Sword of Sedition
Page 13
How to recognize himself as a pawn on a very large board.
“What does not kill me makes me stronger,” the young noble whispered. Then listened as Tara Campbell played more to the cameras and Conner’s direct supporters than to the ex-knight. Fascinating.
But was it useful? And was it in time?
Lord Governor Aaron Sandoval was now on his way to Terra after narrowly avoiding a Capellan push against St. Andre. Aaron had made it look like Paladin Kessel all but threw him off the planet, which was playing well on other planets secured by the Swordsworn and the various planetary militias in Aaron’s coalition. And Aaron owed his timely departure to Erik, a fact he would make certain his uncle did not fail to remember.
There would be questions asked, ones that Erik had no intention of answering. Time to advance across the board.
“I can’t hear you, Conner. Your voice has become nothing more than a whisper, behind very tall walls.”
True, in a way. But Tara might do well to worry about the words that did make it over. They had a way of shaking worlds, at times. Erik’s had. And if the Sandoval scion had been too preoccupied to realize when he pushed a losing hand, well, that’s what the next ante was for, wasn’t it?
What does not kill . . .
Tara stalked off, playing the disenchanted voice of reason, and Erik lagged further behind, now that the scene seemed to be breaking up. Also, some of the newsvid journalists were turning to the bystanders, seeking that ‘common touch’ on the news, and Erik had better things to do than be caught here. With the exarch and Senate shuffling through their game of brinkmanship, there were opportunities to be had.
For Aaron.
For himself.
The stronger each side played their hands, the greater the stakes for all concerned. Nothing would be beyond their reach. And Erik had several ideas how to force the game to higher play.
He still had a black business card burning a hole in his pocket. With an exchange number on it.
One he was willing to bet worked here on Terra.
13
Terra has fallen! In a surprise maneuver as bold as it is shocking, House Liao landed ten regiments of elite shock troops on Terra. Geneva is in flames and the corps of paladins is fleeing for district capitals to reestablish a new line of defense.
—attributed to Laurence Coalmin, New Aragon’s FoolsCorp Press, 1 April 3135
JumpShip Stargazer
Zenith Station, Kyrkbacken
Republic of the Sphere
5 April 3135
At the head of his table, Caleb Hasek-Sandoval-Davion half stood from his chair, raising his highball highest among all those toasting his generosity and good health. A raucous cheer swept the three tables in his party, a discord of merriment that nearly drowned out the ten-piece symphonic band doing its best to force nuevo jazz from classically trained fingers and lips.
But not much remained in his glass except the dregs of his smoky amber bourbon watered down by melting ice. Caleb sipped it off, washing down the spicy taste of duck prepared Capellan-style with a peppery glaze. Then slammed the highball down hard enough to jump one rounded cube over the rim. The glistening chunk of ice bounced off thick table linens and tumbled to the floor, skittering “up” the concave bow of Galileo’s deck as if defying gravity as well as Caleb’s reach.
An optical illusion, created by centrifugal force that thrust gravity equally along the curve of the Stargazer’s main gravity deck. He knew it. But his equilibrium gave a queer half twist regardless.
The Davion heir half fell back into his seat, waving off offers to get him a new glass, a fresh drink.
“I’ll get it,” he said. He levered himself back up with one hand on the shoulder of his companion for the night. The daughter of the CEO for Joneson Multiplanet? Or had he gone back to the ward of Lady Dolmate from Hassad?
Didn’t matter. She reached up and gave his hand a playful squeeze.
“A short walk’s just what I need to clear my head, my dear,” he promised her.
A very short walk. But not one without risk. Caleb’s table crowded up next to the ferroglass wall, offering a dizzying view of the stars and—when it spun into view—the distant red coin that was Kyrkbacken’s red dwarf sun. The heavens swung about on an axis defined by the length of the wasp-bodied JumpShip, fast enough to impart a Terran-standard gravity as well as a feeling of vertigo. Especially when Caleb stood.
Galileo’s was not for the weak of stomach, or the shortened account.
In fact, the five-star restaurant with its live entertainment and unmatched view of the spacescape taxed even Caleb’s constitution and resources. And it wasn’t that he couldn’t afford it. Hardly that. But even the strongest gratuity offered to the Stargazer’s purser had been unable to guarantee him more than three medium-sized tables.
Which was, by easy count, fully half of the exclusive dining club.
It was Caleb’s experience that gravity decks on JumpShips—even civilian passenger liners—tended toward cramped corridors and closet-style galleys. Which was why, discovering the Stargazer on the Kathil-to-Axton leg of his journey toward Terra, he had decided to make it his de facto flagship for the rest of the voyage and who cared if it traveled along the rear lines of the ongoing Capellan-Republic conflict? A onetime military class Invader, it had been converted and refurbished with the grandest luxuries in mind. The see-through walls of Galileo’s being only one of the most ostentatious. It carried four DropShips: three luxury-designed Monarchs and Caleb’s own Spartan Triumph. For the remainder of the voyage, however, he had the presidential apartments on one of the Monarchs as well as a gravity-berth on the Stargazer.
Space and weight—two of the greatest luxuries in space travel.
It would get him to Terra in style, or at least close enough to make rendezvous with his father. Maybe he could convince the old man to take leave of his military escort, just this once, and enjoy the privileges of their position.
Maybe even Julian would unbend enough to join them. His younger cousin had once been fun to hang around with, though he had returned from Lyran space far too serious.
People needed to know when to relax. To enjoy.
Weaving out from between the three tables he now “owned,” Caleb waved two security agents back to their seats and their drinks. Best duty in the Davion Guards, working with him. Working for him. He laughed, then swung up the spinward direction of Galileo’s and nodded at the curious stares directed his way from the other diners. Certainly a few recognized him, even if most of the current passengers now hailed from Republic or Liao space, or from worlds formerly part of the Free Worlds League. There were a few frowns at his excess—he ignored them—as well as a few hopeful looks that they would be invited over—and he overlooked them too.
His attention remained focused instead on the short bar. It nestled beneath the second-story overhang on which the symphonic members labored, belting out the high-energy music Caleb had fallen in love with this year. They hit a rough stretch now and then, but he was gracious enough to overlook it. So long as they kept up a good beat with plenty of brass. And if a few of the older men showed strain from the energetic playing, sweat glistening on wrinkled brows or a slight sag to their shoulders, well, so what?
His party. His music.
His next conquest!
She waited at the bar, leaning up against it as if it had been designed with her height and subtle curves in mind. The dark-stained ironwood matched her almond-shaped eyes both in color and hardness. A French-roll style tucked away most of her glossy, black hair, except for a few loose, long strands that fell forward to frame an elfin face. Her evening gown was cuffed to her right ankle, in case of a sudden loss of gravity, but her other leg showed a shapely calf through the slit that traveled partway up the side. Athletic without being militant. Alluring but not trying too hard. She pulled off a poise that was as much attitude as it was beauty.
And she waited alone.
Everyone in Galileo�
�s owned one of the ultraexclusive seats, so the bar was hardly for those waiting for table space. Instead, it was more of a rendezvous. There were exactly two chairs, where a couple could enjoy a moment’s privacy. No more than two at a time was the unspoken rule.
Which suited Caleb immensely.
“Looking for a new table?” he asked, extending the invitation at which nearly half the room would have jumped.
She raised her wineglass, sipped at a dark purple nectar that smelled of plums and honey. “Not really.”
He tried on his best smile, practiced on a hundred worlds in the last two years. Even if that smile had not silenced all the gossip chasing along his public relations tour, worrying over the distance between father and son, at least it had wooed a few nobles along the way. And a few nobles’ daughters.
“Just enjoying a quiet moment at the bar then?”
“I was.”
The way she said it, with a touch of amusement and the promise of possibilities, made it impossible to take offense. A challenge!
The music above softened as the brass rested a moment, and Caleb hummed along with the deep bass and piano runs. From a dimly lit door, the bartender stepped forward and quickly poured Caleb a new bourbon. A long, dark splash over fresh ice. And like a ghost—a very well-trained and expensive ghost—the tender faded back into the service corridor with barely a moment’s interruption.
Caleb sipped carefully at the rich, warm bourbon, mustering his wits. Giving himself a moment to enjoy the breezy music and let her get used to his presence. Waiting, however, was not his strong suit.
He set the thick glass down on a linen napkin and offered his hand. “I’m Caleb.”
“Danai.”
She didn’t offer her own hand in the dainty way most high-born ladies were taught, or take it in a short, sharp businesslike shake. She had a strong grip. Warm. Caleb found himself lingering over it for an extra heartbeat.
She hadn’t offered a last name, he noticed. But then again, neither had he. He’d simply assumed that she would know him. And be duly impressed, of course. The way she’d returned her own name, it almost felt as if she’d expected the same. That he would know her.
But if he felt a moment’s disappointment that she showed no sign of recognition, Danai appeared satisfied when he didn’t make an issue of her name. Was she some celebrity, then? Her confidence and allure—he could easily place her as an actress. Or a celebrated musician.
He imagined her in the band playing above, resting with a nearby cloth to pat the sweat from her forehead. Bringing an electronic saxophone back to her lap, or—better!—a real trumpet to those full, moist lips.
Danai slipped from her seat, ruining the start of a wonderful fantasy. Her body moved with the grace and power of a gymnast. Like a cresting wave. She set her unfinished drink on the bar after one last sip, and smiled at the Davion heir.
“It was nice to meet you, Caleb.”
“You’re leaving?” He’d been refused before, but never so quickly. Almost dismissed. “Don’t you know—” who I am, he didn’t finish. Those words sounded petulant, even to him. Well, if she didn’t know, let her find out on her own what she had missed!
One more offer, though. Just in case. “You won’t finish your drink with me?”
“Not tonight.” She paused, considering. Obviously and almost rudely appraising him. Then: “But you might talk me into it on a more . . . calm evening.” Her dark eyes shifted, seemed to take in the boisterous party and the band now ratcheting back up into full swing again. “I believe I’ll be back at Galileo’s in a day or three.”
That damn list of the purser’s. “I can get you back in sooner,” he offered.
She nearly laughed. “Oh, I didn’t mean to say I couldn’t come back. I have a permanent seat reserved. I simply choose not to take it every night.”
“Why?” That made no sense to Caleb. What good were such status positions if one didn’t make use of them?
“Never be completely predictable,” Danai said. She flicked a few stray hairs back from her face. “That’s a rule.”
And Caleb rarely planned his social calendar out that far. Not when it didn’t involve state dinners and prearranged publicity ops. But for her . . . “How long are you here?” he asked. “How far are you going on the Stargazer?”
“All the way.” Danai smiled. “Bound for Terra.”
“Really? I am as well.”
“How convenient.” She turned her smile up by several watts.
Damn. Caleb simply could not tell if the woman knew who he was or not. It was infuriating as well as attractive. But if she wanted to play that game, he’d follow suit. “It could be,” he said, putting a few grams of suggestion into his voice.
It was the first time in their short conversation that a shadow of displeasure darkened her features. She leaned away from him. A few centimeters only, but enough. “Convenience is also something to be wary of,” she told him. “Another rule. Good evening, Caleb.”
He shrugged, as if it really didn’t matter to him, and before she left him at the bar he slid away and sauntered back toward his party. A determined saunter. A going-to-have-a-great-time-without-her sort of walk.
Mason passed him just beyond the secluded alcove. His friend nursed a sweetened gin and a pretty good hangover from the night before. But there was nothing wrong with his smirk.
“Going back empty-handed. Is that going to be a rule for the rest of this voyage as well?”
Caleb thought about a frown, but really couldn’t help himself when Mason was in a cutting mood. He smiled, then laughed, and toasted his friend’s misery.
Danai.
This one time, he’d suffer the ignobility of a tactful retreat. Because with both of them traveling to Terra, it looked to be a wonderful campaign. And the harder conquests were often the sweetest victories.
Hoisting his drink overhead, returning the salute as his party cheered his return, Caleb silently promised himself that victory. He’d make his triumphant debut on Terra in such a way that the tale would make its way around the entirety of the Federated Suns. In what was certain to be the biggest media event in several years, what could be better than showing up at his father’s side?
With the beautiful Danai on his arm?
Terra
Republic of the Sphere
During planetfall over Terra, Julian joined Harrison Davion on the flag bridge of the First Sun. The Excalibur-class DropShip rolled over to bring the cradle of all humanity into view through the ferroglass window. Bright and blue-green and still the epitome of a “perfect world.” Harrison thanked his captain over the closed-circuit comms.
“Duchess Hasek decided to return to her cabin for the landing burn,” Julian said from the door, dogging it after him with a quick-use lever and sharp, metallic ratcheting.
“And Sandra?”
“Begged off for the view from the weather deck. You make her nervous.”
He didn’t have to see his prince’s face to recognize the smile in his voice. “Yes, I suppose I do. But then, it wouldn’t make your charade any easier if I embraced the girl, would it?”
Never try to keep secrets from princes. Julian’s father. His voice as calm and as reasonable as ever. They know such games far better than we do. The way Julian remembered it, Christoffer always sounded as if he pitied their distant cousins, not envied them for it.
“How long?” Julian asked.
He used the handrails to lever himself over to his own seat, opposite the prince from a small command console full of communications equipment. Harrison shook his head, but Julian made no apologies for his lack of “space legs.” He was a Mech Warrior, and only had to be comfortable enough in a DropShip to get from planet to planet. Nothing more.
“Long enough. If Amanda wasn’t so set on the alliance, she’d have known it by now as well. The two of you enjoy each other’s company too much for it to be love. Passion, my boy, means reveling in the bitter as well as the sweet.”
Holding a meaty thumb down over the pipe’s lighting stud, the prince puffed with contented satisfaction and the smell of cherry-flavored tobacco drifted across the room.
“Sometimes I wonder if you aren’t too levelheaded,” he said after a moment.
Damned if he did, and if he didn’t. At times, Julian wanted to throw his hands in the air and give up. Fortunately, those times just inspired him to try all the harder.
“I’ve had my moments, as you remember.”
“Yes, I suppose you have. And given the choice, I’ll look for steadfast heart and a good mind anyday. Still, some time spent in . . . a lady’s company . . . couldn’t hurt.”
For bluff-and-bluster Harrison to skirt so delicately around a topic felt alien to Julian. Almost prudish. “Uncle . . . you aren’t asking if I’m still a virgin, are you?”
Harrison choked on his next draw and then doubled over in a wheezing fit of coughing laughter. Julian leaned over to pound the large man on the back, trying not to laugh. If the prince wanted to take a “birds and bees” moment, well, the champion had had worse lectures in his life.
A merry thought that came crashing down as soon as the prince was able to draw breath again. “Faith defend, Julian. That was priceless. I command the largest Successor State and have access to one of the best intelligence services in the entire galaxy, Inner Sphere or Clan. You think I don’t know?”
Julian’s face burned a siren red, he knew. But as much for the honor of others as for his own. He spent a moment collecting his thoughts, staring at Terra. Feeling its storied draw just as certainly as the DropShip was beginning to feel its gravitational pull.