One of her gifts was a truck to One-Step, which she filled with commodities. With luck, he’d never have to do his business on the street again.
Even though she’d spent money to fund her army, the profit on the commodities still came to over six hundred percent. War was definitely good for her pocketbook.
She asked Macnamara and Spence if they wanted to remain with her as her personal staff or accept assignment elsewhere.
“Staying with me means a demotion,” she said. “You’ve gotten used to running parts of an army and serving on staff; but if you stay with me, you’ll be rated as captain’s servants.” She shrugged. “Of course, you’ll have money either way,” she added.
Macnamara stood straight and tall in his uniform, the light that came in the curved window of Sula’s office turning his curly hair into a halo.
“Naturally I’ll come with you, my lady,” he said.
“Nothing for me here,” Spence said. There was a mild smile on her face that made it difficult to remember that she was the woman who had blown up the Great Destiny Hotel.
Warmth kindled in Sula’s heart. She wanted to embrace them but, unfortunately, this was not an option for Lady Sula and her servants. Not in her office anyway.
She promoted each to Petty Officer First Class and gave each five thousand zeniths as their share of Sula’s liquidated business.
Spence’s mouth dropped open. “That’s…rather a lot,” she said.
“No false modesty,” Sula said. “No pretending that you don’t deserve it.”
Spence closed her mouth. “No, my lady,” she said.
Sula grinned. “No reason,” she said, “the cliquemen should be the only ones to turn a profit from this.” She looked at them. “Now go hire me a cook,” she said. “I gather that I’m going to need one.”
Lord Eldey’s shuttle landed at the Wi-hun airfield on a day of brilliant sun, flashes of gold running along the polished surface of the vehicle as it extended its great wings and sighed to a landing on the long runway. Its chemical rockets hissed as it turned and moved past the row of shuttles that had brought the Naxid administration and their support elements to Zanshaa. These were configured for Naxids and were now mere souvenirs of war until someone got around to refitting them.
The rockets flared, then died. A massed Daimong chorus sang the “Glorious Arrival” song from An-tar’sAntimony Sky as the main door cycled open. A grand reviewing stage, draped with bunting in red and gold, moved toward the shuttle under its own power and jockeyed up to the door. Sula stood on the stage, the silver braid glittering on her dress uniform. Spence and Macnamara stood with her.
Wearing the dark red tunic of the lords convocate, Eldey stepped out in the shuttlecraft and gazed at his domain with his huge night-adapted eyes. The recent snow had melted, except for patches of white in the darkest shadows, but the country all round the airfield was brown and dead, especially where the Naxids had torn away groves of trees to clear fields of fire for their defensive installations. The air smelled of decaying, moist vegetation and spent rocket fuel.
Sula braced. “Welcome to Zanshaa, Lord Governor.”
“Thank you, Lady Sula. It’s good to see a—a real world again.” He inhaled deliberately, and apparently he didn’t mind the smell of rocket fuel because his nose fluttered with pleasure. He turned to her. “Please stand at ease, and allow me to introduce you to my staff?”
Introductions were made. Sula presented Spence and Macnamara to the lord governor, who surprised them by shaking their hands.
“Shall we continue then?” Eldey asked. “I’m no longer young, and I believe a rather long day is planned.”
“Yes, my lord,” Sula said.
Everyone faced the front of the stage. Sula gave an order on her sleeve comm.
What followed was the first, last, and only grand review of Sula’s army.
The action groups came marching along the landing strip in ranks under their commanders, bearing banners that identified them by the names they had proudly chosen for themselves: the Bogo Boys, the Defenders of the Praxis, the Tornados, the Academy of Design’s Lord Commander Eshruq Wing, with a particularly effective banner, the Savage Seventeen, Lord Pahn-ko’s Avengers…
Sidney and Fer Tuga, the Axtattle sniper, walked in each other’s company, rifles on their shoulders. The old Daimong still limped from his wound.
They wore no uniform, but some wore Fleet or police body armor, and they all wore red and gold armbands. They all shared a common esprit, hats and caps cocked at jaunty angles, weapons carried proudly. They loped along to a Cree band, feet tramping the pavement in unison. Even Lord Tork would have had to admit that the army had learned to march very well indeed.
After the review, the army wheeled around and came back to the stage, standing motionless in ranks before the new governor. Lord Eldey, Sula, and their parties left the stage and walked onto the runway. Sula activated the list on her sleeve display and called out over the motionless heads.
“Fer Tuga!”
The sniper limped forward, and Lord Eldey presented him with the Medal of Valor, First Class. The Daimong braced, then retreated into the throng as Sula called for Sidney, who received the same decoration.
Julien and Patel wore glittering outfits that must have been designed by Chesko, and that set off their medals spectacularly. Sagas, Sergius Bakshi, and Tan-dau, dressed more conservatively, received their decorations in polite silence.
Most of the awards went for bravery—being a member of the secret army, particularly on the day of the High City battle, seemed to call for sheer courage more than anything else. Of the twelve truck drivers she’d sent charging the emplaced Naxid positions on the High City, eight had actually survived, though half the survivors had been wounded. One was still in the hospital and would receive her medal later. The other seven received their decorations from the hands of the new lord governor.
The award ceremony went on throughout the long afternoon. A cold wind ruffled Lord Eldey’s fur. His staff began to fidget as they passed the decorations forward from the boxes Sula had placed on the back of the stage. The shadows of the fighters grew long as they stood on the pavement. Then lights flooded the area with a soft glow that illuminated the platform for the fighters and the cameras.
Sula now wondered how many medals had been awarded so far in this war, and if those to the secret army might in fact exceed those awarded in all other battles so far. The vast majority of decorations would have gone to Fleet officers, after all, and the number of Fleet officers who had actually participated in battle were few, and most of those hadn’t survived.
Spence and Macnamara were each awarded the Medal of Valor and the Medal of Merit, both First Class. Flushed with pleasure, they followed Eldey and Sula back onto the reviewing platform, where Sula read aloud the list of those who would be decorated posthumously.
The list ended with PJ Ngeni. She let a silence fall after the name, and for a moment the image of PJ rose before her eyes, the balding head, the pleased smile, the fashionable clothes and the amiably vacant expression…
Eldey’s words returned her to the present. “And now, Lady Sula,” he said, “I have the honor to present you with the following decorations.”
Sula stood in surprise as she received a Nebula Medal to match that won at Magaria, this time with Diamonds and Lightning Bolts, as well as a Medal of Valor, Grand Commander. Then Lord Eldey turned to the army, waved an arm, and said, “Three cheers for the White Ghost!”
The first cheer struck Sula almost with the force of a blow. The other two seemed to draw the air from her lungs. They left her stunned and breathless on the platform, staring in a helpless trance at the sea of shouting faces, at the forest of weapons brandished overhead by shouting, triumphant warriors.