own. Sempronia and Lord PJ were engaged, to be sure, but the engagement would be along one—there would be no marriage as long as Sempronia stayed in school, and Sempronia would be in school for as many years as was necessary for the Martinez family to use the access granted by the Ngenis to wedge themselves into Zanshaa’s highest strata of Peers. And once that happened, PJ would be returned to whence he came, there to remain a debit on the ledgers of his clan.
PJ had not yet realized, apparently, that the engagement was nothing more than a ruse, and throughout supper he paid Sempronia a series of elaborate courtesies, courtesies to which Sempronia replied with a graceful inclination of her head and a kind, condescending smile, a smile that vanished whenever she glanced down the table at Martinez.
Sempronia hadn’t forgiven Martinez for shackling her, even temporarily, to this human debacle. Especially when her affections appeared to be genuinely engaged by Nikkul Shankaracharya,Corona ‘s former lieutenant.
Martinez found himself uninterested in Sempronia’s problems. She, after all, only had to put up with one imbecile. He had the whole Fleet Control Board.
“You’ll be decorated and promoted in two days’ time,” Roland said. “At the same time your victory at Hone- bar will be announced throughout the empire.” He gave a sardonic smile. “It’ll be Do-faq’s victory officially, and he’ll be promoted and decorated too—but the people who matter will know who’s really responsible, and since Do-faq is still with his squadron,you’ll be the one seen on video in the Hall of Ceremony….” Roland gave a pleased nod. “After that, we can start pressing to get you a command. It will seem special pleading until everyone realizes you’re the only officer in the Fleet to be decorated twice for actions against the enemy. Then giving you a real job will only seem good sense.”
Martinez, who personally thought that the special pleading should have started ages ago, nodded as if he agreed, and then realized that his brother had no post whatever within the Fleet or the government, and shouldn’t be aware of any of these details at all.
“How do you know this?” he asked.
“From Lord Chen. He and I have been…associated in an enterprise.”
Martinez looked at his brother. “So how porousis the Fleet Control Board?”
Roland shrugged. “Everything’sporous. If you’re on the inside, you can find out anything you want.”
“And you’re on the inside now?”
Roland looked down at his plate and drew his knife delicately across his filet. “Not quite. But we’re getting there.”
“If you’re so well connected,” Martinez said, “perhaps you can let me know why I don’t have a new commandnow. ”
Roland paused with his fork partway to his mouth. “I haven’t bothered to inquire. But I imagine it’s the usual story.”
“Which is?”
“You’re better than they are.” While Martinez stared in surprise Roland popped the filet into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “You know the tale—Peers are supposed to be, well, peers. Equals. When one stands out above the others it demonstrates that there’s something wrong with the system, and the people in charge of the system don’t care for that. Remember, the nail that gets hammered down is the one that sticks out.
“You see,” reaching for the wine and refilling Martinez’s glass, “while you were at the academy preparing for your career as a hero, father and I put our heads together and worked out why he failed whenhe came to Zanshaa. And the answer seemed to be that he was too rich and too talented.”
“He’s richer now,” Martinez pointed out.
“He could buy the whole High City and barely notice the loss. But it’s not for sale…tohim. ” Roland gave his brother a significant look. “He was the nail that stuck out. He got hammered, and the people here dusted their hands of him and forgot that he ever existed. So now his children are here, and we’re being a lot more quiet about our gifts than he was.” Roland filled his own glass and raised it, glancing over the dining room. “We could have our own palace here, a brilliant house built and decorated in up-to-the-instant tastes, first-rate all the way. But we don’t, we rent this old heap.”
He gave Martinez a penetrating look. “What we need to avoid aren’t so much errors of judgment, but of taste. We could have a ball every week, and sponsor concerts and plays at the Penumbra, and I could wear the latest cravats and our sisters the most extravagant gowns, and we could get into the yachting circuit and sponsor charities and…well, you know the sort of thing.”
“I’m not sure I do,” Martinez said. “I’m only the nail that sticks out.”
Roland smiled thinly. “But you’re sticking out in wartime—andthat, I think, is all right. The family can move fast now, because the war is so big that no one’s paying attention to the likes of us. And when the war is over, we’ll be a part of the structure here, and that will be all right, because we’ll have got in without anyone noticing us at all.” He frowned. “There may be a backlash after the war, of course. We’ll have to be prepared to ride that out. That’s why you’ll want all the rank and honor you can achieve now, while they still need you.”
Martinez glanced down the table at PJ, who was as usual paying elaborate court to Sempronia, and presumably unable to hear the low conversation at the opposite end of the table. “Clever of you to use Sempronia the way you did,” Roland said in Martinez’s ear. “And PJ is, well, soperfect in his way…”
PJ apparently heard his name spoken, and he looked up—long-headed, balding, dressed with perfect taste, and on his face an expression of amiable vacuity. Roland smiled and raised a glass.
“So glad you could come tonight, PJ,” he said.
A bright smile flashed across the table, and PJ raised his own glass. “Thank you, Roland! Happy to be here!”
Martinez raised his own glass and pretended he couldn’t see the face that Sempronia was making at him.
It was Sempronia who took his arm just after he’d excused himself and began trudging up the main stair to his bed. He turned to her with pleasure: she was his favorite sister, with fair hair and gold-flecked hazel eyes, features so unlike the dark hair and brown eyes of the rest of the family. She was lively and outgoing, unlike her sisters, who had adopted a premature gravity that made them seem older than they were.
“Haven’t I been good to PJ tonight, Gare?” she asked. “Haven’t I been a good girl?”
Martinez sighed. “What do you want, Proney?”
She looked at him brightly. “Can’t you take PJ off my hands tomorrow?”
He looked at him. “I’ve just got back from awar, for all’s sake. Can’t you get someone else to do it?”
“No, I can’t.” Sempronia leaned close to him and spoke in a whisper. “You’re the only one who knows about Nikkul.He just got back from a war, too, and I want to be with him.”
Through his weariness he managed a glare. “What if I have an assignation of my own?”
She gave him a look of amazement.“You?” she asked.
No man, Martinez reflected, is a hero to his sister.
“You just lost points, Proney,” he warned.
“Besides,” Sempronia said, “PJwants to see you. He admires you.”
“Enough to give up an afternoon of your company?”
She squeezed his arm. “Just once, Gare. That’s all I ask.”
“I’m very, very tired,” Martinez said. Which was why, in the end, Sempronia beat him down. A few minutes later, he called PJ’s number from his room and left a message asking if PJ would like to join him tomorrow afternoon for, well, whatever.
“I was so glad you called,” PJ said cheerfully. “I’d been hoping to speak to you, actually.” He and Martinez were dining in the Seven Stars Yacht Club, one of the three most exclusive yacht clubs in the empire.
The club was the sort of place that would almost certainly have blackballed Martinez had he attempted to join, but which accepted PJ without question even though he’d never once flown a yacht. In the foyer was a glass case containing mementoes of Captain Ehrler Blitsharts, the yachtsman that Martinez and Sula had attempted to rescue—hadrescued, though Blitsharts was dead by the time Sula finally grappled to hisMidnight Runner. Among the pictures, trophies, and oddments of clothing was a studded collar belonging to Blitsharts’ celebrated dog, Orange, who had died with him.
