Michael smiled. “I gather that your loyalty does not extend to any of the Corporate States other than Akadius?”
“Not at all.”
“Excellent,” Michael said.
The Promenade was designed to look like an ancient town square. The street was paved with cobblestones and lined with shops, cafes, restaurants, and small grassy parks. A simulated moon hung amid a spray of stars in the simulated night sky.
Frankie, Gloriosa and Rosanna sat at a small wrought iron table near a railing outside a café with the name Bistro Cassis hanging over the entrance. Gloriosa had at first been reluctant to come along but Frankie had managed to talk her into it.
Thankfully, Gloriosa hadn’t been too hard to convince. She seemed almost over her depression.
“I like this,” she said. “What’s it called again?”
“Café Brulot,” Rosanna said.
Hot coffee with brandy, clove, cinnamon, orange peel and lemon peel, with sugar and whipped cream on top. The brandy had been set ablaze and then poured into the cup. Quite a spectacle. Gloriosa took a long sip, then smiled, a creamy moustache clinging to her upper lip. Frankie smiled back. Gloriosa looked very young.
She didn’t sound young, though. “It was great,” she said wistfully. “I just loved it. I’ve had group sex before, of course, but this was the first time I was the center of everybody’s attention.” She sighed and wiped her upper lip. “It was wonderful. I came so hard. I just loved it,” she said again.
Rosanna squirmed in her seat. “I can imagine.”
“Seriously.” Gloriosa’s eyes were distant, a faint, dreamy smile hovering over her lips. “You should try it.”
“Hmm…” Rosanna said.
Different places. Different customs. Clearly, the customs of Rosanna’s home world did not include group sex. By the look on her face, however, Rosanna was thinking about it, probably not seriously thinking about it, Frankie thought, but thinking about it.
“I’m not sure that Curly would buy the idea,” Rosanna finally said.
Wrong thing to say, Frankie thought.
Gloriosa blinked at her. “Really? He’s a man. Men love group sex.”
Some did, Frankie thought. Some didn’t. Some had performance anxiety and some were reluctant to show off their less than perfect bodies. Some men loved group sex themselves but didn’t like the idea of their women doing it with them, let alone without them. Some men, Frankie thought, were pigs. Eight thousand years of wandering the galaxy had certainly not changed the essential nature of men.
In Frankie’s experience, however, Gloriosa was correct. Most men did love group sex, though many of them wouldn’t want to admit it. Nope, if Rosanna wanted to convince Gloriosa that group sex wasn’t for her, then bringing Curly into the conversation wasn’t going to do it.
“Did you think about going with them?” Frankie said.
Gloriosa was silent for a long moment. “Yes,” she said.
“Why didn’t you?”
Gloriosa took a long swallow of her drink, then stared into the mug. “I was afraid.”
Rosanna looked at her and bit her lip.
Frankie had figured as much. Going off to a world you’ve never been to with a couple that you barely know did, on the face of it, seem like a very dumb idea, but nobody wanted to live a life full of regrets. Regret is a poisonous emotion. Could have, would have, should have…didn’t.
Oh, well.
“We barely met them,” Frankie said. “They seemed nice.”
“They are nice. They’re very nice. He’s a gene splicer and she’s an educational coordinator. They have jobs.” Gloriosa shook her head and sighed.
So that was it, or part of it, at least. Gloriosa had no job and no formal education, though Frankie was under the impression that Gloriosa had taken some courses on the web. Frankie and Rosanna shared a glance.
“I liked them,” Gloriosa said. “I felt comfortable with them. They treated me like a queen.”
“You do have their contact information, don’t you?” Rosanna said. “Think about it.”
“I suspect,” Frankie said, “that the offer will stay open, at least for a while.”
“Uh-oh,” Rosanna said. “Incoming.”
Walking along the street were three young women, all apparently young, all very pretty. One of them, a trim brunette, was Ensign Brianna LeClair. They must have been off duty, since none of them wore uniforms. Brianna LeClair had on a very short dress that displayed her tight figure. They had been partying. At that moment, Brianna LeClair saw Frankie, Gloriosa and Rosanna. She stopped. A smile crept over her face. Her eyes lit up. She turned to her two companions, said something inaudible, then all three marched up to the railing.
“Ladies,” she said. She gave them a thoughtful look. “Though I use the term quite loosely.”
Frankie sighed. “Let’s cut to the chase, here, Brianna. You don’t like us. We don’t like you. None of us are interested in playing games. You think you’re hot stuff because your daddy’s money bought you a position in the Academy, but in fact, you’re stupid, arrogant and entitled, and nobody likes you.” Frankie smiled thinly and nodded toward the two other women. “Not even your so-called friends. This is our table and you’re interrupting us. Get lost.”
Brianna LeClair gaped at her.
A figure was suddenly at their sides, a tall, well-built man wearing a uniform, a Lieutenant’s bars and stripes at his collar and sleeves. “Is everything ok, here?” he asked. He smiled at Brianna LeClair.
LeClair’s eyes flicked toward Frankie. “Absolutely,” she said. “Why wouldn’t it?”
“Move along, Brianna,” Frankie said.
For a long moment, Ensign LeClair looked at Frankie, then she gave a little huff and a smile and without another word, walked away, her two friends trailing behind.
“Thank you,” Frankie said. She grinned. “Though we did not actually need any help.”
The Lieutenant grinned back. “I didn’t think you did.” He nodded toward Gloriosa and Rosanna. “I’m Jeffrey Billings. I’m assigned to the Intelligence Division.”
“So, you’re intelligent,” Frankie said.
“Intelligent enough to review the files.” His eyes flicked over all three of them. “Ensign LeClair was about to bite off much more than she could swallow. You’re Frances Holder, Imperial Marine, Retired. Your reserve rank is higher than hers.”
Frankie nodded. “This is true.”
Lieutenant Billings smiled again and tipped his hat. “Have a nice night,” he said, and walked away.
Gloriosa puffed up her cheeks. “He seemed nice,” she said.
Wisdom, Michael thought, is knowledge tempered by experience. It is a common failing of those who lack experience to discount its value. The military, and Michael Glover was a military man to his core, knew the value of experience.
“As you might have guessed,” Captain Thorenson said, “Admiral Khan and the Head of Naval Intelligence asked to meet with me, shortly after I was given this assignment.”
“Arcturus?” Michael inclined his head. “That doesn’t surprise me. I assumed as much.”
Captain Thorenson looked around, almost in wonder. Michael Glover’s office was palatial. The First Empire had built on a grand scale. It had always been expected that the capital ships of the Empire would visit worlds and places that no human had ever visited before. This office was meant to host visiting dignitaries and was intended to impress. Captain Thorenson had never before been inside it.
“Nice place, huh?” Michael said.
She smiled. “From what I understand, you’ve had a lot of experience with such places.”
Michael narrowed his eyes. “Tell me what you know.”
“Imperial Marine, Commander of Omega Corps, Governor-General, Imperial Viceroy.” She gave a rueful little laugh. “Ptolemy.”
“Yup,” Michael said. He leaned back and sipped from his goblet of brandy. “I never actually liked offices like this. They impress
the yokels but they’re too large for me to feel comfortable in.”
“I’ve never had an office half this big. It’s hard for me to relate.” Captain Thorenson frowned at the shelves along the walls. They were filled with what might have been real books, though she suspected they were holograms. If they were real, then every one of them was a priceless antique. “Thanks for the brandy,” she said. “It’s very good.”
“It was a gift from Arcturus. He says it’s from France, what’s left of it.” Michael shrugged. “It tastes like any other brandy to me.”
“But it impresses the yokels.”
Michael grinned. “I suppose.”
Captain Thorenson took another sip, let it run around the tip of her tongue, then shrugged. “You wanted to see me,” she said.
Captain Thorenson had met many important people during her career. Most of them, despite their accomplishments, looked like everybody else. There was no way to tell by looking at them, or even by talking to them, that this was a leading light of science, industry, politics or the arts. They put their pants on one leg at a time. No…genius was rarely obvious to the naked eye.
It was disquieting, in a way. One wanted one’s heroes to look heroic, and they so rarely did.
Michael Glover was a good-looking man but if Captain Thorenson had not known his history, she would have thought him otherwise unremarkable. There was something about him, though…self-confidence, perhaps. He knew exactly who he was and exactly what he was doing. He didn’t throw his weight around but he expected to be listened to. And obeyed.
“Yes.” He smiled. “Have you ever noticed that the young tend to be very sure of themselves?”
She blinked at him. Was he a mind reader? “Mostly the dumb ones.”
“If only that were true. I’ve found that the smart ones are often even worse. They’ve been smart their whole lives. They’ve received excellent grades on every test they’ve ever taken. Mommy and Daddy think they’re geniuses. They’ve gotten used to being at the top of their own little heap.”
“Then they’re not as smart as they think they are.”
“No, of course not. That’s the point. They’re not as smart as they think they are. They hardly ever are. Someday, they might be.” He grinned. “If they live.”
“I should take notes,” she said. “I admire the way that you circle around the point. It’s very diplomatic.”
He laughed softly. “I’m not being too subtle, am I?”
“No,” she said. It was up to a Captain to guide and discipline her crew. Michael Glover, Commodore Glover, was, in fact, being subtle. Very subtle, and listening to him, Twyla Thorenson felt properly abashed. In a very long life, Michael Glover had had a lot of practice in guiding his subordinates, and Captain Twyla Thorenson hadn’t felt so junior in a very long time.
He was speaking of Forrester, of course, and LeClair, and perhaps a couple of others, but he was also speaking of her, of her evident failure to keep her junior officers in line. “I’ll take care of it,” she said. “I’ve already rotated the cadet squadrons. Marion Jones will no longer have to deal with Ensign LeClair.”
Michael leaned back and looked off into space, his eyes hooded. “I don’t care what they think, but you might also tell Forrester that he’ll get farther in a military career if he keeps his opinions to himself.” Michael’s lips twitched. “At least until they’re asked for.”
“And LeClair?”
“Ah, Ensign LeClair. Hopefully, she’ll get the message. If not, well, every once in awhile it’s helpful to give one of the young, dumb ones enough rope to hang themselves.”
“To encourage the others?”
Michael shrugged. “You’re the Captain. I’ll leave it up to you.”
She hesitated. “The problem would not exist if you were to reveal yourself. Nobody is going to treat Genghis Khan or George S. Patton or Ptolemy with disrespect, and sooner or later, it is going to come out. I get the impression that High Command would prefer it to. It would be good for morale to have the public know that the legendary Ptolemy is alive and working for the Empire.”
He grimaced. “I’m sure that you’re right, but I would just as soon put that day off for as long as possible. Believe me, notoriety is a pain. It constrains one’s actions.”
“I’ll take care of it,” she said again.
“Thank you,” he said. “I would appreciate it.”
Chapter 12
Marissa didn’t know her name but she knew that she liked her looks. She was a tall redhead, with pale skin, an adorable sprinkling of freckles across her nose, and sharp, green eyes. She moved across the ring like a panther, lithe, fast and focused.
Marissa elbowed Dustin Nye in the side. “Who is that?”
Dustin grinned at her. “Emily Frazier. Ensign Emily Frazier.”
“Wow,” Marissa said.
“Beautiful girl, isn’t she? Would you like me to introduce you?”
“Not exactly,” Marissa said.
Dustin looked at her. “Really?”
“Best way to start off.”
“If that’s the way you want to play it.”
“I do,” Marissa said. “I really, really do.”
“Okay.”
Emily Frazier had a unique style, full of feints and misdirection. It wasn’t a style that the military taught but it worked for her. Emily Frazier had had prior training. She was fighting a blonde man in shorts and a tee shirt. They were about the same size and appeared evenly matched but suddenly, Emily Frazier was inside his guard, turning, lifting and the guy was on the mat with Emily Frazier on top of him, pounding his head.
“Match,” the referee called.
Emily Frazier bounced to her feet, a manic grin on her face.
Dustin nodded to the referee, who stepped aside. “Why don’t you try Marissa next?” Dustin said.
Emily looked at Marissa, still grinning her crazy grin and Marissa felt her heart give a little thump. She grinned back.
“Sure,” Emily Frazier said.
Ten minutes later, both women were panting. Marissa had won the first point, Emily the second. A small crowd had gathered as they fought.
Emily Frazier was good but by now, Marissa understood her style. Marissa dropped to the mat, spun and swept Emily’s legs out from under her. Emily fell and tried to roll but Marissa was already on top of her.
“Match,” the referee said.
Emily frowned up at Marissa. “You were taking it easy on me, weren’t you?”
“Maybe,” Marissa said. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Emily blinked, then a slow grin spread across her face. “Sure,” she said.
The Caldwell 86 globular star cluster lay more than 6000 light-years from the periphery of the Empire. At 13.6 billion years old, it almost as old as the Universe. Star formation had long since ceased. The majority of its suns were ancient red and yellow giants and red dwarfs.
The database contained no information on the planets, peoples or political groupings that had settled Caldwell 86, far less on those who had left Caldwell 86 to establish the Corporate States.
When asked, Captain Orsini had shrugged. “Ancient history. Supposedly, our ancestors fled oppression. What does that even mean?” Captain Orsini rolled his eyes. “It’s the nature of human beings to put the best light on their own actions. If you read between the lines, I suspect that they were exiled for anti-social behavior.” He shrugged again. “But who knows?”
All of the Corporate States lay inward on the Orion Spur, much closer to galactic center than the Empire, and in proximity to each other. The Corporate States had an aversion to open warfare. Open warfare was inefficient and expensive. Open warfare was wasteful and bad for business. Nevertheless, as they had learned in the Duval system and as Captain Orsini had confirmed, open warfare had happened now and then, since early in their history.
Each Corporate State possessed its own ships and operated its own navy. Each contributed ships and personnel to the joint naval polic
e force. In theory, this combined force was larger than the forces of any of the individual states, but since all of the states had secret resources, probably entire worlds, nobody knew for sure.
In the end, it didn’t matter.
“A lot of stars here,” Captain Thorenson remarked.
Gehenna did contain a control room, but it was rarely used, since anywhere that the ship’s officers happened to be could function in that capacity. When on duty, an officer could be lying down in his own quarters, surrounded by a holographic display of his companions and superior officers, all seeming to be sitting at their own displays, sensors and controls. It was an effective illusion, and not strictly necessary, but sentient beings preferred a visual analogue of reality to sensory isolation.
Michael liked to oversee the virtual “control room” now and then. It wouldn’t do to let the juniors think High Command was unengaged. They could feel his ghostly presence hovering behind them, observing their data streams. He was observing when they first emerged from slip-space onto the edges of the Jensen system.
There were a lot of stars here, closer to galactic center.
The Jensen system comprised one Earthlike world in the habitable zone, plus three small, rocky planets that had never been terraformed, an extensive asteroid belt containing two Ceres sized habitats and five gas giants, all of them larger than Saturn, one larger than Jupiter.
Following standard procedure, Gehenna lay back and observed.
It was a busy system. Radio emissions were thick. The web contained trillions of bytes of data. Hundreds of ships were coming and going. Nothing seemed amiss. After a day, Captain Thorenson gave the order: “Let’s head in.”
They were detected as soon as they dropped their screens.
“Unknown ship, please state your destination, intentions and planet of origin.” The language was Basic, the accent strange but understandable.
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