‘Oh,’ said Dix, and managed, just, not to burst out laughing, though the severity of his manner might have been more convincing without the twinkle in his eyes. ‘Well, that is frank, Lt Commander. But you are aware, of course, that I do not need your agreement to transfer you from your posting to any other, at your current rank? So what if I said that if you turn this down, I would transfer you to the Minnow anyway, as senior Lt?’
‘I would not attempt to argue against your right to do so, sir,’ Martine said, pleasantly. ‘I would, of course, obey without dispute.’ As he started to look pleased, she smiled. ‘And, of course, tender my resignation at the next port of call. I would regret doing that,’ she obviously meant that, though it was a mild kind of regret. ‘I would very much rather see out my term of service, obviously. But I only have three years left of the twenty, and perhaps I should explain, I do not intend to extend that.’
Officers who completed a full twenty years of service were entitled to extend that by five year increments. By resigning before the twenty years was up, Martine would be giving up all kinds of benefits, including a significant financial loss from pensions and savings funds.
‘I have plans,’ Martine told Dix. ‘I have a son. He lives with my parents, since the divorce, but I have promised him that when I leave the Fleet, I’ll have a ship of my own, a freighter, and we will go travelling together. He’ll be eight in three years, just the right age to go spacer. I’m going to take him to Ferajo, to see dragons, and to Canelon and Korvold, and Lundane, too, all the places we both want to go. Given the choice, I would much rather see out my term of service doing good, useful work for the Fourth, then head out with my son with my affairs on a sound financial footing. But if the choice is to spend the next three years or even the next three months trying to do Harry Alington’s job for him while he does his best to undermine and put me down, well, I can manage without the pension.’
Dix broke into a helpless grin, though giving Alex a mock-severe look.
‘Do you train your officers in being this insubordinate, Alex?’
‘No sir,’ Alex said, giving Martine an appreciative grin of his own. ‘But I do value officers with the strength to know their own minds, and the courage of their convictions.’
‘Stroppy, bolshy, insubordinate...’ the First Lord complained, and shook his head at Martine. ‘I suppose there’s no point appealing to you on how vital the work is that the Minnow is undertaking, here?’
‘None, sir.’ Martine said, firmly. ‘If the work is that important, a skipper should be put in who can do it justice.’
‘You’re not being fair, there,’ Dix replied. ‘Harry Alington can learn. He has the potential to be an excellent skipper, given the right mentoring and support.’
Martine raised an ironic eyebrow. ‘Possibly, sir,’ she said. ‘I won’t argue with you on that, though my personal opinion is that his natural habitat is the Chartsey homeworld squadron, not front line or independent operations. All I’m saying is that I, personally, am not prepared to babysit him. But if you’re looking for someone who would, and who’d get on with him a great deal better than I would, too, might I bring Lt Barlow to your notice, sir? He is looking to get into command rank, and I believe has all the qualities you’re looking for, including far more patience with the nitwit breed than I will ever have.’
Dix gave Alex an enquiring look, and Alex nodded.
‘He’s an excellent officer,’ he agreed. ‘Very calm, steady and capable. He’s working well above his rank, too, undertaking much of the routine intelligence processing and liaison with other agencies, besides mentoring our super-Subs and tutoring several members of the crew working on degree courses. He also has an excellent relationship with the spacer community. I’d be sorry to lose him, but I have to say, I agree with Lt Commander Fishe, he’s certainly up to the job.’
‘Well, all right,’ Dix conceded. ‘Perhaps you’d better sound him out on it first, though. I don’t want to have a promotion flung back at me twice in one day, after all.’ He looked at Martine with some amusement as he saw her look of calm enquiry. ‘And yes, you can stay on the Heron,’ he told her. ‘Alex said he wanted to howl and call me names even when he understood my reasons for wanting to transfer you. If I tried to transfer you on disciplinary grounds I dread to think how he’d react.’
That was clearly a joke, and Martine laughed, as Alex grinned. But she glanced at the skipper, too, a little pink-faced at this revelation of how highly he valued her.
‘Well, I want to howl and call you names for taking Sam Barlow, too,’ Alex observed. ‘There isn’t one of my officers I’d willingly let go, or crew, either, come to that. But I can’t, I know, have everything my own way, and it is selfish to try to keep all the best people for my own ship.’
Dix gave him a look of friendly amusement.
‘Well, you need a good team for the assignments you get,’ he observed. ‘And I won’t take them unless I really need to, Alex.’ He glanced at the time. ‘Let me know about Lt Barlow, later.’
It was a clear dismissal, and both officers rose at once, taking their leave with formal courtesy. They didn’t get very far, though. A message had been left with the adjutant from Captain Bull Stuart, inviting Alex to have coffee with him before he left the ship. Alex agreed, of course – Bull Stuart had to know how busy he was, so this was unlikely to be a social invitation.
Nor was it, though it took the captain a few minutes to get to the reason he’d wanted to see him. Due courtesies had to be gone through, first, with a steward bringing a proper coffee set on a tray, along with elegant little cakes. It was a far cry from the mugs and cookie tin they had on the Heron, but this was, after all, a ship that was almost always either carrying Solaran visitors or human VIPs.
‘I hope you won’t mind giving me a few minutes,’ Bull said, in his soft voice. ‘But I would really value your advice, Alex.’
Alex blinked at him. Bull Stuart was one of the Fleet’s most senior captains, a man with nearly two decades of command seniority. Alex had to keep reminding himself to say ‘Bull’ as the captain had asked, instead of the ‘sir’ that would have seemed more natural. The notion that Bull Stuart would want his advice was just weird.
‘Oh – well, anything I can help with,’ he said, a bit uncertainly.
‘Well, the thing is that I would like to hold a dinner for Shionolethe,’ Bull explained. ‘And since I gather that the provision made last evening was not at all what had been hoped for, I really wanted your advice, any suggestions as to what kind of event she would be likely to enjoy.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Alex said, relieved that it was something so easy. ‘She likes buffets,’ he told the captain, ‘or family-style dining where dishes are handed around and shared – any kind of dining where people help themselves, really. And the more informal, frankly, the better.’
‘Ah.’ Bull looked thoughtful at that, adjusting his ideas to the pleasing of his guest rather than what he himself would have felt to be appropriate. ‘I have also,’ he told Alex, ‘been informed that an invitation to Mr North would be accepted – a high honour, that, I know, since he hardly ever ventures outside his own household. It isn’t the first time I’ve entertained members of the Founding Families, of course, but I’m aware that Mr North has... special requirements, so any advice you could give in that direction would be much appreciated too.’
‘Oh, I am sure that his people will be in touch with everything you need to know about his security and dietary requirements,’ Alex said, drily. ‘They’ll probably come aboard before him and decontaminate your ship, too. But if you want to know what both of them would like, I’d suggest a tea party – Shion loves cookies and I’ve seen Davie North eat twenty or thirty fancy cakes at a time, definitely a sweet tooth, there.’
‘Ah!’ Bull looked pleased, at that, and nodded. ‘Thank you, Alex, that’s very helpful.’ He looked curiously at him. ‘You haven’t entertained Mr North aboard the Heron, I gather.’
�
��No – I would, any time.’ Alex said. ‘He’d be more than welcome. But his father has told him he isn’t allowed aboard my ship. I’m not entirely sure why. Mr North didn’t elaborate and his tone didn’t encourage me to ask. I suspect that Mr Delaney considers me an inappropriate friend for his son, or perhaps he just doesn’t think that the Heron is a safe environment.’
Bull gave a gentle chuckle. ‘Try not to take that personally, Alex. Andrei Delaney is an extraordinary man – brilliant, of course, an extremely generous man both personally and socially, and with a very lively sense of humour, too. I liked him very much, myself, on the two occasions we’ve met, both times when he was taking a personal role in escorting Solaran parties to see private art collections. He maintains retreat houses for them, indeed, on several worlds, for which we and the Diplomatic Corps are indebted to him. But you have to understand that he lives in a completely different reality to the rest of us. Well, you’ve seen something of that, of course, in the retinue that surrounds Mr North. I doubt that Andrei Delaney has ever so much as poured himself a cup of tea, his whole life.’
Alex thought about the bidet valet who attended Davie North when he went to the lavatory, attending to his personal hygiene, and grinned understanding. He was intrigued, though, never having talked to anyone who’d actually met Andrei Delaney.
‘Is he very like his son?’ he asked, curiously.
‘No, not at all, you’d never pick them as related,’ Bull said, with a little grin. ‘Andrei Delaney is a great bear of a man, big chest, big voice, roaring with laughter very often. He can be quiet when he’s escorting Solarans, but it’s the kind of quiet when a naturally very loud man is tiptoeing and whispering. He also has a penchant for wearing big cloaks, either with silk suits or tuxedos.’
‘Cloaks?’ Alex queried, startled.
‘Oh, yes,’ Bull selected a fancy from the tray, and smiled at Alex. ‘He has the worst personal taste of any man I’ve ever met,’ he said, quite simply.
‘Seriously?’ Alex could hardly believe that. Surely the Founding Families, as the League’s elite, would be the epitome of high class living.
‘That’s actually an interesting question,’ Bull replied, having nibbled a little of his cake, considering. ‘And I’d have to say, honestly, I’m not entirely sure, myself, whether it’s serious, some kind of deliberate subversion of the form, a genuine blindness to cultural norms, or just a massive joke. All I can tell you is that I once had the privilege of visiting one of his homes on Flancer, escorting a Solaran party there. It was a memorable experience. Just to give you a flavour of it, imagine, if you will, a classic Palladian hall with marble floor, pillars, a grand staircase, ancient and priceless works of art, with a glitter chandelier, pink fluffy sofas and a stuffed elephant.’
‘Sorry, a what?’
‘An elephant.’ Bull repeated, obligingly. ‘A pachyderm – great big animal, trunk, big ears.’
‘Yes, I know what an elephant is.’ Alex couldn’t help grinning. ‘But he had one in his house?’
‘Dead and stuffed, yes,’ Bull confirmed. ‘I wondered if it was some kind of sentimental attachment, perhaps a favourite animal from a private menagerie, but when I asked, the aide showing us through said no, Mr Delaney just took a fancy to having an elephant there. There were parrots, too, in one of the bathrooms – live ones. The rest of the house, what I saw of it, was... well, rather as if a high class museum had been decorated by a colour-blind five year old, frankly, if you can imagine a colour-blind five year old getting hold of an unlimited credit card. Quite extraordinary. But enlightening, I felt, as to the reality that Mr Delaney inhabits, because that is his world, a bubble of homes and ships that he moves between, rarely encountering anyone beyond his own retinue. He is, obviously, very protective of his son, too, doesn’t want him going about in any public place or mixing with people who haven’t been properly vetted.
‘That’s almost certainly the reason he’s forbidden Mr North to come aboard your ship. Ships like this are routinely vetted by retinues before members of the Families come aboard – we’re used to that, whatever kind of VIP we’re carrying. As you say, sometimes they like to come aboard ahead of the visit and decontaminate. I don’t mind that, personally. The Families have an almost superstitious dread of disease, to be sure, but then, so do the Solarans, and we don’t think any the worse of them for that. The problem with the Heron, of course, so far as the vetting process is concerned, is that anyone who has been convicted of any kind of offence will flag on their radar as a security risk. As I said, try not to take it personally.’
‘I don’t,’ Alex assured him. ‘But that’s a very enlightening perspective on Mr Delaney, thank you, Bull – very different from what I’d imagined.’ The Andrei Delaney of his imagination had been cold eyed, autocratic, inhabiting a world of expensive conference rooms and elegant homes. Pink fluffy sofas, cloaks and stuffed elephants had not been anywhere near that mental picture.
As Alex left the Eagle a little later, he felt that he had not only gained valuable insight, there, but had made a friend, too.
‘Everything all right, dear boy?’ Buzz asked, meeting him at the airlock. Alex looked at him and laughed. He couldn’t explain why. He couldn’t tell Buzz that Dix had told him that they were going to be expected to attempt first contact with an unknown species, or failing that, attempt to resolve a problem to which nobody could see a realistic solution. Oh, and incidentally having to do that against the rabid hostility of the port admiral they were supposed to be relying on for help.
‘Fine,’ he said, and grinned at Buzz’s enquiring look. ‘We’re losing one of our officers, Senator Machet is coming to stay, Professor Pattello has complained about us to the Senate Sub-Committee and there are down and dirty politics heading our way.’
Buzz smiled serenely.
‘Just routine, then,’ he observed, and Alex laughed again.
‘Just routine,’ he agreed.
Chapter Eleven
‘So – will you at least consider it?’
Marc Tyborne had just finished a long speech, rather obviously professionally scripted, to Shion. He had apologised for any mistakes that had been made in the dinner the previous evening, assured her of their unstinting efforts to learn and do everything they could to please her, and asked her, as a personal favour to him, to do them the honour of coming to Canelon with them, either aboard the presidential transport or working aboard the Eagle if she preferred.
Shion had sat quietly throughout this, paying courteous attention. She was wearing groundside uniform, every inch the smart, professional young officer.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Sir.’
There was a silence. The president looked at her and she looked back at him, gaze steady.
‘Er...’ Marc Tyborne was not at a loss for very long, ‘may I ask why?’
Another silence. Shion’s eyes looked very directly into his.
‘Are you sure,’ she asked, ‘that you really want me to answer that, Mr President?’
‘Well, yes,’ he said, ‘we can’t begin to address your concerns until we know what they are, after all.’ He smiled at her in a grandfatherly way. ‘Please, Shion. Tell me what the problem is, at least give me the chance to try to put it right, yes?’
‘Okay,’ Shion said, in the same pleasant tone. ‘All right, then. When I was a child, and first started listening to stories of the League, the Solarans told me that it was perfectly safe to visit here, now, that you had long since stopped detaining ambassadors and experimenting on them in secret laboratories.’
The president winced a little at that and opened his mouth to issue an apology for those abuses, though there had been no such incident in the League for nearly three hundred years, now. Shion, however, went straight on.
‘They told me about your constitution, how highly honoured a document it is, that your people go in their thousands every day to reverence the original document in a special temple on Chartsey. They told me about its high principles,
a commitment to liberty, a fundamental right to self determination. That spoke to me, you know? To be born into the karee, as I am, is to be born circumscribed. I was born destined by my bloodline to a life of public service, ritual and ceremony. I didn’t resent that, but at the same time I yearned for more, for open sky, for freedom. The Solarans told me that I could find that here, that you would welcome me, that I could make decisions for myself, here, and be my own person. And so it was, too, though there were confusions and misunderstandings – at least, I thought at the time that they were merely the kinds of confusions and misunderstandings to be expected when we were only just starting to learn about one another. I told your people at Amali many times, for instance, that I am not here in any official diplomatic capacity, no kind of ambassador, just a traveller. They struggled to accept that, just as they clearly didn’t believe me when I told them that I have no advanced technology or science to share with you. Davie North believed me and understood, and he told me that Alex von Strada would, too.
‘And he was right. I am so happy on the Heron, so happy, I hardly have the words. They take care of me, there, but only in the same way that I see they all take care of one another, treating me just as one of them. They let me fly, which is the greatest joy in my life, and they give me real, useful work to do, work I take great pride and pleasure in. I understood that the Diplomatic Corps would be kept informed about me and that they would have a presence nearby when we touched port, but my understanding of that was that they would be merely there as a safety net, in case I changed my mind.
‘Instead, when we got here, I found that the skipper had been ordered to stop me working aboard ship, and Attache Djenbo took me off the ship and wouldn’t allow me to go back aboard it, either. And now you’re here, with all your advisors and people, pressuring me to become the ambassador that you want me to be. So what I want to know is, is your constitution for real? Do I have the right of self determination, or not? Because what you are trying to do here is to put me back into that circumscribed box that I left my world to escape, trapping me in ritual and ceremony. And if I am not free to choose, not free to be the person I want to be, then you might as well take me off to a lab and be done with it.’
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