The Service of the Sword

Judith had an idea that Vice might involve sex, but nothing in her experiences with Ephraim gave her any idea why this might be something to pursue. She'd filed this away as a piece of useless information, devoting her energy instead into devising ruses for leaving the dormitory unquestioned. During the two years she had resided with the other wives, she had come up with a large number of these and was careful never to use any one too often.

Dinah motioned Judith to a chair, then closed the door.

'Power surge following transit into N-space,' Dinah said. 'How useful is that?'

Judith actually started to answer, so matter-of-factly was the question put to her. Then she realized what this meant.

'You can read!'

'My father was very elderly when I was born,' Dinah said levelly, 'and his eyesight was failing. He never cared for the restrictions of recordings, and had me taught to read so that I could read scripture to him. Later, when my meekness and piety caught Ephraim's eye, my father commanded me to forget what I had learned, for it was well-known that the Templetons saw no use for women's education. I, of course, obeyed, never disabusing my lord and master of his assumptions regarding me.'

Judith knew that Dinah's family had been poor and not well-placed within the Masadan hierarchy. An alliance with the ambitious Templetons, especially one that also disposed of a useless daughter would have been worth a little lie.

'Did you know that I . . .' Judith asked, feeling every bit the child, all the confidence of her fourteen years fleeing.

'Could read?' Dinah set an audio recording of chanted scripture playing on her room's system. 'I guessed. You were very careful, even when there were no men present. I commend you for that. Even so, there were times your gaze would rest over-long on some printed label or other bit of text. I was certain the day you saved little Uriel from harming himself.

Judith remembered the day quite clearly. Uriel had been a toddler when first she came to Ephraim's house. His mother, Raphaela, was great with child once more and chasing after the boy had been one of the many tasks bestowed on the Grayson captive.

Not able to transfer her hatred of Ephraim to any of his children, Judith's secret and her honor had warred against each other on the day that Uriel had reached for a brightly colored plug that superficially looked like any number of toys scattered about the nursery.

What it was, however, was a partially installed electrical system that a careless technician had not finished sealing.

For a moment that seemed far longer than it had been, Judith had stared at the chubby hand and the plug. Only the writing on the wiring revealed it for the danger it was. If she stopped Uriel, she might give away her secret.

The little hand had barely moved toward the apparent toy when Judith scooped Uriel away. Once she had soothed the screaming child, distracting him with an even more fascinating toy, Judith had returned to put the wires out of reach. Now that she thought back, Dinah had been present, but as the senior wife had made no comment, Judith had thought her too distracted by her own duties.

'That long,' Judith said, and her inflection was a question.

'You were very careful,' Dinah replied, 'and Ephraim never noticed anything odd about you—except, perhaps, for wondering whether your apparent stupidity was a form of rebellion. I assured him that I thought not.'

'You protected me,' Judith said, almost accusingly. 'Then and today. Why?'

'Then, today, and a dozen times since,' Dinah answered. 'Why? Because you were careful, because you were kind to those you had reason to hate, and because I pitied you. And for one reason more.'

Dinah paused for so long that Judith thought she might not finish her thought.

'Yes?' the younger woman prompted.

'And,' said Dinah, a strange light shining in her grey eyes, 'because I thought you might somehow be the One prophesied, the Moses sent to lead us from this place and into a better life.'

That Midshipman Winton was polite and dutiful to a fault, no matter how much work or how many practice sessions the ATO scheduled for him, didn't moderate Carlie's sense of unease regarding her royal charge.

Unless actually on duty, the young man was rarely without a cadre of hangers-on. Two of these—Astrid Heywood and Osgood Russo—had been transferred to Intransigent immediately after Michael's own assignment. The other three had already been assigned to the ship, but that didn't stop them from taking advantage of their proximity to the Crown Prince.

The presence of this cadre had split the middy berth into two groups, for the remaining six members seemed to go out of their way to avoid Midshipman Winton. To make matters worse, even ten days after the last member of the middy berth had reported for duty, Carlie was uncertain whether Michael did or did not encourage his followers. What she was certain of was that he did nothing to discourage them, and in her eyes that was just as bad.

Then there was the problem of Michael Winton's extra duties, duties that required him to spend a great deal of time consulting with the diplomatic contingent that was Intransigent's reason for heading to the Endicott System. Carlie didn't doubt that once the diplomats had Prince Michael behind closed doors they bowed and scraped to him in the most abject manner. Certainly, Michael seemed even more distant and self- contained whenever he returned from one of these meetings.

That Michael couldn't take his toadies with him to these diplomatic sessions was one of the few good things about them, Carlie thought, but they served even more than his little cadre to emphasize that Michael Winton was someone apart from the rest of the middy berth. Hell, from the rest of Intransigent's crew.

How different Michael Winton was had been reinforced at Captain Boniece's latest dinner. As was the practice of some of the Navy's better captains, Boniece periodically invited various of his officers to dine with him. On this particular night, both Carlie and Michael had been included, and Carlie kept a sharp—though she hoped not too obvious—eye on her charge.

The evening went smoothly, Midshipman Winton not speaking unless spoken to, but offering intelligent answers to those questions put to him. Carlie had even begun to think that maybe Michael wasn't as stuck-up as she had believed.

Then came the conclusion of the meal, and wine was poured for the traditional toast to the Queen. As the junior officer present, the duty fell on Midshipman Winton.

He needed no prompting. Nor did Carlie expect him to need such. Carlie had shared stories with many officers of her acquaintance, and all agreed that this stepping forth into the limelight in the presence of those who were for the first time your peers rather than those august others known as Officers was a landmark occasion in a career.

Raising his glass to just the right level, Michael Winton said in a clear, carrying voice: 'Ladies and gentlemen, the Queen!'

'The Queen!' came the affirmation.

Carlie had sipped from her glass, using the action to cover a glance at her charge. Michael Winton had settled back into his seat, but he wasn't drinking the captain's excellent wine. Instead he was—Carlie was certain of it—he was smirking.

Lieutenant Carlotta Dunsinane, loyal officer of the Navy and therefore to the Queen it served, was shocked to the core. Her shock must have shown in her expression because the Intransigent's communications officer, Tab Tilson, leaned toward her.

'Are you feeling all right, Carlie?'

'Fine,' she managed. 'Just got a little wine down the wrong pipe.'

Tab nodded, reassured, and turned to answer a question put to him by Captain Boniece. When Carlie again turned her gaze to Mr. Winton, the prince was politely talking to his near neighbor, his expression as correct as it had been all evening.

But Carlie knew what she had seen, and again doubted to the depths of her heart whether this prince could