The Lotus Eaters

Rome, Province of Italy, United Earth

Old Earth transportation was, for the most part, fairly conventional. The styles might have excited comment on Terra Nova, the mechanics would not have. The big difference was that, at least on the reasonably prosperous parts of the other world, private conveyance was common. On Old Earth, it was the perquisite of the high and mighty.

"The SecGen wanted to chat with you before you made your presentation to the Consensus the day after tomorrow," said Wallenstein's escort, another Class Two named Moore, as their car sped through Rome's uncrowded streets. "He told the Admiralty to stuff it, that they could see you after important matters were taken care of."

In appearance, Moore seemed a near brother to the captain. Albeit a bit taller, he was likewise blonde and blue-eyed, as were most of Old Earth's ruling class.

"Can it wait until tomorrow?" she asked. "Gravity aboard ship is less than here and I find I'm very tired."

"He assumed that," Moore answered. "You're set to meet tomorrow, over lunch."

Lunch with the SecGen? Wallenstein mused. Or am I supposed to lunch the SecGen? Well, whatever the market will bear. I'll bring kneepads in a satchel, just in case.

"How did he take the news of the loss of the High Admiral and the Marchioness of Amnesty?" Marguerite asked. Note: I didn't say "deaths;" I said "loss."

Moore sighed. "Rather hard, actually. He and the Marchioness were very close."

"Did he . . . ?" Wallenstein let the question trail off.

"Yes," Moore answered. "The entire Consensus accepted your version of events." He knew from her tone that Wallenstein had been worried about that.

Now Marguerite sighed, and hers was with relief. If there had been any suspicion that she had turned the High Admiral and Lucretia Arbeit, the Marchioness, over to the Terra Novans, she'd have been for the chop, she was quite sure.

Fortunately, the only people who know that are myself and another Class Two who wants a caste lift. Oh, and Carrera back on Terra Nova . . . but he's not likely to tell anyone.