He turned his attention to the officer seated at the desk and saluted. “Lieutenant Sikander North reporting for duty, ma’am,” he said calmly.
“Captain Elise Markham, commanding the Aquilan Commonwealth starship Hector,” she replied, and acknowledged his salute. Captain Markham was a tall, thin woman with short red-brown hair and a deep, tawny complexion, perhaps forty-five years of age. She had stern, dark eyes—unusual for Aquilans, whose eyes usually ran toward a warm brown or hazel—and a serious set to her wide mouth. Most Aquilans and citizens of other cosmopolitan powers showed few characteristics of the old Terran races, which had blended together long ago; idiosyncratic phenotypes were usually found among people from more secluded systems. Her lips quirked upward as she took note of his distraction with the painting. “Welcome aboard, Mr. North. Please, have a seat on the couch.”
“Thank you,” Sikander replied. He took a seat in the cabin’s small sitting area, while Captain Markham got up from behind her desk and came to join him, sitting on the opposite couch. He took the opportunity to study her more closely, and looked back to the painting again. “Wait a moment. Are you the rider in the painting, ma’am?”
“You have a sharp eye. Yes, that’s me, although I was only nineteen then. My sister painted it.”
“It’s quite good,” he said, and he meant it. Sikander had seen more real paintings than most people, and he could see that the artist had effortlessly captured the horse in midjump, with the young Elise Markham leaning forward and standing in the stirrups.
“Do you have horses in Kashmir, Mr. North?” Captain Markham asked. It was not a meaningless question; few colonists setting out from Old Terra during humanity’s early migrations had brought horses along for the trip, and even fewer had managed to keep the creatures alive during the hard years most new colonies had faced in the distant past.
“We do, ma’am. I have done a fair amount of riding myself, but nothing like that sort of competitive jumping. Just trail riding.” In fact, one of the North estates in Srinagar offered better than five thousand square kilometers of rugged and beautiful riding on the edge of the Kharan Desert. Sikander had spent a few summers there as a teenager.
“That’s actually an ancient type of race called a steeplechase, not a jumping competition. I used to do some of those, too.” Markham looked at the painting for a moment, and a small grimace passed over her face. “I broke my leg badly just two races later, and never raced competitively again. But I still like to ride every chance I get. Can I offer you some coffee or tea, Mr. North?”
“Coffee, thank you, ma’am.” Sikander was not particularly thirsty, but he very much wanted to make sure that Captain Markham felt comfortable pursuing the interview in her own good time. In Sikander’s experience, some people in authority engaged in small talk simply because they enjoyed the sound of their own voices, while others seemed to sincerely try to put their subordinates at ease at the beginning of a conversation. Elise Markham seemed to be one of latter, which he took as a good sign.
Markham retrieved a pitcher and a pair of cups and saucers from a small wall unit and set them on the low table between the couches. “How are you settling in?”
“Well, thank you,” said Sikander. “This is not my first tour in New Perth. I have quite a few old classmates in-system, and I own a nice condominium in Brigadoon. For now I’m in one of the spare rooms, though. My cousin Amarleen moved in a few months ago while I was off-planet. She’s studying at Carlyle.” Most officers and senior enlisted personnel assigned to ships based in New Perth established homes down on the planet for their families; Brigadoon, the planetary capital, was a popular choice. For Sikander, raising a family was not yet a consideration, but establishing himself in the fleet’s social circles ashore and entertaining friends were things he very much looked forward to. He could keep his boat in the marina and go fishing when he was off-duty, and it was only ten minutes by flyer from the city’s orbital shuttle terminal.
“Carlyle, really?” Markham nodded in appreciation; it was one of the foremost medical colleges in the Commonwealth. “I’m impressed.”
“We all are, although I can hardly tell her that to her face,” Sikander admitted. “She’d be insufferable.”
“Naturally,” Markham agreed, and smiled. She set down her coffee and leaned forward. “Well, let’s get down to business. As you might expect, I have reviewed your service jacket closely. And I’ve also had a conversation with a representative from the Admiralty, and another from the Foreign Ministry.” She gave a small shrug. “I’ve been in the Commonwealth Navy a long time, Mr. North, but I confess that this is the first time I’ve had a diplomatic briefing about an officer serving in my command.”
“I understand, Captain,” Sikander said, setting down his own coffee. “It’s an unusual situation. However, it is my sincere hope that you will treat me exactly like you would treat any of your other officers. I don’t expect any sort of favoritism or prejudice. If I screw up—which hopefully will not be often—I expect to be corrected or reprimanded like any other Aquilan officer.”
“So I was told by the Admiralty, and so I intend to proceed.” Captain Markham studied him. “However, your service jacket suggests differently. You seem to have had a reputation at the Academy, your first shipboard tour on Adept was not terribly successful, and I can’t help but notice that you are quite junior for assignment as a department head. You are taking over for an experienced and well-liked gunnery officer, and I have some … concerns.”
Sikander tried not to wince. Fortunately he had been expecting to hear something along these lines, and did not allow himself to become angry or flustered by the sentiment. “I can’t change what is in my service jacket, Captain Markham,” he said. “Yes, I didn’t always take things seriously at the Academy, and yes, I argued with my department head on Adept. I also suspect that the Admiralty is under some pressure to accelerate my career in order to foster good relations with my father—something I certainly never asked for, I should add.” The Commonwealth had figured out long ago that it was easier to exercise influence through Kashmir’s existing aristocrats than it was to build a local administration without their help. As a result, Aquila’s Foreign Ministry placed a high value on the support and goodwill of potentates such as Nawab Dayan … which, incidentally, did nothing to endear the North clan to the Kashmiri Liberation Party or any of the other Kashmiri nationalist movements.
“Asked for or not, it’s not the sort of help that is likely to make a favorable impression on your fellow officers,” Markham observed.
“So I have learned, ma’am,” said Sikander. “However, I think you will see that my tour on Triton was much more successful, and I received high marks in Department Head School at Laguna. I’d like to think I have matured a bit in the last couple of years, Captain. I ask only that you base your opinion—for good or for ill—on how I perform on Hector.”
Markham regarded him for a long moment before she answered. “Very well, Mr. North. You begin with a clean slate with me.”