by David Drake
“You, mistress?” Vesey said in amazement. Her back straightened again.
“In a manner of speaking,” Adele said with a cold smile. “I made an effort to let the Pellegrinians kill me. Fortunately, they were bad shots and I’m a very good one. I’m glad of that now, because my honor really does matter to me. Odd though that probably sounds from someone who has no faint vestige of a religious impulse or interest in philosophy.”
Vesey swallowed. “I don’t think it sounds odd, mistress,” she said quietly. “Nobody who knows you could doubt that.”
“Be that as it may,” said Adele with a sniff. “The important fact is that we both have been granted opportunities to recover from our mistakes.”
She looked stone-faced at Vesey and went on, “When will you be reporting aboard the Sissie? I believe you were discharged from the hospital this morning, were you not?”
Vesey’s face scrunched, but she didn’t resume crying. She cleared her throat and said, “Mistress, will Captain Leary let me come back?”
“Yes,” said Adele. She didn’t amplify the statement. She was almost certain that Daniel would be glad to have Vesey return as his First Lieutenant. If necessary, however, she’d ask him to do so as a favor to her.
Adele smiled faintly. Daniel owed her a great deal. Nothing like as much as she owed him, of course, but that was the way friendship worked.
“Mistress,” Vesey whispered. “If he’ll have me, I’ll . . . I want to come back. More than anything in life, I want to come back to the Princess Cecile.”
“Very good,” Adele said. She stood and waved to Tovera. Dust immediately puffed from beneath the aircar; a few seconds later the sound of the fans running up reached her ears. “Then let’s go to the Sissie and get ready for the Governor’s reception. I haven’t looked at my dress suit since we lifted from Cinnabar.”
She added with a dry smile, “I’m going as Lady Mundy, since a junior warrant officer wouldn’t be allowed into the Residence.”
Vesey felt alone, and because she felt that way she was alone. It wasn’t true in any objective sense, but people don’t live objectively.
Not even Adele Mundy was truly objective, not in the cold dark hours before dawn.
* * *
Daniel turned a little more quickly than he should’ve done and felt a touch of vertigo. “Whoops!” he said, touching the terrace railing with his left hand. “The punch has more of a kick than I’d imagined.”
The girls giggled, which is what they’d probably have done if he’d slit his throat here on the terrace in front of them. Suzette was a sultry brunette, Tatiana a blonde as pale as a cirrus cloud, and Kitty paired red hair with green eyes. They were all young, all stunningly beautiful, and all very obviously interested in the dashing Commander Leary.
A year ago Daniel would’ve said he’d died and gone to heaven, and the fact that the trio’s combined IQ appeared to be comparable to that of Miranda Dorst alone should’ve been the icing on the cake. Well, maybe he hadn’t drunk enough after all.
He turned and looked out over the harbor. The raised dorsal antennas of the warships were strung with lanterns of pastel paper which illuminated only themselves. When they trembled in the mild breeze, they seemed to be floating.
To most eyes a mere corvette made a poor show compared with the huge battleships, but the rush of affection Daniel felt when his eyes fell on the Princess Cecile staggered him anew. He remembered the first time he’d stood at her masthead and looked up at the blaze of the Matrix. In that instant he’d realized that he was captain of a starship and that the whole cosmos was his. . . .
The Zeno’s band was playing a waltz nearby on the upper terrace; they’d trade off with their counterparts from the Lao-tze in another hour, so that all the bandsmen had a chance to celebrate too. Given that the Lao-tze’s personnel were having their party now, the quality of the music was likely to deteriorate after the handover. The guests generally were lapping down the punch as fast as Daniel was, however, so nobody was likely to complain.
“Oh, Commander,” said Suzette, rubbing Daniel’s heavily embroidered scarlet sash with her fingertips. “Does this mean something?”
“It does, doesn’t it, Danny?” Kitty said, fondling his chest from the other side. Tatiana simply giggled.
An inside-illuminated dragon floated across the harbor. Daniel wasn’t sure whether it and the several similar displays—a whale, a swan, and some sort of spiky, rounded creature—were balloons being guided by small boats or if they were made from paper over frames which the boats supported on poles. They were civilian efforts, part of a local tradition.
“This means I’m a Royal Companion of Novy Sverdlovsk, my dear,” Daniel said. He held his smile even though the silk and cloth-of-gold lay on top of ranks of additional medals which Suzette’s forceful caresses were driving into his chest. He didn’t imagine the sensation could be very erotic for her either. “I’m told it gives me the right to drink from the king’s own cup at banquets if I’m ever on Novy Sverdlovsk—which heaven forbid.”
The girls giggled harmoniously. He wondered if they’d taken a course in Synchronized Laughing.
Admiral James had ordered that his officers attend the Governor’s fete wearing full Cinnabar and foreign decorations. In a naval gathering that would be bad taste—particularly for a junior commander—but the intention here was to overawe the civilians. Because much of Daniel’s service had been on distant planets with a gaudy sense of showmanship, he made a better display than some of the RCN captains present.
Having said that, Daniel wore the Cinnabar Star at the head of his top row of medals. RCN officers would ignore the Strymonian aigrette and the sash from Novy Sverdlovsk, but they’d respect the Star.
“Commander, come and dance,” Suzette wheedled, tugging on the sash as though it were a leash. “Won’t you dance with me, pretty please?”
There was dancing on the upper terrace. When Daniel looked up, he saw Adele sweep by in a gigue with Captain Bussom. She was in her occasional disguise as Lady Mundy, wearing a light gray suit slashed with violet. Formal dancing was an aristocratic skill which Evadne Rolfe Mundy had therefore seen to it that her bookish daughter Adele learned.
Pastel lanterns like those on the ships lit the grounds of the Governor’s Residence. They cast a comfortable dimness over the faces of people who’d drunk too much tonight or eaten too much over the previous decades.
“My dear—” Daniel began. His tongue stopped and he looked up to the higher terrace again to be sure of what he thought he’d seen in the corner of his eyes.
He really had: Vesey was dancing with Adele’s young ward, Rene Cazelet. The boy wore an attentive smile, while Vesey looked flushed. That might simply be strain from dancing despite having been so badly bruised during the battle. Still, she seemed to be having a good time.
“Dancing makes me feel all funny,” said Tatiana, stroking Daniel’s cheek with her fingertips. “Dreamy, sort of, if you know what I mean, Danny.”
She didn’t look any more dreamy than a cobra tensing to strike, though Daniel was confident that her intentions weren’t in the least hostile. So long as she got her way, at least.
“My dears,” Daniel resumed in time to forestall Kitty’s no-doubt similar suggestion, “I really don’t think I’m in the mood for dancing just now. As a matter of fact, I seem to have finished my punch and—”
He broke off again, gesturing with an index finger to call the girls’ attention to the fact they were about to have visitors. A big man in uniform with a tall, slim woman at his side was striding toward them.
“Good evening, Captain Stickel,” Daniel said brightly, standing straight instead of letting the stone railing carry some of his weight. Michael Stickel was captain of the Lao-tze. Daniel had seen him in passing when the Residence was the Diamondia Squadron Headquarters, but they hadn’t met formally.
“I’ve been looking for you all night, Leary,” Stickel said. “I should’ve guessed you’d be a
proper RCN officer and keep close guard on the punch bowl.”
From some lips that would’ve been an insult, but it sounded friendly this time. Daniel said, “May I introduce my charming companions, Captain?”
Bloody hell, he didn’t know any of their last names. Nothing unusual in that, of course, but under the circumstances it was going to be awkward. He was pretty sure that one of them was Governor Niven’s daughter, but even that wasn’t a help: the Governor was as bald as a cue ball.
“No, you bloody may not,” Stickel said. “Ollie my dear—” It came out as one word, olliemadur. “—why don’t you go powder your charming nose.”
It wasn’t a question the way he said it.
“And take Leary’s little friends along with you,” he added, “so that he and I can have a man talk, the two of us.”
Daniel didn’t mind Stickel shooing away the girls, but he wondered whether the senior captain would’ve been so brusque with Adele. He smiled faintly. Perhaps he would have been—the first time. He wouldn’t repeat the insult after he’d met Lady Mundy, however.
“I was just up there talking with Kithran,” Stickel said, nodding toward the Residence, beyond the railing of the upper terrace. The windows were brightly lighted, save for those of the ground-floor room which Admiral James had taken for his private office. “He’s still working on the bloody report to the Senate which he says—”
Stickel glared at Daniel. His hair was iron gray and cropped short. Between that and his craggy face, he looked more like an aging bruiser than a respected senior captain in the RCN.
“—you’re taking to Cinnabar tomorrow morning. It seems to me that it could wait another day or two, given that blockade runners carried the news back before we’d finished putting crews in all the prizes.”
“I assure you, Captain,” Daniel said calmly, “the decision on timing was His Lordship’s alone. This won’t be the first time I’ve felt what a hangover does to the process of inserting into the Matrix, but it isn’t an experiment I wanted to repeat.”
Stickel roared with laughter. “Well,” he said, “Kithran was a pigheaded bastard when we were at day school together, so I didn’t imagine a corvette commander had started leading him around by the nose. Still, I think even an admiral can take a night off for a party, don’t you, Leary?”
“Yes sir, I certainly do,” Daniel said. He grinned broadly. “But I didn’t think it was the place of a corvette commander to tell His Lordship that.”
Stickel laughed again. “Well, I did tell him,” he said, “and it made bugger-all difference. There was nothing for it but that he should hash over my report again before he does his own final. You gave him your report too, eh, Leary?”
“Yes sir,” Daniel said. “I believe His Lordship compiled the reports of all captains in the squadron. Or senior surviving officers in the case of the Express and Escapade, I suppose.”
Fireworks streamed skyward from both sides of the narrow passage through the mole separating the Inner and Outer Harbors. The boomp! of mortars reached the terraces only seconds before the shells burst into stars. Those in turn burst into lesser stars, rattling like the wind through bamboo blinds.
Stickel watched for a moment. “Pretty toys for children,” he said with a harshness Daniel hadn’t expected. “Children and civilians. We could tell them about real fireworks, couldn’t we, Leary?”
“Yes sir,” Daniel said. He thought about the Sissie’s bridge going dark except for the yellow-green deathlight which sizzled from all metal surfaces. He licked his lips and wished he hadn’t finished his drink.
“But they wouldn’t understand,” he said. He seemed to be hoarse. “And sir? You and I are out there so that they don’t have to learn, aren’t we? So that the civilians here and the ones back on Cinnabar never learn.”
“Well said, boy!” Stickel said. “Bloody well said.”
His voice got rougher and he said, “Your father’s Speaker Leary, I hear?”
“Yes sir,” said Daniel. He was asked the question frequently. There was nothing to do but return a flat answer and hope that was an end to it. “We’re not close.”
“Bloody dangerous man to be close to,” Stickel said. “But nobody ever said he was stupid, and I see his son isn’t either.”
More fireworks thumped, popped, and rattled. Blue and golden streamers trailed down toward the water. Daniel would very much have liked another mug of punch. Or a mug of raw alcohol from the Power Room with just enough water to keep it from lethally drying his mouth and throat.
“Well, that’s neither here nor there,” Stickel said. “We’re not politicians.”
His face hardened and he said, “You’re not a politician, are you, Leary?”
“No sir,” Daniel said, “I most certainly am not. Sir!”
He was reacting like a cadet at the Academy being grilled by a member of the cadre. He hadn’t expected this tonight, though Stickel didn’t seem hostile—only forceful. Very forceful.
“Kithran tells me that you launched your missiles to nudge the Direktor Heinrich into one of their own that they wouldn’t notice because they were concentrating on you,” Stickel said. “Is that true, Leary? That you planned it that way?”
“Captain,” said Daniel, feeling an icy mixture of anger and fear, “I didn’t put anything of the sort in my report.”
“I know what you put in your report, boy!” Stickel said. “I’ve read the bloody thing, haven’t I? I’m asking you if that’s what you did, because Kithran says it is.”
Daniel licked his lips again. “What His Lordship says is correct,” he said, “but I did not say that to His Lordship or to anyone else. Until just now, sir.”
Stickel laughed explosively again. “Well, I owe Kithran a case of brandy, then,” he said. “I swore nobody was that good. I thought you’d gotten lucky—or anyway, we’d gotten lucky, since you weren’t claiming the hit yourself.”
“Well sir . . .” Daniel said, feeling himself relax. He’d thought he was being accused of lying or—possibly worse—bragging. “I must say that I didn’t believe the Lao-tze launched thirty-six missiles in her initial salvo. I’d have bet much more than a case of brandy against that happening. I’m very glad that I’d have been wrong.”
Captain Stickel beamed. “You noticed that, did you?” he said. “That was nice work, but I can’t take much credit for it. I will say that my Lao-tze’s got the best bloody crew in the RCN, bar none!”
“I won’t argue with an officer of your rank and merit, Captain,” Daniel said, hoping his smile was broad enough to blunt the very real edge to his words, “but if we were civilians I’d ask you aboard the Sissie and we’d see what we saw.”
“By the Gods, Leary,” Stickel said, but he was laughing again. “I heard you have ginger! I guess otherwise you wouldn’t have the record you do. Say—when we’re both back in Xenos, which I hope won’t be any longer than it has to be, you look me up. We’ll have dinner at my club and we’ll talk, you and me.”
“Thank you, sir,” Daniel said. Bloody hell, this could’ve gone badly wrong; but it hadn’t. “I’ll be honored to accept your invitation.”
“Excuse me, Captain?” said a cool, perfectly modulated voice.
Daniel looked up. Cassandra McDonough, Admiral James’ flag lieutenant, looked expectantly over the railing of the upper terrace. She looked very good in Dress Whites, but Daniel could as easily imagine making love to a porcelain figurine.
“His Lordship would appreciate a few words with Commander Leary,” McDonough said when she had their attention, “before he seals the courier pouch.”
Stickel snorted. “What did I tell you, Leary?” he said. “The man will have everything just so before it goes off to Navy House. Go cross his tees for him, boy—but remember what I said about dinner.”
“Yes sir!” said Daniel as he strode for the steps to the upper terrace. “I most certainly will.”
McDonough waited for Daniel to get up the flight of broad stone stairs
before turning to precede him around the fringes of the dancing. The band had resumed with a hornpipe which bounced over the happy murmur of voices. Couples swung into the quick rhythm or drifted off the chalk-bounded dance floor to wait for a less strenuous measure.
Daniel and his guide entered through a lounge with a coffered ceiling. Its cells were skylights; another volley of fireworks trailed sparkles in the sky above them. Half a dozen members of the Governor’s staff sat smoking on the black leather chairs; a servant with a tray of drinks bent to serve them.
The civilians followed the two officers with their eyes. Daniel nodded pleasantly in acknowledgment, but Lieutenant McDonough paid them no more heed than she would’ve done for balls of mud on the area rugs.
There usually wasn’t any love lost between the civil and military staffs of a protectorate. Here on Diamondia the naval personnel treated the civilians as cowards who’d fled rather than take the risk that an Alliance raider would sneak through the minefield and target the Residence; the civilians had considered RCN officers pushy from the moment they arrived and had found them next to unbearable since their victory. Daniel supposed both sides had the right of it.
McDonough tapped on the elegantly carved north door. “Your Lordship, Commander Leary is here,” she said in a quiet, penetrating voice.
“Enter!” said James. McDonough opened the door, nodded Daniel through, and closed it firmly behind him.
The office had started out as a sitting room, but James had installed a standard RCN console in place of what’d probably been a glass-topped table. The result was serviceable though a little odd; the maroon banquette on which James was sitting in one corner made a particular contrast. Mirrors etched with hunting scenes covered two walls.
The admiral had a courier pouch in his lap. He was in his sleeveless undershirt; the tunic of his Whites, stiff with medals and braid, hung over the back of the console. He gestured Daniel to the other arm of the banquette.
