Walter studied Ivan closely. “So you will turn the hard work he’s done to get close to you into a wedge that forces you apart—and deliver it in the form of praise that will make him feel good despite utterly thwarting his desires.”
“Harshly put, yes.”
“And who is he talking to?”
“Stephan Andrich, another cousin, fifth, perhaps, with a few generations removed.” Ivan’s hands fluttered. “He’s too dull to be much fun playing the game, and would be an absolute ruin were he ever to make it to a position with any real authority.”
“I see.”
“That look in your eyes, the tone in your voice, says you don’t approve of my pastime.”
“Actually, I’m kind of in awe.” Walter shrugged. “But if either of them kill you, some folks might think it justifiable homicide.”
“A case I’d not considered.” Ivan tapped a finger against his chin. “But, for this evening at least, the game persists. Please do enjoy yourself, Lieutenant. I look forward to working with you.”
“Thank you.” I think. Walter watched Ivan turn and weave his way through the crowd toward the Capellan Consul. That was different . . . Walter wasn’t at all certain if anything useful had been accomplished in that conversation, save for learning that he was going to be paired with a man whom some people wanted dead, and who didn’t seem to care much about that fact.
“Take this.” A slender blonde woman appeared at his elbow and offered him a glass of red wine. “Say thank you.”
“Thank you.”
“You are very very welcome, and you now owe me a rescue.” She touched her glass to his. “No one would blame you if you wanted something stronger, but this is our native Zweigelt. The vines came from Austria, on Terra, transported by the first Litzau settlers. We export it as far as New Avalon.”
“Is that so?” Walter nodded, then tried the wine. Dry, with the sweetness of berries. He let it linger on his tongue before swallowing. “Good, and really the sort of wine I like.”
“I hoped so.” She gestured with her glass in the Chairman Presumptive’s direction. “I almost pity the Consul. He’s not a stupid man, but he has yet to realize that he’s up against an intellect the like of which few of us even imagine exists.”
Walter cocked his head for a second. “You know the Chairman Presumptive well, then?”
She smiled. “I’ve had the pleasure. I take it they’re discussing beetles?”
“Lowland, Highland, something like that.”
“He asked me for references on Lowland spotted beetles mid-morning today. I suggested a dozen volumes or so.” She smiled. “He’s devoured them already, I’m certain.”
“You research beetles, do you?”
The woman regarded him for a moment, then nodded. “I do, as part of my ecological research. And forgive my manners. I’m Phee.”
“Walter de Mesnil.” Walter shook her hand, pleased with her firm, dry grip. “I’m with the Angels.”
“And are the Companion.” She snapped a finger against a battle ribbon on his chest. It was white with a running hound in green. “That’s what this one signifies.”
“I wondered.” Walter half smiled. “I didn’t think it was one I’d earned.”
“You will.”
“Pursuant to that, I’ve only just met Ivan Litzau, just now. I can see he’s very smart, but he’s also a bit . . . distant.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is detached.”
He considered for a moment. “That is better.”
Phee sipped her wine. “It’s also accurate. You see, most people, they do things for simple reasons: love, lust, greed. Those are the fancy words for hunger and companionship and the desire to reproduce. Addressing those basic needs makes most folks fairly easy to figure out. But Ivan—sure, he has to eat and clothe himself and needs human contact, but those things don’t motivate him.”
“What does?”
“Given how smart he is, most folks think it’s knowledge.” Her blue eyes focused distantly. “But knowledge is a goal; he likes knowledge, but for him, the true joy is in seeking. Many people set their sights on having done something, but Ivan, he delights in the doing, in the chase. Does that make any sense?”
The mercenary considered for a moment, staring into the dark ruby wine as he did so. “Sure. There are those . . . I have known some MechWarriors who don’t care about winning or losing, they just live for the fighting.”
“That’s a rather gruesome comparison, but accurate.”
“Sorry about that.” Walter shot her a sidelong glance. “Sounds like you know the Chairman really well. Are you two . . . you know, not to pry, but together?”
“Ivan and me? No, good lord no.”
“You tutor him, then, in sciences, or he’s a patron for your research.”
“Yes, Litzau Enterprises and the Litzau family support my research.” A tone entered her voice—playful, but something else there he couldn’t identify. “Let me ask you, Lieutenant de Mesnil . . .”
“Walter.”
“Walter, then. Walter, why do you do what you do? Is it the money?”
“When you’re a mercenary, that is the go-to answer, but I actually have another plan.” He lowered his voice and she leaned in. “I actually am saving up to start a wine importing business, so under the guise of being a mercenary, I get to travel to worlds, try their wines, and obliterate wineries that have no merit.”
“I’ll make you a list.” She tapped her glass against his. “Well played, sir. That’s the most entertaining example of being told to mind my own business I’ve ever been privileged to experience.”
“Just a second, Phee, I wasn’t trying to put you off.” Walter winced. “Holovids always make the mercenary life gritty or romantic. They make mercs into gallant warriors with tragic pasts who are off doing battle in some vain attempt to redeem themselves for past misdeeds. In my case the fact is that I pretty much fell into this life. People have these silly dreams about becoming a mercenary and doing great heroic things. I really didn’t have anything better to do at the time. Handful of years later, here I am.”
She remained silent for a bit, then smiled. “I sense there is more to be told there, but I accept your answer as given because, unlike most people here, you’re not making yourself out to be something important or terribly grand. That is different.”
Walter returned her smile. “Birds of a feather, the two of us.”
“Quite so.”
A middle-aged man joined them in the corner. “Forgive me for interrupting, just be a moment. I wanted to thank you for recommending Doctor Bitters. He said everything is going to be fine.”
Phee smiled broadly. “I’m so pleased to hear that, Ambassador Allard. Is your lovely wife with you?”
“No, I’m afraid not. Even though the doctor said Justin and Daniel should get over the bug in a day or two, she wanted to stay with them. But she passed along her best wishes and thanks.” The man looked over at Walter and offered his hand. “I’m sorry, I’m Quintus Allard. I’m representing the Federated Suns for the Vesting Celebration. We brought my boys along—it’s a bit of a trip from New Avalon and we didn’t want to be apart from them for that long.”
Phee pressed a hand to her forehead. “Forgive me, I thought you might know each other. This is Lieutenant Walter de Mesnil. He’s Ivan’s Companion.”
“Yes, of course.” Quintus smiled. “I hope you’ll get a chance to meet my boys. They’re of that age when they start dreaming of becoming MechWarriors.”
“We were just talking about that, Walter and I.”
The mercenary rolled his eyes. “The glamor of it all . . .”
“My sons quite believe that. In their eyes, all mercenaries are heroes, much like d’Artagnan.”
Walter wi
nced. “The reality is that we’re more like Don Quixote.”
“A mercenary acquainted with the classics.” Quintus nodded in the other man’s direction. “Of course, in the opening chapter of The Three Musketeers, Dumas describes d’Artagnan as a Don Quixote, so perhaps both views are correct.”
“That, sir, puts some things in perspective. Thank you.” Walter raised his glass to the ambassador. “I’ll work on being more one than the other.”
“I think you’ll find that being the Companion will require the best qualities of both.” Allard shook Walter’s hand again. “Pleased to meet you, Lieutenant.”
“And you, sir.”
The ambassador turned to Phee and took her hand in his. “And you, Research Director Litzau, always a pleasure. If there is any way I can be of service to you or especially your brother during his Final Vetting, please let me know. That’s not the Federated Suns making the offer. I am personally indebted to you, and Allards always make good on their debts.”
“You are far too kind, Ambassador. My best to your wife and sons.”
Research Director Litzau? A question took up residence on the tip of Walter’s tongue.
Sophia raised a finger. “Not a word.”
“But.”
“That’s a word, Walter.”
He fell silent.
She frowned. “Okay. Say it.”
“Say what?”
“What you’re dying to say.”
“Now I see why Litzau Enterprises supports your research.”
“It’s important research.” She snatched the half-full glass from his hand and set their glasses on a nearby tray. Then she grabbed his left hand. “We should dance.”
“Wait.”
“You don’t dance?”
“It’s not that.” Walter shook his head. “And it’s not me feeling foolish for not recognizing you. I can imagine that having the chance to be anonymous in a crowd like this is a treat. I don’t mind being the off-world bumpkin who didn’t know who he was talking to. I’m good with all that.”
Consternation wrinkled her brow. “Then what is it?”
“I am the off-world bumpkin who didn’t know who you were. Are you sure there won’t be some negative repercussions if we dance together? Isn’t there some protocol or something? A tradition?”
“Walter, we’re not the Draconis Combine. They’d have to convene a council of ministers to ask ministers to consider your question and we’d be ancient before we ever got a reply. And, yes, Maldives is really a small village where everyone knows everyone else’s business and there’s been so much intermarriage that family trees are really just this windblown mass of webs.” She tugged on his hand. “But you’re the Companion. I’m the Chairman Presumptive’s younger sister, one of your hosts. And this is just a dance, not an invitation to get married.”
“So you’re saying sex is off the table.”
“Lieutenant de Mesnil!” Sophia’s head came up. “I am a traditional woman.”
She had affected outrage, but he caught a teasing note in her voice. “You do realize, Director, that on your world, I have no idea what that means.”
“What it means is, Walter, that we can dance together, and no one will bat an eyelash.”
“Then it would be my pleasure.” Walter bowed deeply, and rose to see her granting him a delighted smile.
He led her to the dance floor, which was blond oak with dark wood inlays. The dark wood had been used to depict a stylized version of Maldives and, above it, the Litzau family crest. The map showed thick ice sheets at the south pole, lighter to the north, and the more temperate zones working down to a number of river valleys like the one created by the Nyqvist River. The Litzau crest consisted of a hound rampant, with a crown, and another hound running beneath it. That latter hound resembled the image on his Companion ribbon.
Walter didn’t recognize the tune the band was playing, but he caught the rhythm easily enough. He drew Sophia into his arms and led her through the stately steps of a waltz. He even tossed in a turn or two for fun. None of the other couples were doing that. Most of them looked decidedly stiff, as if they loathed their partners. Sophia, on the other hand, smiled happily and executed moves crisply, providing the sort of flare that everyone else’s mechanical dancing lacked.
As she returned to his embrace, he nodded toward another couple. “That’s Richard Oglethorpe. Your brother said that if there was a list drawn up of people who wanted to kill him, Richard would be at the top.”
“That was Ivan being a bit hyperbolic. Richard is a third cousin, therefore technically in position to garner enough proxies to replace Ivan if the Final Vetting goes badly. But then, three-quarters of the people who will be in and out of the corporate headquarters during the Final Vetting would have to be severed before Richard could reach the right number of votes, so he’s not really a serious suspect.”
Richard danced with a slender woman with long black hair that hung in thick curls. They move together brilliantly, clearly anticipating each other’s moves with preternatural prowess. “Who is he dancing with?”
“Abigail, my older sister.”
“She looks lovely.”
“Believe that at your peril.” Sophia winked at him. “You should be careful of her. As angry as Richard was, she’s more so.”
“At me? Really?” Walter blinked. “Did she want to be Companion, too?”
“Oh, heavens no.” Sophia lowered her voice. “She believes Destrier should be hers, and you’re part of a corrupt system which guarantees she will never claim her birthright.”
Chapter Four
Rivergaard House, Rivergaard
Maldives
15 October 3000
“Family holidays must be pure joy around here.” Walter tossed Sophia into a turn.
Her eyes flashed as she returned. “I’ll make certain you’re seated beside me next time.”
“You’re too kind.”
“I am also serious. Unless you’ve brought a spouse with you, protocol calls for you to be placed between my sister and me at the various Vesting dinners.”
Walter smiled. “I’ll read up on beetles, so we can have good conversation.”
The song ended and Walter walked Sophia back toward the corner. “Thank you, Director. I’m not sure what I was expecting this evening, but this was a most welcome substitute for what I feared would happen.”
“I’m glad, Lieutenant. Thank you.” She took his right hand between hers and squeezed. “I know you will do everything you can for my brother. Whatever you do, don’t let him doubt himself. That’s when he truly gets lost.”
“Noted.” He squeezed her hands in return. “And now I’ll surrender you to what I am sure are your many duties here.”
“You have no idea.” She tossed him another wink and lost herself in the crush of bodies.
Walter watched her go, then considered getting a glass of wine. He’d liked the Zweigelt despite his preference for beer or whisky. But if I get a glass, I’m trapped here . . . It occurred to him that he’d accomplished his mission: he’d met Ivan. Sophia had been a bonus, and the fact that he appeared largely invisible to everyone else underscored his being an outsider. He decided that leaving early and pleading jump-lag was preferable to remaining and running afoul of some odd societal expectation.
Plenty of time for that in the weeks ahead.
“Did you feel it necessary, sister, to make so complete a spectacle of yourself with that mercenary?”
Sophia turned slowly and smiled at her sister. “He dances well. Better than anyone else here.”
“He is an embarrassment.” Abigail accepted a flute of sparking wine from a passing server. “Mother was wrong in her approach.”
“She had no choice, Abby. Richard was selected because of what happened durin
g our father’s Final Vetting, and it was done to embarrass Richard.” Sophia hugged an arm across her tummy. “If Ivan failed with him as Companion, Richard would be seriously diminished. When Ivan succeeded . . .”
“If, you mean.”
“I have faith, Abby.” Sophia sighed. “Ivan’s vesting would gall Richard. His honor or his ambition would be besmirched with either outcome; Richard was too proud to accept the traditional way out, so Mother accepted for him.”
“And dishonored him sorely.”
Sophia arched a blonde eyebrow. “Are you defending him?”
“Richard? Hardly.” Abigail stared down at bubbles for a moment. “As much as I loathe the Oglethorpes, the simple fact of the matter is that I hate seeing the Dhivi corporate elite being subordinate to off-world mercenary—”
The younger woman spitted Abigail with a hard stare. “Don’t finish that sentence.”
“It is the truth. You know what he is.”
“You haven’t even spoken to him.”
Shock spread over Abigail’s face. “He’s charmed you. Five minutes dancing and you’re already intrigued with him.”
“No, that is not it at all.” Though he is charming, in a rough way. Sophia’s eyes narrowed. “My point is that Mother made a good selection. You know how unpopular Father’s changes to the vetting ritual were with the old guard—some of them are going to want Ivan to fail. No employee of Litzau Enterprises is going to work him hard enough to change those opinions, but a mercenary could. Do not look at me that way, Abigail.”
“You say no one, but you know I would have.”
“Granted, but that is not a traditional option.” Sophia glanced over to where the Capellan Consul had finally escaped his conversation with Ivan. “If Ivan is to continue our father’s work, we need to be united in supporting him, against all opposition.”
Heir Apparent Page 3
