“The day isn’t working out well,” Sula murmured in Martinez’s ear as she bent over his couch.
“Part of a ongoing pattern,” Martinez answered softly.
“It may interest you to know,” said the chief of the Investigative Service, “that the cause of the breakdown in communications that occurred at Hone-bar has been discovered. At the same time thatyou, Captain Martinez, are being decorated and promoted in two days’ time, seven traitors will die screaming.” Martinez could hear the quiet satisfaction in the lord inspector’s voice. “Die screaming,” Lord Ivan repeated pleasantly. “I arranged the timing myself.”
Martinez was for a moment at a loss for speech.Promoted? Finally he managed words.
“Congratulations on…a successful investigation, lord inspector,” he said.
“And congratulations to you, lord captain, on a timely and successful combat.”
Promoted?He had known about the decoration, but this was the first time a promotion had been mentioned.
Then Martinez felt his ire rising. The training school in charge of a full captain was even more absurd than in the hands of an elcap.
He wondered if he dared mention the matter to the lord inspector. The wordsdie screaming returned to his mind, and he decided he didn’t.
“There’s not a lot of point in our talking,” Sula said quietly, as the huge elevator car was locked onto the cable. “Why don’t you sleep? You look about dead.”
“I feel…” He was about to say “fine” but he realized that the ease of low gravity, and the comfort of his couch, were about to make a liar out of him. So instead he said, “Good idea,” and closed his eyes.
He was asleep before the car dropped out of the accelerator ring and into brilliant sunlight. The growing acceleration that pressed him into his couch was much less than he’d been enduring for the last two months and it failed to wake him. Below, the land blazed with color: brown mountains tipped with white, the light green of the land contrasting with the deeper, more profound green of the sea. The atmosphere was a faint blurring on the edges of the world. The whirlwind of a tropical storm, its white gyre of cloud edged with blue, was thrashing southward from the equator.
Calculations spinning through her mind, Sula watched Do-faq’s tactical experiments on her sleeve display.
Martinez woke, his mind fresh, just as the car settled feather-light into its terminal, and the couch swung into its rest position, inverted from where it had been at the start of the journey. He and Sula stepped onto what had, when they’d boarded, been the ceiling, and let the fleet commander precede them from the car. He nodded civilly as he passed.
“And congratulations to you as well, Lady Sula,” he said.
“Thank you, my lord.”
Martinez, as he followed the old man from the car, suspected that the congratulations may not have had anything to do with Sula’s decoration.
Reunited with Alikhan and Martinez’s baggage, they took another train to the shuttle terminus, where they boarded the supersonic for the city of Zanshaa. Martinez traded the ticket he’d already reserved for an entire four-seat first-class compartment. Alikhan retained his original seat in second class.
With the Golden Orb, which like a device out of a fairy tale had the power to turn others to stone, Martinez marched to his compartment, installed himself and Sula, and drew down the shades.
Privacy at last.
He sat next to her and tried not to melt beneath the gaze of those green eyes. Martinez took her hand.
“I’m afraid to speak,” he said.
She tilted her head. “Why?”
“Because I’m not at my best right now, and I might say something wrong. And then…” He sought for words. “And then everything would be spoiled, and you’d walk out of this compartment and I’d never see you again.”
He saw the blood rise in her translucent pale skin. Her perfume whirled through his senses. “I forgive you,” Sula said. “In advance.”
He kissed her hand, her palm, her wrist. He leaned close to kiss her lips, then hesitated.
“I’m not running away,” she said.
He laid his lips to hers for the space of three heartbeats. She raised a hand to lightly cup the side of his head. He kissed her again, then had to break away because he realized he’d been holding his breath, and that his dizziness wasn’t entirely a result of Sula’s nearness.
“What is that perfume?” he asked.
Her lips turned up in a smile. “Sandama Twilight.”
“What’s so special about twilight on Sandama?”
She ventured a little shrug. “Some day we’ll go there and find out.”
He inhaled deliberately. “I wonder how many pulse points you’ve applied it to.”
Sula tilted her head back and with her hand swept a strand of golden hair from her throat. “You’re welcome to find out,” she said.
He feasted on her throat for a long, luxurious moment. A shiver ran along her frame. He kissed a path to her ear—bright and flaming—and reached up a hand to lazily undo the top button of her viridian tunic.
Martinez heard the low chuckle as he kissed the hollow of her throat. “Make the most of it,” she said. “I think that’s the only button you get to open today.”
He drew back and looked at her at close range, so close that her long lashes fluttered against his. “Why? It’s such a promising start.”
Her speech warmed his cheek. “Because you’ve already admitted that you’re not at your best. And I deserve the best.”
“That’s fair,” he admitted, after consideration.
“And besides,” she said practically, “I see no point in losing my virtue in a train compartment when I’ve gone to all the trouble of acquiring such a nice large bed.”
Martinez laughed, then kissed her again. “I’ll look forward to the bed. But in the meantime I hope to convince you that train compartments have their advantages.”
She smiled. “You’re welcome to try.”
He caressed her with his lips, brushing her cheek and mouth and throat. The train began a smooth acceleration, without bumps or lurches, that would take it to supersonic speed on its way to the capital. His hands floated over her body, and he was rewarded with a sudden intake of breath, a shuddering gasp, and she clutched his hand with her own. And then, as they lay side by side with the warmth of her white-gold hair soft against his cheek, he felt tension enter her body.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
She turned away, took his hand, and lay against his shoulder, placing his hand around her waist. Through the window he could see improbably green equatorial countryside blur past. “Forgive me,” she said. “I’m very nervous. I thought if I could meet you and…sort of take charge—”
“It would be easier?”
“Yes.”
Martinez nuzzled her hair. “Take your time. I don’t want you to run out that door.”
She raised his hand to her lips and kissed it. “That’s not it. I promise I won’t run again. But I’ve realized that youare going to have to take charge sooner or later, because I’m not going to know what to do.”
His start of surprise was so violent that she sat up and turned to him. “You’re a virgin?” he said.
“Oh no.” Her tone was amused. “But it’s been years. A very long time since I had a…”
“A man?”
“A boy.” Sadness entered her eyes. “A boy I didn’t love. I think he’s dead now.” She slowly turned away from him, and settled back against his shoulder. He caressed her hair.
An intuition flashed along his nerves. “You were drinking then?” he asked. On their last disastrous outing she’d told him that she once had a problem with alcohol.