In Fire Forged: Worlds of Honor V-ARC (2 page)

“No. Sure. I mean, we’ve known each other since we were kids. Anyhow,” Michael realized that he was babbling, but the combination of Alice’s flirtatious manner and Todd’s poorly concealed amusement were too much. “I mean, the ‘Crown’ bit is really a formality now that my nephew Roger is showing himself such a promising young man.”

“Prince Roger is a darling boy,” Alice agreed. “I’ve seen him at all sorts of receptions, so straight and manly in his formalwear, escorting little Princess Joanna so seriously. The prince is how old now?”

“Six T-years,” Michael responded promptly. “In fact, he’s almost seven now. In less than four more T-years, he’ll take his qualifying tests and be formally named heir apparent. Princess Joanna will second him in just a few years more, and the ‘Prince’ in front of my name will become in truth what it really is now—a mere courtesy title.”

“You’re so modest,” Alice said, “as if anyone could ever forget you’re Queen Elizabeth’s only brother, and a scion of the House of Winton.”

“I wish they would,” Michael muttered.

Alice’s amber-flecked golden eyes widened in surprise, but like him she had had training from the cradle on that kept her from saying the first thing that came to mind.

“Well, it’s awfully nice that you gave me permission to call you by your first name,” Alice said. “I don’t suppose you—and Lieutenant Liatt, of course—have time to go grab coffee or something?”

Michael saw Todd starting to nod agreement and cut in quickly.

“Perhaps another time. We have someplace we need to be.”

“Sure.” Alice looked disappointed, but Michael thought he caught a flicker of another emotion—relief? It was gone before he could be sure. “Anyhow, I probably should be checking in with Daddy. You’re on leave for a while?”

“A while,” Michael agreed, deliberately vague, lest he be pressed into setting up another meeting.

“Well, I’m off to Gryphon this afternoon to take care of some business for Daddy, but I’m sure we’ll see each other again. ’Bye now, Michael. A pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant Liatt.”

The two young men echoed her farewells, and turned away. As they walked down the corridor, Michael heard the soft whisper of following footsteps.

He didn’t need to turn and look to know they belonged to Lieutenant Vincent Valless, Palace Security, the crown prince’s bodyguard.

For Michael, accustomed as he had become during his time in the Navy to going where he pleased without needing to be trailed—the logic being that the entire ship’s company could be considered the crown prince’s bodyguard—Valless’s presence was disquieting.

Michael knew that most of his shipmates were looking forward to this holiday as a relief from the formalities and rituals of military service.

Why am I the only one,
Michael thought with a flare of an anger he had thought long buried,
who doesn’t get a holiday?

*
   
*
   
*

Todd held back the questions Michael knew he was aching to ask until they were in the air car Michael had been issued to use as his own during his leave and the flier had been cleared for departure from the palace grounds. The assigned sting ship followed it off the field, hovering discreetly in the background.

“Michael, why did you turn tail and run like that? You were almost rude.”

“And I’m never rude,” Michael replied seriously. “I know.”

“That isn’t an answer. We have hours before we’re due to meet up with that friend of yours. We could have had coffee or something. I thought that Alice was cute, and she clearly was glad to see you.”

“Me?” Michael retorted, feeling that familiar anger again, fighting to keep it from touching his voice. “Me or ‘Crown Prince Michael’? When I’m shipboard, I almost forget what court is like. Ever since the Masadan affair when I was a middie, most of the Navy accepts me for what I can do, not for who I was born.”

“Alice called you ‘Michael,” Todd reminded him.

“Yeah. I would have felt that was more genuine if she’d called me ‘Mikey,’ like when we were kids.”

“You weren’t crown prince then, were you?”
 

“Nope. Elizabeth stood between me and responsibility,” Michael said, trying to keep his tone light. “Then our dad died, and she was queen at eighteen T-years, and I was crown prince. I’d never expected to be, you know. Dad was young enough that he’d been eligible for Prolong. I was just a kid, still trying to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up, and suddenly I was next in line for the throne of the Star Kingdom of Manticore.”

Todd knew this, of course, but oddly enough, they’d never really talked about it. Todd’s easy acceptance that Michael Winton wanted to be treated as nothing more, nothing less, than another student at the Naval Academy had cemented their friendship, a friendship that had not weakened over the years they had been separated for their different middie cruises and junior officer assignments.

Todd heard Michael out, then said softly. “That had to have been rough. Still, you’re never going to escape that you’re Queen Elizabeth’s little brother, no matter how many others come to stand between you and the throne. Isn’t it about time you came to terms with it?”

“I thought I had,” Michael said, and Todd—who hadn’t specialized in tactics without learning a thing or two about choosing his battles—had the sense to change the subject.

“Tell me about this friend of yours we’re going to visit. You met her during that Masadan affair you mentioned, right?”

Michael nodded. “Judith was one of the ringleaders, only sixteen, about three-months pregnant, and fierce as hell.”

“Wildcat?”

“No. The reverse. Calm. Controlled, but with fire in her soul. Impossible as it may seem, Judith taught herself to pilot a spaceship with nothing but virtual sims—no tutoring, no practice flights. She did so despite the likelihood that she’d be beaten or even killed if anyone found her out.”

“Those Masadans are savages,” Todd said. “I’m glad the government has decided to throw in their lot with the Graysons. Your friend wasn’t the only one who escaped Masada at that time, was she? I seem to remember there was a whole shipload.”

Michael grinned at the memory, although he’d felt like anything but smiling at the time.

“Somewhere around four hundred women and children. Only a few of them had skills beyond borderline literacy or maybe some simple mathematics. Even those who had learned some technical skills found them antiquated by our standards.”

“So, what did they do?” Todd asked.

“They were given asylum by the Star Kingdom, and when the ship they’d made their get-away on was sold…”

“I bet that was one ship that didn’t go to a scrapper,” Todd said, “bet Intelligence couldn’t wait to get their hands on it.”

“For more reasons than one,” Michael agreed, relaxed now and cheerful. “Turns out Judith’s kidnapper—I refuse to call him her husband—was a pirate as well as a merchant. That ship and its computers solved more than a few ‘missing vessel’ reports.”

“So what do Judith and her associates do now?” Todd asked.

“They were settled in a nice community here on Manticore. A lot of people don’t realize that Human Services has an entire division that specializes in integrating refugees into the population, but Dad organized it very quietly when we started getting so many of them from worlds the Peeps had conquered. HS has had a lot of experience dealing with culture shock, and they recommended we find a place far enough from the big cities that the Masadans wouldn’t be overwhelmed—Masadan society is highly anti-tech, remember. Of course, even one of our ‘small-town’ towers was pretty overwhelming anyway, when they first saw it, but at least Friedman’s Valley is a lot slower-paced and more laid-back than someplace in downtown Landing.

“Since then, Judith and her associates have been getting educated and more integrated into our society. A few of them continue as consultants for Intelligence. They’re not a burden on the taxpayer, in case you’re wondering. The money from their ship, even when split, gave them all a stake. After what they did to escape Masada, they’re eager not to be dependent.”

“I’d guess not,” Todd said. “After all, if they wanted to stay barefoot and pregnant, they would never have left Masada. You know, I’m looking forward to meeting this Judith of yours.”

“Not mine,” Michael said, maybe a little too quickly. “Very much her own. If she belongs to anyone, it’s to her daughter, Ruth. You’ll like Ruth, cute as a button, and smart…”

Michael glanced at the air car’s chronometer and shrugged.

“We’ll be a little early, but not too much. Why don’t we go on ahead?” He glanced back at Valless. “Any problem with that, Vincent?”

“None, sir.”

“Todd?”

“If you think we’ll be welcome,” Todd said. “Absolutely. Like I said, I’m looking forward to meeting this Judith.”

*
   
*
   
*

As outsiders saw them, George and Babette Ramsbottom were a highly unlikely couple.

George was a staunch Conservative. Babette was an outspoken Liberal. Although neither was a noble, both were something more important—rich and influential members of the most active and important levels of the Star Kingdom’s society.

George spent all his free time—when he was not serving in one senior ministry post or another or appearing before Parliament as an “expert witness” in favor of some bit of legislation—focusing on his many and lucrative business interests.

Babette, on the other hand, had run for office several times with the support of her party. She’d won against her husband’s favored candidate more than once, and, like him, she had also served in appointed posts that had somewhat less public visibility, but no less opportunity for influence. When she was not involved in politics, Babette was a highly visible socialite, seemingly as devoted to spending her husband’s money as he was to making it.

They had been witnessed arguing both in public and when they believed themselves in private. Enemies wondered why they didn’t simply get divorced. Friends of one or the other—they shared few in common—had other theories.

George and Babette stayed together because neither wished to risk losing contact with their children. George didn’t want to settle any money on Babette. Babette didn’t want to lose access to the money George made with such seeming lack of effort. Another popular theory was that neither would budge on who received custody of the sizeable and historic Ramsbottom estate—an estate where both, despite their apparent acrimony, continued to reside.

Oddly enough, for the amount of gossip and outright snooping expended on the effort, none of these speculations was correct, for all of those doing the speculating lacked a key piece of information.

Far from being each other’s most violent adversaries, George and Babette Ramsbottom were each other’s nearest and dearest friend and ally. They managed to hide this even from their three children—largely by sending the children away to boarding schools and expensive educational camps, and making their frequent and attentive parental visits separately.

The Ramsbottom estate did have servants, but George and Babette took care to maintain their charade even in front of these. And if the estate—and most especially the private offices and conjugal suites—were as heavily shielded as the most secure areas of Mount Royal Palace, what of it? George had been heard to say frequently and loudly that he wasn’t going to let Babette snoop on his business, and she to retort that she certainly didn’t trust him with her private matters.

If everyone overlooked that the same shielding protected George and Babette from being detected in their private conferences, that could certainly be excused. No one knew better than George and Babette Ramsbottom that people love a flamboyantly fighting couple. Moreover, no one ever looks for what could not possibly be there.

“When do we place the call?” Babette asked.

“Three more minutes,” George replied.

“And if Judith Newland isn’t there?”

“She’ll have a comlink with her.”

George spoke with the confidence that had closed many a business deal, but when three minutes had passed and they placed their call, there was no answer.

“So she didn’t take her comlink,” Babette said with just a touch of the acid she used so well in public. “Remember, she’s a primitive, probably never thought of it.”

George scowled. He took
his
comlink with him even into the shower. The idea that someone—especially someone in a crisis—wouldn’t take her link was alien to him.

Babette softened. “Don’t worry. She’ll think of checking her phone before long.”

“But I want her to get the call before Prince Michael arrives…”

“Don’t worry.”

The next time George placed the call, a female voice, quite familiar to them from the surveillance tapes they’d viewed, answered. A moment later, an image appeared on their screen.

It was of a young woman, slim and graceful, her thick, dark auburn hair pulled back from her face. Even if her features had not been tight and stern from worry, no one would have thought Judith Newland pretty, but hers was a face that many would turn to look at twice, and then a third time, after prettier faces had been forgotten.

The eyes were what would bring a person back—green eyes, ringed with brown, not blended as with more traditional hazel. Their expression was as fierce and focused as that of a bird of prey.

Babette found herself pulling back when that gaze was directed to the screen, even though she knew the dummy program George had set up displayed a crowd of sexless, featureless wraiths. Their shadowed forms overlapped, creating an image far more ominous than a mere blacked out screen could ever have been.

“Yes?”

“Are you alone?”

Babette heard George’s words twice: once as spoken, once in the whispery voices supplied by the avatar program.

“I am. Is this call to do with my missing daughter?”

Despite the research that had told them Judith Newland was a tough young woman, Babette was surprised by this composure. That same research had told them that if there was one person in this universe that Judith loved without reserve it was her young daughter, Ruth. Babette had expected crying and wailing, at least those green eyes flooding with tears, not this iron control.