“Just know that I’ll do my best for you,” Marius said, not sure why he cared all of a sudden. “But—if you want children—”
“I think,” Tiffany said cynically, “that they don’t really care about your performance in the bedchamber.” Her face fell for a second. “If you have someone...special...already in your life, I won’t complain if you spend time with her instead of me.”
“I don’t,” Marius said. That thought hadn’t crossed his mind. “And do you have someone special?”
“Not at the moment,” Tiffany admitted. “I thought that there would be enough time to find someone. Instead...” She shrugged expressively. “I’ll do my duty, admiral, and as long as you do yours, your superiors will be happy.”
There was something in her voice that broke Marius’s heart.
“I’ve never been a husband before,” he said, “but I’ll do my best.”
“I saw that in your file.” Tiffany smiled. “You never chose to marry before now?”
“My first serious lover didn’t want to spend her life following a young officer around the Rim, while the second didn’t want to leave Mars or spend long months apart from her husband,” Marius admitted. “After that, I gave up and decided to focus on my career. The Navy was my bride.”
“I think you’d have difficulty taking a superdreadnaught to bed,” Tiffany said archly. “Which missile tube would you use...”
Marius found himself chuckling as she giggled.
There was a knock at the door. It opened without waiting for any answer. Granny Sampson, one of Tiffany’s oldest relations through a complex network of family ties Marius hadn’t been able to fathom, bustled through the door and winked at them. Unlike most of the older members of High Society, she didn’t bother to hide her age and grey hair topped her very aristocratic head. Marius had only met her briefly, but he’d seen enough to discern that she was very influential behind the scenes and was most likely one of the people who had helped arrange his marriage. He had wondered, at first, what she got out of it, before realizing that the old woman wanted nothing more than influence and the chance to shape the future.
“Not very active, are you?” she asked, as she closed the door behind her. “Good heavens; when I was a girl, the entire world was shocked to discover the happy couple pressed against the wall, getting a sneak preview of the honeymoon. Mind you, everyone was shocked because they hadn’t thought the guy had it in him. He was a bit of a weed and a wet, and no one even thought he could get it up in a joy-house with nine joy-girls devoting themselves to his pleasure...”
“Granny,” Tiffany protested, blushing furiously. “What are you doing here?”
Granny Sampson made a show of checking her watch.
“Why, the ceremony is about to start, my dear,” she said. “I wouldn’t want you to be late for your first wedding. First times are always special...”
“She’s been married to nine husbands and outlived them all,” Tiffany explained to Marius.
“Cheeky brat,” Granny Sampson said. She didn’t sound offended in the slightest. “I haven’t forgotten the shocking story of a man who showed up late to his wedding because he was too busy getting it on with the best man. Everyone in High Society will be talking about this wedding—I mean, you actually met before the wedding. That’s no good, is it? You might have run away in horror.”
She gave Marius a wink. “Don’t worry about a thing,” she assured him. “The ceremony itself is very simple, afterward you just have to endure the reception and then you can rush off and enjoy yourself.”
Tiffany let go of his hand—Marius had somehow never realized that she was still holding onto him—and rolled her eyes when Granny Sampson looked away.
“All you young folk are all the same,” Granny Sampson said without turning back. “You think of tradition as an impediment. It wasn’t like that in my day.”
“When dinosaurs ruled the Earth?” Tiffany asked sweetly. “I’ll see you at the reception, Granny.”
She gave Marius a wink and walked out the door, followed rapidly by Granny Sampson. Marius consulted his internal chronometer and sighed. The wedding was about to begin, which meant...in an hour, he would be a husband. He shook his head. He’d never imagined, in his worst nightmares, that his own wedding would be such a farce.
* * *
The Great Hall was large enough to accommodate thousands of people, enough to allow all of High Society to attend without crowding. As Marius and his best man—chosen from among the bride’s family, a distant cousin of his wife—walked up to the altar, he was acutely aware of the gazes fixed on him. He’d chosen to wear his dress uniform—though it had been the only choice he’d been allowed to make—and he could sense the collective shock and astonishment running through High Society. Marius found it hard to care. If they’d arranged the marriage to bind him to them, they might at least know what they were clasping to their collective bosom.
He had to admit, despite himself, that the Great Hall was impressive. The first Federation President had been inaugurated within its walls and all successive presidents, no matter how weak the office had become, had followed in his footsteps. It was lit by the glow of thousands of candles and decorated in a fashion that harkened back to the days of old, long before mankind had mastered space travel and gone out to create the Federation. He caught sight of the statues lining the walls and smiled grimly. Each of the statues represented an alien race that had been brought—willingly or otherwise—into the Federation. A couple of the statues had outlasted the races they were supposed to represent.
There were no live aliens at the wedding, of course. Aliens were banned from Earth and most of the Core Worlds, although there were some very small alien communities on a handful of them. It wasn’t unknown for some aliens to be allowed to travel without supervision, although they tended to have a hard time at customs. The crowd was all human—at least for a certain value of human—and High Society. Marius hadn’t been allowed to invite any of his family, even the ones living on Mars, let alone his friends. The cluster of admirals and generals at the rear of the room were all from High Society.
He sucked in his breath as the music began to play. Courage, he told himself. You’ve endured a thousand battles with humans and aliens. You can endure your own wedding.
Yes, his thoughts rattled on, but you’re not allowed to blow up your own wedding, are you? Regulations can be such a nuisance...
His best man caught his arm as Tiffany advanced into the chamber wearing a long, white dress and carrying a bunch of flowers. She looked as if she was trying hard to be demure, but Marius could tell that she was nervous. Her bridesmaids, suitable young woman chosen from among her family, seemed to be laughing at her. Marius wondered, with a sudden flash of anger he refused to show on his face, if they were married themselves. Or, perhaps, if they knew that they wouldn’t be married off to a complete stranger. He wondered, just for a moment, how many deals had been struck behind the scenes to arrange his marriage.
Tiffany stopped beside him, her head bowed, and didn’t look up.
“Dearly beloved,” the Speaker said, “we are gathered here today to bind together two of our children, who have chosen to give their lives to one another in matrimony.”
Marius shuddered inwardly. Neither of them had chosen their partners.
“If there is anyone who can show just reason as to why they should not marry, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”
There was a long, nerve-wracking pause.
“No one has spoken,” the Speaker said. He looked down at Marius and Tiffany. “You may join hands.”
Marius reached for Tiffany’s hand and held it gently.
“Both hands,” the Speaker prompted.
A thin ripple of amusement echoed around the room. Marius turned to face Tiffany and took her other hand.
A moment later, the Speaker wrapped a thin golden cord around their hands, binding them together. “Admiral Marius Drake, do you take Tiffany as your lawful brid
e, to have and to hold, to cherish and protect, until death do you part?”
A farce, part of Marius’s mind echoed bitterly. The divorce rates in High Society were astronomical. He wondered, in a moment of black humor, if that explained why the murder rates were so low.
“I do,” he said. Tiffany looked up at him, her green eyes sparkling with dark amusement, and they shared a smile.
“Lady Tiffany, do you take Marius as your lawful wedded husband, to have and to hold, to cherish and protect, until death do you part?”
“I do,” Tiffany said. She caught Marius’s eyes again and they almost started giggling.
“I therefore pronounce you man and wife,” the Speaker said with a smile. “You may now kiss the bride.”
Marius hesitated, before Tiffany leaned up and pressed her lips against his. She felt warm and soft to the touch. He prolonged the kiss, long enough to make the Speaker clear his throat in irritation.
She’d had the same thought, he realized as they separated. If nothing else, they could annoy the Speaker and the people who had arranged the marriage.
“Together, you will start on a long journey,” the Speaker intoned. He carefully undid the cord binding them together, speaking all the while about how they would be bound together by love and mutual respect. Marius had to look away from his bride, for fear that they would both start giggling again. “We wish you all the best in the future.”
And the entire crowd applauded as they walked out the door.
* * *
The reception was, in its own way, just as much of a farce as the wedding itself.
Marius had heard that a wedding reception was meant to be for the bride, but it was clear after only a few moments that it was really for the guests. Senators mingled with their political enemies, men they would never speak to in a civil tone in the Senate, making deals and swapping inside information. The bride’s family seemed to be the focus of attention, apart from the Senators, although Marius couldn’t tell if their visitors were congratulating her relatives or commiserating with them. It didn’t take long for him to realize that many of the younger men and women were shunning Tiffany, although he couldn’t tell if it bothered his bride or not. He felt an odd surge of protectiveness and thought wistfully of the sword on his belt. Traditionally, it should have been a harmless one, but he’d ordered a real sword.
None of these people seemed to know the difference.
“Allow me to extend my most fulsome congratulations,” a voice said. He turned to see Grand Senator Rupert McGillivray standing behind him, holding an empty glass. “I think that the two of you will be good together.”
He caught Marius’s arm and pulled him into a corner. “Take care of her,” he added. “She’s probably the smartest person in the room.”
“Including you?” Marius smiled.
“Oh, definitely,” McGillivray assured him. He changed the topic as he saw Granny Sampson walking over to join them. “What news of the war?”
“Well, I have hopes that we can break through the Asimov Point and knock Admiral Justinian for six,” Marius informed him. He wasn’t going to go into detail, not here. “And then we can put an end to the remaining warlords and restore the Federation.”
“Good,” McGillivray said. He slapped him on the back. “Oh, look; the speeches are about to begin.”
Tiffany joined him for the speeches. Very few of them, Marius noted, had anything to do with either Tiffany or himself. The speakers seemed more determined to offer florid tributes to themselves and the great wisdom of the Senate in dealing with rebels, traitors and domestic enemies. Their prattling was giving him a headache by the time the speaking was finally over and they were allowed to leave.
Tiffany pulled him into a black aircar, festooned with bunting, and ordered the autopilot to take them to the Grand Hotel.
Marius stared at his bride, feeling—again—the odd surge of protectiveness. Tiffany’s eyes were bright, too bright. He recognized the symptoms of tiredness and stress and wondered how many of them he was showing. He’d once commanded during a battle that had lasted for two days, but that had been years ago, when he’d been a younger man.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and meant it.
“Don’t be,” Tiffany said. She reached for him and placed her hand on his heart. “It wasn’t your fault.”
She snorted then and started to undo her dress. “I think someone designed this purposely to be uncomfortable so we’d want to get out of them quickly.”
Marius stopped her. “You don’t have to...”
“Yes, I do,” Tiffany said. Her eyes narrowed. “The wedding has to be consummated, doesn’t it?”
Marius hesitated, unsure of what to say. In an aircar, of all places?
“Besides, everyone was cheerfully predicting that the marriage would fall apart within a week. I thought we might try to make it last ten days.”
“Oh,” Marius said, and then realized that he was being teased. “Should we try for a month, or is that too ambitious?”
Tiffany laughed and reached for him. By the time the aircar reached the Grand Hotel’s honeymoon suite and landed outside the private entrance, they were too occupied to notice until the aircar’s autopilot hooted at them. Marius picked Tiffany up and carried her into the honeymoon suite, laying her down on the bed. A moment later, as the aircar departed into the night, he started kissing her again.
Afterwards, they toasted each other with champagne before returning to bed. As he drifted off to sleep, holding her in his arms, Marius allowed himself one final thought.
Perhaps marriage wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The Senate’s security levels often leave something to be desired. While the Senators themselves are meant to be above suspicion, they are often quite willing to leak sensitive data to the media for their own reasons, Even if the Senators themselves do not leak the data, they have a habit of informing their subordinates, who might happily leak the information for their own reasons...
...What this means, in effect, is that anything told to the Senate may not remain secret for very long...
-An Irreverent Guide to the Federation, 4000 A.D.
Earth, Sol System, 4095
Marius whistled cheerfully as he was escorted by one of the Senatorial aides into the classified briefing room just outside the Senate Hall. Based on five days of marriage, part of him insisted that he would enjoy it all, even though they barely knew one another and there was no time for a proper honeymoon. They’d spent four days in the Honeymoon Suite, with no one intruding on their privacy, and a fifth day visiting the underwater grottos at the North Pole. Marius knew from history that the North Pole had once had an icecap, but it had melted down long ago, causing the sea level to rise dramatically. That ecological disaster had had a major impact on humanity’s determination to move out into space.
“Watch your back,” Tiffany had warned him when they’d parted. “You may be High Society now, legally, but not all of the young bucks and blades are going to accept you.”
Marius had taken her words to heart when he’d visited the Admiralty, but no one there had personally doubted him. A few old women of both genders had raised objections to his operational plans—at least the plans he’d chosen to share with them—and it had taken hours of arguing to convince them to accept the plans without major modifications. He had to admit that they had a point—the plans he’d shared with them were not particularly imaginative and therefore they would be predictable—but that was part of the point. If anything leaked back to Admiral Justinian or the other warlords, they’d be misled.
Or so he hoped.
He was awed at the level of firepower the Federation had created. Once the expanded training camps had finished turning out the next few graduating classes, it would be possible to man and deploy new construction very quickly. A few more weeks to work up the ships, and the Federation Navy would hold a decisive advantage over the warlords.
Of c
ourse, if the warlords did manage to work together, the advantage wouldn’t be as decisive as Marius hoped, but it should suffice to weaken them. Once Admiral Justinian was defeated, the other warlords could be crushed one by one. They lacked the firepower to be a strategic threat. The real danger lay beyond the Rim.
“The room is now sealed,” Grand Senator Brockington said. “The Senate Subcommittee on the Conduct of the War is now in session.”
Marius nodded. The Leader of the Conservative Faction had been one of the few senior Senators to offer congratulations to Marius and Tiffany. Marius had had the odd feeling that he’d meant every word, unlike some of the others, who’d acted like Marius smelled bad.
“Thank you, Senator,” Grand Senator Alison Wallisch said. “There are many questions that need to be raised.”
Marius sighed. The Leader of the Socialist Faction hadn’t offered sincere congratulations to the newlyweds, but Marius had already deduced that there were limits to her socialism. The Socialist Faction might insist on gifting alien races with the benefits of human technology, yet doing so also had the effect of permanently neutralizing any threat those aliens might pose to humanity. Anything they might create for themselves was automatically branded as inferior.
He sat back and watched as the Senators sparred, sometimes calling on Admiral Fallon—the CO of Earth’s defense network—to answer specific questions. It seemed that there were accusations of war profiteering, although he couldn’t tell if the Senators were annoyed over the war profiteering itself or if they were merely upset that they weren’t skimming off the cream themselves. Judging from the messages he’d received from Professor Kratman, Marius would have bet good money that every Senator was profiting from the war, although it was an open question how long they could do so before there was an economic collapse. The Federation’s economy had been badly weakened by the war.
Other questions focused on operations against other warlords. General Williamston, who had carved out a vest-pocket kingdom of four stars and nine planets, had been defeated in a short and bloody campaign. The General had somehow failed to realize that his little Kingdom didn’t have the firepower to prevent the Federation Navy from sending a squadron of superdreadnaughts through the Asimov Point and punching out his orbital fortresses, or that the Senate was desperate and ruthless enough to order planetary bombardment as a response to his refusal to surrender.
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