He distrusted the sense of unreality that surrounded his current existence, and he wasn’t used to doubting himself or his senses, so his doubt made him frantic. The journey from Naxas to Zanshaa was a transition from war to peace, from fame to obscurity, from duty to irresponsibility. The temptation was to forget that there would be a landing at the end, and that the landing would be more or less hard.
In his mind, he bargained with Lord Chen. “You may have your daughter,” he said, “for use as a pawn in whatever unspeakable political games you next wish to play. In exchange you and your sister will continue to support my career in the Fleet—that’s only fair, I think you’ll agree.
“And one other thing,” he added, “I must have the child.”
This fantasy, or calculation, or whatever it was, seemed perfectly reasonable, until he found himself at his desk and looked down at the floating images of Terza and his son, and then it seemed madness.
Sula had walked out on him twice. Giving her a third chance seemed the height of lunacy.
Then he would see her at dinner or a reception, and the fever would kindle again in his blood.
Illustriousflashed through Magaria Wormhole 1 and left Tork’s isolated sphere. All the accumulated news, mail, and video communications from the outside arrived, and met the fantasy head-on.
There were dozens of messages from Terza, ranging from electronic facsimiles of brief handwritten notes to videos of herself with Young Gareth. When Terza spoke to the camera, the infant turned his head to look for the person who was so occupying his mother’s attention, and was visibly puzzled to find no one there. Martinez was completely charmed.
I must have the child.
The one non-negotiable clause in his bargain with existence.
Terza’s later messages showed her relief at the news from Magaria, and then from Naxas. “At least we know you’re all right, wherever you are, even if we won’t be seeing you right away.”
In the very latest message she was aboard a ship. “I’m traveling with my father,” she said. “The Control Board is moving from…well, one secret place to another, and I’m going along as his hostess.”
Terza was going to some new place, he thought sourly, that Michi would know about but he wouldn’t. Sometimes it was hard not to think of the entire Chen clan as a vast conspiracy designed to keep him in the dark.
The next day, Michi invited him for cocktails. The elaborate dinners that had for a month occupied the attentions of the officers and their cooks had faded, to be replaced by teas or cocktail parties or gaming functions. People were putting on too much weight, for one thing, and for another, the delicacies that had been brought aboard at Chijimo, and restocked at Zanshaa, were running low.
He found Michi in her office, not in the long dining room. A snack of flat bread, pickles, and canned fish eggs gave off a whiff of stale olive oil. Vandervalk mixed the drinks in the corner and poured them into chilled glasses. Michi gazed at hers, sipped, and gazed again.
She looked tired, and careful application of cosmetic hadn’t entirely disguised the fine new lines around her eyes and mouth. She looked at her drink as if seeing past it to the end of her active career, and Martinez suspected the view wasn’t to her liking.
“I’ve heard from Maurice,” she said after a moment. “He was as annoyed as we were that the Convocation made Lord Tork’s rank permanent. More so, perhaps—he’ll have to deal with Tork at Control Board meetings, while we won’t have to see him at all.”
Martinez very much doubted that anyone was more annoyed with Tork than he was, but he managed to make sympathetic noises anyway.
“Maurice let me know some of what’s been going on behind the scenes,” Michi said. “Did you know that the government was in touch with the Naxids almost the entire length of the war?”
“Was it like Tork and Dakzad before Second Magaria?” Martinez asked. “Arguing the finer points of the Praxis with each other?”
Michi smiled. “Probably. I imagine they mostly exchanged surrender demands. The Naxids even took ours seriously, after they lost Zanshaa.”
He looked at her, the astringent taste of the cocktail on his tongue. “Really?”
“They tried to negotiate an end to the war. But we insisted on unconditional surrender, and they saw no reason to accept that while they still had a fleet in being.
“After Second Magaria the negotiations got a lot more serious. But apparently they decided to gamble on winning at Naxas, and that we’d accept more of their conditions if Chenforce sailed off into the unknown and then vanished without a trace. But it left them without a leg to stand on when we actually won.”
“They had no choice but to commit suicide,” Martinez said.
“Yes.”
“I can’t say I’m sorry.”
She gave a little shrug that said she wasn’t sorry either.
“I’ve got a video from Terza,” she said. “She seems to be thriving. And Gareth is perfectly adorable, obviously a bright child.”
“Obviously a genius,” Martinez corrected.
Michi smiled. “Yes.” The smile faded. “It’s hard being away from them at this age, isn’t it? I know.”
“Have you heard from yours?”
“Yes. James has matriculated, finally.”
“Send him my congratulations.”
“I will. He’ll be at the Cheng Ho Academy next term.”
That was the Fleet academy reserved for the highest caste of Terran Peers. Michi and Sula had attended it. Martinez had settled for the somewhat less prestigious Nelson Academy.
Michi’s face darkened. “I’m not sure it’s wise to send him into the Fleet. I don’t know what I’ll be able to do for him, with Tork hovering over our careers.”
“I’ll do what I can, of course.”
“Of course.” He was family; that sort of thing was expected. She turned to him. “What about Lady Sula?”
His heart gave a lurch. “Sorry?”
“Do you think she’d be willing to take James on as a cadet?”
There was no reason to think that Sula would be enjoying a command in a few years any more than he would, but he answered that he was reasonably sure Sula would oblige.
“Though you may not want James’s career to be entirely in the hands of those on Tork’s shit list,” Martinez said. “I’m sure we’d help, but you might want to find James a service patron who’s not in the line of fire.”
“I’ll do that, thanks.” Michi took another sip of her drink.
Martinez began to fret about his son. Young Gareth would go into the Fleet, of course, there was no doubt about that, and being a Chen, he would attend the Cheng Ho Academy. The junior officers who had thrived under Martinez would then be in a position to aid his son. A brilliant career was therefore assured.
Unless some malevolent force intervened. Of course Tork would be dead by then, but Tork would no doubt pick a successor.
Martinez sipped his drink, letting the burning alcohol fire trickle down his throat, and wondered if for the sake of his son he should hope that Sula was right, that there would soon be another war.
“That rifle? That’s an improvised weapon, used in the fighting in Zanshaa City. And the other one”—Sula turned to him—“that’s PJ’s gun. He was carrying it when he died.”
Martinez looked at her for a long moment, then at the long rifle with its silver and ivory inlay. “He got what he wanted then,” he said. “He was trying to find a way to join the fighting.”