“I’ve known a number of widows,” Severin decided, “and had nothing against any of them.”

  He was something of a young widower himself, Severin thought. It was a thing they might have in common.

  “Ismir Falana was one of my signals officers in the last war,” Martinez said. “The Restoration promoted him to command of the Courage and he and his ship died at Second Shulduc. He was married for less than three years, I think, and now Alaya’s en route to Zanshaa to settle the estate. She’s a Bellanti from Devajjo.”

  “Ah,” said Roland. “Transportation, electronics, infrastructure. If you want a town built on a new world, you’d give the Bellantis a call—” He smiled. “After you called us, of course, at the Chee Company.”

  “They compete with you in outfitting new worlds?” Severin wasn’t certain he wanted to become an out-and-out rival of the Martinez clan.

  Roland shrugged. “Plenty of new real estate to go around,” he said. “More to the point, the Bellantis are very rich, but their operations are confined to the Hone Reach. They haven’t got the muscle to win the big contracts handed out at Zanshaa.” He looked at Severin and raised his glass in salute. “But if they are connected by marriage with a convocate who happens to be the patron of a world like Lorkin, I’d think it would be a cause for celebration all around.”

  Severin looked at Martinez. “And the lady?” he asked.

  Martinez gave him an equivocal look. “I barely know her,” he said, “but she seemed a pleasant person.” He gave the business a moment’s thought. “Now that I’m a convocate I’ll be forever attending receptions and parties, or giving them. I can invite Alaya and introduce you.”

  Severin gave Martinez a look. “Do you know if she’s even looking for a new husband?”

  “No idea. I can ask her, I suppose, in a theoretical sort of way, without mentioning you.” He gave an insinuating little smile. “Unless you want to be mentioned.”

  Severin was surprised and a little intimidated by the efficient and enthusiastic manner in which the Martinez brothers had jumped into the matter of his matrimony. He hadn’t been entirely serious when he’d asked if Roland knew a suitable bride, but apparently Roland had taken the question at face value.

  Though that was, he imagined, how the upper-upper-whatevers viewed matrimony. He supposed that Gareth Martinez had hardly hesitated when given the opportunity to marry Terza Chen, whose family connections could guarantee him promotion, employment, a rise in status, and a wider scope to exercise his talents.

  Love was not an issue that arose in these sorts of discussions, but Severin supposed he was all right with that. He had bade farewell to love when Lady Starkey died, and now his life was a series of problems to be resolved rather than an exhilarating series of experiences to be lived.

  Existence, without the addition of Lady Starkey, was drained of color.

  “Well,” he said. “I’ll see her.”

  “Good. That’s settled, then.” Martinez turned to Roland. “Do you know,” he said, “I’d like to be a fleet commander again.”

  Roland gave him a narrow glance. “Becoming a convocate isn’t enough for one day?” he asked.

  “What we need is legislation,” Martinez said, “making all promotions within the Restoration permanent with seniority from date of promotion.”

  “That will make you senior to all Wei Jian’s top officers,” Roland said. “She’d never approve.”

  “Last I heard, the Convocation was senior to Wei Jian,” Martinez said. “Her approval isn’t necessary. But to avoid her objections, at the same time we can offer Wei Jian something she’d jump at.”

  Roland gave his brother a suspicious look. “Yes?”

  “We can appoint her Supreme Commander.”

  Roland’s suspicion deepened. “You’ve always said the office of Supreme Commander was useless and ridiculous,” he said.

  “I have, and frequently,” Martinez said. “If Wei Jian accepts, it won’t change a thing—she’s already the most senior active officer in the Fleet, so all she’ll get is the title. So if she chooses to accept the office, it will change nothing, and gratify nothing but her vanity—and she’ll be seen to abandon her own officers who will see the Fourth Fleet commanders raised over their heads.”

  “How badly do you want to split the Fleet?” Roland asked.

  “Wei Jian split the Fleet when she insisted on taking command of a victorious force that didn’t belong to her,” Martinez said. “The split was plastered over for the duration of the war, but those of us who fought while Jian was hiding at Tai-ma would very much like recognition of our efforts, thank you.”

  “Let me think about it,” Roland said.

  “You could also give her a parade or something. I bet she’d like a parade.”

  Roland gave him a pointed look. “I’m sure you wouldn’t turn one down.”

  Martinez grinned. “Who would?” he asked.

  “Congratulations, my lady,” said Lord Saïd. “You are the youngest convocate in centuries. I’m sure your career will be both long sand brilliant.”

  “Thank you, Lord Senior,” said Lady Koridun. She wore a Chesko gown shining with blued metal mirrors that reflected a shimmering world blue-shifted to a higher frequency. Her eyes shone a different shade of blue, and her gray-and-cream fur had been brushed to a high gloss.

  Putting Koridun in the wine-red jacket of a convocate, Sula thought, would serve only to diminish her glamour.

  Saïd’s dark, discerning eyes turned to Sula. “Lady Sula,” he said. “I hope the expanded Convocation is to your liking.”

  “It is, mostly,” Sula said. She felt a prickling in her nerves at the knowledge that Martinez was in the room, barely visible near the gleaming podium near the top of the chamber.

  Saïd nodded. “I have led the empire now through two wars,” he said, “and I recognize the need for change. Such changes must come now, if they are ever to come at all.” He gave a glance in the direction of the Martinez brothers. “The old cannot stand, yet the new is fraught with danger. Too radical a change might be as dangerous as no change at all.”

  “In my opinion,” said Sula, “radical change is necessary, though perhaps not the radical change others are planning.”

  Saïd’s eyebrows lifted. “Yes?”

  “I think it’s foolish to put all governance into the hands of two percent of the population,” Sula said. “The talents of the remainder are wasted. I would open government office to all qualified candidates regardless of their origin.”

  “And qualifications are determined how?”

  “Competitive examination.”

  Saïd considered this with a frown. “That is radical,” he said. “Not to say revolutionary. You might have another war on your hands. Peers take pride knowing that certain positions belong to them by right.”

  Sula dismissed the privileges of the Peers with a shrug. “We can start slowly, with lesser offices. Once the lower offices are filled with talented personnel, there will be pressure from below to enlarge the pool of candidates, as well as—let’s hope—pressure from above.”

  Lady Koridun’s large night-adapted blue eyes gazed unblinking at Sula. “You aim to make the Peers obsolete,” she said.

  Sula could have wished that Koridun hadn’t said this right in front of Saïd. As someone from the absolute top rank of Peers, he might not appreciate being turned out to pasture by an upstart officer.

  “Not at all,” Sula answered. “I think the Peers, as always, should lead the empire to a glorious and prosperous future.”

  Cynicism touched Saïd’s smile. “It is a future I will not see,” he said. “It is time to admit that age will soon bring an end to my service to the empire.”

  Sula felt a slow shock move through her nerves, not so much at the knowledge that Saïd would soon retire, but at the fact that he was willing to discuss it with two very junior convocates. Has he told everyone? she asked herself. Because once it was known that he would soon retire, people would no longer fear his displeasure, and he would lose a degree of his authority.

  “I will remain in my present position,” he said, “long enough to assure that suitable reforms are passed and that they are made as permanent as possible, but I will retire as soon as that is accomplished. You should give some thought to my successor.”

  A sardonic thought rose in Sula’s mind. “I’m sure Roland Martinez would be happy to succeed you,” she said.

  “He is very able,” Saïd said. “But too young, and too junior. The next candidate should be more seasoned, and preferably from one of the old High City families.”

  Possible candidates flashed through Sula’s mind. Most of them, she thought, were too conservative, or too unimaginative, to make a suitable leader in a time of transformation.

  “I hope your lordship’s tenure may continue,” Sula said.

  “Ah, Lady Sula, you would condemn me to eternal misery,” said Saïd. There was sorrow in his brown eyes. “To command the state, particularly in these times, is to steer a battered barque through an endless storm, only to find a safe harbor ever receding on the horizon.”

  “That is why I don’t want to change captains,” Sula said. “You have the authority to stand by a decision and enforce it.”

  “As I said, I will remain at the helm for a while longer. But mortality claims even the most skilled of captains.” Saïd smiled. “It is best to plan for a successor now, rather than surrender the choice to fate.” He offered a brief laugh. “Having survived the hazards of this last war, I desire nothing so much as to retire to the country and enjoy my vineyards and the shade of my orange groves.”

  Sula hoped those orange trees wouldn’t burn in a new war.

  “You’ve earned your retirement,” Sula said. She glanced again at the Martinez brothers across the room, involved in an intent discussion with Nikki Severin. “I wish you a long and peaceful retreat.”

  She wondered how many others would so willingly give up the kind of power that Lord Saïd possessed, and whether it was even wise to do so. He could so easily become the target of a successor, who would blame Saïd for any unforeseeable, challenging problems that arose.

  “And now,” Saïd said. An expression of mischief crossed his face. “If you’ll forgive me for raising the matter, I wonder if you have given any further thought to my grandnephew Eveleth.”

  Sula burst into laughter. “I haven’t had the time, Lord Senior,” she said.

  “An exemplary young man, as I believe I have stated.”

  “I have no doubt,” Sula said. “But I also have no time.”

  Later, as Sula and Lady Koridun left the hall through its doors inlaid with arculé wood, Koridun turned to Sula and asked, “Is this a typical day in the Convocation?”

  “Not at all,” Sula said. “And I wonder if Lord Saïd is announcing his upcoming retirement to everyone, or just to us.”

  Koridun blinked her luminous blue eyes. “Why would he tell just us?”

  “That’s just what I’m wondering.” She frowned as she considered. “He wants us to do something, maybe. But what?”

  She considered his words again, and something clicked for her.

  Find your own candidate, she thought, and match him against whoever the Martinez family puts forward.

  Interesting.

  Chapter 15

  “My lady,” said Sula, “Distchin mismanagement of Spannan is so well known that it’s almost proverbial. How do you imagine this idea became so widespread?”

  Lady Distchin—elderly, with large dark bubbles protecting her night-adapted eyes, brown and white fur combed beautifully to cover the bald patches brought by age—had not taken Sula’s hint to resign her seat in Convocation, and instead had insisted on a full hearing before the Court of Honor.

  Sula was delighted at the opportunity. Crucial years of her childhood and adolescence had been spent on Spannan, probably the most mismanaged planet in the empire, and she had wanted for years to tell the head of Clan Distchin exactly what she thought of her.

  Glittering in the spotlights, Lady Distchin sat alone before her panel of judges. Jewels and biliments were braided into her fur, and an aigrette with a spray of gems was fixed in her cap. The scent that drifted from her was musk and spice. The chair in which she had settled was plain, possibly the least ornamented chair in which she had ever planted her plush bottom.

  At the question, Lady Distchin wrinkled her nose as if in response to a bad smell. “Others are jealous of us!” she said. She spoke with the languid High City drawl that was guaranteed to irritate Sula. “We are one of the oldest and most respected families among the Peers. We have been patrons of Spannan for dozens of generations and have raised what was once an unpopulated world to a productive planet that is the envy of the empire.”

  “I’ve never heard of anyone envying Spannan,” Sula said, “and when I lived there myself, it’s safe to say that no one envied me. It was clear to me even as young girl that the place was a stew of corruption, incompetence, and crime.” She waved a hand. “Everyone complained about how every time anyone wanted to start a business or produce a new product, some agent of the Distchin family was there to collect a fee or a tax or a bribe. Everyone there hates you and your family.” She offered a brief laugh. “Though of course you wouldn’t know that. You’ve never been on Spannan. Neither was the previous Lord Distchin. Neither was his predecessor.”

  “Jealousy!” sniffed Lady Distchin. “We are one of the grandest families in the empire! The opinions of anonymous, carping members of the lower orders are of no consideration!”

  “Do you call me a member of a lower order than yourself?” Sula asked.

  Distchin’s snarl revealed one pendant fang. “Out of courtesy to a member of this august body I shall not respond to the question.”

  “You deny allegations that your family profits from extortion?”

  More fangs flashed. “Of course!”

  “Let’s look at your finances, then,” Sula said. “I’ve sent the Treasury a warrant for your financials, and the staff has been sorting through the public record as well.”

  Imperial citizens had paid a 1 percent tax on their income for only ten years or so, as a response to the need for paying for the Naxid War, but the ten years’ information revealed much. Sula reported the sums flowing into Distchin’s accounts and compared it with the amount spent on Spannan itself—on improvements, maintenance, and salaries.

  The amount coming out of Spannan was colossal. The amount going in was a very small percentage of the returns.

  The only thing that frustrated Sula was that she couldn’t tie Distchin to the extortionate activities of the Tu-hon clique. Apparently, Lady Distchin was far too grand to ally herself with a seedy group of politicians, however grasping.

  Sula reported the final figures with a flourish, then glanced up at Lady Distchin.

  “The thing I find most astonishing about these figures,” she said, “is that year after year, you somehow manage to spend it all.”

  Distchin made a gesture of contempt. “This morbid emphasis on my finances is in the worst of taste,” she said. “I am proud to say that I have no knowledge whatever of my financial affairs.”

  “The money arrives, and you spend it. Does that sum up your attitude?”

  Lady Distchin waved a hand. “I have no ‘attitude,’ as you put it. That would be vulgar.”

  “The inhabitants of Spannan have the lowest per capita income of any settled planet in the empire. Do you in any way hold yourself responsible for that?”

  Distchin sniffed. “I can only imagine that the people of Spannan lack ambition.”

  Sula grinned. “As opposed to being systematically robbed by a family of grasping, gluttonous racketeers and their money-grubbing sycophants?”

  Distchin tottered to her feet. “I have no intention of being insulted any further!”

  Sula laughed. “I have not begun to insult you, Lady Distchin!” she said. “I remind you that you requested this hearing.” Triumph fizzed in her blood like sparkling wine. “Now I suggest,” she said, “that you sit your fat ass back on that chair before I have the sergeant-at-arms return you by force.”

  The fur on Distchin’s head and body stood on end, making her resemble one of the plush Torminel dolls so popular with Terran children. But she smoothed her hair with an act of will and returned to her seat. Sula looked at her and smiled.

  “Are you aware, Lady Distchin, that criminals on Spannan are known as linkboys?”

  Distchin sniffed again. “I have no acquaintance with criminals.”

  “Are you not acquainted with your own family, then?”

  As there was no response, not even a sniff, Sula continued. “Can you guess why these criminals are called linkboys, my lady?”

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “Because they are all linked to a network that runs from the criminal underworld to the highest echelons of society—and to you, Lady Distchin.”

  Distchin’s lips twisted. “I can only repeat that I know no criminals.”

  “At this point I would like to call as a witness a native of Spannan, Mr. Am-tra.”

  When Lamey had arrived on Zanshaa he was a member of a delegation hoping to end Distchin patronage of their world, and though Lamey was quietly rotting in an abandoned refrigerator on Zarafan’s ring, his delegation was still present, and still eager to tell their story. Am-tra, a former police official, stepped in to testify to the numerous links between criminals and members of the Distchin clan, and with a series of graphics showed how the money moved from account to account, with each handler taking a piece of the profits.

  Another member of the delegation testified to numerous accidental deaths due to failure to maintain Spannan’s infrastructure, while another delivered statistics on the spread of poverty and the large number of emigrants leaving Spannan in hopes of a better life.

  Lady Distchin was offered a chance to respond and promptly claimed that the witnesses were insurrectionists who were a menace to society.