escape the attention of other clans with eligible women. How did we happen to land him for Vipsania?”
Roland’s stolid face took on an expression of grim satisfaction. “Lord Oda’s only thepresumed heir,” he said. “The elder Yoshitoshis are very strict—remember the disinherited daughter?—and Oda’s got some younger siblings who want the title. Oda also has some debts he preferred his father and uncle not know about—”
“Debts?” Martinez began to choke on laughter.
“The usual.” With a sidelong smile.
“So you bought up his debts, and…”
“The debts will be canceled after the marriage ceremony,” Roland said. “The only thing holding us up was that Lord Yoshitoshi insisted on interviewing Vipsania personally. He let us know just yesterday that she passed her audition.” He smiled. “Now we’ll see how Vipsania runs a video company.”
Martinez tried to stifle his rising hilarity. “Video company?”
“Clan Yoshitoshi and its clients own a majority interest in Empire Broadcasting. That’s two entertainment channels, four devoted to sports, and one to information, broadcasting in all of forty-one solar systems not counting the ones the Naxids currently occupy. We’re going to ask Lord Yoshitoshi to let Vipsania run it. We think he will—he considers broadcasting a plebeian pursuit, nothing like the high culture here in the acropolis that really matters to him.”
Surprise quelled Martinez’s laughter. “Vipsania knows how to run a major broadcasting corporation?”
“She’llhire people for that.” Irritably. “The point is that she’ll be in a position to influence the public about…” He made an equivocal gesture with his hand. “…about whatever we think suitable. As, for example, why you aren’t being given a meaningful command.” He shot Martinez a shrewd glance from under his heavy brows. “You won’t have a problem with an adulatory documentary about your exploits, will you?”
Martinez felt a waft of pleasure at the idea, immediately followed by caution. “Perhaps,” he said. “But it won’t be the public who decides my assignments.”
“I’d prefer something more subtle myself, but we can always keep the broadcast in reserve.” Roland nodded to an acquaintance passing on the street. “The wedding will be very soon, by the way—we’re starting to get the point where I want to get as many of my kinfolk off the planet as possible.”
“I’ve been telling you that for over a month.”
Roland chose to ignore the comment. Passing down the walkway, he and Martinez negotiated their way through a pack of glits—fashionable, decorative young people who chattered their way past, leaving behind a waft of laughter and hair pomade. Glits had been in the mode before the Naxid revolt, but the seriousness of the war seemed to have suppressed them: these were the first Martinez had seen since his return.
“If only we can get you and Walpurga married before the time comes to leave,” Roland continued, after the glits had passed.
Martinez only smiled. Roland gave him a sharp look. “Do you actually have someone in mind? Someone who isn’t awarrant officer, that is?”
Martinez increased what he hoped was the mystery of his smile. “Perhaps I do. How are Walpurga’s prospects?”
“Nothing concrete, though there are a number of possibilities.”
“Get her and Vipsania and Proney and yourself off the planet. Do itnow, whether they’re married or not.” He tried to put all his urgency into the words. “Bad things are going to happen here. I think the Fleet’s going to get another pasting.”
Roland gave a grim nod. “Yes. I think you’re right.”
And where do your schemes go then?Martinez wanted to ask. But the words never passed his lips: he was afraid that Roland might admit that had been betting on the Naxids all along.
“Which brings us to the reason I’m following you down the street,” Martinez said. “I need an interview with Lord Chen, and I need it as soon as possible.”
Roland gave him a frowning look. “This isn’t about your posting, is it?”
“No. It’s about…” Martinez realized how absurd this sounded even as he said it. “I have a plan to redeploy the Fleet and save the empire.”
To Martinez’s surprise, Roland stopped dead on the pavement, then raised his arm and engaged his sleeve display.
“Personal and urgent from Lord Roland Martinez to Lord Chen,” Roland said. “I need you to meet my brother, and the meeting must be at once. Please respond.”
He lowered his arm and looked up at Martinez.
“Right,” he said. “Now it’s up to you.”
“And you developed this plan yourself?” Lord Chen asked. He had received Martinez—graciously, under the circumstances—in his garden, amid the scent of the purple lu-doi blossoms growing on either side of the walkway. The afternoon was well advanced, and the garden largely in shade, overhung by the sunlit, winged Nayanid gables. It was growing chilly.
“I—” Martinez hesitated. “I developed it with Lady Sula.”
Lord Chen nodded. His dark eyes were thoughtful. “Our two most celebrated officers,” he said. “That speaks well for these ideas. But you realize that this isn’t simply a military decision. It’s political, and of the highest possible order.”
“Yes, my lord.” Ithad occurred to him that the government leaving Zanshaa for the first time in twelve thousand years was very possibly an act of some significance.
Chen frowned. “I’ll send the plan to my sister, for comments.”
Martinez had hoped he would. Squadron Commander Chen had been orbiting the system for over a month now, staring into the oblivion of Wormhole 3, through which the Naxids would come from Magaria with annihilating force and missile batteries blazing. It was very possible that she would welcome any plan that would enable her to evade that confrontation.
“I’ll presume on Squadcom Do-faq’s patience and send the plan to him as well,” Martinez said.
“Very good, Lord Gareth. Ask him to copy any comments to me.”
“I’ll do that.”
A subtle smile played about Lord Chen’s lips. “Blow up the ring,” he said, half to himself. “The idea has a certain barbaric vigor.” He rose. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have several clients waiting.”
Martinez pushed back the chair, made of a long spiral of wire, and stood. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”
Chen waved off the inconvenience with a movement of his hand. “I was happy to oblige your brother. Give him my best wishes when you next see him.”
Martinez turned at the sound of soft footsteps on the gravel walkway. He saw a young woman holding a tray with teacups and a teapot. She was tall and black-haired and wore a soft, nubbly suit of an autumnal orange, with a white rosette and its dangling mourning ribbons pinned with pleasant asymmetry to one shoulder.
“I didn’t mean to bother you,” she said in a soft voice. “But I heard you had company, and so I thought…”
She made a subtle movement that called attention to the contents of her tray.
“That was very good of you,” Chen said. He turned to Martinez. “May I present my daughter, Terza? Terza, this is—”
“I recognize Lord Captain Martinez, of course,” she said. Her dark eyes turned to Martinez. “Would you like tea, my lord?”
“I…” Martinez hesitated. His meeting with Chen was clearly over, and it seemed absurd to stop for a cup of tea now.
“I can’t remain,” Chen said, “but if you’d like to share a cup with Terza, by all means stay.” He looked at Terza. “I have Em-braq waiting in the office.”
“I understand.” She turned to Martinez again. “By all means stay, if you have the time.”
Martinez agreed to remain. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said. He had no idea who exactly had died, but there were many Peer families who were wearing white after Magaria.
She poured tea, the movements of her hands pale and elegant in the shadowed courtyard.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m told that he was very much admired by his crew.”
