Prologue
“Bloody hell, make sure the place is spotless,” observed the supervisor. “Lady Aria will be staying in the stateroom. She’ll have your hide if she sees a speck of dust anywhere.”
“Jumped-up tart,” grumbled the ship’s worker. “What is she, twenty? Twenty-two? Ordering honest hardworking men about like the head of a noble house, when she’s—”
“Shut your trap!” hissed the supervisor, turning his head around quickly to see if anyone else was nearby. “It doesn’t matter if she’s only the second daughter, you muttonhead. She’s a damn sight above you or me, and she’ll stop your tongue right proper if she hears of your talk.”
“Jumped-up merchants, behaving like nobles…” the fellow went on, receiving a clout on the ear from his supervisor.
“Do you want to go on report?” growled his superior. “That’s enough out of you!”
The worker rubbed his reddened ear and muttered under his breath but said nothing audible, returning to his polishing.
The supervisor, satisfied that he had quelled the disrespectful talk of the worker, surveyed the suite that would soon house the Lady Aria. The young woman was notorious for nursing a grievance over any slight, perceived or real, to her honor. He fervently hoped she would find no fault with her lodgings.
He trotted down the ship’s corridor to check in with the head chef of the commissary. The head chef, Anton—Ants to his friends—was busily supervising the work of numerous prep cooks, frequently turning to consult a tablet he held in his hand. The wiry chef looked up at the supervisor’s entrance to his kitchen.
“Ah, Griggs,” said the chef, pausing from shouting instructions at his hardworking prep cooks. “Have you seen this?” he demanded, brandishing the tablet. “God of my fathers! You would think we were carrying royalty, not the second daughter of somenouveau richetradesman. Her flunky sent me a list of menus you would not believe! How we will manage with only hours before we go starside, I truly do not know. Allurian caviar? Cornish game hen? That’s straight from Earth, by my Provencal balls! Where in the seven hells of Candamal am I supposed to findthat? The silly little tart couldn’t tell the difference betweencoq au vinand my cock dipped in vinegar!”
“Ants, my friend, for the love of all you hold dear, keep your words free of such insults,” counseled Supervisor Griggs. “Nothing remains secret on a starship, as you know well. Keep talking like that, and it will inevitably get to the ears of her flunkies, as you call them. Lady Aria could have you serving mash on a prison hulk!”
The chef lowered his voice, leaning in to mutter a long string of obscure Provencal slang which, Griggs was sure, was still uncomplimentary but thankfully unintelligible.
As Griggs left the commissary, he mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. God of my fathers, indeed. Unrest, resentment, and complaints everywhere. An unhappy ship we are, and an unhappy ship makes for a long voyage.
He took the elevator up to the command deck, in response to a page from the executive officer. Moving past the consoles of the flight crew, who did not follow his progress, Griggs found the XO standing on the bridge, away from the rest of the flight crew, looking down on the planet through the enormous front screen.
The planet of Palamar lay below, a green and gray sphere currently in its dark cycle. The glittering lights of city after city lay clearly visible below, with long glowing lines that indicated the maglev train system which connected the entire world. Space around Palamar was dotted with satellites, drydocks, and multiple space stations that worked around the clock to facilitate the trade that was the planet’s lifeblood.
“Mr. Griggs,” said the XO without turning, hearing the approach of the supervisor. “I hope the evening finds you well?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Griggs tactfully. “Is Captain Belis on deck?”
“She is supervising the loading of our high-value cargo, and then will be on the flight deck to supervise the loading of our high-value guest,” said the XO dourly. “I hope that everything is in readiness?”
“As for the cargo, thankfully that’s not my area,” said Griggs. “As far as the Lady Aria is concerned, things are shipshape.”
The executive officer turned and regarded his supervisor. And the crew has been told to be on their best behavior?”
“Yes, sir.” Griggs, his neutral tone speaking for him.
The XO raised an eyebrow. “And the mood amongst the crew?”
“Permission to speak frankly, sir?”
The officer nodded.
“TheArgusis a proud ship, sir, and although not military, its crew is fiercely attached to Palamaran aristocratic traditions,” said Griggs carefully. “They are notnecessarilyappreciative of a personage who claims aristocratic prerogative without the lineage that goes with it…sir.”
The XO said nothing for a moment, and Griggs waited out the silence.
“But they have been warned that the Lady Aria is very scrupulous about her rights and privileges,” the officer said, finally.
“Indeed, sir.”
The XO straightened his cap, took in a deep breath, then exhaled.
“We’ll just have to hope that’s enough, then,” said the officer, with uncharacteristic directness.
