the card.
Then he went to a flower shop and sent to Sula a huge spray of gladioli.Here are some flowers for your vase .
The next hour was spent with a skilled Torminel masseur, having some of the pains and kinks of two months of acceleration poked, squeezed, and beaten out of him. Exhausted but with his skin aglow, he returned to the Shelley Palace and to his bed.
He was awakened by the chiming of the comm. He opened his eyes.
“Comm: voice only. Comm: answer.”
“Where’s the picture?” came Sula’s voice. “I wanted to show you your flowers.”
Martinez swiped gum from his eyelids. “I’m trying not to send you screaming for the exit.” He rolled over, reached to the bedside table, and aimed the hood of the comm unit in his direction. “But if you insist…Comm,” he commanded. “Video and audio both.”
The flowers sprang into life on the screen—oranges and reds and yellows—and with them Sula’s smiling face. Her eyes widened as she took in Martinez’s bed, tousled hair and undershirt, then a skeptical tone entered her voice.
“You thoughtthis would send me screaming?”
He swiped again at an eye. “It hasn’t failed yet.”
“At least I get to see whatyour bed looks like.”
“Feast your eyes.” He looked at the screen, at the pale, golden-haired figure. “And I’ll feast mine,” he added.
Even on the small screen he saw the flush mantle her cheeks. “I see you’re still on ship time,” she said, a bit hastily.
“Somewhat.” The Fleet’s twenty-nine-hour day contrasted with that of Zanshaa, which was 25.43 standard hours. If the twenty-nine-hour day imposed on the empire by the Shaa corresponded with that of any planet, the planet had yet to be discovered.
Sula looked at the vase. “How did you know I liked Guraware?”
“Innate good taste, I suppose. I saw it in a shop and thought it should belong to you.”
“If you ever feel a similar impulse, don’t restrain yourself. This is some of the best porcelain ever made on Zanshaa.” She ran the pads of her fingers over the curves of the vase, and Martinez felt a shiver run up his spine at the sensuality of the protracted caress.
“I’m getting decorated and promoted tomorrow,” Martinez said. “09:01, Zanshaa time, at the Commandery. Will you come?”
She returned her attention to the video. “Of course. If they’ll let me in.”
“I’ll add your name to list of guests. I’ll be in the Hall of Ceremony.”
“It’s a nice room.” She smiled. “You’ll like it.”
“There will be a celebration tomorrow evening here at the palace. Will you come?”
“Your kind sisters already invited me, though I wasn’t aware of the party’s purpose.” She looked thoughtful. “I hope you don’t think I’m greedy, but…”
“You want a matching vase.”
“Well,yes. ” She laughed. “What I meant to ask was whether you were free tonight.”
“I’m not. Sorry. And besides…” He looked into her green eyes. “I’m not yet at my best.”
She held his gaze for a moment, then looked away. “And tomorrow night?” she asked.
“You be the judge.”
At that moment the thick teak door thundered open and Sempronia entered screaming.“What did you do to him?”
Martinez turned to Sempronia and tried to speak around the heart that had just leaped into his throat. “What?” he said. “Who—?”
Anger flushed Sempronia’s cheeks and fury blazed in her eyes.“I’m never going to forgive you for this! Never!”
“Well,” came Sula’s cautious voice from the display, “I can see you’re busy…”
Martinez’s attention whipped from Sempronia to Sula and back, in time to avoid being brained by his own Golden Orb, which Sempronia had just flung at him. He cast Sula a desperate look.
“See you later.”
“Comm,” said Sula, “end transmission.” The orange End symbol flashed on the screen, and then it darkened. By that time Martinez was on his feet, fending off a hairbrush, his shaving kit, and a bottle of cologne, objects that Sempronia found atop the bureau and sent his way.
He snatched the cologne out of the air and dropped it to a soft landing on the bed.
“Will you tell me what this is about?” he shouted in an officer’s voice calculated to freeze a member of the enlisted class in his tracks.
Sempronia was far from frozen, but at least she ceased to throw things.“What did you do to Nikkul!” she cried. “What did you do to him, you rat!”
Martinez knew precisely what he had done to him. Into Shankaracharya’s record he had written:
This officer possesses great intelligence coupled with imaginative gifts of a high order. He has demonstrated an ability to solve complex technical problems, and would be of outstanding utility in any position requiring expert technical or technological knowledge, or any position in which abstract reasoning or scientific skills are required.
This officer participated as communications officer in the Battle of Hone-bar. Based on his performance therein, it is not recommended that this officer be employed in any capacity in which the lives of Fleet personnel depend on his effectiveness in action against an enemy.
Shankaracharya had frozen in action not once but twice, first at the initial sighting of the enemy, and second when the first missile barrage had gone off and spread its hellfire plasma through the reaches of space. Martinez hadn’t given him a third chance.
It was possible that Shankaracharya would have overcome his shock and surprise and given exemplary service for the rest of the battle, his career, and his life. But Martinez, with the lives of hundreds of people under his immediate care, had not been able to take that chance.
After the battle, in the days that followed, he had asked himself the same sort of question he’d asked concerning Kamarullah:Would I feel safe knowing that I had to depend on Shankaracharya in combat?
With Martinez’s comments on his record, Shankaracharya would be put in charge of a supply depot or a laundry or a data processing center till the end of the war, and then his career would be over.
“Whathappened, Proney?” Martinez shouted in reply. “Can you just tell me what happened?”
Sempronia clenched her fists and shook one of them in Martinez’s direction. “Nikkul had it all arranged! Lord Pezzini arranged it for him—he had a place on one of the new cruisers they’re building in Harzapid. He and the other officers were going to leave in twelve days’ time. And this afternoon the captain called him and told him that his services would no longer be required, and that his place was going to someone else!”
She narrowed her eyes. “Nikkul said his captain must have read your report. Sowhat did you write in it to wreck Nikkul’s career ?”
“What didNikkul say was in it?” Martinez countered.
“Hewouldn’t say, ” Sempronia raged. “He just said you’d done the right thing.” Her lower lip trembled. Tears began to fill her eyes. “He wasashamed. He turned away. I think he was crying.” Anger returned, and again she brandished a fist. “You were his hero! He pulled strings to get on your ship!” Tears burst out again, and her voice became a wail. “You promised to look after him.You promised. ”
“He shouldn’t have pulled strings,” Martinez said softly. “He shouldn’t have got Pezzini to put him over the heads of more experienced officers. He was too young and he wasn’t ready.”
Her voice was a soft, anguished keen. “You said you’dhelp him. You should havehelped him.” Sempronia took a step toward Martinez, but her knees wouldn’t support her and in slow motion she coiled down onto his bed, turning away, her fair hair falling into her face. Sobs shuddered through her. Martinez, his mouth dry, put out a
