Adrienne Martine-Barnes

by The Dragon Rises (v0. 9) (epub)

  “Yes. I do know. How many of yours happen?” “About half.”

  “And this one?”

  “Will never be. Now, go back to your room and go to sleep. I shall try not to wake you in future.”

  “It must be quite dreadful, if you won’t tell me.” She looked at him for a long second. “I could cook you in your own juice, you know.”

  “Oh?”

  “What I learned on Caraheen ... I could do it without any drugs now, if I wanted to.”

  “I cannot believe that you are so hungry for answers that you would risk finding out more than you wish to know about me. I remember our little tussle in your rooms. You didn’t like what you picked up at all, did you? Still, someday, it might be amusing to learn which of us is the stronger.”

  “You are, of course. But I think I am crueler.” She pursed her lips together. “I promise I won’t walk around in the corridors in my nightgown again—but, your dream . . . it hurt!”

  “I am sorry, m’alba, I seem fated to pain you, don’t I? But, why . . . how can you be so ignorant in matters of dress? You wore just the right thing at that dinner for Niyarkos.”

  She gave him a shy half-smile. “I asked your Lieutenant Vaverly, your protocol officer, what would be appropriate. That is, Derissa told me to ask her, and I did.”

  “Your sister is a clever woman.”

  “I know. She’s not as headstrong as I am, either.”

  “No, she isn’t.”

  “You might think this looks like a dance dress, but since I have never been to a dance, I really couldn’t be certain.

  Oh, I’ve seen tapes of the Imperial Cotillion, two years out of date and seeming like a dream, but I have no personal experience.”

  “Why?”

  “Admiral, I have lived my entire life on either my father’s estates on Grentar or on my mother’s. I have been to tea at the Governor-General’s on Grentar, and to chapel. That is the sum of my social experience. Until that night two weeks ago, I had never eaten a meal alone with a man. Do you know, one of the officers invited me to attend a musicale on Deck 3, but I didn’t go. Derissa went. She said it was wonderful. She said Armanda and Culmeni sang together. But I don’t know how 1 am supposed to behave, so I just keep still. Am I the Admiral’s woman or the Admiral’s slave? I mean, I have hardly spoken to anyone but my sisters and my aunt and you. Oh, yes. Lieutenant Darkcut has made a point of dropping in every day or so. She seems to be a very strange person. She is always talking about the forces of history. She gave me a book-tape about the Kardus Temporal Empire. I now know a lot about history, but I am still very confused about everything else.”

  “I see that. And what am I going to do about it? I have been neglecting you—no, I haven’t. I have kept my distance at your demand. Why the devil have you never been to a dance. And what have you done to your hair?”

  “My hair? Oh, this is how it really looks. I usually wear an electro-net to make it straight.”

  “I like it this way. In fact, I have a hard time believing it’s the same stuff I have been seeing at dinner every night. An electro-net, eh? Amazing. To me, the nets are part of the technology which powers my ships, not a cosmetic doodad. Why no dances, then?”

  “My father did not wish us to associate with just anyone.”

  “Why?”

  “He said one met all sorts of upstarts at social functions—especially embassy balls. He had a violent aversion to ambassadorial events.”

  “Really? And yet, I can remember meeting him at any number of them. I wonder.”

  “What?” Her eyes were alight with curiosity.

  “I am not accounted a social man in the ordinary way; war has been my life. But ever since my cadet days, the single exception has been dances. I like to dance. I enjoy meeting people in those circumstances. In fact, just before we left the Vardura system, I stood up with your little cousin Falga. And embassy balls are quite a favorite of mine; you meet such interesting people there.”

  “Do you think you haunted my father too?”

  “It would certainly explain a great deal about his recent actions, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yes, it would. Then, it would be your fault that I’ve been cooped up for years and years. I’ve never even been presented at court, although Aunt Armanda has offered repeatedly.”

  He grinned at her. “If the stars wink out in the night, you will no doubt find a way to lay it at my feet. I cannot make retroactive compensation for the pleasures you have been deprived of, but we go to Attira for refitting as soon as I am satisfied with the way the fleet is shaping up. We will be invited to a number of functions—including balls. You are quite welcome to attend them. Ask Buschard to teach you some dances. He is a good dancer and a good instructor. Talk to Lefair about your clothes. He’s the ship’s tailor. We shall stand up in at least one pattern dance together. As for your status, you are neither my woman nor my slave. Within reason, you have the freedom of the ship. I don’t want you tinkering with the drive unit, as your cousin Mirra seems likely to do, or trying to conn the ship. I am sorry I did not define your role. I have been busy—and I suppose I assumed you knew your place. I keep forgetting how young you are. Your sisters have . . . adapted themselves so well, I did not realize that you were having difficulties. Always remember, m’alba, that you can ask me anything.”

  “I haven’t given you much of an opportunity to notice me, have I?”

  “Well, we do seem to spend our time together arguing about cosmic reality. That doesn’t leave much energy for any personal dealings.”

  “Am I really very spoiled?”

  “Just a bit.”

  “My nanny used to say I could out-sulk the devil.”

  “I bow to her greater knowledge of you.”

  “And Derissa says I am a fool,” she said with an air of making a clean breast of the matter.

  “What an unkind thing to say, to be sure,” he replied with a slight smile.

  “I am not good at resigning myself to my fate. Should I have submitted to your will instantly?”

  “Little one, I truly have no wish to . . . dominate you. That would demean both of us. You may sulk in your rooms until the end of time, if it suits you. You know who I am and what I am. That has never happened before. I hope that you might, in time, come to value me—or at least tolerate me. It would have been easier if I were just a man like other men. And I am, on one level. If you cut me, I will bleed. But if you are angry with that other me, the one that seems to be eternal, then you must take your grievance to a higher authority.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t you see what it is? Admiral Gilhame ur Fagon was indeed a man—a ruthless fighting man, but only a man. But you, now, are all the fighting men who ever existed, using people, spending lives to save the world or galaxy or cosmos. You always fight for right— or, at least, it turns out to be right, because you always win. You seem to hold back the darkness, but really you are the darkness. I cannot reconcile myself to that. You would kill anyone for a just cause, whatever the cause is, even your own offspring. Wouldn’t you? To save the world?”

  “I always have, yes.”

  “And then, when it is done, you die a hero and leave the rest of us to pick up the pieces.”

  “True.”

  “The Cosmic All seems to be to be a pretty poor planner.”

  “If men will stop making war, I will cease to exist.” “No. You can’t get out of it that way. You are war, the very spirit of it. I have thought and thought, and I think it is the fact that you have existed that inspires men to deeds of valor. You make killing romantic.”

  “Do I? Perhaps. What would you have me do?”

  “Make it all so ugly and sickening that no one would ever wish to fight again.”

  “I see. I did that once at least, as I recall, and obtained such a reputation for savagery that I was a name to frighten children with for centuries afterward—the Undead Prince of Darkness, a man who lived on blood; that is what I became. But I remained a
hero. You cannot lay the whole blame on me, however neat and tidy a solution that seems. 1 am more a result than a cause.”

  “I don’t want to be used to glorify you and what you stand for.”

  “Fine. And I don’t want to use you.”

  “You already have.”

  “Yes. Everything is always the same and always different, m’alba.”

  “Curva Here I am, shrilling on about cosmic reality again. I see I can’t convince you, yet. Goodnight, Admiral.”

  “Goodnight.”

  He watched her drift into the darkness. He was glad now of the distance she had placed between them. The child of the dream, the fine boy who looked so much like Kurwen Mordell, would never exist, and therefore would never die begging for his father’s mercy. He turned off the light and slid down in his bed, to try to sleep dreamlessly. And such dreams he had were of roses and green eyes and red hair.

  Chapter X

  The refitting Station in the Attira was a series of hefty asteroids in the orbit of what had once been a planet. It was an ideal place for the rehabilitation of ships too large to land on a planet’s surface, and indeed, that was the principal industry of the place. Although it was in the Kardusian sphere, it was officially neutral, and the workshops would outfit the ships of any of the Ten Nations.

  Ur Fagon’s swollen fleet settled into their assigned sector at the trailing end of the asteroid belt. Work crews swarmed aboard as Gilhame’s people departed for one of the asteroid-cities for some recreation. Two other fleets were being refitted, as well as a large number of merchant vessels.

  “We pulled Seven, Gil,” Buschard said when they met in the shuttle hanger.

  “1 know. So?”

  “Well, Gyre is here and he’s assigned to Seven, too.” “Just what I needed to make my week complete. I thought he was clear across the sector.”

  “The poop is he got his ass kicked by the Nabateans.” “Then I doubt I’ll find him in a charitable mood.”

  “Gil, where you are concerned, Gyre has nothing but ugly moods. He’s never forgiven you for that thing on Feebus IX.”

  “Did Frikard try to get our assignment changed? I don’t

  particularly want any trouble.”

  “Sure. No room. It’s Seven or nothing. And we can’t stay on board.”

  “Then, we must just hope that dear Guthry remembers that Attira is neutral territory.”

  “I would not like to wager on it.”

  “Neither would I. What is his strength?”

  “About thirty thousand—but it’s you he’ll be after.”

  “A man who would carry a grudge about losing a war game would do anything, anything at all. How is Alvellaina coming with her dance lessons?”

  Buschard understood that the matter of Admiral Guthry Gyre was closed. He grinned. “She’s a quick study. Got the pattern dances in nothing flat. It’s a shame she’s too old to train for navigation. I suspect she’d be a natural. And in the onteem, she’s brilliant. I must say, she doesn’t seem to like them much, though. Kept making me feel as if my hands were dirty whenever I touched her, but very light in the hand, for all of that. Maybe she’ll enjoy the onteem more with you.”

  “I doubt I will have the pleasure. What do you think of

  her?”

  “Alvellaina? Very reserved, compared to Derissa. I don’t know. I wouldn’t call her animated or lively, but she’s smart enough. Sharp-tongued, too. I suppose she keeps herself apart too much for my liking. Derissa jumped into the routine and has my people eating out of her hand. Her sister doesn’t have any tact, at least not compared to my Derissa.”

  “You sound besotted. And Armanda?”

  “Lovely girl. Imagine an ugly old man like Krispin fathering those girls. They must take after their mother.”

  “And their aunt. I hope E-varit is satisfied with his part of the bargain.”

  “Well, you saw them at the dance. Quite a family, already.”

  “It will help make his exile tolerable.”

  They stopped talking as they climbed into the shuttle. Gilhame fell into a reverie during the trip, considering why the presence of Admiral Gyre was both unexpected and disquieting. It was odd, he realized, that he had had no prescience at all of the trip to Attira. Usually he got brief glimpses of an impending event, and certainly he would have foreseen the presence of such a vigorous rival as Gyre. Then he shrugged his shoulders and listened to the chatter of the people in the craft with him, enjoying vicariously their anticipation of the pleasures that awaited them. For the other major industry of Attira was tourism, and while it was not a fantastic fleshpot like Artenii, neither was it an exclusive haunt of the very wealthy. An enlisted man could have a very good time on his credit.

  They arrived at City Seven, disembarked the shuttle and found air taxis. Buschard and Gilhame shared one to the apartment complex where they would be housed during their stay. He entered his suite and looked around. Alvellaina and her sisters had come earlier in the day, but there was no evidence of her presence except a dress flung down on the bed in one of the sleeping rooms.

  He prowled around his own room for a while, unpacked his uniforms, then bathed. Redressed in fresh grays, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he walked to the communicator. The somber color of his uniform heightened the whiteness of his skin. He sighed. He felt a tiny tinge of envy for Pers Buschard’s flashy handsomeness or even for Frikard’s more ordinary good looks. He knew that nothing in the way of dress could make him look other than what he was—a fighting man—and he saw nothing attractive in his lean body and prominent features. He straightened the black belt around his middle, then slipped a little knife into his sleeve. Parts of the Attira complex were rough enough that a knife could come in very handy, and other weapons were strictly forbidden.

  He punched the message button on the communicator and waited. The machine warbled happily to itself for a few seconds, then began spitting out cards of various sizes. He picked them up and sorted through them, enjoying the array of heraldic devices which adorned them. The intercom from the hall clicked on.

  “Admiral?”

  “Yes, m’alba.” He released the doorlock, which he had put on “no entry” during his bath, and Alvellaina entered, iu-r arms full of packages. “Out spending my hard-earned prize money, I see,” he commented.

  She blushed and smiled. “Yes,” she said as she dropped her burdens on the couch. “I have resolved to reduce you to penury.” Then she shook her head. “Not really. I have a line of credit from my mother’s estate. I’m so ignorant, it look Derissa to point it out to me.”

  “I would have given you a blank check, in any case. I’ve never been able to spend all the money I’ve gathered over the years. What did you buy?”

  “A nice sturdy robe for sleep-walking in.” She grinned again and showed delightful dimples.

  He looked at the nearly dozen packages. “Did it come in pieces, then?”

  “You beast! I didn;t really buy a robe.”

  “I should hope not, when Lefair could make you a good one at no cost to me or you.”

  “1 got a fan and three hats and several pairs of shoes— the ship’s cobbler doesn’t make very nice dancing slippers—and two purses, no three, and a tea dress I liked. That’s all. I’ve never had so much fun in my life.”

  “Good. And what will you wear to the ball we are invited lo this evening?” As he said this he thought how sad it was that she could not remember anything more pleasurable than buying a few trinkets.

  “My nightdress, of course.”

  “Then I am glad I have a cloak to cover you with in the

  streets.”

  “I see you won’t be baited. Whose ball is it?”

  He waved a card in his hand. “I fear your father would not approve. The Kalurian Embassy invites us tonight.” He flipped over another. “And tomorrow there is a costume affair at the Havassit ambassador’s; a tea, also tomorrow, at the C’sildan consulate. I have not looked at the r
est.”

  “So many? No wonder Lefair insisted I would need more than one gown. Do you always get so many invitations, or only when you have just won a battle?”

  “On Attira it is the principal business of embassies to host a diversity of entertainments. The notion is that you get your enemies smoky on neutral territory and then pick their brains. Speaking of enemies, one of mine is here. Sub-Admiral Gyre of the Eighth Fleet. He would like my head on a pike almost as much as you would. You should get along famously.”

  She shook her head. “Having a common enemy doesn’t make people friends. Besides, he has an even nastier reputation than you do. My father disliked him.”

  “But you have found, have you not, that reputations often lie?”

  “Yes, but better the devil I know . . .” She shrugged, sat down and removed her shoes with a sort of happy sigh. “Can I open the rest of the invitations?”

  “Certainly.” He placed them on the table beside her. “How are your sisters?”

  “Fine, I hope. I got lost twice finding this room. This place is a regular warren. Are all cities like this?”

  “Some. What is the biggest city you have been in before?”

  “Larista on Grentar.”

  “Was I ever there? No, I think not. It’s small, isn’t it? A garden city, I seem to remember. Seven is pretty typical of sport-port towns—not as exotic as some, not as big as others. There’s Grettry, the world-city. I suppose it’s the largest continuous habitation in the cosmos. Even its oceans are covered. And Bentil is probably the tallest city—sixty miles square and four high—an engineering marvel. And Velyn, the Emperor’s winter home. That’s rather pretty. Perhaps we’ll go there sometime. Find anything you like?”

  ‘Anything,’ he thought, ‘for me to stop sounding like a travelogue.’

  She looked up from the invitations. “What’s a kevar?” “Festrian Embassy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Unless you have a taste for group sex, I suggest we pass on that one,” he said dryly.

  “An orgy?”

  “At the very least.”