The Lotus Eaters

Anno Domini 2524 Anno Condita 471 UEPF Spirit of Peace, Luna Starship Holding and Storage Area

High Admiral Wallenstein felt the shuttle bay doors slam shut through the metal under her feet. She couldn't hear them at all. The shuttle itself, on the outside a twin for the partially restored one in a subterranean workshop in the Isla Real, on Terra Nova, was already resting on the deck before the bay was sealed against the vacuum.

Marguerite intended to meet the new captain, Richard, Earl of Care, on the shuttle deck. She didn't have to; indeed it was somewhat contrary to normal protocol. She was there because she absolutely didn't want the crew engaging in proskynesis and the only way to make sure that didn't happen was to be there, issue the order, and ensure it was carried out, herself.

Debarking for the Earl and new captain had to wait until the air was returned to the shuttle deck and the reception committee had filed out and formed up. A recorded bosun's pipe sounded, the crew—other than Marguerite—came to attention, the hatch to the shuttle opened, and Richard, Earl of Care, stepped out.

Elder Gods, Marguerite thought, he looks . . . scared. Oh, sure, he's trying to hide it but you can see that he's hiding it. Who would have thought? After being raised with all the arrogance of the First Class?

Richard stepped down to the deck, faced Marguerite, and made a half bow. She returned about a tenth of it, doing little more than inclining her head. The Earl of Care then straightened, made a typically stiff cadet's salute and announced, "Richard, Earl of Care, reports to the High Admiral of the Peace Fleet."

Marguerite returned the salute, and this she did fully, said, "Follow me," and without a glance backwards walked off the flight deck and through the hatchway.

* * *

Richard, Earl of Care, noticed the lovely brown girl tidying up Wallenstein's office as soon as he entered the room. She curtseyed and went back to her work until the High Admiral said, "Thank you, Esmeralda. We'll be fine for now."

"Can I get you anything, my lady?" the ex-slavegirl asked. Like the other four hundred and seventeen slaves commandeered by the High Admiral, she'd been freed and given a choice. Since the choice was join the fleet or go back home—to TransIsthmia, in her case—she, like every one of the others, had chosen the fleet. Still, if she hadn't had all the choice imaginable, at least she was a genuine member of the crew, with pay and a degree of dignity and self worth. Wallenstein hoped those things might make up for the many, many indignities Esmeralda had suffered in her short life.

Taking a seat by a small conference table, rather than at her desk, Marguerite told the girl, "If you would inform the cook that I and the Earl of Care will be dining here, my dear, I'd appreciate it."

"Certainly, High Admiral," Esmeralda answered before leaving.

Once the girl was gone, Marguerite asked, "Why the hell are you here, son?"

"My Lady," said Richard, Earl of Care, "I don't really know why I'm here. All I know is that my uncle commanded and I had to obey." The boy looked both pained and embarrassed as he admitted, "High Admiral, I haven't the first clue about commanding a starship. Among the Class Ones at the Academy I wasn't even particularly high ranking, either in leadership or in academics."

Meaning he couldn't afford to pay the bribes, thought Wallenstein, couldn't afford to or wouldn't. I wonder which it is.

She asked.

Richard gave a little sigh. His eyes rolled up toward the ceiling of the High Admiral's quarters. "My Lady, while some feoffs are still quite flush, Care is not. And for reasons I don't fully understand, my parents decided on having two children, of which I am the younger. My elder brother received the Grand Duchy of Microsoft, which is comparatively well off. With the tithes from Care, my father was able to buy me a spot at the Academy, but that was all."

Hmmm. Other motivation for the SecGen: Take care of an impoverished relative? Possibly. But that's not important right now.

Wallenstein ordered aloud, "Computer, Academy records, complete, Richard, Earl of Care." Those appeared on her viewscreen within the space of a few seconds.

"But I thought those were—"

"I'm the High Admiral now. I can get whatever information I want that the fleet has," she explained. Richard suddenly looked very embarrassed.

Wallenstein forced a small smile from her face as she read. Four hundred and thirty-seven demerits. And that's after walking off an even larger number. Peer evaluations . . . bad from Class Ones . . . but generally good to very good from the Class Twos and Threes. Interesting. And no one who gets a C minus in "Appreciation of pre-Islamic Art in sub-Saharan Africa" but an A in "20th Century Music" can be all bad. Maybe, just maybe, I can work with this. But first a few questions.

"You didn't seem too taken aback," she observed, "about the lack of proskynesis. Why?"

Richard snorted. "My Lady, I know my peers. They don't deserve proskynesis. Neither do I. Neither does anyone."

Oh, I can probably work with this.

"What do you think about your new responsibilities as captain of a starship."

The boy didn't even hesitate in answering, "That I'm utterly unfit for them. Not necessarily unsuited; about that I just don't know. But I am unfit for them as I am now."

Yes, I can work with this.

"What do you think you need to become fit . . . ?"

* * *

Esmeralda knew she wasn't really fit to be the High Admiral's cabin girl. For one thing, she hadn't been aboard ship nearly long enough to become used to the reduced gravity. Nor did she really know any of the protocol. On the plus side, she could at least find her way to the galley and to small cabin Wallenstein had assigned her as quarters.

For that matter, other than for her capture in TransIsthmia and shipment to Razona Market, she hadn't been a slave long enough, or profoundly enough, to really understand it. She'd been raped, of course, by her guards and the vendor. But that was to be expected. Nor was it anything new; she'd been raped with some regularity for the last couple of years by the household troops of Count Castro-Nyere. She didn't like it, not even remotely, but it was something one got used to especially when every girl of her class could expect it, and no one attached any particular shame to it.

On the other hand, she'd had a strong feeling that being a slave, had that status continued, would have been awful indeed. And that's assuming she hadn't been stuffed into a wicker basket and burned alive by the Orthodox Druids as her former owner and vendor had indicated would happen if she failed to find a buyer.

Now? Well, she wasn't precisely free. But she was well clothed, well fed, free from the threat of rape, and was even paid a cabin girl's stipend.

Life could be a lot worse, Esmeralda thought, as she scurried between the Admiral's quarters and galley, than it is aboard this starship. And the High Admiral has never made any demands on me for any service my parents wouldn't have approved of. That I never expected when she brought me away from the market.

* * *

Starships were their own best flight simulators. Ideally, a captain would practice with his own bridge crew on his own ship. Unfortunately—

We can't do that, thought Marguerite, as she drilled Richard for approximately the twelfth time on procedures for deploying the sail. For one thing, for better or worse, and until and unless I decide to space him, he is the captain. As such, I need him to be effective. Put him on the bridge and show the crew he knows nothing and I'll have to space him to avert a mutiny. For another, we don't need to actually go anywhere right now. So . . . we use the simulator with only myself in attendance.

"That was a little better," she said. "But we'll do it again even so. And this time, Captain, do try to remember to empty the fill ring and draw in the lines before you give the order to rotate sail."

Richard looked at the simulated ruin of the sail in the viewscreen, then hung his head, ashamed. "I'll try to do better, High Admiral," he whispered.

Odd, Wallenstein thought. I feel sorry for the boy. Do I actually rather like him? Maternal instincts, so long held in check, resurfacing? Elder gods, wouldn't that be funny? Me, feeling something beyond contempt for a Class One? Then again, the boy's not a normal Class One, is he? No, he's actually pretty human.

And, thinking of Class Ones, I do wonder what that inbred idiot I had to leave in charge of the fleet is doing in my absence.

Gods! It was so hard to leave the fleet in that dolt's care. Not that I had any choice.