Fleet Elements
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"Space opera the way it ought to be . . . Bujold and Weber, bend the knee; interstellar adventure has a new king, and his name is Walter Jon Williams."—George R. R. Martin
Following The Accidental War, the second book of a brand-new series set in the Praxis—an epic mix of space opera and military science fiction, from a grand master of science fiction, Walter Jon Williams.
The Praxis, the empire of now extinct Shaa, has again fallen into civil war, with desperate and outnumbered humans battling several alien species for survival. Leading the human forces are star-crossed lovers Gareth Martinez and Caroline Sula, who must find a way to overcome their own thorny personal history to defeat the aliens and assure humanity’s survival.
But even if the human fleet is victorious, the divisions fracturing the empire may be too wide to repair, as battles between politicians, the military, and fanatics who want to kill every alien threaten to further tear the empire apart. While Martinez and Sula believe they have the talent and tactics to defeat an overwhelming enemy, what will prevent their fellow humans from destroying themselves?
Walter Jon Williams
Walter Jon Williams is a New York Times bestselling author who has been nominated repeatedly for every major sci-fi award, including Hugo and Nebula Awards nominations for his novel City on Fire. He is the author of Hardwired, Aristoi, Implied Spaces, and Quillifer. Williams lives near Albuquerque, New Mexico, with his wife, Kathleen Hedges.
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Fleet Elements - Walter Jon Williams
Dedication
For KATHY HEDGES
Acknowledgments
With thanks to Dr. Michael Wester for his tour of fractal dimensions, and to Oz Drummond for her astute critical reading of this work
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Contents
Dramatis Personae
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
About the Author
Also by Walter Jon Williams
Copyright
About the Publisher
Dramatis Personae
Martinez Family and Dependents
Marcus, Lord Martinez: Terran, patriarch of Clan Martinez, patron to Laredo, Chee, and Parkhurst.
Lady Martinez: Terran, wife to Lord Martinez.
Lord Roland Martinez: Terran, Lord Martinez’s eldest son and heir. Convocate.
Girasole Martinez: Terran, Roland’s daughter.
Senior Captain Lord Gareth Martinez: Terran, second son of Lord Martinez, awarded the Golden Orb for conduct during the Naxid War.
Lady Terza Chen: Terran, daughter and heir of Lord Chen, wife of Gareth Martinez.
Gareth the Younger (Chai-chai
): Terran, son of Gareth Martinez and Terza Chen.
Yaling (Mei-mei
): Terran, daughter of Gareth Martinez and Terza Chen.
Lady Vipsania Martinez: Terran, daughter of Lord and Lady Martinez, married to Lord Convocate Oda Yoshitoshi and head of Imperial Broadcasting.
Lady Walpurga Martinez: Terran, daughter of Lord and Lady Martinez, widow of PJ Ngeni.
Lady Sempronia Martinez: Terran, daughter of Lord and Lady Martinez, estranged from her family. Married to Nikkul Shankaracharya.
Khalid Alikhan: Terran, weaponer first class (retired). Orderly to Gareth Martinez.
Lieutenant Lalita Banerjee: Terran female, signals officer on Los Angeles.
Aitor Santana: Terran male, signals officer on Los Angeles.
Lady Sula, Her Dependents and Associates
Senior Captain Caroline, Lady Sula: Terran, head of Clan Sula, Fleet officer and former head of the Secret Army. Former leader of Action Team 491.
Constable First Class Gavin Macnamara: Terran, detailed as servant to Lady Sula, former member of the Secret Army and Action Team 491.
Engineer First Class Shawna Spence: Terran, detailed as servant to Lady Sula, former member of the Secret Army and Action Team 491.
Ming Lin: Terran, veteran of the Secret Army, graduate student in economics, and Sula’s economic adviser.
The Fleet
Lord Tork: Daimong male, Supreme Commander of the Fleet.
Fleet Commander Lord Pa Do-faq: Lai-own male, commander of the Third Fleet at Felarus, Gareth Martinez’s former commander.
Fleet Commander Pezzini: Terran male, member of the Fleet Control Board.
Junior Fleet Commander Lady Michi Chen: Terran female, commanding Fourth Fleet at Harzapid. Sister of Lord Chen, aunt to Terza Chen, and Gareth Martinez’s former commander.
Lieutenant Lord Prince Huang: Terran male, cousin to Michi Chen
Sandra Yuen: Terran female, one of Michi Chen’s aides.
Junior Fleet Commander Lord Altasz: Torminel, commander of Altasz Force during the Naxid War.
Senior Squadron Commander Carmody: Terran male, Naxid war veteran, commands Heavy Squadron Eight in the Fourth Fleet.
Senior Squadron Commander Nguyen: Terran, commanding a squadron under Do-faq at Felarus.
Junior Captain Lord Jeremy Foote: Terran, commanding light cruiser Vigilant and Light Squadron Eight. Veteran of the Naxid War, the First and Second Battles of Magaria, and racing pilot for the Apogee Club.
Lieutenant-Captain Lord NaazVijana: Terran, hero of the Yormak rebellion and commanding frigate stationed at Harzapid.
Lieutenant-Captain Lady Elissa Dalkeith: Terran, commanding cruiser Bombardment of Los Angeles.
Lieutenant-Captain Ari Abacha: Terran, a friend of Gareth Martinez, and a sporting enthusiast.
Senior Captain Lord Harvey Conyngham: Terran male, former prisoner of the Naxids during the Naxid Rebellion.
Lieutenant-Captain Lady Alana Haz: Terran, former premiere lieutenant on Sula’s frigate Confidence.
Lieutenant Lady Rebecca Giove: Terran, former second lieutenant on Sula’s frigate Confidence.
Lord Pavel Ikuhara: Terran, former third officer on Sula’s frigate Confidence.
Lieutenant Lady Chandra Prasad: Terran, formerly of Martinez’s command Illustrious.
Lieutenant Lord Sabir Mersenne: Terran, formerly of Martinez’s command Illustrious.
Lord Nishkad: Naxid male, senior squadron commander (retired), now businessman on Harzapid.
Senior Fleet Commander Surang: Daimong male, former commander of the Fourth Fleet, now deposed.
Captain Hui: Terran female, captain of Staunch.
Junior Squadron Leader Khali: Terran male, commands Heavy Squadron Twenty in the Fourth Fleet.
Senior Squadron Commander Wei Jian: Terran female, commanding defectors from the Second Fleet.
Paivo and Ranssu Kangas: Terran males, twin sons of the late Fleet Commander Eino Kangas.
Lieutenant Lord Ahmad Husayn: Terran male, formerly of Martinez’s command Illustrious.
Lieutenant Vonderheydte: Terran male, formerly of Martinez’s command Corona.
Lieutenant Garcia: Terran female, former prisoner of the Naxids.
Squadron Commander Rukmin: Torminel female, commanding two heavy cruiser squadrons out of Zarafan.
Senior Squadron Commander Kung: Terran male, commanding defecting Terran squadrons from the Home Fleet.
Ricci (male) and Viswan (female): Sula’s signals lieutenants.
Marivic Mangahas: Terran female, Martinez’s chef.
Lady Xia Gao: Terran female, second officer on cruiser Defense.
Senior Squadron Leader Rivven: Daimong male, commands a squadron of heavy cruisers in the Home Fleet.
Squadron Leader An-dar: Lai-own male, commands a squadron of heavy cruisers in the Home Fleet.
Exploration Service
Captain Shushanik Severin (Nikki
): Terran, captain of Expedition and puppeteer.
Lieutenant Lord Chungsun Cleghorne: Terran, premiere lieutenant of Expedition.
Lieutenant Cressida Toupal: Terran, second lieutenant of Expedition.
Pilot First Class Liu: Terran, crew on Expedition.
Warrant Officer Falyaz: Terran, crew on Expedition.
Lihua, Lady Starkey: Terran female, captain of cruiser Explorer.
Lieutenant Moreno: Terran male, premiere lieutenant on Explorer.
Peers
Maurice, Lord Chen: Terran. A convocate, member of the Fleet Control Board, and father-in-law of Gareth Martinez.
Lord Saïd: Terran male, head of Clan Saïd and former Lord Senior of the Convocation.
Lord Mehrang: Terran, patron to Esley, home planet of the Yormaks.
Lady Koridun: Torminel, the young head of the Koridun clan.
Lady Distchin: Torminel, absentee patron to Spannan.
Lady Gruum: Daimong, former patron to the newly settled world Rol-mar, now Lady Senior of the Convocation.
Lady Tu-hon: Lai-own, presiding judge of the Court of Honor in the Convocation and member of the Zanshaa government.
Lord Minno: Cree, a banker, heading the Treasury.
Lord Oda Yoshitoshi: Terran, heir to Yoshitoshi clan and husband of Vipsania Martinez.
Lord Durward Li: Terran, former client of the Sulas, now client of the Chens.
Lady Amita: Terran, Lord Durward’s first wife.
Lady Marietta: Terran, Lord Durward’s second wife, a runaway.
Lord Ngeni: Terran, member of the Convocation, former patron to the Martinez clan.
Lord Pierre Ngeni: Terran, Lord Ngeni’s son, member of the Convocation.
Lady CassildaZykov: Terran, former wife of Roland Martinez and mother of Girasole.
Lord Zykov: Terran, Lady Cassilda’s father.
Lord Eldey: Torminel, a convocate and former governor of Zanshaa.
Legion of Diligence
Captain Voday: Torminel officer in Legion of Diligence.
Colonel Dai-por: Lai-own officer in Legion of Diligence, commanding in Harzapid system at outset of Accidental War.
Linkmen
Hector Braga (Lamey
): Terran, sometime gangster from Spannan, now lobbyist.
Gredel (Earthgirl
): Terran, a street girl from Spannan.
Others
Chesko: Daimong, clothes designer in Petty Mount.
Chapter 1
His nerves seemed scorched by fire. His ribs had tightened their grip on his lungs, and his heart lurched in his chest. Martinez paused for a moment in the boarding tube, took several breaths, and then opened the top buttons on his uniform tunic.
Caroline, Lady Sula had just marched back into his life.
She and her crew had come off their captured ship, Striver, taken after killing over forty black-clad Legion fanatics in pitched battle. Sula and her companions had been beaten to hell by weeks of hard deceleration, and the exhaustion clearly showed, but still there was a swagger in their walk, the strut of victors on parade. Sula had carried a homebuilt machine pistol over her shoulder on its strap, and the rest were armed with pistols, rifles, and shotguns. Most were officers in the Fleet but only one wore uniform, for the rest had boarded Striver disguised as travelers and immigrants.
All but one were human, and that other was a young Torminel female who wore an exquisite Chesko gown shining with mirrors and silver thread, accessorized with a Legion sidearm and gun belt.
Martinez remembered that it was with this sort of army that Sula had stormed the High City of Zanshaa. And now it looked as if they were ready to storm the High City all over again.
Even though his relationship with Sula had blown up years ago, he still dreamed about her, conjured old memories of the warm white-gold hair brushing his shoulder, the eyes that burned with jade-green fire as they gazed into his, the pale skin that flushed at his touch. When he woke lying next to his wife, it was with Sula’s Sandama Twilight perfume singing in his senses.
The Sula who appeared in his dreams was a synthesis of his own tangled desires, and now these fantasies were torn to shreds by the appearance of the real thing. Sula was exhausted from days of high gee, pain lined her face, she wore an old gray jumpsuit, and she had chopped her pale blond hair short so that she could hide it under a wig while traveling in disguise. But still she was the most beautiful thing Martinez had ever seen, and the sight of her buried itself like an arrow in his heart. The pale, bone-tired woman in the worn jumpsuit set a fire running in his blood, and now, panting for breath in the boarding tube, he had no idea how he could survive the next few meetings.
When Sula’s gang of pirates came swaggering from the Striver, Martinez had been one of a party waiting to welcome them. Fortunately he hadn’t been expected to do or say anything: the honor of welcoming Sula’s party went to Michi Chen, who commanded the Fourth Fleet here at Harzapid.
Sula marched up to Michi and braced at the salute. Lady Fleetcom,
she said. Here I am.
You are very welcome,
Michi said. I’ve scheduled a meeting with you and some of the others for tomorrow, but I know you all must be exhausted, so I’ll show you to your new assigned quarters, and then I’ll leave you alone. If you want food or other refreshment, please send for it, and if any of you need medical attention, that’s available too.
What I most want,
Sula said, is the strongest massage therapist on the station.
Michi nodded. I can find that for you. But please introduce me to your . . . your crew.
Martinez stood in silence while the introductions went on. Sula had brought eighteen officers, cadets, and enlisted, along with a few civilians. The Torminel in the Chesko gown turned out to be none other than Lady Koridun, the young head of a family lately notorious for the number of its clan leaders who had died in implausible accidents. Michi introduced her own party, and when she mentioned Martinez’s name, he gave a brisk nod and made his eyes go unfocused, so that he wouldn’t see Sula’s expression.
Michi led her guests to the line of open-topped cars, identical boxy vehicles made by Sun Ray and painted in the viridian green of the Fleet. Sula joined Michi in the lead car. Martinez took the second car along with Lieutenant-Captain Naaz Vijana, who had made his name suppressing the Yormak Rebellion on Esley. They made polite conversation as the party sped with a whir of electric motors through the busy Fleet dockyard, past the warships of the Fourth Fleet moored nose-in to the planet’s antimatter ring, past the work crews hustling supplies and equipment through the cargo airlocks, past wary guards in the red belts and armbands of the Military Constabulary.
Busy though the dockyard was, it also glittered with ornament. Harzapid’s antimatter-generation ring had circled the planet for thousands of years, and during that time there was little public space that had not been embellished with a fresco, a slogan, a bas-relief, or an allegory. Walls were covered with artwork of the Shaa conquerors directing their subject species in developing science and industry, in placing the antimatter ring in the sky, in sending fleets out to populate new systems. The other species bustled to follow the Great Masters’ instructions or gaped in awe as the Shaa proclaimed the Praxis in all its majesty. The antimatter generated on the ring was shown powering merchant vessels, lighting cities, providing energy for heavy industry. Slogans urged the ring’s staff to Labor for the Benefit of All, to Work Cheerfully, and Let the Praxis Guide Your Life.
The ring’s deck was divided by seventeen avenues that stretched the full length of the inhabited areas—seventeen to reflect the Great Masters’ preference for prime numbers. Cross streets intersected the avenues at regular intervals. There were trees, green spaces, statues, and fountains. The buildings looked much the same as buildings on the surface, if perhaps a little more bland and uniform, and none rose above eight stories because there was a ceiling above, a ceiling nearly invisible behind regularly spaced lighting strips. Suspended monorail transport raced in efficient silence between the arrays of lights.
The civilian areas were filled with a thriving middle class. If you were rich, you lived on the planet below, and the Shaa had been wary about allowing the urban poor to inhabit such a vulnerable installation. Families of the middling sort were lured to the ring by the promise of affordable housing, good public schools, available universities, employment opportunities, and material comfort.
Necessarily the Fleet dockyard was arranged differently, with docking ports and sprawling warehouses and workshops, but the areas where Fleet personnel and contractors lived looked much like its civilian equivalent.
The convoy left the dockyard and entered the Fleet’s residential section, where they stopped at an officers’ hostel covered with gold-on-brown abstract designs and brass medallions embellished with reliefs of celebrated fleet commanders of the past. The cars stopped, and one of Michi’s aides stepped out with a list of those to be quartered here. Sula’s name headed the list, and she turned to thank Michi for her hospitality, left the car with some care, as if wary of an injury, and then walked straight-backed to the hostel entrance.
Watching Sula stride to the door, Martinez remembered her walking away from him in Zanshaa’s Lower Town, her heels rapping on the pavement next to the canal.
The echo of those heels had seemed to pursue him into Corona’s docking tube. He took another breath.
He had not realized he was so vulnerable. He had seen Sula on only a very few occasions since the end of the Naxid War, and over time he thought he’d manage a meeting well enough as long as he wasn’t caught by surprise. And here he wasn’t surprised—everyone on the station had known she was coming for weeks—and he still felt as if an expert street fighter had just walloped him in the solar plexus.
The echo of the heels grew louder, and then were accompanied by a tinkling laugh. Martinez turned in surprise to see a handsome couple, a young blond woman in a canary-yellow dress, with freckles spread across her snub nose, accompanied by a small uniformed man with pale hair and delicate features. Vonderheydte, who Martinez had promoted lieutenant in his first command, and Lady Marietta Li, the stowaway who had left her husband and twin daughters to fly into exile with her lover. Martinez suppressed a sneeze as he was engulfed by Marietta’s floral perfume.
My lord,
Vonderheydte said. Are you all right?
Yes, of course,
said Martinez. He patted the pockets of his tunic. For a moment I had the impression that I’d forgotten something, but apparently I haven’t.
Didn’t Lady Sula look dreadful?
said Marietta. I’d always thought she was so beautiful, but now I see her in person, and . . . well.
Suddenly Martinez found himself wanting to defend her. She’s been in battle,
he pointed out. She hasn’t had a lot of time to attend to personal grooming.
Yet Lady Koridun looked wonderful,
Marietta said, and someone told me she killed the enemy commander.
Vonderheydte laughed. She might be all wrinkled and hideous under that fur,
he said. How would we know?
Martinez fell into step with Marietta and Vonderheydte. As always, he thought, Vonderheydte made him feel just a little bit old.
They passed through Corona’s main passenger airlock and the cool, moist air of the yacht carrier wafted over him. The floors were polished, brass fixtures gleamed against a background of dark wood paneling, and the furniture was comfortable and stylish. A display cabinet showed the softly glowing racing trophies that the Corona Club had won in its few years of existence.
Right in the middle of the atrium was an ornamental waterfall that fell sparkling into a deep pool. There were fountains and ponds that carried exotic fish, and the room echoed to the laughter of water. There was a certain amount of bravado installing open water features on a ship that could find itself floating in zero gee, but Corona’s architects had included ways in which the ship could swallow all the water on short notice, and then—just in case—had waterproofed everything.
The small party’s footfalls echoed in the atrium. With the exception of Vonderheydte, apparently, all the officers he’d brought from Zanshaa were fully employed on the station, so at this hour Corona was nearly deserted.
Join us for a drink, Lord Captain?
Vonderheydte asked.
No, but thank you.
Vonderheydte and Marietta strolled off arm in arm. Martinez paused to contemplate the waterfall, and he tried to let the chiming of the water soothe away the memory of Sula that still spiked along his nerves. Exotic fish flashed spines, scales, and feathery tails in the water.
Hail, ancestor!
Gareth the Younger came trotting up with his sketch pad in his hand. He was nine years old, an engaging child whose appearance combined his mother’s celestial beauty and his father’s olive skin and solid physical presence. Martinez looked at his son and felt his anxiety fade.
Hail, progeny,
he said. Have you been drawing?
I’ve been doing graphic taxonomy,
said Gareth the Younger and showed a drawing of a golden tiger-striped fish. This is a juvenile spotted harelip.
Taxonomy was a new word. Martinez had been trying to expand his son’s vocabulary.
I spotted the spots at once,
he said.
Gareth paged through the sketchbook’s display to show one sketch after another. One of the officers had given him drawing lessons on the three-month journey from Zanshaa, and the images were now recognizable as discrete and distinguishable fish, as opposed to colorful torpedo-shaped objects that might be birds, aircraft, or clouds. Martinez took the time to praise each sketch as he looked at them.
He hadn’t really paid attention to Corona’s fish, so the sketches might be perfectly accurate so far as he knew.
There’s ochoba-bean dumplings for lunch,
Young Gareth said, apropos of nothing, and then ran off to find something called a whiskered Frenella eel.
Martinez walked toward one of Corona’s lounge areas for a cup of coffee before settling down to his task designing a new exercise for crew to train on. Most of the Fourth Fleet warships, having been designed for other species, were as yet unsuitable for human occupation, and everyone from commanding officers to fresh recruits were training on simulators.
On the way to the lounge he caught a whiff of Terza’s vetiver perfume, and he followed the scent to a cabin filled with communications gear and dull-eyed cameras, intended as a staging room for his sister Vipsania’s video reporters broadcasting the yacht races.
Terza Chen sat at a console, her mouth set in a little frown of concern as she contemplated the display. With her head bent gracefully toward the display, her long black hair drawing a comma on her shoulder, and her body in an attitude of contemplation, she might have been the subject of a pensive little painting by Rhy-to the Elder. She wore the brown uniform of the civil service and had spent the years since the war working for the Ministry of Right and Dominion, the government department that served the Fleet. She looked up as Martinez entered, and he found himself lost for a moment in the sublime perfection of her face, the result of thousands of years of breeding, assurance, and privilege. That breeding showed in the unearthly serenity that surrounded her, so unlike the impatient fury in which Sula charged through life.
Martinez felt his heart lurch at the steadiness of her gaze. I, ah, was going to get some coffee,
he said. Would you like some?
I have tea, thank you.
There was a slight shift in her dark eyes. Did the reception for Lady Sula go well?
They were all beat to pieces by the long deceleration, so Michi gave them the day off.
He thought it best to shift the subject from Sula. Do you know anything about Lady Koridun?
Not much other than she’s quite young and that there have been a lot of deaths in her family.
Starting, apparently, with a volcanic explosion on Terra.
Martinez had once joked about the deaths with Lord Durward Li, the husband that Marietta had abandoned on Zanshaa, saying that he was tempted to start a sports book on how long the current Lady Koridun would survive.
Lady Koridun seems to be avoiding mortality so far,
he said. Marietta told me that she’d killed the Legion commander on the trip out.
Terza’s eyes widened. That’s unexpected,
she said. But then, the Koriduns have a reputation for violence and mental instability, don’t they?
Do they? I didn’t know.
Martinez, his heart still throbbing erratically inside his rib cage, felt a sudden, deep compulsion to linger for a while in Terza’s aura of serenity, and he sat in the chair next to her. Strange, he thought, how he needed his wife to settle him down after an encounter with a woman he’d never forgotten. She reached out to take his hand, her slim fingers enfolding his big, clumsy paw, and then turned her attention to the console.
What are you working on?
he asked.
Estimates of missile production. We’re ramping up, of course.
Of course.
But with missiles we have to make sure that only Terrans are involved in the actual production.
Because, Martinez knew, other species might be tempted by the idea of sabotage.
Isn’t it mostly automated anyway?
Some is, some isn’t. But there’s conventional explosive used to trigger the antimatter chips, so that’s a separate production line that has to be rendered safe.
Everything’s been quiet so far,
Martinez said hopefully. Humans were outnumbered five to one on Harzapid, but Michi’s coup had put humanity, for the moment, in charge. He had to hope that the other species would be willing to accept Michi’s assurances that things would return to normal after the emergency ended.
Terza’s free hand gestured at the interface, and production figures scrolled by. Martinez could see the numbers reflected in her long dark eyes.
She was a member of the highest caste of Peers, Clan Chen’s heir, and would normally have been far beyond Martinez’s reach. But the Naxid War had upset everything and had made Terza’s father financially vulnerable. Martinez’s older brother, Roland, had used family money to lever Terza out of Lord Chen’s grip, and Martinez and Terza had been married after only a few hours’ acquaintance, and mere days after Martinez’s relationship with Sula had exploded.
Terza might have had every reason to resent her fate, but to his surprise she had approached marriage and motherhood with the same unruffled competence with which she seemed to approach everything else. Her air of tranquil perfection had made him uneasy—if she hated him, how would he know?—but all doubts had eventually been put to rest. After her father’s finances recovered, she’d had every opportunity to leave Martinez, and she hadn’t. Terza had accompanied him into exile on Corona, and she had been willing to share his fate when it looked as if the cruiser Conformance would obliterate them all with an antimatter missile. She had encouraged Martinez’s plan to destroy Conformance with an improvised weapon and awaited her fate with a calm resilience that had earned his admiration.
For his own part Martinez had taken advantage of the perquisites that came with marrying the Chen heir. He’d accepted Lord Chen’s patronage, and Chen’s sister, Michi, had employed Martinez at a time when few commanders would. If he was now a senior captain instead of an obscure elcap commanding a training school somewhere, it was the work of his in-laws, and when Terza became Lady Chen, he would have the option of becoming Lord Chen at her side.
The stowaway passenger Marietta Li, Martinez knew, had fled her own arranged marriage to a much older man. Lord Durward Li had lost his heir at the First Battle of Magaria, and needing a new one, he first needed a fertile wife and found one among his clients. At least she’d given him a pair of children before running off with Vonderheydte.
Martinez had managed, at least so far, to keep his own life from becoming a tale so entirely ridiculous.
He had also told himself that he wouldn’t dishonor Terza by failing to be a proper consort. She had lowered herself to marry him, and he would not disgrace her. If she was not quite the object of his deepest passion, he would act as if she were. It might have been a marriage hastily arranged at the last minute, but he would make it a real marriage if he could. And so far as he could tell, he’d succeeded.
All might have been well, if only Martinez hadn’t kept dreaming of Lady Sula.
Chapter 2
The battleship Perfection of the Praxis was far from perfect. It was unfinished, for one thing, and gangs of workers were moving material both on and off the ship—on went equipment to make Perfection of the Praxis an effective fighting machine, and off went items intended to transform the ship into a gleaming showcase of opulence for whatever lucky fleet commander got to install herself in its deluxe quarters. So off went uninstalled luxuries: the rare wood paneling, the parquetry, the hand-painted tiles, the gleaming bar fixtures, the crystal chandeliers, two unassembled marble steam baths, the backdrops and scenery for the ship’s theater, and the instruments intended for the ship’s orchestra.
The woman called Caroline Sula walked through a vast empty space, the ceiling all girders and spray foam, the walls cheap gray resin slabs awaiting the installation of glossy wood paneling, the blazing LED floods mounted on brackets built to resist high gees. Her heels clacked on temporary flooring and echoed in the vast cavern. "What is this place?" she asked.
Her guide, a staff lieutenant named Sandra Yuen, glanced up at the dim, empty ceiling. The ballroom, my lady.
Good grief.
Eight years before, Sula had watched an entire squadron of Praxis-class battleships annihilated in a storm of antimatter fire at the First Battle of Magaria. The huge ships had carried a massive battery of weapons, but in the face of antimatter missiles they were destroyed as easily as an unarmed pinnace.
The lesson was clear: the big ships were too vulnerable, and the resources to build one of them was better spent on a squadron of smaller, more flexible vessels that couldn’t all be blasted out of existence by a single missile. But a half-dozen years after the end of the Naxid War, with no more fighting expected, the Fleet’s leaders had found themselves unable to resist building themselves new flying palaces, complete—apparently—with ballrooms.
And now, ballrooms or not, Perfection of the Praxis was bound for combat. Sula tried to console herself with the thought that the enemy would have more battleships than her own side.
Sula’s body ached from days of deceleration, and as she walked she twisted her trunk to unkink her spine. She followed Yuen out of the ballroom, down a corridor hung with scaffolding and reeking of solvents, and then through a hatch into a very different world. Luxuries had actually been installed in this room: yellow chesz-wood paneling, indirect lighting, video screens tuned to a shifting array of abstract colors, soft carpets. Sula could only hope it had all been fireproofed, as per regulations.
Soft music burbled from hidden speakers. Aides passed with trays of drinks and snacks. Prominent in the room stood a half-dozen Terrans in the viridian-green dress uniforms of the Fleet. Sula had escaped to Harzapid in civilian disguise, leaving her uniforms behind, and wore a nondescript jumpsuit of dark gray, rumpled and creased from days of hard deceleration. The jumpsuit was untidy and unprepossessing, but at least the bloodstains had been removed.
Sula approached a woman with the shoulder boards of a junior fleet commander and braced at the salute, chin high to expose her throat to her senior’s correction. Lady Fleetcom,
she said.
Welcome, Lady Sula. Would you like a coffee, or fruit juice?
Lady Michi Chen hadn’t seen Sula since the end of the Naxid Rebellion but had managed nonetheless to remember that Sula didn’t drink alcohol. That, Sula thought, was very professional of her.
Tea, Lady Fleetcom. With honey, or cane syrup if you have it.
One of the aides was sent to fetch tea. Michi was a stocky woman with a cap of gray hair cut in bangs across her forehead, and recent care and anxiety had jaundiced her complexion and drawn fresh lines at the corners of her mouth. Even though it was Sula who had just undergone twenty-nine days of hard deceleration, it was Michi who looked more careworn.
Yet there was good reason for her exhaustion. It might be said with perfect justice that the fate of the human race depended entirely on Michi Chen’s decisions.
Michi looked at Sula’s jumpsuit. You didn’t bring uniforms?
I traveled incognito. But I’ve sent my measurements to a tailor on the ring, and I’ll have a complete set soon.
Michi glanced over the room. I think you know everybody here except for the Kangas twins.
The twins, Paivo and Ranssu, were big-jawed blonds, tall and burly, with large hands and outsized knuckles. They were the sons of Fleet Commander Eino Kangas, who had died leading the Home Fleet to victory at the Battle of Antopone, and they both wore the uniforms of lieutenant-captains.
I’m pleased to meet you, Lady Sula,
Paivo said. "We’ve just done a brief survey of your Striver."
"It’s hardly my Striver, Sula said.
It belongs to the On-dau Company."
It’s yours now,
said Ranssu. You took it. And you killed over forty members of the Legion to do it.
Not me personally.
It looked like a real bloodbath,
said Paivo.
Yes, Sula thought, and I dream about it and wake up screaming.
It’s true that an antimatter missile is more hygienic than bombs and firearms,
Sula said. "In any case, if Striver is mine, I happily surrender it to you. I’m glad to be out of it."
I don’t blame you,
said Paivo. The smell alone—
His brother nudged him, and he fell silent.
Paivo’s words had brought a scent-memory to Sula’s senses: the sharp tang of explosives, the smoky odor of propellants, and the deep throat-clogging reek of the Torminel blood that had run down the metal staircase in thick, clotting waterfalls.
Sula knew she’d have another bad dream tonight.
An aide arrived with Sula’s tea and honey on a platter. For a brief instant she had a near-overwhelming urge for alcohol, for the relaxation it would bring to her strained muscles, the confidence it brought to her personality, and the obliteration it would bring to her memory.
Odd that the compulsion was so strong, when she’d only had alcohol a few times in her life, when she was a teen, and hadn’t much cared for it then. But her youth had also been full of the damage she’d seen alcohol inflict on others, and she’d sworn to stay away from it.
She added a long, slow, fragrant dollop of honey to the tea, then sipped and tried to let its sweetness overcome the memory of blood and death. It failed.
The noise of the hatch opening announced the arrival of a pair of Sula’s fellow passengers on the Striver. Lieutenant Lady Alana Haz had once been Lord Alan Haz, Sula’s premiere on her frigate Confidence. She was tall, broad-shouldered, and—because she hadn’t been traveling incognito—wore one of the superbly tailored uniforms she had brought with her from Zanshaa. With her was Captain Lord Naaz Vijana, who had made his reputation suppressing the revolt of the Yormak natives of Esley, a victory made easier by the fact that the Yormaks had Stone Age tools and Vijana modern weaponry. He was a slender man with a pointed face and caramel skin, and his alert black eyes surveyed the room and paused at each face, as if he were quietly evaluating each officer for his own purposes. Since he’d traveled incognito alongside Sula, he didn’t have a uniform, but he wore neat dark civilian clothes with a Fleet sidearm strapped around his waist.
Sula sipped her tea while Michi Chen introduced the new arrivals, and then the hatch opened again, and Gareth Martinez entered. He was a larger presence than she remembered, with his lantern jaw and dark brows, and the long anthropoid torso and arms balanced atop comparatively short legs. Perhaps he’d managed to somehow inflate himself since she’d last seen him.
Hung about his neck on its black-and-gold ribbon was the brilliant disk of the Golden Orb, the empire’s highest decoration. At least he hadn’t brought the Orb’s golden baton itself, which would have required everyone in the room to stand at attention and salute him.
She’d had weeks to prepare herself for this moment, since Striver had followed Martinez’s ship on its escape to Harzapid. Martinez, founder of the Corona Yacht Club, had ridden to Harzapid on Corona, his club’s yacht carrier, a plush vessel equipped with every luxury—possibly, she thought, even a ballroom. While Sula had been obliged to lead a bloody mutiny against the black-clad Torminel fanatics, Martinez had enjoyed what seemed to be a three-month-long cocktail party interrupted only by the occasional yacht race.
And along the way, with his unarmed transport vessel, he had somehow destroyed an enemy cruiser. Not that Sula would give him the satisfaction of asking him how he’d done it.
Behind Martinez came his entourage: Captain Nikki Severin in his blue Exploration Service uniform, Lieutenant-Captain Elissa Dalkeith, a Martinez protégée who had commanded a frigate in the last war, and Lieutenant Chandra Prasad, who during the Naxid War had served as Michi Chen’s tactical officer.
Introductions were made. Sula was pleased that with Martinez in the room her heartbeat had increased only a little. Martinez’s glance passed over her without hesitation or surprise, and Sula knew that he’d had time to prepare for this meeting as well.
Michi told everyone to take their drinks and join her in the conference room.
The conference room had only half its decor installed, with arculé wood paneling, but the ceiling was a tangle of pipes and beams with paper labels dangling on wires, and the deck was composed of metal plates enameled a grayish white. The air smelled of solvent. Rolls of paper had been laid down over the metal to dampen the clanging sound of heels striding across the deck.
The room was furnished with temporary folding tables, but they had real linen on them. The chairs were resinous and stackable. Usefully there were video displays on all the walls, enabling the conferees to see whatever data they needed to see.
Sula carefully sat where she wouldn’t have to spend the meeting looking across the room at Martinez. Michi Chen called the meeting to order.
I’d like the captains Kangas to open with a report on ship conversions.
The twins’ report gave Sula a chance to appreciate Michi’s achievement. While Sula had been fleeing from the capital of Zanshaa, Michi had been creating a haven for Sula to flee to. The Fourth Fleet consisted of a hundred and eighty-three warships, of which only forty had been crewed by Terrans. The ships had been under the command of Senior Fleet Commander Surang, a Daimong, and Michi herself had no ships under her command, but instead was in charge of only the dockyard. Yet once she’d heard that secret orders had gone out to disarm every Terran warship in the empire, she had managed to organize an action in which all non-Terran ships had been bloodlessly boarded, their officers confined, and their crews moved to makeshift prisons on the planet’s