Musketeer Space

by Tansy Rayner Roberts

  Aramis blinked. “We are totally getting drunk later so I can get that story out of you two.”

  “Later,” Athos promised, sounding oddly bright. “First, I have to pawn a sapphire. I think this particular jewel will bring in enough to cover the restoration bills for both of our darts, D’Artagnan. Nice to start a war without too much debt.”

  “It’s yours,” Dana said, a little shocked. “I mean, if you need the money – that’s fine, pawn it, sell it, whatever, but you said it belonged to your family. Don’t you want to keep it?”

  “Believe me,” said Athos, tapping idly at his wrist. “I’m not sentimental.”

  “I won’t take your money,” she said stubbornly. She was feeling guilty enough about this Milord business without profiting from it.

  Athos arched an eyebrow at her. “I could throw the dratted stud in one of the ornamental fishponds on Lunar Palais, see if we can bag ourselves a trout instead of two fine darts to serve the Empire.”

  Dana glared at him and he returned her gaze, eyes dancing at her.

  Forgiveness, then.

  “Fine,” she muttered, looking away first.

  Athos clapped her around the shoulders. “Good choice.”

  “Dana,” called Porthos from the other room. “You have a visitor, pet.”

  Dana and Athos both tensed. She had not yet put on her belt or her pilot’s slice, but was gratified that Athos’ hand went straight to his. He was taking the threat of Milord seriously.

  “Who is it?” Athos asked, guarded. He stepped through the door ahead of Dana. On any other day, that protective instinct would have annoyed the hell out of her.

  Porthos was alone. “Not here,” she said. “Planchet called me, because you haven’t been answering your comm? Some girl turned up at Madame Su’s, asking for you.”

  Aramis raised her eyebrows. “Business or pleasure, Dana?”

  “How should I know?” Dana said defensively.

  “Apparently she’s sparkly,” Porthos added.

  Dana sighed heavily. “Kitty.” What on earth did Milord’s assistant want with her?

  “Could be a trap,” Athos mused.

  “Excellent,” said Porthos. “We haven’t walked into a trap for ages. It’s important to keep in practice.”

  40

  Tea, and the Cardinal

  The last thing Dana wanted was for all three of her Musketeer friends to follow her home and witness whatever Kitty had to tell her, but she didn’t have a choice in the matter.

  When they arrived at Madame Su’s Bed and Board, Dana was alarmed to see that Planchet was nowhere in sight. Madame Su herself had cornered a dishevelled and cranky-looking Kitty in the workshop.

  “So this is your landlady, Dana!” Aramis announced, pouncing on Madame Su with a delight that might or might not be feigned. “You didn’t tell me she was so fashionably turned out. Hello, Madame, I’m Captain Aramis of the Royal Fleet, so glad to meet you at last!”

  Porthos jumped into the charm offensive with both boots, giving Madame Su a hearty smack between her narrow shoulder blades. “I hear you’ve been taking good care of our Dana,” she said heartily. “So nice when neighbours take care of each other. That’s what I always say about Paris Satellite – we might be a giant space station orbiting the moon of an over-heated desert planet no one in their right minds would ever visit, but we’re also a community.”

  “You do always say that, Porthos, it’s true,” said Aramis, nodding. “Madame Su, you must tell me where you got that darling silk suit – I’ve been looking for something like it for ages. Not that my figure is quite as dainty as yours…”

  Madame Su was helplessly pinned between the two friendly Musketeers, which gave Dana an opportunity to draw Kitty out of earshot, further into the workshop. Athos followed her, one hand hanging casually close to his pilot’s slice and a harmless expression on his face that was in direct contrast to the set of his shoulders.

  Kitty darted a look at Athos, and got the picture quickly. She wasn’t going to get to speak to Dana alone.

  “I have your dress,” Dana said, handing the folded frock to the other girl.

  “That’s a good start,” Kitty snipped back. Her eyes were red-rimmed beneath the glitter-pink eyelashes. She had been crying. “How about finding me a new job while you’re at it?”

  “I thought you were sticking with Milord,” said Dana, genuinely startled.

  Kitty stabbed a finger into the middle of Dana’s chest. “That was before you sent him absolutely ape shit. He accused me of helping you – which I did, by the way, you’re welcome – and when I tried to leave the spaceship he attacked me and locked me in my own office!”

  “How did you get out?” Athos asked in a measured voice.

  “Same way Sergeant Grateful here did, through the ducts,” Kitty snapped. “He scares me, and I am not going back. So you had better find me somewhere to go, Dana D’Artagnan. You broke my boss.”

  Dana sighed. “You know he was always evil, right?”

  “Not with me, he wasn’t!” Kitty hugged herself, looking more distressed than a girl wearing sequinned high-top sneakers ever should. “I have to get off Paris Satellite, somewhere safe, and you are going to help me.”

  “Fine,” Dana said, folding her arms. “We’ll get you out of here.” She had no idea how to accomplish that, and looked to Athos for help.

  He sighed. “Aramis knows someone who works for the Daughters of Peace united government. Is that far enough?”

  “You mean Madame Chevreuse?” Dana asked.

  Athos nodded. “I’m sure she can help this young lady find work in the press secretary’s office – though we’d need good reason to give a reference.” He gave Kitty a stern look.

  “I’m a fucking aces personal assistant,” Kitty said, stabbing Dana’s chest with a polished teal fingernail.

  “I believe you,” Athos said mildly. “But that’s not what I meant.”

  Dana caught on. “Kitty, you need to tell me everything you know about the kidnapping of Conrad Su, and where Milord is keeping him.”

  Kitty rolled her eyes at her. “You’ve got another boyfriend on the go? How do you find the time?”

  “Conrad’s not mine,” Dana assured her. “It’s Athos here who’s in love with him. I’m just being a good friend,” she added, giving Athos a pat on the shoulder to show what good friends they were.

  Athos said nothing. This was for the best. His sarcasm levels were currently broadcasting a frequency only robots could hear.

  Kitty was unconvinced. “What’s this got to do with the old broad over there?” she asked, nodding at Madame Su, who was ushering Aramis and Porthos into her office to discuss pattern books and fabric imports over tea.

  “She’s Conrad’s wife,” Dana admitted. “That’s why we have to be so discreet about his affair with Athos.”

  “Yes, D’Artagnan, ‘discreet’ is the first word that comes to mind,” Athos grated out.

  “But she’s been working with Milord,” said Kitty. “She’s one of the Cardinal’s spies.”

  “I knew that,” said Dana after a horrified pause. “Slipped my mind for a moment.”

  “Quickly,” said Athos, taking his chance. “Before Madame Su comes back and gets a good look at you, Ms Columbina. Tell us everything you know about the whereabouts of Conrad Su.”

  “Aliens,” said Aramis, as the four of them sat around a table on the Promenade. Athos and Dana had decided to catch Aramis and Porthos up with recent events, in case it was the last time they were all together for a while. It wasn’t a story they wanted to share over comms.

  “You’ve both had sex with aliens,” said Porthos.

  “The same alien,” Dana corrected.

  “Yes, that is the most important detail,” Athos growled. He was on his second espresso, and deeply angry at the coffee for not being alcoholic.

  “I’m not trying to be insensitive,” Porthos added. “It makes more sense now, that’s all.”


  “What makes sense?”

  Porthos gave Athos a friendly shove. “You, you miserable, self-destructive sod. None of this was your fault, you know.”

  “Apart from my failure to properly execute an enemy of the solar system,” Athos said, staring at the table.

  Aramis drummed against the table with her long, tapering fingers. “Dana, I have put a certain Kitty Columbina on the solarcrawler to the Daughters of Peace, with a suitcase full of plastic unicorns, a reference stud for Chevreuse, and an assumed name. It doesn’t sound like she had much to offer in exchange.”

  “Kitty confirmed that Madame Su is working as a spy for the Cardinal, and has had dealings with Milord,” said Dana. “She knows that there is an outpost called ‘the Tower’ where Milord keeps his enemies, but she couldn’t tell us where it was.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Athos flatly. “It’s too late, D’Artagnan. We ship out tomorrow, and we don’t have time to stage a rescue even if we knew where he was. The best we can do is pass this information on to Prince Alek and hope he has the resources to be useful.”

  “I know,” Dana said, squeezing her hands into fists. “At least Milord won’t be able to go after me in Truth Space.”

  “Uh,” said Aramis. The others looked up: first Porthos, then Athos, and finally Dana.

  Special Agent Rosnay Cho – Ro, to her friends and colleagues – stood in the middle of the Promenade, in a peach flight suit. Her long black hair swept down her back, and her scarred face was quite calm. She beckoned Dana over to her.

  “So, that’s a trap,” Porthos said conversationally.

  “It’s convenient when they’re obvious,” said Aramis.

  Athos laid a hand on Dana’s arm. “Don’t,” he said firmly.

  Dana patted his fingers, and stood up. “I’ll be okay.”

  “If you go anywhere with her, I will stun you, I’m not even kidding,” warned Porthos.

  Dana walked over to the special agent. So much had happened since they saw each other at the Fountain of Tranquility. They had felt like allies, that night. Still, Dana knew better than to trust her.

  “You’ve been busy,” said Ro.

  Dana’s immediate thought was how much does she know, oh hell. She could feel her eyes widening like saucers.

  “Wow,” said Ro with a laugh. “That bad?”

  “Did you want something?” Dana meant to sound businesslike, but a plaintive edge slipped in. She felt twelve years old in the presence of this capable, terrifying older woman.

  Ro drew a paper envelope from one of the many pockets of her pretty flight suit. “I have an invitation for you. Thought I’d deliver it specially.”

  “I was going to say that’s nice of you, but I’m pretty sure it’s your actual job to screw with my head, so – thanks, I think?” Dana was proud that her thoughts came out that coherently.

  Ro gave her a salute – an actual salute. “I hear you’re shipping out tomorrow, Arms-Sergeant D’Artagnan. Thank you for your service. Try not to get your baby-faced head blown off.”

  “I –” said Dana. She didn’t have the faintest idea what to say in response to that, not at all. Her lack of a snappy comeback was fine because Ro was already striding away.

  Three pairs of Musketeer eyes locked on to her as she headed back to the cafe table.

  “What is it?” Athos asked at once.

  “Never mind what is it, what was that? Dana how many of your suspiciously hot sworn enemies have you been flirting with lately?” Aramis demanded. “This one’s my favourite, she is sizzling.”

  Dana opened the envelope, and took out a gold-edged card inviting her to take tea with her Eminence, Cardinal Richelieu, in two hours time. She stared at it.

  “So,” said Porthos, sounding far too cheerful, “that is a trap.”

  The Cardinal’s office at the Palace was an stylish salon, not the ominously dark room Dana had pictured on the way over here. There were no historical portraits, no dusty religious statues and there was certainly no angry antique power desk.

  Dana had been so sure the Cardinal was the type to have an angry antique power desk.

  The ceiling was painted in a traditional sacred starscape, depicting the view of Honour from orbit, as seen through the viewscreen by the cosmonaut crew of the Third Venturer. The mural was the only part of the room that was remotely religious.

  A grey-haired woman in military dress reds sat by a window that spilled a flood of artificial light into the salon. She looked like a scholar, or a teacher, with a volume of poetry open on her lap. At Dana’s approach, the woman looked up and smiled, and Dana gave up all hope that this was the Cardinal’s kind-hearted secretary.

  “Arms-Sergeant D’Artagnan,” said Cardinal Richelieu. “We meet at last.”

  “You honoured me by the invitation, your Eminence,” said Dana, which was not untrue even if this was a trap. It was bizarre for the leader of the Church of All and closest advisor to the Regence to take an interest in a low-ranked pilot.

  “I thought we had better meet here,” said the Cardinal dryly. “Your friends are likely to panic less about the Palace than my private residence.”

  Dana agreed silently. Athos, Aramis and Porthos were all standing guard along the gallery across this floor, with an eye to the possible exits. She had no doubt that they would have locked her in a cupboard rather than let her attend upon the Cardinal in her own home.

  Bad enough that she had walked past several Red Hammers and at least three Sabres on the way to Richelieu’s salon.

  “You are from Gascon Station, are you not, Arms-Sergeant D’Artagnan?” asked the Cardinal. She gave Dana a searching look, as if she could see every thought that passed through her head. “Your mother was a Musketeer, and your grandmother before you.”

  “That’s right, your Eminence,” said Dana.

  The Cardinal waved her to sit. “They will bring us tea shortly, while we extend our acquaintance. I believe you stopped at Meung Station on your journey to Paris.”

  That detail surprised Dana, though it should not have done. Of course, the Cardinal would know all about her first encounter with Rosnay Cho, and probably every time their paths had crossed since. “Yes, your Eminence.”

  “Such a shame that your paperwork was lost, and that you were not able to present yourself properly to Amiral Treville,” said the Cardinal, with a sympathetic smile. “Still, our fearsome Amiral would have been hard-pressed to find employment for you among her troops. The Musketeers have so few resources these days.”

  “So I believe, your Eminence,” said Dana, wondering where this was going.

  “And oh – so many adventures since then. Your friendships with the infamous Inseparables, your romance with a certain tailor, even your journeys – two journeys, no less – to the picturesque planet of Valour. You see, I know all about you, young D’Artagnan. Our Prince Consort has particular reason to value your adventurous spirit, and your loyalty. You are to be commended.”

  Dana shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Your Eminence is too kind.”

  The Cardinal was amused by what she found in Dana’s face. “Oh, my dear. Did you think I called you here to reprimand you? What authority is it that you think I have over the Regence’s own Musketeers?” She laughed, her eyes dancing.

  Dana was more confused than ever. “Why did you want to see me, your Eminence?”

  The tea arrived, brought in by servants who tidied the Cardinal’s book away and set a table between the two women, resplendent with a silver teapot, vintage china cups, and a towering display of pastries.

  The Cardinal poured for them both, adding milk to the dark, fragrant tea in the cups. “You are brave, D’Artagnan,” she said. “Youth, bravery and talent make such a compelling combination. The best pilots – and the best soldiers – are strong of head and of heart. Don’t you agree?”

  “Yes,” said Dana helplessly. She could do nothing but surf alongside this conversation and hope that she came out alive at the other e
nd.

  Cardinal Richelieu smiled warmly, as if Dana’s agreement meant something else altogether. “I believe that you need guidance, my dear. So far from home. Grieving your recent tragic loss. I would like to take you under my wing.”

  Dana had judged it safe to bring the cup to her lips and take a sip of tea; it now took all of her personal reserves to hold back from a spit-take. “Your Eminence?” she said, pouring enough confusion into her words to make it clear that she was asking a question, though she didn’t know what the question was.

  Cardinal Richelieu sipped her own tea with infinite grace. “D’Artagnan, I hereby invite you to take up a commission as a Sabre in the Red Fleet. What do you say?”

  41

  Driving the Arquebus

  Dana opened her mouth, and nothing came out. She was so used to thinking of the Cardinal as her enemy. Could this offer be genuine?

  “You would be flying a sabre-class dart into Truth Space within the week,” said the Cardinal, gripping her cup of tea with the same elegance she did everything else. “I know Treville brushed you off with some grunt work – supplies transport? Far beneath your capabilities, I would have thought. My dear Jeanne so often displays a remarkable lack of imagination when it comes to personnel.”

  Dana’s teacup rattled against its saucer, and she put it down in a hurry. The last thing she wanted was to break some antique crockery in this beautiful room.

  “I see potential in you, D’Artagnan,” said the Cardinal, as if Dana wasn’t staring at her like a gaping goldfish cartoon. “I only recruit the most talented, the most energetic, the most courageous young pilots. You will accept, of course.”

  It wasn’t a question. If Dana didn’t say something, she would be signing a contract in pastry crumbs and icing sugar right here at the table.

  “I – no,” she said faintly. “I’m sorry. But I’m happy where I am.”

  And there was the Cardinal Richelieu that everyone was so afraid of. The woman’s face didn’t change; there wasn’t a twitch of difference to her expression or her body language. But the light had died in her eyes, leaving her flinty and carved out of stone.