Hobart glanced around the room, his gaze roaming from one proof of his eminence to another. Would his family be devastated if he were assassinated? Delphine would be; she could cry and cry until her pretty face was all swollen and splotched with ugly color. The girls would cry, but only for awhile, he was sure. They would look for another patron, another source of favor and another dispenser of luxuries. Fickle, that’s what women were, unless you trained them well, as he had trained Delphine. The boys, though—if he had brought them up well, they would be planning already how to avenge him, and how to gain more power.
But he would not be assassinated. He would be more careful than Bunny, more alert to covert threats, less—not less brave, but less foolhardy. Brun had no doubt got her foolhardy genes from him, not from prudent Miranda.
His excitement mounted as he went on through the list. If he had had Bunny killed—and the thought had crossed his mind more than once, in the year when it seemed that nothing else would get that great fool out of an office he was unfit to fill—he could not have chosen a better time. Best of all, he hadn’t done it himself; he’d had nothing to do with it. Fate had finally come over to his side. He had proven himself capable of succeeding against the worst Fate could do, and now Fate—womanlike—had chosen him for that very energy and persistence and will to triumph.
He closed his eyes a moment, allowing himself the luxury of imagining the moment when he took over as Speaker—when the faces which had ignored or turned away turned to him—had to turn to him—and he could finally show his true abilities. I will make the Familias great, and everyone will know who saved it from destruction.
“I didn’t know they would take it out of my pay,” Ensign Barin Serrano said. His voice almost squeaked, but he couldn’t help it. His entire paycheck, gone . . . nothing in his credit cube, and he’d already ordered the traditional engagement and wedding gifts.
“Well, who did you think would pay for it? Those people have already used up the Sector discretionary fund, and most of the recreational reserve. And they’re not even charging you for all of them, just the ones your pay will cover.”
“Ten dependents . . .” Barin murmured. That would eat up all his pay after he was promoted, too. He supposed he should count himself lucky that Fleet regulations prohibited official indebtedness. “And I’m not even married. How could they do this to me?”
“Look at it this way, sir—it’ll keep you out of trouble.”
“No . . . not really. I’ve just sent in my order for the wedding . . .”
“Well, sir—”
“Attention all hands . . . attention all hands . . .” A pause, during which Barin tried to think how to get himself out of his present financial fix. Then the captain’s voice: “It is my sad duty to announce that the Speaker of the Table of Ministers has been assassinated. Stand by . . .”
Barin stared at the chief, who stared back. The Speaker assassinated? Where? How?
And what would happen to Brun, and all those women?
“Lieutenant Suiza, there’s a flash priority message, Cobalt encryption.”
“Ummm . . .” Esmay Suiza’s mind had drifted, as it did often these days, to Barin. “Right—well—keep a link to the ansible and I’ll get the captain.” The last priority message had been medical, directing them to relieve senior NCOs with rejuv of duty, but they had none aboard. Maybe this one would be useful. What she wanted was a message from Barin, preferably with a friendly reaction from his family. Being on two different ships really hampered communication; she hoped they could meet in person for a few days. Captain Solis knew she was due leave; he had already said she could take the time off. But she’d heard nothing. . . .
Captain Solis, never talkative this early in first shift, became even more silent after the encrypted message had gone to his console. Esmay glanced over. “Sir?”
“I . . . said nothing, Lieutenant.” He met her eyes. “Lord Thornbuckle is dead. Assassinated. Presumably—” his gaze dropped to the readout of the decryption device. “Presumably it’s the New Texas Militia, in retaliation for our execution of their Rangers.” A pause, during which Esmay did her best not to ask the question that hammered at her mind. He answered it anyway. “Lieutenant, you can count on all leaves being cancelled. I’m sorry. There are some things more urgent than a wedding.”
“It won’t hurt to do the paperwork,” Esmay said, without thinking. Solis gave her a long look, but finally nodded.
“Good idea. Then if you get the chance . . . but in the meantime, I want a threat assessment . . . get started on that while I make the announcement to the crew.”
Newscast: “General Casimir Suiza announced today that the Landbride Suiza is planning to marry an outlander, Barin Serrano, also an officer in the Regular Space Service. Opposition to any such outlander marriage is expected from the Landsman’s Guild; questions have already been asked about the succession, in view of the fact that Landbride Suiza continues to reside offworld and serve in the Regular Space Service. In other news, the Speaker of the Table of Ministers has been assassinated on Castle Rock . . .”
Newscast: “ . . . of more concern is the threat of renewed violence from the New Texas Militia branches which were not destroyed by the Familias Regnant in their extravagant attempt to rescue the Speaker’s daughter. Questions have been raised in Parliament about the involvement of Guernesi intelligence personnel in that attempt, and whether such cooperation with the Familias Regnant compromised Guernesi interests . . .”
Whatever the Familias Regnant hoped to gain by attacking the Texan Militia, and despite the successful extrication of the Speaker’s daughter, they will find they have poked a hornet’s nest. Although it is tempting to take advantage of this, I believe that any contact with the Militia would endanger our longstanding policy, and would risk alienating the Holy Father.
Our intelligence reports indicate continuing and widening splits between the ruling elements, however, which might well be exploited without entangling us with the New Texans. Project Dance has provided the most accurate assessments so far of the behaviors of major Familias septs. Project Retainer is showing a profit, and the latest data indicate that some 15–23% of the R.S.S. senior NCO corps will be severely affected within another 180 days, with peak incidence at 250–300 days. Three independent sources confirm early failure beginning over 300 days ago. It is somewhat surprising that the Familias have not cut back manufacture and distribution of the drugs . . .
At the request of the Table of Ministers and the Grand Council, all ships not on high-alert status will maintain one minute of silence at 1200 hours on the day of Lord Thornbuckle’s funeral, and no other recognition shall be given; specifically there shall be no salute of arms.
“One minute of silence in respect for the Speaker of the Grand Council.”
Silence dragged on. Longer than a minute, it felt like. Esmay wondered how Brun was holding up. She had not had time to recover from her captivity, and already she had lost her father. Esmay murmured prayers she had not thought of in years.