Judith had been very young when the raiders took the ship,
young, but not too young to remember. There had been
explosions, the shrill scream of tearing metal, the
insidious tugging of air leaking out from a ruptured
compartment before someone slapped on a patch.
The battle had been muffled, somehow less than real, made
distant by the swaddling vac suit two sizes too big, but
the best they'd had intact. It had been muffled, less than
real, but that didn't save the child.
Reality came through later, came through with a vengeance.
Despite everything he'd been through, all the time and
energy he'd put into his training, into getting marks that
wouldn't shame his family, when it came time for his middy
cruise, someone had gotten cold feet. Michael Winton first
heard the rumor that they were going to put him on a
system defense ship near Gryphon from his roommate, Todd
Liatt.
Todd was one of those people who always heard things
before anyone else. Michael had teased Todd, that he, not
Michael, was the one who should be specializing in
communications.
"You wouldn't even need a com set, Toad-breath.
Information seeps directly into your nervous system. Think
of the savings in time and resources that would be."
Todd had laughed, even played along with the joke, but
there'd really never been a question where he would
concentrate. Tactics was the best specialization for those
who hoped for a ship of their own someday, and Todd wanted
command.
"Hey," Todd said, mock serious, "I've got four older
sisters and three older brothers. I've taken other
people's orders all my life. It's time I get a turn,
right?"
But they'd both known Todd's desire was motivated by an
overwhelming sense of responsibility, a desire to make
things right. Michael was certain that the white beret
would fit Todd as naturally as his skin.
And himself? Michael didn't want command. He hadn't even
wanted a career in the Navy, not at first, but now he was
as devoted to the service as Todd was. He just knew he
didn't want to command a vessel. Michael would never say
so to Todd, but he knew too much about the cost of command
to long for it.
Communications appealed to Michael: the rapid flow of
information, the need to weigh and measure, to sort and
balance, were all as familiar to him as breathing. He'd
been playing some version of that game all his life.
He was good at it too. His memory was excellent. Pressure
didn't fluster him. It seemed to focus him, to make things
clearer, contrast more acute. He felt sure that no one
who'd gone through a training sim with him had any doubt
that he'd earned his standing on graduation.
Michael was proud of that class standing. It's very hard
to be judged on your own merits when you're so highly born
that people are automatically going to figure you were
being carried. That's what made Todd's news almost more
than he could take.
"You heard what?" Michael said to Todd, his voice taut
with anger.
"I heard," Todd replied stiffly, unintimidated, "that you
are going to be assigned to the Saint Elmo for her Gryphon
deployment. Apparently, your singular ability to process
information came to the attention of BuWeapons. They're
working on some top secret sensor technology and they want
the best people they can get for the trial runs."
Michael's response was long, eloquent, and suggested that
he'd hung around with Marines at some time in his life.
That was true. His sister was married to a former Marine,
but Justin Zyrr had never used language like that in
Michael's hearing.
Todd listened, his expression mingling shock and grudging
admiration.
"Two years," he said. "Two years I share a room with you,
and never do I learn that you can swear like that."
Michael didn't answer. He was too busy grabbing various
items of clothing, obviously preparatory to storming out
of the room.
"Hey, Michael, where're you going?"
"To talk to someone about my posting."
"You can't! It isn't official yet."
"If I wait until it's official," Michael said, his voice
tight, "then it's going to be too late. Insubordination at
least. Now I might be able to do something."
Todd was too smart to fight a losing engagement.
"Who're you going to talk to? Commander Shrake?"
"No. I'm going to screen Beth. If this is her idea, I need
to know why. If it isn't her idea, I need to know so
someone can't try to convince me that it is. When I know
that, then I'll try Shrake."
"Forewarned is forearmed," Todd agreed.
Michael nodded. One thing his com training had taught him.
Find a secure line if you want to discuss a sensitive
matter.
He guessed it was pretty sensitive when you were going to
place a person to person call to the Queen.
The ship that had captured theirs had been from Masada.
Judith had been too young to understand the difference
between pirates and privateers. When she was old enough to
know, she was also old enough to know that when it came to
Masadans preying on Graysons the distinctions were so much
fertilizer.
Her father had been killed helping to defend the ship. Her
mother had died trying to defend her child. Judith only
wished she could have died with them.
At twelve standards Judith was married to a man over four
times her age. Ephraim Templeton had captained the Masadan
privateer that had taken the Grayson vessel, and he
claimed the girl child as part of his prize. If this was
somewhat irregular, there was no one left alive to protest
when Judith was not repatriated to her own people.
Even disregarding the difference in their ages-Ephraim had
seen five and half decades by standard reckoning-Judith
and Ephraim were not at all alike. Where Ephraim was
heavily built, Judith possessed a light, gazelle's build.
Her hair was dark brown, sun-kissed with reddish gold
highlights. His was fair, silver mixed in increasing
proportion to the blond. The eyes Judith learned to carry
downcast lest Ephraim beat her for impudence were hazel,
brown ringing vibrant green. Ephraim's eyes were pale blue
and as cold as ice.
At thirteen Judith had her first miscarriage. When she had
her second miscarriage six months later, the doctor
suggested that her husband stop trying to impregnate her
for a few years lest her reproductive equipment suffer
permanent damage. Ephraim did as the doctor suggested,
though that didn't mean he stopped exercising his conjugal
privileges.
At sixteen Judith was pregnant again. When tests showed
that the unborn child was a girl, her husband ordered an
abortion, saying he didn't want to waste the useless bitch
he'd been feeding all these years to no purpose, and what
was more purposeless than breeding a girl child?
If before Judith had hated and feared Ephraim, now that
emotion transformed into loathing so deep she thought it a
wonder that her gaze did not sear Ephraim to ash where he
stood. Her sweat should have been acid on his skin, her
breath poison. That was how deeply she hated him.
Some women would have committed suicide. Some might have
resorted to murder-which in Masadan society was the same
as suicide, though a bit more satisfactory in that the
murderer achieved something in return for her death. But
Judith did neither.
She had a secret, a secret she held onto even as she bit
her lip to keep from crying out when her husband used her
again and yet again. She held onto it even when she saw
the grudging pity in the eyes of her co-wives. She held
onto it as she had from the moment she watched her mother
bleed her life out onto the deck plates, remembering that
brave woman's final warning.
"Never let them know that you can read."
It hadn't been Elizabeth's idea to have him posted to a
lumbering superdreadnought that would never even leave the
Star Kingdom's home binary system. Michael's relief when
he learned this was boundless. Even before their father's
death, Beth had encouraged Michael to find his own place,
to push his limits. Distracted as she had been by the
heavy responsibilities she assumed after their father's
tragic death, Beth had made time for Michael, listening to
the problems he couldn't seem to discuss with their
mother, the dowager Queen Angelique.
To have found that Beth had suddenly changed would have
been a new orphaning, worse in many ways, for on some
level Michael expected it-indeed, knew he should strive
for it, since it was his place to support his Queen, not
hers to support him.
Now that he knew that he would not be undermining his
Queen's policy, Michael made an appointment to see the
Fourth Form dean. That he could almost certainly have
demanded an appointment with the commandant of the Academy
and been granted it occurred to him, but the option was as
quickly rejected. The Navy could be-and was-officially
unyielding where matters of birth and privilege were
concerned. That didn't mean strings weren't quietly pulled
in the background, but anyone who too blatantly abused his
position could expect to pay a price throughout the entire
course of his career. Besides, it would have been self-
defeating. The appointment would have been granted to the
Crown Prince, not to Midshipman Michael Winton, and being
seen as Crown Prince Michael rather than Midshipman Winton
was precisely what Michael was trying to avoid.
However, if his appointment with the dean came rather more
promptly than even a fourth form midshipman who stood in
the top quarter of his class could usually hope for,
Michael wasn't fool enough to refuse it. He arrived
promptly, sharp in his undress uniform, every button,
sash, and bit of trim in as perfect order as he and Todd
could make them.
Michael saluted crisply when admitted to his superior
officer's presence. Indeed, though there had been those
who had expected the Crown Prince to indicate in fashions
subtle or less so that in the past these same officers had
bent knee before him, Michael had never given them reason.
He knew, as those who were not close to the Crown never
could, how human monarchs were, how an accident could make
an eighteen year-old queen ... could make a thirteen year-
old crown prince.
Michael wondered how many of those officers who expected
him to slight them realized how greatly he stood in awe of
them. They had earned their ranks, earned their awards and
honors. The long list of titles Michael heard recited on
formal occasions had nothing to do with him, everything to
do with his father.
He thought that Commander Brenda Shrake, Lady Weatherfell,
might actually realize how he felt, for there was a warmth
in her pale green eyes that spoke of understanding that in
no way could be confused with indulgence or laxity. The
dean's title identified her to Michael as the holder of a
prosperous grant on Sphinx, but long ago Lady Weatherfell
had decided that her calling was in the Navy.
Even the battle that had left traces of scaring on rather
stark features, that had bent and twisted two fingers of
her right hand, had not made her renounce her decision.
Instead Commander Shrake had moved with all the wisdom of
her long years shipboard to the academy, where, in
addition to her administrative duties, she taught some of
the toughest courses in fusion engineering.
Commander Shrake was a leader within an academy
responsible for turning out competent naval officers on
what anyone with any sense must realize was the eve of
war. There was no room for indulgence in her job, but
there was room for compassion.
"You wished to see me, Mr. Winton?"
Michael nodded stiffly.
"Yes, Ma'am. It's about a rumor."
"A rumor?"
Suddenly Michael felt the speeches he had been rehearsing
since Todd's revelation the day before dry up and flake
away. After a panicked moment, he forced himself to begin
afresh and was pleased to find words came smoothly.
"Yes, Ma'am. A rumor about Fourth Form postings."
Commander Shrake smiled. "Yes, those rumors would be
starting about now. They always do, no matter how
carefully we keep the information to ourselves."
She didn't ask how Michael had heard and for that Michael
was grateful. Getting Todd into trouble was not on his
agenda, but neither was lying to the Fourth Form dean.
"And whose posting is it you wish to speak about?"
Commander Shrake continued.
"My own, Ma'am."
"Yes?"
"Commander Shrake, I have heard that I am to be posted to
the SD Saint Elmo."
The dean didn't even make a show of consulting her
computer. Michael respected her for it. Doubtless the
matter had been discussed, maybe even debated. Someone at
Mount Royal Palace might even have leaked back news of
Michael's call to Beth last night.
"That matches my own information," Commander Shrake
replied. "Is that what you wished to know?"
"Yes, Ma'am, and no, Ma'am. I did wish to have the rumor
confirmed, Ma'am, but I," Michael took a deep breath and
let the rest of his words hurry out on its eddy, "also
wished to request another posting, Ma'am. One that isn't
so close to home."
"You have a desire to see more of the universe, Mr.
Winton?" asked the dean with a dangerous twinkle in her
eyes.
"Yes, Ma'am," Michael replied, "but that isn't my reason
for requesting a change of posting."
"And that reason is?"
"I want ..."
Michael hesitated. He'd been over this so many times he'd
lost count, and he still couldn't find a way to state his
case without sounding pompous.
"Ma'am, I want to be a naval officer, and I can't do that
if people start protecting me."
Twin silver arches of raised eyebrows made Michael flush.
"It is not the Navy's habit to protect her officers, Mr.
Winton," Commander Shrake said coolly, and the scarred
hand she rested on the desk in front of her was mute
testimony to her words. "Rather it is those officers' job
to protect the rest of the kingdom."
"Yes, Ma'am," Michael said, pressing on through he felt
he'd doomed his case. "That's why keeping me back here
isn't right. The Queen's brother ..."
The damned words fell from his lips like bricks.
"The Queen's brother might have right to protection, but
when I entered the academy I gave that up. It shouldn't
start again now that I'm about to leave."
Commander Shrake steepled her fingers thoughtfully.
"And that's what you think this posting is, Mr. Winton?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"And if I told you that Admiral Hemphill herself had heard
of your qualifications and requested you?"
"I would be pleased, Ma'am, but that wouldn't stop others
from thinking that I was being protected."
"And it matters to you what others think?"
"I'd like to say that it didn't, Ma'am," Michael said
earnestly, "but I'd be lying. I could live with it if it
was only me. I've done that before, but I don't like what
it might make others think about the Navy."
"Oh?"
"Yes, Ma'am.
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