The False Admiral (16 page)

Because she seriously believed this was her last meal. Whatever the request did for her image would be short-lived. The implications weren't lost on anyone, but subconsciously we'd all been thinking it. That was probably Nils' motivation for going out of his way to lug this combiner aboard. He didn't want the last thing he ever tasted to be imperial survival rations.

He dutifully called up the menu, searched, and punched in the codes for Deilani's request.

It was a novel sort of dish. Thin slices of protein, flavored after the flesh of certain Earth mammals, along with more slices flavored as particular bits of vegetable matter and sauces, and all of it between two slabs of products derived from wheat. It was a dish commonly associated with Cohengard's sustenance culture, because people living in sustenance housing ate almost exclusively from combiners.

The device produced the components, and Deilani assembled them in a businesslike fashion. She looked at the finished product in her hands with faraway eyes.

Nils turned to me.

“I'll have what she's having.” He looked at me as though I was insane, but I didn't give a punch line, so he repeated the code.

“The same,” Salmagard said.

Scowling, Nils delivered, then called up simulated marbled beef
cutlets with Frontier-style fermented natural cabbage and sweet oyster sauce. A combiner couldn't really do a meal like that justice, but at least he was making an effort. I let him borrow my knife, but he had to break off the lid of the pod storing the O
2
masks to use as a plate.

This food wasn't what they were serving in the crystal ballrooms of the galaxy, but it wasn't so bad. Maybe it tasted good because it wasn't a calorie bar, or because of all that had happened. Whatever the reason, I felt like we'd earned it.

Salmagard seemed placid and neutral. Deilani was distant. Nils was actually paying attention to what he was eating, seemingly amazed to find himself enjoying it.

It was surreal. It was also a little somber. I was just glad I wasn't eating my last meal alone.

“Looks like we've got a bit left,” Nils said, checking the combiner. “Dessert?”

“Have at it,” I said, getting to my feet.

“Sir, I'll check on the oxygen conversion right after. Sir.”

“I know you will. Thanks.” I went back to the cockpit. There was no sense brooding; we'd already thrown the dice. There wouldn't be time to rest when we were on the surface, so I'd rest while I could.

The readouts on the console looked fine. The planet and stars were still spectacular, but unchanged. The shaking in my hands had come back, and my body was starting to ache. I had to conserve energy. I closed my eyes and settled back, wondering if this would be my last nap. If so, it had better be a good one.

*   *   *

The carbon shielding shattered like glass.

The massive cruiser punched through the armored plates as if
they weren't even there. The impact was deafening, even from so far away. The forty-five-hundred-meter vessel was out of control, smashing effortlessly through the city. Buildings and towers were brushed aside like kilometer-high blades of grass, breaking apart and toppling in the distance. Glittering structures disintegrated by the dozen. Flyers veered, little more than points of light trying to avoid the destruction.

The ship crashed through tier after tier of raised highways and elevated train routes, sending it all spiraling away, pulled toward the breach.

Blue and green flames flashed around the cruiser's hull as coolant was burned off. The station was depressurizing, and the people and debris were like fine dust caught in the wind. Klaxons tried and failed to wail over the din. The ship reached the superstructure, crashing through and folding in on itself. The entire station shook violently, and the deck rushed up to greet me.

I woke when Salmagard came into the cockpit. A glance at the controls told me we had traveled some distance, but that I couldn't have slept for more than a couple hours. I didn't feel great, but I knew immediately that this was the home stretch. If I slept again, it wouldn't be here.

I took a deep breath and looked over at Salmagard. She had perched in the copilot's chair and was admiring the view. Her expression reminded me of Deilani's when she'd been looking at the food from her home.

I straightened, and she glanced over at me. I waved off her apology before she could voice it.

“I've been to a lot of places,” I said, joining her in watching the mist flow beneath us. “But never anywhere like this.”

“They're breathtaking,” she said, eyeing the largest spire yet as we passed it.

“Do they remind you of home?” Some of the tallest buildings in the Empire were on Old Earth, after all.

She shook her head. “There's nothing like this.”

Salmagard wanted to tell me something. I couldn't guess what it could be, though. There wasn't much to talk about. The way ahead was anything but clear, but all we could do was walk forward.

Some sort of confession? Or maybe she was finally letting her curiosity get the best of her.

“You never did tell me how they convinced you to enter the Service,” I prompted, glancing back into the passenger area. There wasn't a sound apart from the mild hum of the flyer. Nils and Deilani were probably taking this opportunity the same way I had. Smart.

I expected her to look at me, but instead she just sat back and closed her eyes. I took a hasty mental snapshot of her profile against the stars, then made myself focus.

“I come from a humble family,” I told her.

She looked at me in surprise.

“So I don't know what it's like for someone like you,” I went on. “I guess you were obligated to take the Service route, since they'd already set it up for you. But you still didn't have to, did you? They couldn't force you.”

She took that in, staring at me intently.

“The responsibilities of the first daughter have not changed in a long time,” Salmagard said.

“Let's see,” I said, rubbing my chin. “Your bloodline's tiered, so I assume you're valued enough for an arranged marriage?”

“I would be. But we don't actually have those where I come from.”

I wasn't surprised. The Empire was large, and every city in every district in every province on every continent on every planet in every system was a little different. But in the dramas about aristocrats, it was always arranged marriages—usually the sons fled them to join the Service, and just before dying heroically in some righteous war, they would realize that they truly loved the girl that their parents wanted them to marry.

In some imperial dramas the line between art and propaganda was thinner than others.

“So you didn't join to get out of a marriage,” I said.

She shook her head. “There are three suitable candidates in my district,” she said. “One seven, one thirteen, and one nearly fifteen. I was prepared to marry any one of them.”

“Why not two? Or all three?”

“I'm not disposed that way.”

I leaned in a little so I could see her eyes. “Is that a hint of judgment for the girls that are?” She gave me a surprised look. There was embarrassment there. “I knew a girl once, who was disposed that way, as you put it. I'd hate to think you were looking down on her.”

“Certainly not,” she replied, looking flustered.

I put up a hand, smiling. “Relax. I'm just giving you a hard time. But you still walked away from it. I know joining was a way up, but an upward marriage will get your line to the next tier just as quickly. And it won't kill you as fast. You could've had a rich, peaceful life on Old Earth. But you went along with this. You're here. Nobody forced you.”

“I never resented my responsibilities. Not at first.”

I didn't know the details; I'd never taken the time to learn—but I knew those responsibilities were substantial, particularly for a first daughter. “My—my particular role,” Salmagard went on, gesturing at her face, “was not revealed to me until shortly before I was of age.”

I winced.

At first this program with the faces of the heroes had struck me as typically Evagardian, but the more I thought about it, the more twisted it seemed. Salmagard went on, voice even. “When it was made known to me, I saw it as an opportunity. Escape, so to speak, had never occurred to me before.”

Of course it hadn't. She was too well-bred.

“I never looked for a way out. I was ready to marry, ready to safeguard the bloodline, ready to do all of it. But when they
handed
me a way out”—Salmagard shook her head—“I had to take it.”

“So you didn't want to stay on Old Earth forever. I guess that's not so strange for someone who grew up there. It's the people who don't that won't understand.”

Salmagard found guilt in it though; this
was
a confession. She felt as if wanting to do anything but her duty was wrong, like her desire to get away made her a bad person. Or more accurately, a bad daughter. That was a big deal for an Evagardian aristocrat.

I tried not to smile. “You know there's historical precedent for women wanting to do things with their lives. The Grand Duchess was kind of a champion in that field, wasn't she?”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“And now you're in the Service. And headed for the
Julian
.”

She scowled. “That berth was guaranteed me from the outset.”

That didn't surprise me. It was a bribe, and Salmagard knew it. “Don't dwell on it. Every recruit in the Service would give their right arm to serve on the flagship. Maybe you don't appreciate the honor.”

“What honor? I haven't done anything. And that's not the problem, not the real problem, anyway. Nothing is real aboard the flagship. It's all aristocrats and bloodliners, all playing soldier.” Here was the young woman behind the mask. I wished she'd come out more often.

“They're all trained,” I replied. “No different from you.”

“Do you really think it's fair?” she asked. “That it's really merit that put so many liners on that ship for its maiden cruise? It's all for show
,
” she said, frustration evident in her voice.

“It'll show you the galaxy.”

“Nothing but our allies' capital ports,” she said, waving a hand.

“In other words, it won't go anywhere interesting.”

“Unless there's war.”

“Surely you're not hoping for that.”

“No. But it would be something real.”

I was beginning to understand. You couldn't give a girl the genes of the Guardian and expect her to take gracefully to the sheltered and choreographed life of a high lady. It was easy to understand how she might view the rituals, traditions, and conventions of the Earth-born aristocratic lifestyle as false and hollow. It
was
a sort of show.

But it had a purpose. The Empire's caste system wasn't meant to keep people down, or to separate them. Anyone could move up if they had the inclination—and the exaggerated privilege of the high
bloodlines was supposed to be the incentive. It let people see what they could strive for. The wealth of the Empire was there for the taking.

Salmagard had grown up on the inside of it, though. To her it was just a joke.

“You're not trapped,” I pointed out. “If you serve well and mind your record, you can get assigned wherever you like. Even a fringe colony, if that's what you really want. Free Trade space probably wouldn't bore you, plenty of imperial presence there. All the border stations have big garrisons. You're probably a little overqualified for most of the station security posts out there, but they'd be glad to have you if you wanted to get away from ship duty.”

She shook her head. “My family will find a way. They're terrified.”

“For you, or of you?”

“Both. They won't let me reenlist.”

“They can't stop you.”

“There are ways.”

She was probably right. “Then fight back,” I said. “Your family only has as much authority as you give them. Tradition is only tradition, not law. They can find a way?
You
find a way. Outplay them. From a daughter like you, they'll never see it coming. And don't act like you don't have it in you. You've already taken the first step.”

Salmagard looked genuinely taken aback. Maybe she'd never thought along these lines before. Or maybe these things just sounded strange coming from me, but they shouldn't have. It was the first solution to occur to me, but I'd made a career out of thinking for myself. She hadn't.

I let her consider that for a moment, but it would take more
time than we had for her to really wrap her head around the idea of rebellion. I hoped I wasn't leading her astray. I wasn't trying to sabotage her sense of propriety; I just wanted to remind her that she had options.

“I suppose you won't have to worry about it if we haven't brought enough air,” I said.

“No, I daresay not.” She smiled. Then her expression grew serious. “I'd like to ask you something.”

“I was afraid of that.” I'd actually been sort of trying to avoid that by making conversation. Salmagard hadn't taken the hint.

“May I?”

I resigned myself. “You don't need my permission. Just don't be surprised if I refuse to incriminate myself. That is a fundamental Evagardian right, after all. I'm in enough trouble already.”

She hesitated. “Quite.”

I tried to look open and approachable. Salmagard deliberated for several moments.

“If we
do
reach this colony,” she began, and I nodded encouragingly. She licked her lips. “If we do, how will you hide your identity? You'll be recognized straightaway. I can hardly believe the lieutenant hasn't recognized you,” she added in a low voice.