“I’ll miss her a lot, my lord.”

  Martinez sipped his coffee. “I might be able to get her transferred to Zanshaa, if you’d like that.”

  Mpanza’s eyes brightened. “In your household, my lord? Another orderly?”

  “No,” Martinez said, “but she’s a specialist in maintenance and repair of small vessels, and we’ll be coming in and out of Zanshaa City on shuttles. We’re going to need ground crew, and Juskiene is suited for the work.”

  “I’d be ecstatic,” Mpanza said.

  Martinez picked up his fork. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said.

  “Thank you, my lord!”

  Mpanza practically bounded from the room in his happiness.

  Martinez stared at the starscape on the wall as the mayfish oozed over his palate. At least someone, he thought, might get a happy ending.

  Chapter 11

  “Senior Squadron Commander Tantu has recognized the authority of the Restoration, and offers us the new ships building at Felarus.” Banerjee looked up at him from her console, and Martinez could see the joy and relief in her eyes.

  “Relay the news to Fleet Commander Jian,” Martinez said, “just in case she hasn’t seen it.”

  Felarus was the last major Fleet base that hadn’t recognized the Restoration, and Tantu’s submission had for all intents and purposes ended the war. A few warships on detached duty, or traveling from one base to another, were still unaccounted for, but they were scarcely a threat to the Combined Fleet or its plans.

  Martinez took a brief circuit around his new office in the Commandery, then paused before its broad window to enjoy the view of Zanshaa High City. He could see aides and cadets bustling about their affairs, birds flitting from tree to tree, clouds drifting through Zanshaa’s viridian sky. Pure delight tingled through him. He could scarcely believe that, after all those months aboard a ship, he had finally set foot on a planet and was breathing air that hadn’t been stored in a bottle.

  The Combined Fleet had passed through the Zarafan system in silence and sent no ships to occupy the ring station. From that point the Combined Fleet was under observation by the enemy, and theoretically in communication with Zanshaa, but Wei Jian had sent no demands, and offered no opportunities for dialogue, but instead let the Gruum government observe the torches of over a hundred warships aimed straight at them. The ships were on high alert, ready to fend off any ambushes such as those Martinez had prepared for Do-faq, but no ambushes materialized.

  When Jian finally entered the Zanshaa system, she sent to the capital the video of Do-faq surrendering his fleet—then waited developments, which came rapidly. The thirty-eight enemy warships detailed to guard Zanshaa, which had with a degree of cunning placed themselves on the far side of the system from the Combined Fleet and were in no position either to engage or defend the capital, surrendered within hours. Lady Gruum’s government lasted only half a day before being voted out of existence by a Convocation more interested in survival than in retaining solidarity with the greedy hacks they’d supported for two years.

  The Terran Lord Saïd, who had led the fight against the Naxids and headed the government until overthrown by the Gruum faction, was released from house arrest and appointed Lord Senior. Lord Chen, Terza’s father, was then appointed Minister of Right and Dominion, head of the civilian agency that supported the Fleet. Lord Ngeni, the Martinez family’s long-time patron, was put in charge of security and the police at the Ministry of Right-Mindedness. One of Wei Jian’s relatives, a judge, was made Minister for the Defense of the Praxis, which put him in charge of the black-clad fanatics of the Legion of Diligence.

  Saïd sent Lord Chen and a squad of police straight to the Commandery to relieve the officers on duty, to cut off computer access for all personnel, and to make certain that no data was destroyed. Lord Ngeni was sent to the Ministry of Right-Mindedness on a similar errand, and the headquarters of the Legion was likewise secured.

  Days before any element of the Combined Fleet docked at Zanshaa’s ring, Lord Chen had sent Wei Jian complete information on those forces still pledged to the Gruum government, all warships with their officers, crew, and armaments, and every ship building at every yard scattered through the empire. Demands for the submission of these elements were transmitted.

  While most of the Combined Fleet was deployed in the system to defend the capital against counterattack, nineteen ships docked with the ring after eleven days of deceleration. The ships included Los Angeles, Michi Chen’s flagship Judge Kasapa, and Wei Jian’s Crisis. Military constables debarked to secure the dockyard ahead of the ranking officers, and met there with hundreds of Terran constables shipped up from the planet or released from detention on the ring.

  Having taken the ring, the next step had been to secure Zanshaa City. The elevators that connected Zanshaa’s ring with the planet dropped on or near the planet’s equator, and from the elevator terminal to Zanshaa was a long and vulnerable ride even on a supersonic train.

  Accordingly, it was determined to send the first wave by shuttle down to Wi-hun airfield outside Zanshaa. This was where the Naxids had landed their occupying forces in the last war, and Martinez regretted the necessity, because the sonic booms rattling windows in the city wouldn’t be heard as the trumpet-blast of liberation, but a reminder of a miserable, murderous, and oppressive occupation.

  Martinez came down first, with his suite, and was met by a company of the constabulary—all Terran—and another Terran company of the Motor Patrol. The easiest route from Wi-hun into Zanshaa would be the Axtattle Parkway, but Naxids had been ambushed there in the last war, and a Daimong named Fer Tuga had made a great reputation for himself as “the Axtattle sniper” for the casualties he’d inflicted on enemy convoys. For all Martinez knew, Fer Tuga was back in business, on the other team, and crouched in his sniper’s nest waiting.

  Martinez chose a less efficient but far more discreet route into the city, and was driven without incident through the Lower Town to the switchback road that climbed to the High City through the Gates of the Exalted, and from there to the Commandery. The city seemed shabby and depressed, and there were a great many listless people on the streets. Apparently, the economic crisis that had helped to trigger the war was still ongoing.

  The atmosphere at the Commandery was disturbingly normal: people—not all Terran—going quietly about their business, doing the jobs that kept the Fleet in being, and the ships in touch with one another and their commanders. But there were armed Terran constables patrolling the big building, and an unnatural quiet pervading the halls, the dining rooms, and the communications center. Many of the staff, perhaps, expected to be arrested at any moment.

  Martinez met his father-in-law at the latter’s office in the Commandery. Maurice, Lord Chen, had gained weight during his period of house arrest and suffered from a slight tremor in his hands, perhaps not unconnected to the brandy fumes he trailed behind him. The office, with its lemon-yellow walls and pictures of long-dead Fleet heroes, seemed not to have been altered since his predecessor, Lady Tu-hon, had inhabited it. There was even a portrait of one of Tu-hon’s ancestors, though it had been taken from the wall and partly hidden behind a credenza.

  Lord Chen dropped heavily into his office chair and invited Martinez to take another seat.

  “By the all, it’s been hard,” Chen said. “Everything’s changed. I’ve been viewing the orders issued from the Commandery—issued by people I’d thought were friends of mine—and I’ve discovered what bloodthirsty little horrors they all were. Now, of course, these same people are all in orbit around me, telling me how great I am, how they were always on the side of the Restoration, and offering the names of former colleagues who should be arrested and interrogated.”

  “That sounds like business as usual,” Martinez said. “I thought you said everything has changed.”

  Lord Chen snarled. “I’d suggest killing them all, except that it would be too reminiscent of their own tactics. Instead, we should deprive them of rank and honor, and send them out to labor farms to harvest soybeans for the next fifty years.”

  Martinez had to admit that Chen painted a pleasing picture. “None of that is up to me,” he said. “But you should send the files to Wei Jian and to Terza, if you haven’t already.”

  Chen seemed not to have heard, but instead turned away and looked at an ornamental sculpture attached to the wall. It was made of dark wood and featured peaks and troughs similar to the waves of an ocean—or, Martinez thought, like a three-dimensional representation of spacetime.

  Hypnotizing, in its way. Certainly, Lord Chen seemed hypnotized. When he spoke, his words seemed to rise from the black depths of a singularity.

  “It’s all slipped away from me, somehow,” he said. He waved a trembling hand. “I may resign soon—not just the office, but the title. Terza will make a fine Lady Chen.” He turned to Martinez and raised one eyebrow. “You could be Lord Chen, if you want it.”

  “You’re the only Lord Chen we need right now,” Martinez said.

  Chen offered a melancholy smile. “That’s very kind of you, Gareth.” He turned to face Martinez. “I haven’t been a good host, I suppose. Would you join me in some brandy?”

  Martinez rose from his chair. “I would, but I have to pay my respects to the Lord Senior.”

  “Of course,” said Lord Chen. “And please convey my own best wishes.”

  “I’ll send you videos of Chai-chai and Mei-mei,” Martinez said. “You can catch up with your grandchildren.”

  Chen brightened. “That would be lovely,” he said.

  Martinez headed for the Commandery’s exit. His guards, armed military constabulary in their red belts and armbands, followed behind, not bothering at all to be discreet.

  He mused on his relationship with Lord Chen, which had always been uneasy. At the beginning of the Naxid War, Roland had put Chen under a considerable financial obligation, and then demanded Terza for his brother as part of the payment. Martinez knew that Chen resented his daughter’s being married to a man he considered a hayseed from a distant, unimportant world, and he absolutely hated the idea of one of that hayseed’s children being in line to become Lord or Lady Chen, spoiling centuries of the scrupulous managing of bloodlines with other High City families.

  When he’d learned that he would be expected to marry Terza, Martinez’s relationship with Sula had just blown apart, and he had gone through with the marriage in a state of stunned hopelessness. But he’d realized that Terza was the real victim of this arrangement, and he’d sworn to treat her fairly and to be a good husband to her.

  Except, of course, now he wasn’t.

  After two years of war and house arrest, perhaps Lord Chen had reconsidered his position, or at any rate reordered his priorities. Perhaps, in the face of a long, bloody, and destructive civil war, a pure bloodline was no longer the most important thing in the world.

  Or perhaps Lord Chen was simply a mellow drunk. Time would tell.

  Martinez walked from the Commandery to the Convocation along the Boulevard of the Praxis, and his heart soared at the sight of the flowers planted in their rows, the impressive façades of the government buildings, the warmth of the sun on his face, the smells of earth and living things. He even delighted in the statues of The Great Master Delivering the Praxis to Other Peoples, an allegorical piece he normally viewed as a heavy-handed atrocity.

  Thanks to his victories at yachting and his prominent role in the documentary series about the Naxid War, he was very recognizable, especially as he was wearing full dress with the golden disk of the Orb at his throat. People on the boulevard for the most part regarded him with caution, and some stepped aside for him as if they were afraid they’d be shouldered off the walk. A few humans cheered and applauded. He gave them a nod and a wave.

  When he passed into the foyer through the iconic bronze doors of the Convocation, with the famous relief The Many Species of the Empire Being Uplifted by the Praxis, he was met by aides who escorted him past multiple layers of security to the office of the Lord Senior. Unlike Lord Chen’s office, hardly changed from its occupation under Lady Tu-hon, Lord Saïd now firmly inhabited his quarters. The dark-paneled walls held portraits of ancestors and former occupants of the office. Lord Saïd’s rayed badge hung in a place of honor, and his desk was covered with carvings of fruit and grain, symbols of abundance. The floor was deep with bright, handwoven carpets. Saïd’s red ceremonial cloak hung on a special stand, adjacent to another stand that held the ornate copper wand with which he controlled debate in the Convocation. The room held a slight musky smell, something like sandalwood.

  The Lord Senior himself was an ancient, wizened figure, his oversized beak of a nose dominating a shrunken, wrinkled face.

  “I bring good news, Lord Senior,” Martinez said. “Tantu’s surrendered the ships at Felarus. I think that means the fighting’s at an end.”

  Saïd’s eyes glowed--- in contrast to his frail appearance, Saïd’s eyes seemed to gleam with youth and intelligence.

  “I shall celebrate with tea and lemon cake,” he said. “Perhaps you will join me? If you would prefer something other than tea, I would be happy to provide it.”

  “Tea would be very welcome. And the lemon cake also.”

  Martinez sat in a chair that quietly adjusted itself to his physique as he and Saïd exchanged pleasantries. The tea came in on a trolley, pushed by a Cree servant nearly as old as Saïd himself. The Cree poured from a distinctive eight-sided cobalt-blue teapot, and a smoky scent rose in the room. Sula, Martinez thought, would know who had made that teapot, and how many centuries old it was, and what kind of tea was being served.

  For himself, he knew the teapot was a teapot, and that it had tea in it, but he also knew the sort of reception that was expected, so he took the cup, inhaled its aroma, and took a taste.

  It tasted very much like tea. “Exquisite,” he pronounced. “I don’t believe I’ve tasted anything quite like it.”

  “It’s a first cutting from my estates in the Lossing Highlands,” Saïd said. “I’m so pleased you like it.”

  The lemon cake tasted like lemon cake, but then Martinez liked lemon cake and had no objections.

  After tea, Martinez circled back to the business at hand. “How can the Fleet help you, Lord Senior?” he asked.

  “You can send more recruits down to the planet’s surface,” said Saïd. “We’re outnumbered here. I’ve disbanded Tu-hon’s militia, the Steadfast League, and they’re supposed to turn in their weapons, but they might decide to turn them on us instead, storm the High City just as Lady Sula once did.”

  “What about Tu-hon herself?”

  “She and Gruum and the other chieftains of their clique are under arrest,” Saïd said. “The best thing would be to get them on a shuttle and up to the ring station as soon as possible, to prevent any possibility of rescue.”

  “We could simply shoot them,” Martinez said.

  “Oh, they will certainly be executed,” Saïd said. “But I want them humiliated and disgraced first.”

  “I can’t say I disagree.”

  Saïd’s eyes turned solemn. “We are surrounded by felons and thieves,” he said. “So many people were denounced as being in league with the Terran criminals . . .” His eyes flickered. “In league with you, and with your family.”

  Martinez felt a flush warm his skin. “I’m sorry that my family was used as an excuse for . . .”

  Saïd waved a hand. “That doesn’t matter. They would have found an excuse no matter what your family did.” He leaned forward. His head suddenly seemed very heavy, and it sank down deep into his thin shoulders. “Many of those denounced lost their lives,” he said, “and the rest lost money and property. Gruum’s clique didn’t victimize the highest ranks of Terran Peers—I was safe, and Lord Chen, and the Yoshitoshis and Ngenis and so on—but they felt free to prey upon those who were less prominent, and whose disappearance wouldn’t create a big fuss.”

  “Lost money and property can be returned,” Martinez said. “I presume there are records of all these dealings, and I imagine the executions were broadcast on the Punishment Channel.”

  “Yes, yes.” Again, Saïd waved a hand. “But it will be an enormous undertaking to straighten all this out, and the crimes took place from one end of the empire to the other. The only way to counter the round of denunciations will be to call for a new round of denunciations, this time of the Tu-hon clique. It won’t be pretty, and it will go on for some time.”

  “It will be a very large task,” Martinez said. “I would offer the Fleet’s assistance, but I’m not sure how the Fleet can help.”

  “As I said, send down more constabulary,” Saïd repeated. “The government must be made safe, and those who prosecute our enemies must be safe as well.”

  “I’ll transmit the request to Fleetcom Jian,” said Martinez. “We’ll soon have no lack of personnel. We can bring retired crew back to the service, and train new volunteers.” He shook his head. “We’re going to have to train a lot of new recruits in any case, to crew the ships we build to replace losses.”

  “I imagine Fleetcom Jian would approve of any projects that would increase the number of ships and personnel under her command.”

  “I can’t think otherwise.” Martinez turned to the door as the ancient Cree entered and offered to refill their teacups. Martinez held out his teacup wordlessly, and as the Daimong poured, he turned back to Saïd.

  “Is there any other way I can help you, Lord Saïd?”

  Saïd frowned. “Your brother’s messages have been urging me to consider the economic policies of someone named Ming Lin. Yet Miss Lin’s program is opposed to everything my advisors and the Imperial Bank are telling me.”

  “The economy of Harzapid is booming,” Martinez said, “along with the economies of all the planets in the Restoration’s sphere. You still seem to be in an economic depression here, which would cause me to question the policies of all your banks and advisers.”