Chapter 10
“…As the first of the champions, the Little Princeling selected from the treasures first, the other two champions choosing after him. The second champion chose diamonds, the third champion chose gold, and only then did the Little Princeling reveal his choice: salt. He spoke then, saying, ‘When we cross the great desert this salt will preserve my life alone. How many chests of diamonds and gold would you then trade for one taste?’”
—Bakri Basim, The Wise Little Princeling of Polo-Macao, excerpt from The Imperial Nursery Tale Collection of House Yung
For Saef and Inga the return to Core system felt unpleasantly similar to their last such experience, entering the system in Aurora, a captured enemy freighter loaded with a cargo of Shaper tech. As in their prior experience, they anticipated rough handling from Fleet authorities, though the extent of severity remained unclear.
By the time a pair of Fleet cutters approached Dromedary, Inga had enabled a digital route for Loki to access the transport’s fractional Intelligence, the memory stacks, and the official log, uncovering the outline of the plot that already enveloped them. Inga had then set her mind to disarming every trap that might await them with the time that remained.
“This vessel offers very poor instruments,” Loki complained to Inga as she observed the bridge monitor, little Tanta purring in her arms. “I do not like it.”
“You have noted this already,” Inga replied.
“Yes, Chief, and yet I now must monitor these approaching vessels very carefully, and these optical scopes are not even of a quality to match old Tanager’s.”
Inga sighed. “You must do your best with what Dromedary has, I’m afraid.”
The bridge access opened to Saef and Erik, with miserable Sponson in company. At Inga’s urging, Saef had recorded an investigative deposition of the steward, storing copies of it in various places. The enemy’s trap had required Sponson to die, and Inga felt he could conceivably fail to survive the coming encounter with Fleet Security, if their enemies could arrange a suitable “accident” to eliminate him. Altogether too many traitors already filled surprising positions in the hierarchy of the Imperial Fleet.
Even with Inga’s abundant precautions, she could see that Saef carried a thinly disguised weight of despondency over him. Obtaining another combat command within Fleet held the only pathway that matched Saef’s skills and desires to the needs of the moment. No matter how skillfully Inga defended them from the enemy machinations, a Fleet investigation might keep Saef beached for months, a lingering stink upon him that might never allow another substantive command.
Loki chattered subaudibly to Inga and she looked at the holo for a moment before turning to Saef and Erik. “They’re moving in to board us now.”
“Oh gods!” Sponson moaned plaintively, turning pale.
Inga stared at him, exasperated. “What are you fretting about, then?”
“They’re gonna say I mutinied. I know it!”
“I don’t know how anyone can seriously claim that,” Saef said, impatient. “The captain’s log said we killed you, and I’ll bet he said the same thing when Scarza’s squadron picked him up. Out of us all, you’re the only one likely to be commended.”
Inga kept her grim thoughts regarding Sponson’s potentially short future lifespan to herself as the cutters locked on.
Saef had already transmitted his report detailing the actual turn of events on Dromedary, but they both expected it to hold little weight with the brass. Thus far all communication from Fleet contained palpable currents of righteous outrage, and that pose would not diminish until the Admiralty settled upon the most convenient party to crucify.
Fleet Security and Marine teams clattered into Dromedary’s decks from the wet side and dry side simultaneously, making their way methodically through the vessel until they reached the bridge.
Though Inga held Tanta in a most peaceable pose, her usual arsenal lay waiting for instant use, and Saef bore the sword and pistol that comprised his customary wardrobe. Erik assumed the regular role of a prisoner on his parole, unarmed and seemingly passive.
Inga heard the clatter of rapid steps a moment before a boarding team appeared at the bridge access iris, their weapons held at high ready. A figure bearing lieutenant’s bars on his black ship suit stepped forward, slinging his carbine and detaching his breathing apparatus.
“Captain Saef Sinclair-Maru? You are hereby detained on order of Fleet Admiralty.”
“On what charge, Lieutenant?” Saef inquired, a look of modest curiosity on his face.
The lieutenant scanned over Inga, Sponson, and Erik, his eyes going back to Sponson for a moment before replying. “No charge, Captain. You are detained only for investigation.”
“Very well, Lieutenant.” Saef turned to indicate Sponson. “You see here the ranking crew member of Dromedary, evidently the only survivor of an attempted mutiny instigated by other Dromedary crew.”
The other members of the boarding team all stood within easy listening distance, and the lieutenant seemed uncomfortable with Saef’s emphasis, scowling. “Yes, yes. That will all be looked into.”
Saef shook his head. “If you are seizing this vessel, Lieutenant, you are relieving Sponson of his responsibility, and you are assuming that responsibility yourself. You must formally do so, and note this in Dromedary’s log.”
Inga saw the lieutenant flash an impatient look at Saef. “Just a formality, sir. I don’t have time—”
“In a vessel where bloody mutiny was just practiced, it is much more than a formality. It takes only an instant.” Saef glanced toward Inga. “Chief Maru?”
Inga transferred Tanta to the crook of her left arm and actuated the ship’s audio log link. “Please state your name and rank, sir, as you assume control of Dromedary from Specialist Sponson, the sole surviving crew member following Dromedary’s mutiny.”
The lieutenant flushed angrily, half-glancing toward his boarding team before snapping, “Lieutenant Tab Bernwell, right? Okay, enough of this. Let’s move.”
Inga jerked a short nod, ending the link. It was the final precaution she could manage, and hopefully enough to keep Sponson alive, and thereby protect them all.
As the boarding team encircled them, moving from the bridge, Saef said, “You know, Lieutenant, my shuttle is aboard Dromedary, and I still possess the pinnace allowance…I presume your vessel will find room for it?”
Inga smiled to herself as Tanta squirmed about to peer over her shoulder at the clattering security element behind. Saef took a high hand, but by regulation he held the right. Being merely detained for an investigation left Saef in possession of his most essential rights as a Fleet captain and a Vested Citizen, and he employed them strategically.
The lieutenant uttered a long-suffering sigh, clearly communicating with his superiors via his UI, but Inga knew those bureaucrats held few options. At the lieutenant’s expression and muttered comments, Inga’s sense of relief grew, knowing the shuttle, and therefore Loki, would remain under her eye.
Subaudibly Loki spoke: “Ooh, we’re moving from this poor excuse for a ship to one of these adjoining Fleet vessels? This is a good thing, Chief. They will surely offer much better instruments for my use!”
* * *
As a Fleet captain, Saef’s “detained” status meant little in terms of diminished daily liberties. He resided in the same officers’ quarters he had always used when duty called him to Imperial City, and he moved about the city without restraint and retained his personal weapons. His name fell from the list of active Fleet captains, and it would remain so until any investigations ended. Inga’s strategic preparations seemed to protect him from the peremptory accusations that certain elements of the Admiralty had hinted at, but Saef felt a sense of bottled rage growing each day he remained in enforced idleness.
The task before their inhuman enemy seemed quite simple when such a transparent frame-up could sideline one of Fleet’s most enterprising young captains, compliments of the Admiralty Lords themselves. With such corruption and incompetence, what could keep such an implacable enemy at bay?
Cabot and the Family barristers so far seemed only one more source of irritation. In his private grilling with the barristers, Saef endured a new source of emotional abrasion as they continually returned to the topic of Erik Sturmsohn. “Why did you individually parole this Sturmsohn person?” they had asked, and none of Saef’s answers seemed to satisfy them, openly challenging Saef’s judgment.
“So you armed your prisoner, illegally, on Dromedary? If the Admiralty picks up on that little beauty, how will we explain it?”
“If I had not armed him, Sponson would likely be dead now,” Saef had replied, barely keeping his temper in check.
“You can’t know that, Captain, and you certainly did not know that when you chose to arm a paroled enemy in contravention of every regulation.”
“That is true,” Saef had said, clinging to patience with difficulty. “When I armed him, I thought it might provide a modest chance for us all to simply survive…if we were very, very fortunate.”
The conversation with the barristers had continued like that until Saef felt his last vestige of forbearance fraying, concluding even as his replies had become clipped monosyllables through clenched teeth.
Cabot’s own private message to Saef comprised an odd exercise in extremes that Saef didn’t know how to handle: Your impulsiveness seems to bring perpetual trouble, Saef. However, if your Fleet career ends here with your honor yet intact, an interesting opportunity to command a private vessel has become available, and it may suit you and the Family. There remain options.
A private vessel?
Saef wondered what transport ship Cabot thought he was well suited to command, his irritation toward Cabot swelling as he reflected on Cabot’s blithe disregard for the needs of an aspiring Fleet captain in wartime. Cabot had all but grounded Saef not so long before as punishment for Saef’s unauthorized expenditure to restore Bess after the violent attack upon her. Saef could have understood Cabot’s reaction, perhaps, except that Saef embodied the goose that shat golden eggs, or the like. By crippling Saef’s efforts, Cabot literally shortened the lifespans of aging Family members who required costly Shaper-tech rejuv treatments if they were to survive beyond another decade or two. Teaching Saef such a lesson only served to reduce the capital Saef could extract from his Fleet career.
Of course, Cabot and some few of the older generation already enjoyed the benefits of full rejuv, gifts of a more opulent age in Sinclair-Maru fortunes, so Cabot’s own life and youth did not hang in the balance.
With a growing sense of ill-usage on every side, Saef moved listlessly about Imperial City, Inga forming his only regular company, though they sometimes secured a pass for Erik Sturmsohn to accompany them, freed from his own sequestered housing. While Erik endured the limitations of a paroled enemy, Saef felt little better. In this moment of humiliation, he wondered why Richard had not appeared to gloat at Saef’s misfortune. The delighted preening of his snobbish older brother remained all the moment of degradation lacked.
As Saef formed this thought, a formal Fleet message pinged within his UI. He read the steely words of a summons, turning to Inga. She measured the expression in his eyes, quietly asking, “The Admiralty?”
Saef nodded. “Yes, the Admiralty.”
* * *
It seemed years since Saef first walked through the vast doors in the heart of the dreary old Fleet Headquarters building, stepping before the Admiralty Lords, but in reality not even one year had elapsed since that day. In the months that intervened, he had achieved more than any Fleet captain had in centuries: leading a planetary assault that had recaptured an entire planet, taking or destroying numerous enemy vessels, and accruing more funds through prize money than most captains could hope to see in a century of service. He had achieved all this despite the withering disfavor reserved for upstarts and malcontents.
The indignation of it all choked Saef as he now seemed expected to beg for crumbs, to grovel before his superiors who should have perceived the Dromedary mutiny for the clumsy setup it clearly was.
Inga had detected Saef’s mood as she escorted him to Fleet headquarters, scanning his expression with sidelong looks before finally saying, “Your enemies clearly hope you will hang yourself with your own tongue.”
Some suggestion of Saef’s vexation must have appeared on his face, for Inga had waved a finger saying, “Don’t mistake me; slag them down for all I care. Either way I will be with you to the neck, right?”
Saef had managed the slightest of smiles to her before walking in to face the waiting admirals.
Though the words these same admirals spoke followed Saef’s expectations almost exactly, reading the accusation of Dromedary’s discredited captain with such awful gravity, his sense of exasperation grew moment by moment, until his desire to refute every allegation faded, submerged beneath a pool of cold fury.
When they finally asked Saef to speak, to answer the various accusations, he did not address the individual claims against him at all, his voice revealing little of his suppressed outrage. “Clearly Dromedary’s captain stands as a proven liar by Sponson’s testimony and by Sponson’s living presence. And this fact was clear from the moment we brought Dromedary in.” Saef paused to gaze up at the self-righteous faces gazing down at him. “This entire process here today is a waste, a boon to our enemies, and I am astonished you allow the enemy to twist us in knots in this way.”
While several of the Admiralty Lords began to speak, Fisker carried the weight, saying, “You dare to demean this board, Captain?”
“No, Admiral,” Saef said. “You do.” The gasp of outrage preceded a torrent of words, but he lifted his chin and continued. “I brought warning of an invasion months ago, but it continues to be ignored as our forces are infiltrated. Our secret orders are known to the enemy as soon as we receive them, and our finest fighting officers are shackled by both peacetime regulations and”—he waved his hand—“needless bureaucratic shows.”
“You are out of order, Captain,” Fisker barked in a cold voice. “Do not presume to teach senior admirals the art of strategy. Nothing you say addresses the serious accusations you face today.”
“Accusations?” Saef said, feeling the pulse of barely restrained anger. “You mean the series of impossibilities laid to my account, my lords?” He managed a bitter laugh. “Dromedary transitions to Core system, according to her honored captain, due to his own insightful act, delivering the mutineers into the hands of Fleet forces here. How did he manage it?” Saef shook his head. “This is not possible, and you should know it. There is no automation that can initiate an N-space transition. Need I go on?” But Saef continued without invitation, cutting off an angry murmur.
“Sponson still lives, his testimony is recorded and logged, identifying the true mutineers. There never should have been a moment wasted on this entire fiction, and yet here we are…for what real purpose?”
Admiral Nifesh had listened to Saef’s diatribe with an expression of gloating righteousness, but finally spoke up. “When irregularities and unlikely successes surround one captain—one young, brash captain—the purpose here becomes quite clear.”
Saef drew in a slow breath. “I see. So this really is not about Dromedary at all. It is merely a pretext.”
Admiral Char, a steady voice of the Admiralty, frowned, looking silently away from Saef, while Nifesh leaned forward, his thick-fingered hands gripping the lectern’s lip as he spoke. “We require no pretext, upstart. This mutiny is but one more scandal that follows you.” Nifesh paused to glance at his fellow Admiralty Lords before continuing, “A captain who refuses to follow orders will be punished, but somehow you are rewarded. A captain who only musters his courage when there are rich prizes to be had will be found out, and a captain who is shy on the battlefield will be shown for what he is.”
Saef felt the words like blows to his solar plexus, seeing his life’s ambition and his dreams turning to ash as Nifesh spoke.
This time no other admiral leaped in to explain away the words of Nifesh, to pull back from a personal accusation of dishonor, and despite the tumult of Saef’s anger and revulsion, he found one clear thread of wonder: How did the Admiralty Lords think I would swallow such words from any Citizen? How could any Vested Citizen accept such an affront?
“I see,” Saef said, inhaling one calming breath as he found his purchase upon the Deep Man and went on, “You have just accused me of cowardice, lying, and dishonorable greed, Admiral Nifesh.” Saef scanned over each admiral’s face, seeing uncertainty only in Fisker’s eyes, while Char would not meet his gaze.
Did they all honestly believe he would value his own honor so lightly? Or did he play into their hands, predictably through his…fixation upon honor as Inga once told him?
“Admiral Nifesh,” Saef said. “Through your dishonor, my honor is taken.”
As Saef spoke the formal words, he saw shocked expressions flower on the face of every admiral except Char, whose expression remained unchanged.
They really had thought he valued his honor so cheap, and this after he had once challenged Nifesh to a duel in this very room, not even a year ago!
“I hereby resign my Fleet commission, sir, so we may legally meet. You will hear from my seconds directly.”
Nifesh seemed shocked almost to silence, his tongue nervously dabbing his thick lips as he glanced uncertainly to the admirals at his left and right.
“You do recall the words, do you not, Admiral?” Saef prodded.
Nifesh opened his mouth, closed it, and then began again, his coarse voice grating out, “Regain what you will, for I—for I will meet you.”
Saef drew himself to his full height before glancing at Fisker, Char, and the lightworld admiral, Matheson. “As I am now a civilian, it appears our business is concluded here.” They remained silent, saying nothing as Saef dipped a shallow bow and turned on his heel.
Outside the old doors Inga waited, and from her expression he knew she had heard every word. The other Fleet officers waiting there refused to meet Saef’s eye, most of them probably hoping to gain a combat posting such as he had just irrevocably thrown away, and Saef had become a living blight, a human affront. To further heighten the moment, Saef blinked as the Fleet command UI overlay suddenly disappeared from his vision, the Fleet systems recognizing his new civilian status. He felt a shocked moment of pain from this visible, visceral sign of his new status but clenched his jaw and straightened his shoulders.
As soon as they moved off down the gloomy hallway, Saef glanced at Inga with the fire of fresh emotions still roiling him. “The fools actually believed I would stand there and just take that. How could they? Why would they think any Citizen would stand mute and accept such dishonorable slurs?”
Inga turned her measuring gaze on Saef, her one visible eyebrow raised in surprise. “Don’t you see? In less than a year you have claimed…what? Fifty? Sixty million credits in prizes? I wonder if there is another Citizen in the Myriad Worlds who would cut the flow of all that bloody wealth for the sake of their honor alone.”
Saef nearly stopped walking in his shock. “I cannot believe that, Maru. Would most Citizens trade their honor for money alone?”
Inga shrugged. “Even fewer who would say farewell to the cash and willingly fight a duel with a heavyworlder like Nifesh.”
Saef hoped Inga’s cynical assessment was incorrect, but was it only because it undermined his own crumbling faith in the Honor Code?
“What will you do now?” Inga asked.
“After this duel?” Saef asked, knowing she meant more than merely the duel. “Cabot has some private transport ship, or some such thing. I guess it needs a captain. Perhaps…perhaps I will look to that.”
But before Saef could settle into such a dismal fate, he needed to locate someone to serve as second for his duel…and then he must survive the sword of Nifesh.