House of Reeds

tight. Darkness fell across the forward windows as they were drawn into the cradle.

He was a little puzzled. The usual flood of orders, directives and paperwork from Fleet had included a general reassignment order for the Cornuelle, attaching the light cruiser to the Tecaltan battle group. There had been no sign of their original orders to report to Toroson. The promotions and other personnel assignment papers had not reappeared either.

Very odd, Hadeishi thought, but he was relieved enough not to question the Gods of the Fleet. Not right now at least.

Ship-to-ship chatter between the launch pilot and traffic control on the DN-120 Tehuia was quiet and professional, never rising above a soothing murmur. The launch trembled and then all vibration ceased as the maneuvering engines shut down. Hadeishi sat quietly, letting his crewmen do their jobs, savoring the idle moment. He was uncomfortably aware of burn marks around the boat airlock and panels patched back into place with a hand welder. The decking under his feet was badly discolored. Ah, he remembered, we must have used the launch at Argentosonae, when we ambushed the Megair attacking the mining station. Every man with a weapon was needed that day.

The memory was already tinged with melancholy.

The lock cycled open, environmental lights shining green, and Hadeishi unfastened his shock harness before kicking out into the tube leading onto the Fleet dreadnaught. Two Marines in shipside duty dress were waiting, arms presented. The men flanked a young, blonde Sho-i with fine-boned European features. She bowed gracefully as Hadeishi swung out into gravity, both feet landing solidly on the 'welcome mat' inside the reception bay.

'Commander Hadeishi? Welcome aboard the Stonesmasher. I am Ensign Huppert.'

The Chu-sa bowed in return, taking care to keep his face expressionless. He was rather surprised for the Sho-i to greet him in Norman, rather than Admiralty Japanese. Despite the dissonance between expectation and reality, he showed no reaction.

'A pleasure, Ensign. I understand a Fleet general staff meeting is scheduled? I would like to report to my division commander and, if possible, tender my regards to Admiral Villeneuve.'

'Of course, sir.' Huppert bowed again. 'There is a gathering of the battle group officers underway – though I must tell you it is not a staff meeting. You should be able to find Captain Jamison – he's senior cruiser division commander – there, as well as the Admiral.'

The young woman gestured Hadeishi into a waiting tube-car. The Marines were already gone – a light cruiser commander did not rate an escort, not on a fast dreadnaught carrying a Fleet Admiral. Huppert sat opposite, hands clasped on her knees.

For a moment, Hadeishi considered starting a conversation. The ensign seemed personable enough to respond in kind, but something – a queer, itchy sensation along his spine – bade him sit quietly, staring without focus at the wall of the tube-car. Huppert did not seem to mind, her pleasant half-smile remaining in place during the ten-minute transit the length of the massive ship.

The ensign stood just before the car slid noiselessly to a halt. 'Flag Officer's country, commander.' Huppert was not smiling openly, but her grass-green eyes twinkled in anticipation. 'The Admiral does not believe in stinting as a host, particularly not when his line commanders are aboard.'

The tube-car door slid up and the sound of odd, lilting, music flooded into the car. Hadeishi stepped out onto the transit platform, one eyebrow rising uncontrollably. Music – live music; he could distinguish a slightly out-of-tune cello behind the most vibrant sound – was playing not too far away. The acoustic paneling in the ship corridors deadened most of the flowing music, but the piece was unmistakable.

'This is Berlioz's Messe Solennelle?'

Huppert nodded. 'Very astute, commander. The Admiral believes shipboard service should not be… cheerless.'

'Live musicians?' Hadeishi followed the ensign, though he nearly missed a step when he realized the floor was covered with rich, heavy carpets. The usually plain shipboard bulkheads were covered with thin, filmy patterned hangings. Actual oil paintings, if the unforgettable aroma of linseed, turpentine and canvas was not produced by a sensorium, were spaced every ten meters or so. The illustrations seemed garish and overdone to his eye, filled with fantastically overripe flowers, rosy-cheeked peasants and bucolic scenes drawn from a rural milieu centuries dead.

'The Admiral approves of the men's hobbies. He supports those with talent – talent beyond simple duty, of course. The flagship maintains an orchestra for the men's entertainment.'

The itchy feeling grew worse. Huppert paced into a doorway and the music was drowned by the clatter and chime of crystal, people talking carelessly and the rustling of hundreds of men and women in freshly starched dress uniforms. Hadeishi slowed half a step, one hand automatically adjusting his collar and the line of his jacket. His first thought, seeing so many officers in one place, was to wonder how deep in the Tehuia they were. Would a Khaid antimatter cluster be stopped by ship's armor before incinerating every line captain in this room? Are their executive officers here too? Who is standing watch on their ships? Ensigns and midshipmen?

'Commander?' Huppert turned and beckoned him through the doorway. Mustering himself, Hadeishi stepped into the officer's mess, slightly narrowed eyes taking in the field of battle. I will never begrudge my uniform allowance again, he thought, stricken morose by the gaudy sight before him. And I will listen to my dear Kosho and buy a very, very nice, custom-tailored dress uniform. As soon as I can.

The flag officer's ward room of the Stonesmasher was very large – probably the size of one of the assault shuttle bays on the Cornuelle – and besides an elevated stage holding nearly an entire orchestra, more than a hundred officers mingled in the open space. Long rows of tables, positively glowing with silver, crystal and porcelain, were waiting for the dinner gong to sound. A vaulted roof seemed to soar overhead, filled with chandeliers and a gilded, rococo ceiling. Clouds of tabac smoke coiled up, vanishing into hidden vents.

I do hope that ceiling is a holocast, Hadeishi thought, coming to a numb halt beside Huppert.

Huppert was speaking quietly into his ear, trying to point out who was who, but one singular fact had already impressed itself on the Chu-sa.

He was the only Nisei officer – the only non-European face – he could see in the entire room. No one seemed to have noticed his arrival, for which he was now unaccountably grateful.

'An interesting staff meeting…' he started to say.

'As I said, Commander…' Huppert's fingertips pressed against his arm. 'Not so much a staff meeting, but the Admiral's Dinner. Once a week the Admiral likes to have all of his ship commanders over to dine, have a few drinks, get to know each other. Very convivial.'

'I see.' Hadeishi tried not to move his head, but his eyes flitted along the walls, searching for the quiet, unassuming presence of security officers from the Mirror, or a nauallis or anything which might make this loud, cheerful gathering look less like the kind of treason which gave loyal Fleet captains ulcer- ridden, sleepless nights. I must already be on camera, too.

A ringing tone cut through the murmur, and everyone turned towards the tables.

'But after the meal, you must make yourself known to Flag Captain Plamondon. He's the Fleet operations officer and the Admiral's exec.' The pretty ensign took him by the elbow and began to guide Hadeishi towards his seat. Her hand was very firm.

A Fleet cargo shuttle, solar-flare blazon of the Cornuelle visible on the side doors, steam hissing up from triangular wings, rolled to a halt in the cavernous space of a groundside hangar. Ground crew jogged out, heads down, to slide chocks fore and aft of the wheels. A gangway levered down, and the hatchway swung up.

Shoi-i Daniel Smith swung down the ladder, sweat springing out across his grinning pale face, and he went immediately down on one knee and kissed oil-stained concrete. 'Terra firma,' he declared, wiping his mouth and standing up. 'Almost one g, too!'