happening to me right now. I wish you were here to share them. Please stay safe for the two of us.”
The message ended. Martinez let out the long breath he’d been holding, and then played the message again. Sensation surged through his blood; he could feel his skin warming.
He was going to be a father. The realization was so staggering that Perry had to knock three times before Martinez heard it and called his steward in. Perry appeared in full dress, with white gloves, with a pot of coffee on a tray. Martinez looked at him in surprise.
“Has someone told you to put on your number ones?” he asked.
Perry placed a cup and saucer before Martinez and poured. “The other servants told me that full dress was customary aboardIllustrious, my lord.”
“I see.”
Perry replaced the coffeepot on the tray and stood back. “I’m sorry your coffee was delayed, my lord. I should let you know that there may be a problem with our meals.”
Martinez had been sufficiently wrapped in his thoughts that he hadn’t realized that his coffee had taken longer than expected to turn up “Yes?” he said. “Why’s that?”
“It’s because you’re in the premiere’s cabin, my lord. The squadcom’s cabin has a kitchen, of course, and so does the captain’s. The wardroom has a kitchen for the lieutenants, and of course the enlisted have their mess. But the first lieutenant’s cabin has no kitchen facilities.”
“Ah. I see.”
Martinez should have anticipated this. Lady Michi had her own cook, of course, as did the captain. The wardroom was a kind of club for the lieutenants, and the tactical officer, normally a lieutenant, would under normal circumstances mess there. But as a full captain Martinez couldn’t impose on his juniors for his meals, and in order to dine with either Fletcher or Michi Chen, he’d have to be invited.
On all ofIllustrious , there was no place for Perry to prepare his meals. He nodded at the coffeepot.
“Where’s you get this?”
“The wardroom steward very kindly lent it to me, my lord.” Perry’s face darkened. “This was after the captain’s steward refused to let me into his kitchen.”
“Well, that’s within his rights.” For a moment Martinez pictured himself living out of boxes and cans for the length of his posting, and then he laughed. “Have a talk with Lady Michi’s cook,” he said, “and with the wardroom steward again. Perhaps something can be worked out.”
“Very good, my lord.”
“And if all else fails,” Martinez said, “there’s alwaysDaffodil. ” Since the Fleet hadn’t provided a pilot to take the commandeered yacht away once it had delivered Martinez, the boat, with its full kitchen, would remain grappled toIllustrious for the foreseeable future.
Perry cheered at this. “That’s true, my lord.”
“I’ve been invited to supper with the squadcom tonight, so there isn’t any urgency.”
Perry left, and Martinez returned his attention to his video display, where Terza’s image remained frozen, her lips parted in a soft smile, her hand touching her abdomen as if protecting the child.
A child…An unfamiliar sensation shivered through Martinez, and to his immense surprise he discovered that it was bliss.
He needed to respond to the message at once, if he could manage it without babbling.
Martinez told the display to record a reply, and began the babbling at once.
“This isn’t a spy ring,” Sula said to Lord Octavius Hong, “this is a fucking holiday association. Dreamed up by the same people who join the Fleet because they think it’s a yacht club.” She snarled.“Everyone in the neighborhood knows by now that Fleet personnel are living in our apartment. When the Naxids come, they’re going to be on us in three minutes.”
“Steady, Four-nine-one,” her superior murmured. “I don’t think it’s as bad as all that.”
They had met in a sidewalk cafe after Sula had stuck a strip of tape on a lamppost in the Old Square, the sign for an immediate meeting. In the balmy weather of early summer Hong had draped his jacket over the back of his chair and sat at the table in his shirt-sleeves. His face bore an expression of handsome, quiet confidence as he set about dismembering a flaky pastry.
He had showed respect for procedure by calling Sula by her code name, though because they’d trained together he knew her real name perfectly well, just as she knew his despite the fact that, as head of Action Group Blanche, she should refer to him as “Blanche.” Awarding code names had come rather late in the training, and by that time they’d all got used to one another’s genuine identities. Another aspect, Sula realized now, of the amateurishness with which this operation had been set up.
“You’re based in a Terran neighborhood,” said Lord Octavius. “If you were living with Naxids, you might have cause to worry, but your neighbors will have no reason to betray you.”
“How about money or favor?” Sula said as she stirred more honey into her tea. “What if the Naxids offer a cash reward for turning us in?”
Hong gave her a stern look. “Loyal citizens—” he began.
“I want backup identities for my whole team,” she said, stirring. “And everyone else in your group should get them, too.” She raised her spoon and licked it, the flavor of warm clover honey bursting on the tip of her tongue.
For the first time in their acquaintance Hong’s face displayed a moment of doubt. “I’m not sure that’s in the budget,” he said cautiously.
Sula raised her cup of tea to her lips. “Oh, for all’s sake, Blanche,” she said. “Our sidecoins the money.”
Hong’s decisive look returned. “I’ll push a memorial up to higher authority, shall I?”
“I’ll do the work myself,” Sula said. It was an offer, and also a decision.
She still had her special warrant from the lord governor. Sula used one of the cameras with which the Intelligence Section had equipped Team 491 to take pictures of herself and her group, then put on her uniform and took the funicular to the High City. She flashed her warrant in the Records Office and took advantage of a slight ambiguity in its wording—“require cooperation in the matter of records”—to get herself a desk and the passwords necessary to do her job.
The passwords, strings of long numbers, she recorded with her sleeve camera while no one was looking.
Thus enabled, her task was simple enough that once she had her three backup identities, she saw no reason to stop. By the time the office closed at the end of day, each member of Action Team 491 had four false identities, counting the ones they’d started with.
Sula collected the last of these, the heavy plastic card still warm from the thermo printer, the seal of the government embossed on its surface.
That evening, she memorized the codes she’d printed, destroyed the printout, and thought, I must remember to use these powers only for good.
She told Hong that joke at their next meeting. He frowned, brows knitting. “You’ll do well to remember, Four-nine-one,” he said, “that in the military, irony proceeds from thetop. ”
Sula straightened. “Very good, my lord.”
“Don’t call me that here.”
“That’s all right. It was irony.”
Hong grunted, eyes fixed on his plate. As was his custom, he had chopped his pastry up into several pieces, which he now commenced to eat with military efficiency, last of all sweeping up the crumbs and devouring those as well.
The day was rainy and he and Sula met indoors. The cafe was crowded and smelled of damp wool, and the door banged loudly whenever anyone went in and out.
“Still,” Hong admitted, “that’s a good use of initiative, I suppose. You’ll have to give me a list of those names, of course.”
“No,” Sula said. “Absolutely not.”
Hong looked at her in surprise. “What do you mean, no?”
“You don’t need to know our backup identities. We’ll have secure means of communication no matter what names we’re using, so the only people inconvenienced will be the Naxids, when they arrest you and interrogate
