His sleeve comm chimed. He gave an apologetic laugh, disentangled himself, and answered. He looked at the display to see the face of Vonderheydte,Corona ‘s former junior lieutenant.
“My lord,” Vonderheydte said.
“Lieutenant,” Martinez said in surprise. “How are you doing?”
“Very well, my lord, thank you.” Vonderheydte paused, licked his lips, and then broke into a bright grin. “In fact, my lord, I’m getting married tomorrow. I thought I’d extend you an invitation.”
Laughter burst from Martinez. The marriage motif was being repeated a few too many times. Solemnity, then farce, followed now by parody. At this rate his own nuptials would barely rate a footnote.
A sobering thought struck Martinez. “Just a moment,” he said. “Haven’t you been married twice before?”
“Yes,” Vonderheydte admitted, “but Daphne is different. This time I’ve found the right woman.”
“I’m pleased to hear it,” Martinez said. “I would be honored to attend, if I can.”
“Empire Hotel, lord captain,” Vonderheydte said, “Empyrean Ballroom, 16:01 hours.”
“Very good,” Martinez said. “I’ll be there unless something urgent calls me away.”
Martinez blanked the screen and looked at Terza. “One of my officers,” he said, then corrected, “my former officers.”
“So I understood,” Terza said.
“Would you like to join me at the wedding? Perhaps we’ll pick up some useful ideas.”
Terza smiled. “I have to organize our own wedding for the following day, remember. I don’t think I’m going to have the leisure to attend anything between now and then.”
“Ah.” He looked at her. “Would you like me to assist? I’m rather good at organizing things.”
“Thanks, but no. I’d lose too much time explaining everything.”
A gust of wind found its way into the courtyard and rustled leaves. A sudden impulse seized him, and he took her hand. “Terza,” he said.
“Yes?”
“Could we have children—a child—right away?”
She was surprised. “I–I’d have to schedule time to get the implant removed, and—” She looked at him. “Are you sure?”
His mouth was dry. “I might die,” he said.
Her look softened, and she touched his cheek. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, of course.”
Terza put her arms around him and kissed him. His mind whirled. He couldn’t tell whether this paternal impulse was his, or Roland’s. He hated the fact that he didn’t know, that he himself couldn’t tell whether his genes were truly clamoring for offspring or whether he was becoming an unwitting expert at emotional blackmail.
Disgust, he recalled, tasted like copper.
This time it was Terza’s comm that chimed. With a peal of apologetic laughter she dug into her costume for a hand unit and answered. The voice that came from it was that of her father.
“Is Captain Martinez with you?” he asked.
Lord Chen, though he treated Martinez in person with courtesy, hadn’t yet brought himself to address him by his personal name.
“Yes,” Terza said. “He’s here.”
“Then I’ll tell you both,” Chen said. “This morning Lord Saïd addressed a closed-door session of the Convocation and recommended the evacuation of Zanshaa. The measure passed on a voice vote with very little opposition.”
Martinez felt, in his muscles and nerves, the easing of a tension of which he had been unaware; and he looked into Terza’s face and saw the relief that was mirrored in his own. “Excellent, my lord,” he said loudly, in hopes that Lord Chen would hear him.
Terza turned up the audio for the benefit of Martinez’s straining ears. “Two Fleet cargo vessels are being requisitioned to bring the Convocation to another location—we haven’t worked out where. The Martinez Plan will be adopted, though Captain Martinez should be warned that Lord Tork’s decided it should be called the Chen Plan.”
Chen’s poached my idea, Martinez thought with a spasm of annoyance. “It doesn’t matter what they call it, my lord,” he said, “so long as it contributes to a successful outcome of the war.”
As he uttered this blatant falsehood Martinez saw amusement crinkling the corners of Terza’s eyes, and his irritation increased.
“Good of you to feel that way,” Chen said. “You should also know that the board has agreed to my sister’s request that you serve as her tactical officer. You’ll be ordered aboard her ship as soon as suitable transport can be arranged.”
Which, since Martinez was on Zanshaa and Michi Chen was currently orbiting Zanshaa’s system at enormous velocity, was a more complex task than it sounded.
“Thank you, my lord,” Martinez said.
Terza laughed. “Do you have anything to say tome, ” she asked, “or should I just hand the comm to Gareth?”
Lord Chen lowered his voice so that Martinez had to strain to hear the words. “Just that I’m sorry not to be with you now,” he said. “Things are moving too fast. I wish we could spend more time together.”
“So do I,” Terza said.
“I love you.” There was a hesitation, and then, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See you then. Bye.”
Terza put her comm away.
I love you, Lord Chen had said. Martinez had not yet told Terza this, for the simple reason that Terza, an intelligent person, would have known it wasn’t true. He had thought about saying it for form’s sake, or even out of politeness; but something restrained him from beginning his marriage with a lie. Nor did he want to start with an embarrassment of candor: I love another was hardly the best way to approach a relationship.
He sensed that, for both himself and for Terza, a veil was being drawn very carefully over their private feelings. Not simply because truthfulness would be unwelcome, or even because in their situation it was irrelevant, but because it could wound. For Martinez to mention his involvement with Sula would not simply be to voice an awkward truth, it would be to draw a weapon. A weapon that either he or Terza could use in time, and use to draw blood.
And so, silence. He took Terza’s hand and kissed her cheek. And in the bright afternoon light he drew her farther into the garden.
“Walpurga looked lovely,” Terza remarked. “Don’t you think?”
Irony, Martinez was reminded, tasted like old coffee grounds.
Martinez knelt before the battery of cameras with Terza’s feet in his lap and smiled out at posterity. The actual marriage had occurred some hours earlier, in an office at the Registrar before Judge Ngeni of the High Court, and since then there had been a number of popular rituals of which this, the symbolic consummation, was the last.
Above him Terza sat in the canopied bed that had been assembled in one of the parlors of the Chen Palace. She was dressed in a scarlet gown so laden with glistening gold brocade that it creaked. Martinez wore full parade dress, with silver braid and jackboots and—at least for the ride to the Registrar and back—a tall leather shako and a long cloak that draped to his ankles. He had carried the baton of the Golden Orb as well, which meant that Judge Ngeni had to begin the ceremony by snapping to attention and baring the throat ready to be sliced by the sickle-shaped, ceremonial knife Martinez wore at his belt…
Martinez began to undo the red ribbons that laced Terza’s brocade slippers. The cameras whispered as they came in for a closeup. Martinez unlaced both slippers, then drew one off after the other. The audience applauded. Terza’s feet were small and delicate and the soles were warm to his touch.
The last ritual complete, one of Terza’s friends handed Martinez a stylish pair of shoes, red leather and bows, which he drew onto Terza’s feet. He stood and helped Terza, awkward in her brocade and tall heels, to rise. They kissed, and again the cameras whispered.