The False Admiral

by Sean Danker

  “I would be. But we don’t actually have those where I come from.”

  I wasn’t surprised. The Empire was large, and every city in every district in every province on every continent on every planet in every system was a little different. But in the dramas about aristocrats, it was always arranged marriages—usually the sons fled them to join the Service, and just before dying heroically in some righteous war, they would realize that they truly loved the girl that their parents wanted them to marry.

  In some imperial dramas the line between art and propaganda was thinner than others.

  “So you didn’t join to get out of a marriage,” I said.

  She shook her head. “There are three suitable candidates in my district,” she said. “One seven, one thirteen, and one nearly fifteen. I was prepared to marry any one of them.”

  “Why not two? Or all three?”

  “I’m not disposed that way.”

  I leaned in a little so I could see her eyes. “Is that a hint of judgment for the girls that are?” She gave me a surprised look. There was embarrassment there. “I knew a girl once, who was disposed that way, as you put it. I’d hate to think you were looking down on her.”

  “Certainly not,” she replied, looking flustered.

  I put up a hand, smiling. “Relax. I’m just giving you a hard time. But you still walked away from it. I know joining was a way up, but an upward marriage will get your line to the next tier just as quickly. And it won’t kill you as fast. You could’ve had a rich, peaceful life on Old Earth. But you went along with this. You’re here. Nobody forced you.”

  “I never resented my responsibilities. Not at first.”

  I didn’t know the details; I’d never taken the time to learn—but I knew those responsibilities were substantial, particularly for a first daughter. “My—my particular role,” Salmagard went on, gesturing at her face, “was not revealed to me until shortly before I was of age.”

  I winced.

  At first this program with the faces of the heroes had struck me as typically Evagardian, but the more I thought about it, the more twisted it seemed. Salmagard went on, voice even. “When it was made known to me, I saw it as an opportunity. Escape, so to speak, had never occurred to me before.”

  Of course it hadn’t. She was too well-bred.

  “I never looked for a way out. I was ready to marry, ready to safeguard the bloodline, ready to do all of it. But when they handed me a way out”—Salmagard shook her head—“I had to take it.”

  “So you didn’t want to stay on Old Earth forever. I guess that’s not so strange for someone who grew up there. It’s the people who don’t that won’t understand.”

  Salmagard found guilt in it though; this was a confession. She felt as if wanting to do anything but her duty was wrong, like her desire to get away made her a bad person. Or more accurately, a bad daughter. That was a big deal for an Evagardian aristocrat.

  I tried not to smile. “You know there’s historical precedent for women wanting to do things with their lives. The Grand Duchess was kind of a champion in that field, wasn’t she?”

  “Yes, I suppose.”

  “And now you’re in the Service. And headed for the Julian.”

  She scowled. “That berth was guaranteed me from the outset.”

  That didn’t surprise me. It was a bribe, and Salmagard knew it. “Don’t dwell on it. Every recruit in the Service would give their right arm to serve on the flagship. Maybe you don’t appreciate the honor.”

  “What honor? I haven’t done anything. And that’s not the problem, not the real problem, anyway. Nothing is real aboard the flagship. It’s all aristocrats and bloodliners, all playing soldier.” Here was the young woman behind the mask. I wished she’d come out more often.

  “They’re all trained,” I replied. “No different from you.”

  “Do you really think it’s fair?” she asked. “That it’s really merit that put so many liners on that ship for its maiden cruise? It’s all for show,” she said, frustration evident in her voice.

  “It’ll show you the galaxy.”

  “Nothing but our allies’ capital ports,” she said, waving a hand.

  “In other words, it won’t go anywhere interesting.”

  “Unless there’s war.”

  “Surely you’re not hoping for that.”

  “No. But it would be something real.”

  I was beginning to understand. You couldn’t give a girl the genes of the Guardian and expect her to take gracefully to the sheltered and choreographed life of a high lady. It was easy to understand how she might view the rituals, traditions, and conventions of the Earth-born aristocratic lifestyle as false and hollow. It was a sort of show.

  But it had a purpose. The Empire’s caste system wasn’t meant to keep people down, or to separate them. Anyone could move up if they had the inclination—and the exaggerated privilege of the high bloodlines was supposed to be the incentive. It let people see what they could strive for. The wealth of the Empire was there for the taking.

  Salmagard had grown up on the inside of it, though. To her it was just a joke.

  “You’re not trapped,” I pointed out. “If you serve well and mind your record, you can get assigned wherever you like. Even a fringe colony, if that’s what you really want. Free Trade space probably wouldn’t bore you, plenty of imperial presence there. All the border stations have big garrisons. You’re probably a little overqualified for most of the station security posts out there, but they’d be glad to have you if you wanted to get away from ship duty.”

  She shook her head. “My family will find a way. They’re terrified.”

  “For you, or of you?”

  “Both. They won’t let me reenlist.”

  “They can’t stop you.”

  “There are ways.”

  She was probably right. “Then fight back,” I said. “Your family only has as much authority as you give them. Tradition is only tradition, not law. They can find a way? You find a way. Outplay them. From a daughter like you, they’ll never see it coming. And don’t act like you don’t have it in you. You’ve already taken the first step.”

  Salmagard looked genuinely taken aback. Maybe she’d never thought along these lines before. Or maybe these things just sounded strange coming from me, but they shouldn’t have. It was the first solution to occur to me, but I’d made a career out of thinking for myself. She hadn’t.

  I let her consider that for a moment, but it would take more time than we had for her to really wrap her head around the idea of rebellion. I hoped I wasn’t leading her astray. I wasn’t trying to sabotage her sense of propriety; I just wanted to remind her that she had options.

  “I suppose you won’t have to worry about it if we haven’t brought enough air,” I said.

  “No, I daresay not.” She smiled. Then her expression grew serious. “I’d like to ask you something.”

  “I was afraid of that.” I’d actually been sort of trying to avoid that by making conversation. Salmagard hadn’t taken the hint.

  “May I?”

  I resigned myself. “You don’t need my permission. Just don’t be surprised if I refuse to incriminate myself. That is a fundamental Evagardian right, after all. I’m in enough trouble already.”

  She hesitated. “Quite.”

  I tried to look open and approachable. Salmagard deliberated for several moments.

  “If we do reach this colony,” she began, and I nodded encouragingly. She licked her lips. “If we do, how will you hide your identity? You’ll be recognized straightaway. I can hardly believe the lieutenant hasn’t recognized you,” she added in a low voice.

  “You don’t see what you’re not looking for. I won’t hide it.” I shrugged. “That’s how we’re going to survive.”

  She looked confused. “I don’t understand.” />
  “What’s not to understand? I’m our ticket.”

  “But the penalty for defection.” She spread her hands. “We’ll be detained for planning your extraction. We’ll be taken for spies.”

  I stared at her, dumbfounded. Defection? Extraction? What was she even talking about?

  Salmagard could see the way I was looking at her. We were both intensely confused, and looking to each other for answers.

  I started to laugh. I covered my mouth and leaned back, closing my eyes. When I finally got myself under control, I grinned at her.

  “You’re serious,” I said.

  Her mask of placid calm was back in place, and I realized I’d upset her.

  “I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “That was rude, but you caught me off guard. Very off guard.”

  She said nothing. She simply gazed at me. I didn’t know what she was thinking. She was probably a little offended. She wasn’t used to being laughed at. I sighed, then glanced back into the hold. It looked as if my laughter hadn’t woken Deilani and Nils.

  I took a deep breath and faced Salmagard.

  “I think I’ve got it,” I said. “Just a little misunderstanding, that’s all. Look, how can I say this? I’m not who you think I am. I’m not what you think I am. Nobody’s talking about defection. Not the Ganraens, not the colonists. To have defection someone’s loyalty has to change,” I said. “Right?”

  She nodded slowly.

  “I’m the same guy I’ve always been. I’ve had a little work done,” I admitted. “But you do what you have to, you know?”

  Her eyes widened. Now she understood.

  “By the Empress,” she said. “I don’t believe it.”

  “That’s up to you. But don’t worry about the colonists—even if I was what you thought, they can’t connect me to anything. They’re not going to be suspicious of me. We’ve got our cease-fire, but the capital was destroyed. As far as anyone’s concerned at this point, I’m a simple refugee. You guys are just helping me out. We might have to think of a cover story to explain how we got here, but I’ll handle that side of things. Just let me do the talking. I’m good at it. Of course, I’ll have to get into character again.” I sighed. “But there’s no helping it.”

  “Why didn’t I see it?”

  “You weren’t looking. But isn’t it better this way?”

  “Infinitely,” she breathed. That was gratifying. “I feel rather foolish.”

  “Don’t. You were right about what mattered.” I paused, searching her face. “You were right to trust me.”

  She nodded, still looking troubled. “Have I interpreted the situation aboard the freighter correctly?” she asked.

  “You mean the sabotage?” She nodded. I sighed. “Probably.”

  “And the capital?”

  I hesitated. “Yes.”

  “Who is responsible for the sabotage?”

  I smiled. “Better if I don’t speculate on that.”

  Salmagard turned a shade paler. “It’s monstrous,” she said, and there was a flash of anger in her eyes.

  “Which part?”

  “What they’re doing to you.”

  I wasn’t pleased that she knew the truth, but it was better than her thinking that I was some kind of traitor. “Don’t worry about me. Worry about all of us. We still have a long way to go.”

  “I know.” She looked tired.

  “You’re doing well,” I told her. “I don’t know what that’s worth, but all three of you, you especially. You’re trainees, but you’re holding it together. I’m impressed, if that matters.”

  “You think I’m suited to this?”

  “I think you’d be suited to anything you put your mind to. You’ve got the genes and the drive. I can see you commanding a fleet.”

  One corner of her mouth quirked upward. “Really?”

  I shrugged. “Why not? Admirals and tetrarchs are just people too. Nobody doctored the Grand Duchess’ genes. She wasn’t the one they built for her job, but she got it anyway. Genes aren’t everything. She was just a woman. Hell, she was just a girl. Remember everything she did.”

  “How could I forget?”

  I blanched. “Sorry.”

  She shrugged. “I’d imagine that you can relate, can’t you?”

  “I suppose we do have that much in common. Neither one of us likes mirrors. Does it ever get to be a problem in day-to-day life?”

  “Occasionally.”

  I knew how she felt. “Look on the bright side. At least the Duchess wasn’t ugly,” I said.

  She laughed.

  I cleared my throat. “And with that in mind—and the looming threat of death—do you think a high lady could, under these circumstances, overlook a small impropriety?”

  She looked at me quizzically. “I’m not a high lady.”

  “Compared to me.”

  “Under these circumstances I think any lady could overlook just about anything.”

  I leaned over and kissed her. I meant it to be a brief kiss, one without too much subtext.

  But it didn’t stay brief. Salmagard was initially shocked, but she didn’t resist, and when I finally let her go, I thought that for the briefest second, she looked vaguely disappointed. Maybe that was wishful thinking.

  Then the blush faded from her cheeks, and her mask of Evagardian calm slid back into place.

  Unreadable.

  11

  WITHOUT the looming threat of a cold and lonely death on the surface of an alien planet, it might have been a pleasant flight. For me, at least.

  With the taste of Salmagard’s lips still fresh in my mind, Nils and I confronted the problem of getting oxygen from our tanks into the super-concentrated cartridges used with our EV suits. We had fully charged spares, and when they ran out we’d have to refill them. The obvious way was to fill them at normal pressure, which would result in a substantial loss of O2 in the process.

  We couldn’t just cobble together the equipment needed to charge the cartridges, but perhaps we could refine the obvious route a little. By using the pressure from one tank to increase the pressure on a second, we could potentially force slightly more oxygen into a cartridge, though we’d also lose more. It would be a lot of work for a small gain—ten or twenty percent at most was our estimate—but maybe even that one breath might make a difference.

  We kept trying. Deilani did her best to make herself useful, but her technical knowledge was of a different sort. Between Nils’ brilliance and training, and my experience with making technology do things it wasn’t supposed to, we finalized our system with something like confidence. It wasn’t a guarantee, but at least we knew we’d done all we could.

  The flight would have been dull under different circumstances, but now it was over too quickly. As I switched off the critical emergency lights activated by the power cells being at their absolute end, I could see that the trainees were ready to leave the flyer. We were all handling this differently, but no one wanted to drag it out.

  I didn’t land the Avenger; the AI didn’t need my help. The flyer set itself down on the surface without even a bump.

  We stood in the passenger bay, enjoying what might be the last things we ever saw that weren’t through the faceplates of our helmets. We divided the work of detaching the crawler, and breathed the last of the air that could be provided by the Avenger’s recyclers, which would die when the power cells did.

  “There was a time,” I told the trainees, “on Old Earth, when a drive in a ground crawler through the rural countryside was considered diverting. Even a luxury.”

  “And the scenery here is so charming,” Deilani said, massaging her temples and taking long, steady breaths.

  We activated our helmets, and Nils lowered the ramp, depressurizing the flyer. Thin tendrils of green mist began to curl up and around our ankles.


  The surface of the planet was as inviting as ever. The black mineral felt strange underfoot, and the shifting mist played tricks on the eyes. This deep in the mist, we couldn’t even see the stars overhead.

  We were on the clock. As we detached the binders that held the crawler to the top of the flyer, I used them to fasten the O2 tanks to the chassis of the vehicle as Salmagard and Deilani tossed them up to me.

  We worked efficiently, but it still felt tedious. We wanted to hurry, but exertion would demand more oxygen . . . It was better not to get mired in thoughts like those.

  Soon the work was done, and the trainees had strapped in. Apparently I was driving. No pressure.

  “How do we get it down?” Deilani asked over the com, and I glanced over at her, though all she could see was my helmet. I hit the throttle, simply dropping off the flyer. The crawler wasn’t a heavy vehicle, but even this impact drove its wheels several centimeters into the planet’s black surface, and created some alarming cracks. I got us away from that spot, adjusting to a more fuel-efficient cruising speed.

  The trainees stood up in their seats, hanging on to the chassis as they turned to watch the Avenger, sitting alone, ramp down, fade into the mist.

  The crawler was perfect. It was blind luck, but it was true. In the light gravity, we skimmed more than we rolled—the only problem was the mist. We wouldn’t get much distance out of the crawler if I crashed it, and visibility was poor.

  There were chasms that had to be avoided, but no mountains that I could see, unless you counted the spires.

  In the Avenger we’d flown past them quickly. On the ground, even cruising briskly, it took forever. The scope of the spires was never clear until you were close to one. We’d been lucky that the one to fall on Tremma’s freighter had been merely staggeringly large—because some of the ones out here were so great that they would have simply smashed the ship flat, or buried it.

  Gentle hills and small slopes occasionally brought us out of the mist, and we were steadily climbing. Soon we found ourselves above the green haze completely, rolling on smooth black ground that shone dully under bright starlight.

  We could see valleys full of mist, some of them long and winding. I soon realized the mist wasn’t really green—it was tinted that way by one of the dim suns in the sky. The effect was compounded by the reflected light from a dozen or so small moons that were scattered across the ceiling of stars.