Angela Niles fought for wakefulness. It seemed to take a long time. At one level she knew she was dreaming, but it was still real: the crowded alleys of High Shanghai, thousands of men and women in blue canvas clothing, not quite uniforms but so alike they looked like blue ants. They were shouting, screaming words she could not understand, but what they intended was clear enough. The blue ants were coming to kill her. She ran, and suddenly she wasn't alone, there were blue and gold uniforms, a different blue, CoDominium blue, and the tiny squad of CoDominium troops clustered around her. They pulled her away from the mob, then turned, fired a volley, then another, and the blue ants screamed and halted for a moment.
"Fall back." The Navy lieutenant spoke calmly. "First squad. Fall back toward the harbor. Kewney."
"Sir."
Cousin Harold. How did Cousin Harold get here? But he was here, in the uniform of a Navy middie.
"Can you fly that boat?"
"No, sir."
"The cox'n was killed."
"Yes, sir, I know."
"Right. All right, Midshipman. Fall back with the first squad. Halt while we're still in sight, and take defensive positions. Signal when you're ready. We'll hold here. Miss, you go with him—"
"But, yes, but, Harold, what are you doing here, who is this, what—"
"No time, Angie. Let's go!"
They ran, and now it was certainly a dream, because she couldn't move, her legs wouldn't work, she tried to run and couldn't—
"Try to remember," a voice said. Whose? "What happened then?"
Running. A Marine was holding her arm. Suddenly he stopped. His eyes grew very wide, and he stood, stock still, in the middle of the street. A long thin steel rod grew out of his chest, and blood came out of his mouth, and he crumpled, slowly, slowly—
"Come on Angie, run, dammit!"
Run. Then they were at the end of the block, and turned the corner, and she could see the harbor, not far away, with the long slender shape of the landing craft, and three sailors at the landing with guns, and the turret on top swiveled.
Harold touched his sleeve and spoke rapidly into the communicator card. There was more gunfire, and more people screaming, then the CoDominium lieutenant and his party came running down the street.
"Almost there," Harold said.
"Get her into the ship," the Lieutenant said.
"Sir, you can fly the damn thing. You get her on the ship."
He was very young, that lieutenant, no more than a boy, he looked so thin and so very young, no older than Harold. "Three minutes," he said. "Three minutes, Kewney, then run like hell."
Harold grinned. "You know it. Ready? Go for it!"
And the lieutenant took her hand and ran with her, pulling her along, and the turret guns fired over their heads, and there was more shooting, and noise everywhere. Something exploded close to them and one of the dockside sailors went down. The lieutenant shouted into his sleeve mike, "Mortars! Run for it, Kewney. NOW!" And dragged her on, to the boarding port, threw her into the cabin.
"Sound Board Ship!"
Recorded bugle notes blared into the bright afternoon. The lieutenant ran forward and moments later there were rumbles. Something exploded outside the hatchway, and a swarm of angry bees came through the open hatch, whipped past her and clattered against the bulkheads. There was another explosion.
"We're hulled!" a sailor shouted.
The engine sounds were louder now. She ran to the hatchway to look out, and shouted for Harold. She couldn't see anyone.
"Clear the hatch!" someone shouted. There were whirs and the hatchway began to close. She felt motion as the ship began to move.
"Harold! Harold!" And there was Harold, only he was an old man, and his face was melting, and then he was gone, and there was another man, and the ship began to fade and she was in a white room in bed, a hospital room, and the men beside the bed were a doctor in a white coat and a CoDominium Navy Commander, very thin. She knew them both. How? Who were they? Lermontov. That was his name. How did she know that?
"Did you ever see Midshipman Kewney again?" Commander Lermontov asked.
"No. I never saw him after we left him at the corner, on the street of—the Street of Three Moons." Her throat was dry, and her left arm hurt. She couldn't move it, and when she looked she saw that it was strapped to a board, and there was an IV inserted at the elbow. And she remembered. Pentothal, something like that. They wanted to question her. What had she told them?
* * *
"I've told you everything," she said. "Three times, and whatever I said when I was drugged. Why do we have to go over this again?"
"Your Uncle has demanded thorough investigation," Commander Lermontov said. "And that he will have." He used his stylus on the screen of his pocket computer. "So. You last saw Midshipman Kewney at corner, where he was ordered by Lieutenant Falkenberg to hold for three minutes before retreating."
"Actually Harold volunteered—"
"Yes. Thank you. How long after that order was given did ship begin to move?"
"I don't know—"
"Doctor says you believe was less than three minutes."
"How does he know?"
"I don't know," the white-coated man said. "I can only try to construct events from your memories. Based on what we heard, I conclude that you don't really know, but you suspect that Falkenberg took off as soon as he got you to the ship."
"What does he say?" Angela asked.
"You already know that," Doctor Wittgenstein said.
"He told me Harold was hit by mortar fire before we got to the boat."
"But you don't believe him."
"I don't—I don't know what to believe," she said.
"Boat lifted," Lermontov said. "It had not enough fuel to go to orbit, and was damaged."
Angela shuddered. "More damage than—I was shocked when we landed and I could look. It was amazing that it would fly."
"Buna class boat is designed to take damage. So. Falkenberg landed boat at offshore island. What happened there?"
"Nothing. It was perfectly safe there, the people were Thai, no Chinese. Very friendly. It was—nice there, safe and peaceful. So we waited, three weeks until the Navy could send another ship down with a repair crew. Then I was taken to Government House, and John—Lieutenant Falkenberg was sent to his ship. Nothing happened."
"Something happened," Lermontov said.
She frowned at his tone. "What do you mean?"
"Doctor—"
"Miss Niles, you are a month pregnant."
"Oh."
"You do not seem surprised. You took no precautions?"
She felt herself blushing.
"Miss Niles, I have daughter nearly your age," Lermontov said. "You took no precautions?"
She tried to sound casual. "I wasn't thinking about that at the time."
"Nor, apparently, was Lieutenant," Lermontov said. "In this era of disease you were perhaps foolhardy."
Angela shrugged. "Actually, there were no precautions to take—"
"On Navy ship there will always be kits," Lermontov said. "But you are in fact correct. Medical cabinet was damaged along with much other equipment."
"Commander, I fail to see how my condition is relevant—"
"Your uncle will not fail to see," Lermontov said. "Foolhardy young Falkenberg, sacrifices promising Midshipman grandson of Grand Senator, in order to save himself. Then seduces Grand Senator's niece." Lermontov stared pointedly at her midriff. "Evidence will be unmistakable in few weeks."
"Oh. Do you— I guess Uncle Adrian would see it that way."
"At least you're safe," Dr. Wittgenstein said. "That ought to make him grateful."
Angela shook her head. "I'm afraid he won't be, not very. He doesn't like my mother much, and Harold was special. A niece is not a grandson, Doctor. He'd have gladly traded me for Harold." She shrugged. "I think he planned for Harold to become Grand Admiral one day."
"So. What will you do now?" Lermontov asked.
"About—" She rubbed her belly. "It takes getting used to. Does John—does Lieutenant Falkenberg know?"
"Not unless you told him," Dr. Wittgenstein said.
But I didn't know— "You mean, he won't learn unless I tell him?"
Lermontov nodded. "I was told you are intelligent."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"I think I need not explain. What will Lieutenant Falkenberg do if he learns?"
She blushed again. "I suppose—I suppose he'd marry me, if I wanted him to."
"Is my prediction also," Lermontov said. "Under other circumstances would be good thing for young man's career, marriage to Bronson family. Now—"
"Now it would be ruin for both of us," Angela said. "What—what should I do?"
"You don't have to be pregnant," Dr. Wittgenstein said.
"Damn you! I was waiting for that! Why didn't—while I was still under, while you had me out, why didn't you just do it then, and I'd never have known? But no, you had to wake me up and tell me—"
"You want us to make decision for you?" Lermontov said. When she didn't answer, he turned to Wittgenstein. "Doctor, prepare operating room."
"Wait—no, wait—" She felt tears welling up in her eves. "What is it?"
"What is what— Oh," Wittgenstein said. "A girl."
"Commander—I want to see John Falkenberg."
"I cannot prevent," Lermontov said. "But I ask you do not. Not until you have decided what you will do. He is not stupid—"
"Do you know him?" she asked. "That's a strange thing to ask, isn't it? Do you know the—father of my unborn daughter? We had three weeks. A lifetime. I think I know him, but do I? I—oh, damn."
Lermontov's expression softened. "He is—was—considered promising young officer. Well regarded." He shrugged. "Pity no one sees Midshipman Kewney die. Now I do not know what we can do for Falkenberg."
"And I can't help—I can only make it worse," she said. "Oh, damn—what should I do?"
"Get rid of it," Lermontov said. "Then, in year, two years, when Senator has forgotten, you will meet again—"
"He'll never forget. And we'll never meet again."
Lermontov was going to speak but she cut him off. "You can't be sure, and I can't be sure," she said. "The only thing that is sure is that—we can kill my daughter."
"Fetus," Wittgenstein said. "Not—"
"I've studied embryology," Angela said. "You don't need to tell me the details." She was silent for a long time. Then she brushed the tears from her eyes and looked directly at Lermontov. "Commander, can you get me passage to Churchill?"
"Yes, but why Churchill?"
"I have relatives there. My branch of the family didn't get the big money, but we're not broke, you know. I'll get by—"
"If you do this, I cannot permit you to see Falkenberg again."
"You couldn't stop me if I demanded it, and you know it," she said. "But—maybe it's better this way. Tell him—" The words caught in her throat, and she felt the tears welling up again. "Tell him I thank him for saving my life, and I wish him well."
* * *
The young man marched stiffly into the compartment and saluted. "Lieutenant Falkenberg reporting to Commander Lermontov as ordered, sir."
The thin man behind the desk returned the salute. "Thank you. Have a seat."
"Sir?"
"I said, Sit Down."
"Aye, aye, sir." Falkenberg sat stiffly.
"You believe I am calling you in for punishment?"
Falkenberg fingered the dispatch case under his left arm. "I have orders—"
"I know," Lermontov interrupted. "Not orders I wished to issue, but there is nothing to be done."
"So I'm leaving the Fleet."
"No. Only Navy," Lermontov said. "Unless you prefer to leave Fleet entirely." The older man leaned forward and examined Falkenberg minutely. "I could not blame you if you did, but I hope you will not. I have arranged to transfer you to Marines. As lieutenant with seniority and brevet captain. Also, I have sent message to Senator Grant recommending that he obtain Grand Senate confirmation of Order of Merit, First Class, for you. I expect that will ensure permanent promotion to Marine captain." Lermontov sighed. "If we had better communications, if I could speak to Grant directly, perhaps none of this will be necessary. Perhaps. I do not gauge well the politics of Grand Senate."
Falkenberg glanced at his dispatch case. "Clearly I don't either. Sir."
"This is obvious," Lermontov said. "Yet you did right. Losing one squad of landing party to save others is difficult, but we are all satisfied there was nothing else to be done." He shrugged. "Is unfortunate that squad you lose is commanded by Bronson grandson, but you cannot know this."
"He was a good troop," Falkenberg said. "And actually I did know his connection to—"
Lermontov held up a hand, cutting him off. He glanced involuntarily around the room, then eyed Falkenberg narrowly. "You will never admit that to anyone else," he said. "That your actions cause this young man to be killed is regrettable but justified, and perhaps Bronson will forget. But if Grand Senator Bronson is reminded that you knew of his interest in Midshipman Kewney, it will be much more serious. He will never forget that. I suggest you avoid Senator in future."
"Yes, sir. Only—"
"Yes?"
"Sir, I have asked about Miss Niles, and no one seems to know where she is."
"She requested that she be sent to Churchill, where she has money and relatives. She left two days ago on message boat to rendezvous with ship bound for Churchill."
"Oh—I'd have thought—Did she have a message for me?"
"She says she is very grateful that you have saved her life."
"I see." He was silent for a moment. "Sir, what is my assignment?"
Lermontov smiled thinly. "You have several choices. As usual there is no end of trouble which must be attended to."