Valiant Dust

4

Brigadoon, New Perth

Sikander North climbed out of the luxurious flyer on the landing pad of the governor’s mansion, and unconsciously adjusted his finest dress uniform. The magnificent residence was lit with hundreds of golden hoverlights, a lazy swarm of fireflies drifting over the pools and gardens, and the soft sound of a live string quartet came from a bandstand not far away. Hundreds of men and women dressed in formal wear—short jackets and wide cummerbunds for the men, glittering gowns in countless spectacular hues for the women, and of course dress whites for military personnel—were already present, strolling about the grounds or gathering in small groups to talk over cocktails. Sikander was impressed; Aquilans could pull off elite elegance better than almost anyone.

It’s like the Bandi Chor Divas festival back home—the celebrations at the palace after the public processions, anyway. He smiled at the old memories: At dusk, throngs of people and thousands of golden lights would fill the streets of Sangrur as the raucous processions made their way through the city, passing by the nawab’s box in the reviewing stand for the traditional blessing. Afterward, Nawab Dayan always hosted the notables of his domain at a grand banquet, the highlight of Jaipur’s social calendar. Sikander remembered standing in his princely finery beside his father and older brothers, all too conscious of the beautiful young women in the crowd trying to catch his eye. As the fourth-born of his father’s children, Sikander was always much better positioned than his dutiful older brothers to take advantage of his aristocratic name. While Devindar and Gamand squirmed under the constant scrutiny of the planet’s elites and the crowds of journalists who followed them, he was free to engage in the much more enjoyable task of choosing his company for the evening.…

I am forgetting my date, Sikander realized. He took a deep breath, returning his attention to the governor’s mansion on a cool Brigadoon evening. He gave his tunic a tug and shrugged his shoulders to adjust his uniform, then turned to assist Lara Dunstan as she emerged from the luxury flyer. She was his companion for the Governor’s Ball, the daughter of an important Aquilan senator and a close friend of his cousin Amarleen. A deep sapphire gown perfectly complemented her eyes, and her hair was swept up into a jeweled coiffure that sparkled in the soft light.

Lara beamed with delight as she took in the scene. “It looks like everyone who is anyone is here,” she murmured to Sikander.

“Well, now that we have arrived, I suppose so,” he said, and smiled.

“Oh, this will be so much fun!” Impulsively she leaned over and kissed his cheek. Lara was petite by Aquilan standards; she had to stand on her tiptoes to reach him comfortably. “Thank you for inviting me!”

“The pleasure is all mine,” he said. Already he thought he saw heads turning to take in Lara’s striking dress, and he grinned even more. There was nothing like walking into a party with a gorgeous woman on one’s arm and knowing that she was the most stunning beauty present. He almost forgot about his cousin Amarleen, and it was only the gentle throat-clearing of Dr. Ondrew Tigh—a wealthy young physician from another upstanding senatorial family, and Meena’s date for the evening—that reminded Sikander that he was standing in the way. He quickly took Lara’s arm and led her a few steps from the flyer so that Ondrew could enact the time-honored ritual of offering his date assistance she didn’t need to get out of the vehicle and make her arrival.

The evening promised to be a welcome change of pace. Sikander had spent much of the last two weeks looking over Sublieutenant Larkin’s shoulder in the effort to figure out what had happened with their stray torpedo, to no avail. Fortunately, the Governor’s Ball offered a suitable excuse for setting aside the day-to-day work of a gunnery officer, and the fact that Amarleen happened to have a beautiful friend in need of a date had worked out well for him. Things were comfortably casual between Sikander and Lara, but that was how he preferred it, especially when they both came from such prominent families. Of course, the Governor’s Ball was a very prominent event. Every socialite in Brigadoon—and every well-connected fleet officer whose personal fortune or family pedigree rated mention in the social register—was there, and for the foreseeable future the gossip of the capital would revolve around who had been seen with whom.

“Shall we make our way to the bar?” Sikander asked the others. The buffet had not yet been served and the dancing would come later; most of these events started with cocktails in the garden.

“Only one for me,” Amarleen declared. She wore a brilliant green gown that complemented the famous North eyes, and would have been the most striking woman present if Sikander didn’t have her friend Lara on his arm. “If I don’t pace myself, I’ll be as giggly as a little girl in no time at all.”

“Yes, let’s avoid that at all costs,” Ondrew Tigh agreed gravely. He had an excellent deadpan; Sikander liked the fellow already. “That doesn’t sound fun at all.”

“Well, I remember a wedding in Jaipur a couple of years ago…” Sikander began.

Amarleen wheeled around and threatened him with a raised finger. “Oh, no you don’t! That story does not need to be told tonight, or ever. Am I clear?”

“As you wish.” Sikander waited until Amarleen had turned back to her date, and leaned close to whisper to Lara. “Just remind me to tell you about Meena and the cake later.”

Lara laughed. “I will!”

They strolled slowly down the path leading from the landing pad to the extensive gardens behind the manor. It was a cool, breezy evening, not unusual for springtime in Brigadoon, but the hoverlights provided heat as well as illumination, and the mansion’s staff had carefully arranged hidden screens in the shadows of the surrounding forest to mitigate the breeze. The night was clear and starry above the golden glow of the drifting lights, and the Fleet Base was clearly visible as a bright, crooked crescent directly overhead, surrounded by scores of tiny moving stars crisscrossing the sky—ships joining or leaving New Perth’s busy orbital traffic.

As Sikander expected, most of the guests gathered in the gardens for cocktails. Lara and Ondrew pointed out various celebrities among the civilian guests for Amarleen, while Sikander did the same for high-ranking members of the Admiralty or noteworthy captains. Amarleen and her date soon fell in with a large group of university types; Sikander caught a few glimpses of her laughing and chatting with Ondrew Tigh’s colleagues and a number of her fellow students. For his own part, Lara introduced him to many of her friends, who proved to be a good sampling of New Perth’s aristocratic families. If any of them thought it unusual to see a Dunstan escorted by a prince of Kashmir, they were too well-mannered to comment.

Around a bend in the garden path Sikander spied a knot of officers from Hector surrounding Captain Markham. He looked to Lara. “Would you like to meet my shipmates? Most of them are decent people, and I’d love the opportunity to show you off for them.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Lara said. “But yes, I’d like to meet your colleagues.”

They strolled down to the patio where Hector’s officers had gathered. “Good evening, Captain,” said Sikander. He nodded to the rest: Hiram Randall, Karsen Reno, Michael Girard, as well as Peter Chatburn—a tall, somber man who was actually the sitting Senator Malgray as well as Hector’s second-in-command—and Magdalena Juarez, Hector’s chief engineer. “May I present Ms. Lara Dunstan? Lara, this is Captain Elise Markham, commanding officer of CSS Hector.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Dunstan,” Captain Markham said. “You’re Senator Dunstan’s daughter, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am,” Lara replied. “Do you know my father?”

“I met him during my last staff tour.” Markham took Lara’s hand firmly. “He was in charge of the Naval Appropriations Committee when I was serving with the Office of Construction and Repair. Senator Dunstan was always very well informed on budget issues.”

“By which you mean he badgered you mercilessly, I think,” Lara said with a small smile. “I know he can be difficult at times, but he really does have the service’s best interests at heart.”

“I would much rather defend our designs from an informed critic than someone whose only interest is scoring points in the press,” Markham replied. She released Lara’s hand.

“Allow me to make some more introductions,” Sikander said. One by one he introduced his shipmates to Lara. In turn, his colleagues introduced their own dates to Lara and him. Captain Markham was in attendance with her husband Nicholas, a tall, silver-haired civilian with a bluff good cheer to him. Sikander gathered that he worked as an attorney for the government. Neither Peter Chatburn nor Michael Girard had dates for the evening, but a commander from squadron operations stood close by Magdalena Juarez. Karsen Reno was accompanied by a handsome young man, his longtime partner, while Hiram Randall had on his arm a pretty, dark-haired woman in a ruby-red dress. Sikander always found it strange to meet the spouses or romantic interests of his shipmates; he often fell into the habit of thinking that the officers he saw every day had no existence of their own outside the ship. For example, he hadn’t realized that Karsen Reno was committed to another young man—something common enough in Aquilan worlds, although not usually acknowledged openly in Kashmiri society. He’d known that Juarez was dating Commander Nilsson, but he’d heard only the vaguest rumors about Elise Markham’s husband. As captain of Hector, she’d struck him as complete in and of herself, and it was somehow unexpected to see her as half of a couple.

“How do you know Mr. North?” Juarez asked Lara when the introductions were concluded.

“Actually, his cousin Amarleen is a dear friend of mine from our college days,” Lara replied. “She introduced us. In fact, she is here tonight, although I don’t see her at the moment.”

“Another North is loose in the capital?” Hiram Randall remarked. “Good heavens, I believe they’ve discovered space travel!” He adopted an expression of mock terror that was ridiculous enough to earn a round of mild laughter from the group.

Sikander acknowledged the barb with a good-natured smile, although he never liked being the target of someone else’s gibe. “As it turns out, we have discovered medicine, too,” he said. “Amarleen is studying at Carlyle. I for one am very proud of her; they only accept eighty students a year, or so I’m told.”

“They must—” Randall started to say, but the soft tone of a chime sounding from the mansion above interrupted him. That was probably for the best, since Sikander did not intend to let another wisecrack directed at him or his family pass by.

“It seems dinner is served,” Captain Markham observed. “Might I suggest that we make our way inside?”

Hector’s officers and their dates joined the throng heading inside. Dinner was a vast buffet, but Sikander took care to partake lightly. Lara had made it clear that she expected to dance at the Governor’s Ball, and he’d learned early on that stuffing himself to the gills was not the best way to prepare himself for a long night of dancing. He collected the makings for a steak salad while Lara helped herself to a mix of lighter pastas, and they rejoined Hector’s officers at a round table in the corner of the banquet room.

Hiram Randall watched Sikander eat with a bemused expression. “I thought New Sikhs were vegetarians,” he observed. “You do know you’re eating steak, I hope?”

“Indeed I do, and it’s delicious,” Sikander replied between forkfuls. “I am not a vegetarian. Only deri-amritdhari refrain from eating meat.”

“So you are a sahajdhari, then?” Lara asked. She, like her friend Amarleen, was pursuing a doctorate, but hers was in international relations. Sikander had been quite pleased to discover that Lara had studied Kashmiri culture and social norms as part of her postgraduate work; most other Aquilans were not as well versed in the traditions of his homeworld.

He nodded for the benefit of the others. “Indeed I am. That means I have accepted the tenets of my faith, but have not yet committed myself to being fully observant.”

“That seems like a convenient place to be,” Peter Chatburn said. In Sikander’s first four weeks aboard Hector, Chatburn had struck Sikander as a rather unforgiving and results-oriented executive officer. That was part of the job, of course, but Sikander found him difficult to like, despite the shared bond of aristocratic rank. “All of the benefits of salvation, and none of the silly restrictions.”

“There is a little more to it than that,” Sikander said. “Even as sahajdhari, we practice meditation, engage in charitable work, and study the gurus’ teachings. And eventually I’ll be expected to undergo amrit deri-sanskar—baptism—and begin living in a strictly observant manner.”

“It all seems like a tremendous waste of energy,” said Randall. “If there’s a divine spirit out there in the universe, I doubt whether it cares if you eat meat or not, as long as you get the other parts straight.”

“I take it you are not religious, Mr. Randall?” Lara asked.

“Good God, I hope not,” Randall said with a laugh. That did not particularly surprise Sikander; something like seventy-five percent or more of Aquilans did not claim any religious affiliation, and were proud agnostics or atheists. “I have no use for magical men in the sky telling me how to live, thank you.”

“And yet you swore by His name just then,” Sikander pointed out. Soft laughter followed around the table. “Perhaps you are more religious than you think, Mr. Randall.”

Randall shot Sikander a hard look, but joined the laughter after a moment. “The one thing I suppose He’s good for, then,” he said. “Humankind has outgrown the need for such fables.”

“Fairy tales to your thinking, perhaps,” Sikander said. “The search for truth and meaning to countless other people, including millions of Aquilans. What is so contemptible about that?”

Randall gathered himself for another retort, but a glance from Captain Markham stilled his words. An awkward silence fell over the table for a moment; the captain cleared her throat. “I believe the palace staff would like us to finish up so they can clear the dance floor,” she said. “I think I’m ready for another drink, myself.”

By ones and twos, the table broke up. Lara excused herself to head for the restroom; Sikander waited by the hallway, and did his best not to glare in the general direction of Randall or Chatburn as they wandered off. The infuriating thing was that New Sikhism was actually very open to scientific inquiry and was hardly the blanket of oppressive ignorance that people like Randall railed against. Kashmir lagged behind the great powers of human space because of poverty and long isolation, not its dominant faith. And even if that weren’t true, Sikander had never understood how any decent human being could take pride in holding the sincere beliefs of others in contempt.

“Thank you, Mr. North.” Sikander looked up, and found Magdalena Juarez nearby. She was apparently waiting for her date as well.

“You’re welcome, but for what?” Sikander replied.

“Standing your ground against Hiram. I’ve heard that tirade more times than I care to relate. For someone who claims to be the embodiment of reason and scientific inquiry, he can be a close-minded bigot toward people of faith.”

“Mr. Randall is not the first person who has shared those views with me.” Sikander offered a small shrug. “You need not concern yourself with my sensibilities.”

“Oh, I am not annoyed on your account,” the chief engineer answered. “I’m a Nicosian Catholic. My whole family is. I’m afraid I don’t know much about New Sikhism, but I suspect it deserves more respect than Hiram Randall cares to show it.”

Sikander nodded. The Papacy had left Old Terra centuries ago, driven into exile by the rise of the Caliphate. Rome was no more, but her children roamed the stars, and the Nicosians were the most numerous and unified of the Christian denominations. “In that case, I am happy to have been of service, Ms. Juarez,” he told her.

“Magdalena, please, or Magda for short.” The engineer raised a finger for emphasis. “Never, under any circumstances, Mags or Maddie or Maggie.”

“So noted. Sikander, then, although my friends call me Sikay—just like the letters C-K.”

“Sikay, then,” Magda said. She shook his hand, and a wicked gleam came to her eye. “Now, more importantly: Did I hear correctly that you keep a boat on Brigadoon Bay? And that you go fishing most weekends?”

“My reputation precedes me, apparently,” Sikander said. “I take it you are an angler, too?”

“New Seville is nine-tenths water. I learned how to troll for glow-tuna before I could ride a bicycle.”

Sikander grinned. “I have no idea what a glow-tuna is, but I’d be delighted to take you fishing on Brigadoon Bay, Magda. When we get back to the ship, let’s look over our duty schedules and pick a day.”

At nine o’clock precisely, an orchestra took its place in the mansion’s ballroom and struck up the music. The banquet room, as well as the surrounding veranda, soon filled with elegant couples gliding gracefully across the floor. Sikander thoroughly enjoyed the next couple of hours; Lara Dunstan was a delight in his arms, as delicate as a wisp of cloud, her eyes filled with a mischievous light that promised a very fine conclusion to the evening when they finally decided to quit the party. From time to time they parted briefly to entertain other partners, since Lara simply couldn’t decline all the requests she received for a single dance, but she quickly returned to him after each instance. When they grew tired, they strolled outside to admire the evening or refresh themselves with drink.

A little before midnight, Captain Markham issued her apologies. She and her husband made one more round to say their good-nights, and left the party. The orchestra began their last set; Sikander and Lara decided they were ready for a nightcap or two, and retreated to one of the mansion’s quieter verandas. This one faced south, commanding a striking view of Brigadoon’s skyline. Amarleen was determined to finish out the very last bit of the dancing and had not yet released Ondrew Tigh, but several of Hector’s officers gathered on the veranda with Sikander and Lara, enjoying the end of the entertainment.

Sikander leaned against a balustrade, one arm around Lara’s waist, the other gently swirling a flute of Andalusian champagne. The evening seemed suffused in a pleasant glow fueled by dancing, dining, drink, and the company of a beautiful woman all in their proper proportions. He raised his glass in the direction of the mansion’s residential quarters. “My compliments to the governor,” he announced. “She throws an excellent party.”

“I don’t think I actually saw her this evening,” Lara said. “Was she even here?”

“I saw the governor at dinner,” Ensign Girard answered. “I think there’s a rule that says she has to come to her own party.”

Hiram Randall and his date wandered out onto the veranda. It seemed that Randall’s date had perhaps had a little more champagne than was good for her. Her face was flushed and she wasn’t entirely steady on her feet; she clung to Randall’s arm as she laughed loudly at something he’d said. Randall grinned at his own wit and steered her out into the cooler air. He caught sight of the group standing by the balustrade and headed over.

“I should have known that Mr. North would see the party through to its close,” Randall said as he joined them. “His talents in that regard are legendary.”

“I see my misspent youth follows me still,” Sikander replied. He’d intended to linger just a little bit longer, but he found that he was not terribly interested in trading jabs with his fellow department head. “However, in this case, you are mistaken. I fear that things are winding down here. We were just saying our good-nights; I must see Ms. Dunstan home soon.”

“Indeed?” Randall turned to Lara, and gave her an appraising look. “I must say, Ms. Dunstan, it’s very kind of you to take an interest in Mr. North’s introduction to Aquilan society. I can only hope the Foreign Ministry is compensating you handsomely for your work among the less advantaged cultures of the galaxy.” He enjoyed a merry laugh at his own humor, but his eyes remained cold and hard.

Lara gave Randall a sharp look, but a moment later she smiled coolly and intertwined her arm with Sikander’s. “I am sorry if it was not clear before, Mr. Randall, but Sikander is my date for the evening. And I certainly wouldn’t refer to a culture as rich and artistically mature as Kashmir’s as disadvantaged in any way.”

“If you say so,” Randall replied. “I suppose primitive belief systems are quite fascinating. The fact that they have survived up to the modern day says quite a lot about human nature—although not much that is complimentary, I am afraid.”

“Oh, here it comes again,” Magdalena Juarez said. “Hiram, no one cares what you think about their beliefs. Leave it alone.”

“I don’t mean to offend,” Randall said. “I am sincerely trying to satisfy my own curiosity. What exactly is the nature of Ms. Dunstan’s interest in this arrangement? Political? Charitable? Anthropological, perhaps?”

“Ms. Dunstan’s interests are none of your business, Mr. Randall,” said Sikander in an icy tone.

“I don’t see that they ought to be yours, either.” Randall gave a small shrug, and took a level sip from the highball glass in his hand. Sikander realized then that Randall was drunk—in fact, he’d had a drink in his hand every time he’d seen him throughout the evening—but he was one of those people who carried his liquor in his words. Instead of getting loud or red in the face or boisterous, Hiram Randall grew colder and viciously deliberate as he drank. The idea of baiting Sikander and teasing Lara Dunstan about him was something that a sober Randall might have entertained, but would never have acted upon. The drunk Randall couldn’t resist the temptation to stir up trouble, and the alcohol he’d imbibed fueled a cruel streak in him that was never very far beneath the surface.

Even understanding that, Sikander was furious. Hiram Randall had said all that he was prepared to put up with. “You’re drunk, Randall,” he said. “Go home before you say something you’ll regret.”

“Perhaps, but tomorrow when I sober up, I’ll still be an Aquilan and you won’t, no matter how much you pretend otherwise,” said Randall. He glanced at Lara, and his gaze lingered until she flushed and looked away. “Or who you … date.”

Sikander flexed his fists and took a step toward Randall. At that moment, he frankly did not care that he was about to end his career in the Commonwealth Navy in the most spectacular fashion imaginable. Striking another officer was a court-martial offense, regardless of the provocation that had been offered, and the witnesses standing nearby would be bound by duty and honor to testify about what happened next. He’d be sent back home in disgrace, but wiping the arrogant sneer off Hiram Randall’s face might just be worth all that trouble.

Magda Juarez took two quick steps and set a hand on Sikander’s shoulder. “For God’s sake, Sikay—don’t do it,” she said in a low whisper. “If you throw the first punch, you’re giving him exactly what he wants.”

“At a loss for words?” Randall met Sikander’s eyes. The Aquilan officer deliberately dropped his glass; it shattered on the flagstones of the veranda. The other guests nearby stood shocked into silence. “Don’t let Ms. Juarez keep you from speaking your mind!”

Sikander angrily shrugged off Magda’s hand, but just as he was about to step forward and knock Hiram Randall’s teeth down his throat, his personal comm beeped urgently. Randall’s went off at the same moment, along with Magda’s, Reno’s, and Girard’s. Despite his anger, he hesitated a moment and glanced at the device clipped to his belt. The other officers likewise looked down, surprised.

“What in hell?” Randall growled. He backed away from Sikander and brought his communicator to his hand. Sikander glared at the Aquilan, but held his place while his own unit continued to warble.

“Ship’s recall,” Michael Girard reported, listening carefully to his communicator. “All the officers and crew of CSS Hector are to report aboard immediately. It sounds like they’ll need us to get under way as soon as possible, sir.”

Recall? Sikander wondered. He turned his attention to his own communicator and accepted the call. In a moment he heard the cool, automated tone of the ship’s info assistant announcing the general recall. In six years of duty aboard three different ships, he had never seen a ship’s company called back from liberty. It simply wasn’t done … except in case of emergency.

“Damn,” Magda muttered. “They called us back from the Governor’s Ball? Did somebody start a war somewhere?”

“It’s only Hector, ma’am,” Girard pointed out. He nodded at the rest of the ball guests. Scores of uniformed personnel from other ships and stations were in sight, but none were looking at their own communicators or making their way toward the landing pad.

Something urgent, then, but urgent only for CSS Hector. The cruiser was needed somewhere else in a hurry. Some sort of disaster relief? An urgent delivery too big for a fleet courier? Sikander couldn’t even begin to guess. He returned his comm unit to his belt and faced Randall. “We will continue this another time, Randall,” he said. “I am available at your convenience.”

“I won’t forget,” Randall said. He put away his own communicator, caught his date by the hand, and headed for the landing pad.

Lara turned to Sikander. “What is it, Sikander?”

“I am afraid I must cut our evening short. We’ve all been recalled to the Hector.” He took her hand and grimaced. “There is a good chance we’ll sail at once. I don’t know where we’re going, or when I will be back.”

“The hazards of dating a naval officer, I suppose,” Lara answered. She sighed. “Well, it was a fun evening. I suppose I can see myself home.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “And, Lara—I am sorry about the way Randall treated you. He shouldn’t have said those things. I promise I will teach him better manners.”

“Don’t let him get to you, Sikay. He’s an ignorant bigot.” Lara pressed herself close and kissed him with a warmth that made Sikander very sorry indeed that he had to go. When they broke apart, she whispered in his ear. “Send word when you can, and be careful out there.”

“I will,” he said. “And I am truly sorry to spoil the evening.” He embraced her again, and then hurried away toward the mansion’s landing pad and the waiting flyers.