against his shoulder, choosing to forget that he was married to her terrifying landlady.

  It was nice.

  The hatch opened and their prince emerged, concealed beneath the sight-shield again. He and Conrad made their farewells to Chevreuse, who tipped Dana a mocking salute before she joined the Duchess of Buckingham inside the dart that still bore the same fin tattoo as the Parry-Riposte.

  They were all equally relieved that the prince was parting from his lover. The alternative had been terrifying.

  “Don’t worry,” said Dubois in a low voice to Dana, before she returned to her helm and harness. “I’ve left a deliberate error or two in the illusion – if we’ve missed any security feeds, and someone collects a screen grab, it will be an obvious forgery. I wouldn’t actually screw Athos over like that.”

  “You’re so reassuring,” Dana said dryly. She rather liked Dubois.