Musketeer Space

by Tansy Rayner Roberts

  “Yes,” said Lalla-Louise absently. “Of course you are.”

  “I know that your Highness has been concerned about my recent… theories about Prince Alek’s loyalties. I was startled – no, dismayed, when a recent rumour reached me, and sent one of my best agents to investigate. I think you’ll find that the answer to all our questions lies here.” And the Cardinal spread her gloved palm wide.

  Two perfect cut diamond studs gleamed beneath the light of the hover-chandeliers.

  Lalla-Louise stared. “Those are the studs that my husband should be wearing tonight.”

  The Cardinal smiled sadly. “I hate to be the one to break it to your Highness, but this is an important reminder that even those with whom we are most intimate can become compromised.” She tipped the diamonds into Lalla-Louise’s palm.

  “You’ll excuse me, Eminence,” said a smooth voice breaking into the sudden buzz that Lalla-Louise heard in her ears. “But I would like to dance with my wife.”

  She was numb all over, and yet she felt Alek’s arms come around her. He drew her into the dancing with that same fluid grace they managed at no other time in their lives. Dancing. They had always been good at dancing.

  Three of the hover-chandeliers broke away from the Marquise de Wardes, and tracked the royal couple as they moved in perfect synchronicity across the ballroom floor.

  “I’m sorry,” Alek said, and as Lalla-Louise leaned back in his arms she saw that he was wearing the coat, finally. The colour looked gorgeous over the plain black suit, and he had put some kind of gold glitter gel in his emerald-green hair that made him sparkle beneath the lights. “I was feeling rebellious, and took my anger out on you. It was unfair of me. It won’t happen again.”

  He took her breath away with his beauty. Lalla-Louise rarely craved physical touch, even that of her husband, and yet she could look at him all day. “Angry?” she said in a softer voice than she had intended. “What on earth made you angry?”

  There was a different energy about him tonight. Alek danced with her like he played that zero gravity game – as if there was a winner and a loser, and one of them was about to be struck by a pole. “I got the distinct impression that I was being tested,” he said with an edge to his voice. “I did not like it. I don’t think it was your idea – but that doesn’t make me feel better.”

  Even as her wrist rested elegantly on the back of his neck, Lalla-Louise’s hand was still curled around the two diamond studs that the Cardinal had presented to her. She was not entirely sure what they meant. “I’m sorry, my dove. I had convinced myself that you were involved in – something political.”

  Alek twisted his mouth in exaggerated distaste. “Have you met me? I leave the political to you, dear heart. I’m sports and entertainment.”

  She laughed, and let him sweep her onwards with no further words. The dance could speak for them now. More hover-chandeliers clustered above them, now, capturing their warmth and happiness from every angle. Finally, the song ended and they came to a stop near Cardinal Richelieu. Time to be brave. “Did you lose these?” Lalla-Louise asked, opening her hand and pressing the new diamonds against her husband’s chest.

  Alek looked down, counting exaggeratedly. “All present and correct.” Sure enough, there were six diamond studs weighing down each of the long lapels of his beautifully tailored jacket.

  Lalla-Louise was confused. “Your Eminence, am I missing something? We should have twelve diamonds, and we appear to have fourteen.”

  The Cardinal looked as if someone had poisoned her precious atrium garden, and burned down her favourite cathedral for good measure. Then warmth shone out of her eyes, and she smiled like the proud mother figure she had always been to Lalla-Louise. “A gift, your highness. Consider them tokens of my esteem for the Prince Consort on the occasion of your anniversary. May you celebrate many more.”

  Lalla-Louise did not believe a word of it, and she was certain Alek did not either, but they were all friends here. The hover-chandeliers were broadcasting every moment to the Solar System at large, and smiles were called for all around.

  “Surely it is not appropriate for me to outshine my beautiful wife,” said Alek, and promptly took the new diamonds out of Lalla-Louise’s hand, pressing them to the lapels of the jacket she had worn to match his. “We are quite out of balance, my love,” he added, and seized more diamonds from his own jacket, pressing them to hers, then pulling them off and rearranging them so that it was impossible to tell which were the new and which belonged to the original set.

  Lalla-Louise laughed in a moment of pure delight. When the music struck up again, she let him lead her in another dance. The hover-chandeliers trailed above them, capturing every secret smile and casual touch and diamond gleam between husband and wife.

  You could not save the Solar System by dancing in public, but here and now on the brink of another terrible intergalactic war, it could not hurt.

  It could not hurt at all.

  25

  A Love Letter To Absent Friends

  Dana was lightheaded as she left the Palace by the front steps, heading for the Mecha shuttle in the hope of catching a ride back to Paris Satellite. Sleep was what she needed. Sleep, and a message from each of her three best friends telling her they were alive and well.

  But she would settle for sleep.

  She could still feel the imprint of Conrad’s fingers upon her, the rough press of his tongue against hers, and the painful ache as they dragged themselves apart from each other again. She wanted him so badly, and now that she had him, she did not want to wait.

  Sleep was unlikely.

  Dana swung out of the main doors and clattered down the steps, happily invisible among the glamorous peacock and diamond guests who didn’t even look twice at her with her battered flight suit and pilot-short hair. She was no one of importance, and she liked it that way.

  Dana dodged several frocks lined with feathery collars, only to collide fully with a man in a dark purple evening jacket and light grey shirt. “Oh!” she exclaimed as she had the breath knocked out of her, and then again, more quietly, as she realised in whose arms she had accidentally thrown herself. “Oh. Milord.”

  Vaniel de Winter had his arms around her, to stop her falling down the steps, and he made no move to release her. His serious gaze roamed over her in curiosity. Grey eyes, she realised. Dana had never noticed them before, but they were the same shade of grey as his shirt. She imagined they looked even more piercing when he wore his hair bright silver as he had on Meung Station. “Miss Charlemagne,” he said in greeting, and there was a note of question in the name.

  Did he know? she wondered in a panic. If Milord was as devious and powerful as Buck had implied, surely he knew everything by now.

  “Uh, yes,” she said, and smiled brightly, remembering the carefree persona she had taken on during their ride on the bullet train. “Fancy seeing you here.”

  “It’s a flying visit,” he said, drawing back so that he was not holding her quite so intimately, though his hand still brushed her waist. “Bee wanted to attend the ball, and I heard that the Marquise de Wardes was likely to be here, so… two birds with one stone.”

  “Of course,” Dana said. “Politics,” she added with a wry smile.

  Vaniel returned the smile easily, and for a moment it was easy to believe he was exactly what he had seemed to be, in the first class carriage with his chattering sister-in-law. “You have not dressed as formally as everyone else,” he added.

  She didn’t look at all like the Alix Charlemagne he had met on the bullet train. He had recognised her without the wig and fripperies.

  “I’m in disguise,” she said, twinkling at him. It was a source of great shame to Dana that she had discovered her inner twinkle, when pretending to be Alix. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t use it when there were no other weapons within reach.

  “Ah.” Vaniel – no, Milord – looked amused. “I won’t ask.”

  “Better not.”

 
They looked each other over for a moment more, and then the formal politician in him took over. He stepped aside, and gave Dana an officious nod. “I did not think our paths would cross again so soon, my dear.”

  “You never know what the Solar System has in store for us,” she said, trying not to let any of her nervousness show in her face or her voice.

  “Indeed,” replied Milord de Winter.

  They bowed to each other again, and then Dana moved awkwardly around him so that he could head up the steps and into the Palace.

  If de Winter had anything to do with the matter of the Prince’s diamonds, he was far too late to do anything about it. Dana had beaten him, and Rosnay Cho, in a single night.

  Smiling to herself, she hurried off to catch a tram back to the nearest space dock. The sooner she was back on Paris Satellite in her own bed, the better she would feel.

  Even if Paris without her three Musketeers was not Paris at all.

  Dana slept for twelve hours straight. She had not meant to, but the adrenalin and stress and frustration finally caught up with her. One moment she was clenching her fists tightly with the memory of how much she had wanted to forget about Palace protocols and morality clauses in employment contracts and just suck Conrad Su’s cock into her mouth, and the next she was lost in the strangest dreams of fencing footwork and crashing spaceships, and memories that did not belong to her at all.

  When Dana awoke in her little box of an apartment, she stared for a moment at the blank white ceiling, not sure if she was on a solarcrawler, bullet train or venturer. She was not even convinced that she was Dana D’Artagnan.

  It took some minutes to believe that she was in her own bed, above Madame Su’s workshop. She had seven hours before she was due to meet Conrad at the Fountain of Tranquility, and she had to make those hours count.

  No more distractions or regrets or heated fantasies. Today was about the loyalty she owed to her friends.

  After a brief sonic shower, Dana headed out to the workshop. Madame Su was nowhere in sight, but Planchet tinkered away at her heap of mecha that looked a lot closer to completion than they had a week earlier.

  “Hey chief,” Planchet said, her face open with joy as she saw Dana emerge. “Back in one piece, then?”

  “I am,” Dana said, leaning on the balcony and stretching her neck. “I lost track of the others. Can you help me collect them?”

  “Of course, what do you need?”

  Dana’s eyes flicked to the closed office door.

  “She’s not here today,” Planchet said cheerfully. “Appointments down on Lunar Palais.”

  “That explains why you’re calling me ‘chief’ while standing in the workplace of your actual employer.”

  “Exactly!” said Planchet. “So I can help, right?” She set a large metallic arm down on the floor, eager to start.

  “First things first,” said Dana. “I need to trace Porthos, Aramis and their engies. Which means finding out if any of them got arrested along the way to Valour, or if they’re hiding out. I need a new comm stud that can’t be traced to either you or me, access to the private databases of the Church as well as the Royal Fleet and any medibays between here and Valour. And I need a lot of coffee.”

  “Is that all?” said Planchet. “That doesn’t seem like a lot.”

  “Good,” said Dana, trying not to be cynical in the face of Planchet’s exuberance. “You start with that list, and I’ll go around to their apartments and see if they’ve made it home under their own steam.” It would be embarrassing to set off on an entirely unnecessary jaunt back to Valour just because she hadn’t bothered to use the high tech method of knocking on doors.

  Dana had spent far too much time sitting in recent days – first the train and then the venturer. Walking off her nervous energy across Paris was a good place to start.

  Dana had not expected Athos and Grimaud to be home yet, given the shape of the Parry-Riposte when she had last seen them, so she went to their apartment first to get the disappointment out of the way. Aramis was possible. Surely if she hadn’t been too badly wounded, a medipatch or two would have her back on her feet by now, and she would have travelled back to Paris…

  Porthos was the wild card. Dana had absolutely no idea what had happened to her after the Calais. Perhaps she had been arrested? Or wounded, like Aramis? Or…

  The lack of comm contact between them all was distressing Dana more than she liked to admit. Once she had a clean stud, she could risk getting in touch even if they were in Church custody. But why had none of them reached out to Dana yet?

  Athos’ apartment was empty. Dana had the entry code – Athos’ drinking habits meant that all of them had needed to help him get home at some time or another.

  Inside, Dana looked around, feeling guilty about being here. But not so guilty that she didn’t steal one of his jackets – a blue one that looked even more like a Musketeer jacket than the grey ‘disguise jacket he had worn on their mission. You could almost see the outline where there should be a fleur-de-lis symbol on the back.

  She would return the jacket when Athos had proved to her satisfaction that he hadn’t managed to get his stupid self killed.

  No one replied at Aramis’ apartment. Dana couldn’t bring herself to leave straight away, and she didn’t have the code for entry. She leaned her forehead against the door, willing her friend to be inside complaining about her broken heart, or inhaling too much poetry.

  Dana had not gone this long without talking to Athos, Porthos or Aramis since they first dragged her into their company. She missed them so much. While she trusted in their sense of self preservation, she couldn’t help worrying that at least one of them might be lost for good thanks to her mission.

  Could she forgive herself, if Aramis or Porthos had been fatally wounded? Or their engies? Athos had been so worried about Grimaud. What if she didn’t make it?

  Guilt set in, good and proper.

  As Dana turned to leave Aramis’ door, she heard bootsteps nearby. Her heart lifted for a moment as a Musketeer rounded the corner in full dress blues. But the short blond hair and light skin was a dead giveaway that this was not Aramis.

  It was Captain Tracy Dubois. She looked equally disappointed to see Dana. “Oh,” she said. “I had a proximity alert placed on Aramis’ door so I’d know when she got back. She’s not with you, then?”

  “No,” said Dana, taking a moment to marvel at the level of stealth technology that Aramis’ girlfriend used to keep an eye on her. Only, weren’t they supposed to be exes now? Interesting. “She’s not back yet. I’m setting out to collect her shortly.”

  Worry flickered across Dubois’s face. “What went wrong?”

  “I can’t talk about it.”

  “Of course. I know the score.” Dubois probably knew exactly what the mission was about. She had been Conrad’s first choice to take the letter to Buck, before he even asked his wife. Still, it was in both of their interests not to say anything aloud in an unsecured corridor.

  They stood there for a moment, equally awkward.

  “Would you give Aramis something for me?” Dubois blurted, her pale cheeks flaring red with embarrassment. “A letter.”

  “Of course,” said Dana, holding out her wrist to accept a shared file, stud-to-stud. Instead, Dubois reached into her own flight jacket and pulled out a flat, crinkling object. The envelope felt brittle in Dana’s fingers as she accepted it.

  “Aramis likes paper,” Dubois said, shifting back and forth on her feet.

  “Yes, she does,” Dana smiled, remembering the heavy poetry and theology books that smelled like dust and dryness.

  “Don’t let her burn it or anything, before she’s read the contents. She can be dramatic.” Dubois had recovered her snark, and even managed to roll her eyes. “I was wrong, to end things like I did. I miss her. Will you tell her that, if you get the chance?”

  “I’ll do my best,” said Dana, tucking the letter securely in the pocket of Athos’ jacket.

&nb
sp; Porthos’ place next. Dana had her hopes up far too high that she would be welcomed by the scent of freshly brewed tea, and bread warm from the oven.

  But neither Porthos nor Bonnie replied to her chime. Dana called through to Planchet through her comm. “Can you crack a door code for me?”

  “Sure,” said Planchet without asking why. There was a pause, and a tapping sound, and then a high-pitched whine filled the corridor. Every door within Dana’s sight buzzed open, all at once.

  “Just this one,” Dana hissed, hurling herself inside Porthos’ apartment and slamming it behind her. “Just this one!”

  “Oops,” said Planchet. “Fixed, sorry. I have the other things you needed, by the way.”

  “Brilliant. That was fast.” Porthos’ apartment was usually warm, with music playing and spices in the air. Today, it was cold. Dana felt a stab of loneliness. “Planchet, are you due any leave from Madame Su? A few days, perhaps?”

  “I’ve got a couple of months banked but she’s good at thinking up reasons why I shouldn’t use it,” said Planchet. “Why – hey, do you want me to come with?”

  “I’ll need your hacking skills,” said Dana. “And… I’m going to need an engie.” Porthos’ apartment had an entire kitchen as a separate room. Dana had found what she was looking for, a small crystal keysphere hidden in a bowl of lemons.

  “You’ve got a dart?” Planchet asked, her voice going up into a shrill tone of excitement.

  “Yep,” said Dana, pocketing the keysphere to Porthos’ Hoyden. “I have a dart. We’re going to use him to bring the Musketeers home.”

  Late shift rolled around. Dana lingered in the palace gardens of Lunar Palais, waiting for a rendezvous with a married man. She felt like she had a fully-charged power sphere in her chest, vibrating with anticipation.

  Dana had to admit, her head was hardly in the game for flirtation and sexytimes. She kept checking her comm for updates from Planchet. They had mapped several possible medicentres where Bazin might have taken Aramis. Planchet had delved far more deeply into the Church arrest records than any civilian ever should, and determined there was no arrest record for any of the missing Musketeers or engies.