"Hey Felix, where'd you get all this stuff?"
The Heicho looked up, made a face to see the fish-belly-pale shape of the Marine sergeant in nothing but tatty shorts, and then grinned mischievously. "Gunso! How are you today? Well, I hope." She cocked her head to one side, considering him. "Have you been working out?"
Fitzsimmons scowled, scratching his taut stomach. Every Marine on-ship worked out constantly. There was little else for them to do, since both combat simulators were broken and when there was an opportunity to exercise their skills, it usually meant the captain needed them to storm some refugee ship seized by raiders, after floating with their combat suits dialed down to minimum power to escape detection as they spiraled through a long ballistic orbit to match velo with the captured ship, while the Cornuelle traded missiles and beamfire with the Megair spider-cloud as a distraction. The sergeant pointed at one of the leather bottles. "Is that booze?"
"If it is," Felix said in a brisk tone, stepping in front of the rack of bottles, "it's not yours."
"You've been planetside," Fitzsimmons said, considering the piles of loot and scratching a jaw covered with stiff black stubble. "Lot of free time if you were supposed to be standing security. Your detail commander know about all this?"
The other Marines shared a brief, worried glance. Felix, however, gave the sergeant a commiserating smile. "Of course. Sho-sa Kosho likes me. Oh, did I mention I happened to run into an old friend of yours groundside? That blonde girl you spent so much time with…what was her name…"
"What are you talking about?" Fitzsimmons glared at the corporal. "There's only one blonde I've even seen in the last two years that wasn't wearing a uniform, and she's -"
"Miss Anderssen! That's right." Felix's dark eyes glinted in amusement. "She was looking very fetching the other night, when the lieutenant commander was out on the town. Nice dress. Very stylish. Would you like to see a picture?"
"Smoke and ash," Fitzsimmons barked, standing up. His stomach made an odd, queasy flip-flop. "Gretchen's about sixty lights from here, at home, working on some…some important scientific discovery…or something."
"I don't think she's working," the Heicho said, rummaging under the gleaming silk. "Ah, here we are." She pulled out a holo and examined the image – hidden from Fitzsimmons' line of sight – with a critical air. The other Marines leaned in, smirking. "Yes, she is an attractive woman in a very flattering outfit. Don't you think so, girls?"
"Oh yes," they all said, batting their eyelashes.
Fitzsimmons made a strangled sound, closed his eyes, took three deep breaths and opened them again, glaring at Felix and the holo in her hand. "Fine, Corporal, keep your bones. Can I see the holo?"
"Hmmm…" Felix hid the picture against her shoulder, making a show of considering the matter. "Well…you are a pretty solid squad leader, and you saved my life one time on Kotopaxi, so I guess you could have this…" She handed him the holo. "Our surveillance cameras are really very sharp, even at night and in the rain."
Fitzsimmons stared intently at the picture. A pretty blonde woman with long wavy hair was standing in the shadow of an ivy-covered gate, talking to the slim, straight figure of Sho-sa Kosho. He tried not to sigh, watching the European woman smile, face lighting up, one hand brushing thick hair back over a bared shoulder. The fidelity of the holo was very good – you could see raindrops falling past. Then he noticed targeting and range indicators softly glowing at the edges of the holo.
"Mother of Tepeyac, Felix, you were surveilling the Sho-sa with your gun-scope?!"
The Heicho shrugged. "You want the picture or not, sergeant? Sure would brighten up your rack."
Fitzsimmons shook his head and handed the holo back, drawing a surprised look from Felix. "Thanks, Corporal, but no. Some of us are borne by water, carried by wind. Not her, though. Not her." She has a family, children – a whole world waiting for her at home.
"That's pretty poetic for a…" Fe lix started to say, then fell silent at the pinched, distant look on Fitzsimmons' face.
Without another word, the gunso slouched off towards the drink dispensers. In the picture, visible for just a moment as Anderssen moved her hand, there had been a flash of gold on her ring finger. Fitzsimmons couldn't remember her wearing a binding band before. But she was working when I was with her. Not at a party. Don't want anything on your hands if you're dinking around with heavy machinery. Though he'd sent her several letters, she'd never replied.
Surrounded by the bright colors of native loot, Felix watched the sergeant with a worried look. She glanced down at the holo in her hand, then pinched the bottom-left corner to flush the paper clean. She wondered if she should apologize, then set the thought aside. No sense in stirring up old regrets. The gunso would survive. They all did.
The Imperial Legation The Red Fort, Central Parus
Head throbbing, prince Tezozуmoc stumbled into a door-frame, bruising his shoulder. His eyes were having trouble focusing, but he seemed to be in some kind of domicile, a bedroom, a sitting room…Glorious savior, where am I? Is this someone's house? The prince tried to kick sheets tangling his feet away – part of his mind recognized they were of exceptional quality – but he wound up on the floor, staring up at a white ceiling. Gripped by nervous fear, Tezozуmoc's addled brain started to babble: I hope her husband does not come in right now. Whoever she happens to be – oh, Christ the Risen Sacrifice, I hope she was pretty! Or at least from a good family – that would please my divine father – getting some foreign princess heavy with jade and gold – then what would I do? What can I do? Should I run away? If…if I could stand up…
"Mi'lord?" A familiar voice intruded. The prince stopped struggling with the entangling cloth and looked up. The shorter of his two bodyguards stood over him, hands clasped behind his back. "Would you like some breakfast?"
"No!" The thought of food made Tezozуmoc's stomach roll over queasily. "Something to drink – my mouth is terribly dry. A beer? A cold Rabbit? Or peyotl if they have some – aaah! – even octli liquor will do…"
Face impassive, Sergeant Dawd knelt beside the prince and took his wrist in gentle fingers. The Skawtsman considered the lights on the prince's medband carefully, and then stood with an easy motion, dragging Tezozуmoc to his feet. The abrupt change in position sent blood draining from the prince's head and he nearly fell over again.
"Ahhh…what did I do? Was there a party?" Tezozуmoc let himself be led to a chair in the sitting room. He stared around owlishly, throbbing head, parched mouth and general ill-feeling beginning to inspire a very poor humor. The prince tapped his medband peevishly. "This cheap trinket isn't working properly, is it? I feel…I feel wretched! Wrung out, stamped, dried, put away with the short kernels! Oh, my head…"
"Mi'lord," Dawd opened a refrigerated cabinet hidden in one of the walls. "Your medband shut down days ago. The level of drug toxicity in your system exceeded the band's safety limits. So you've been sleeping… Here, drink some ofthis."
Tezozуmoc took the glass with a horrified expression on his face. "This looks like bile."
"Drink up, mi'lord. Enzymes to help your liver process the alcohol and drugs and other toxic chemicals polluting your system."