She’d been a middling journalist with a technical journal with a past in dance, acting, hostessing and massage work before; he’d taken her away from all that. She’d looked much younger than she was when he’d met her that night with Fassin — Saluus was a big fan of that whole wise head on young shoulders thing now, he’d decided — but she looked even better now, having taken him up on the offer of treatments she could never have had access to until they’d met. She was grateful to him. She never said so straight out — that would have imbalanced too much what they had — but he could see it in her eyes sometimes.
Well, he was grateful to her, too. She’d revitalised his private life and proved a significant new asset in his public one.
There was, also, just a hint of a feeling that he’d taken her away from Fassin, and that was quite a pleasant little sensation all by itself. Saluus had never exactly envied the other man -he didn’t really envy anybody, indeed why should he, how could he? — but there was a sort of ease to Fassin’s life that Saluus had always coveted, and so resented. To be part of a big family group like that, surrounded by people all doing the same steady thing, respected for their work intrinsically without constantly having to prove themselves through tender processes and balance sheets and shareholders’ meetings and staff councils… that must have its own sweetness, that must give a sort of academic security, a feeling of justification. And then the fellow had gone and become some sort of hero figure, just by spending five years pickled in shock-gel in a miniature gascraft (not even built by KHI) knocking round with a bunch of degenerate Dwellers.
Had that fame attracted Liss to Fassin? Had she just traded Fassin in, traded up to Saluus because the opportunity had presented itself? Maybe so. It didn’t bother him. Relationships were a market, Sal knew that. Only children and idiot romantics thought otherwise. You judged your own attractiveness -physically, psychologically and in terms of status — then you knew your level and could either raise or lower your sights accordingly, risking rejection but with the possibility of advancement, or settling for a more reliably stable life but never knowing what you might have achieved.
Saluus took a deep, cold breath.
The sun had disappeared, Ulubis dipping beneath tree-coated mountains far to the south-west. A few stars started to come out in the darkening purple sky. The broad scatter of orbital habs and factories shone like a handful of thrown, sparkling dust to the south-east, gradually stretching out across the sky after the retreating sunset like a distillation of the fading light. Saluus wondered which of those tiny scintillations belonged to him. Not as many as a year ago. Some had been moved away, just to get them out of old orbits where they could be more easily targeted. Two — big dock-ships, both of them, and cradling Navarchy vessels at the time — had been destroyed. Wreckage from one had fallen on Fessli City, killing tens of thousands, many more than had died in the initial attack. KHI was being sued for negligence, accused of not moving the dock-ships out of the way in time. A war on and everything controlled by the military but there was still room for that sort of shit. He was having words in appropriate ears, to get a blanket War Exemption Order proclaimed.
Saluus looked through his own exhaled breath for Nasqueron, but it was far below the horizon and probably all but invisible behind the shield of orbital scatter anyway, even if he had been in the right latitudes to see it.
Fassin. In all the preparations for war and invasion, you always had to make time to take account of whatever he might have got up to. Had he died in the storm battle? Reports from Nasqueron were ambiguous. But then reports from Nasqueron were never anything but ambiguous. He’d certainly disappeared, and was probably still on Nasqueron — though in the time between the destruction of the original satellite surveillance network round the planet at the time of the storm battle and the establishment of a new one after the founding of the Dweller Embassy, there had been a window when even quite big craft might have left Nasqueron’s atmosphere — but who knew? And if Taak was still somewhere in the gas-giant, what was he doing?
If he was still alive, Saluus didn’t envy him at all any more. To have your whole existence, never mind your whole family, wiped out like that… maybe Fassin had killed himself. He had been told, apparently, before the whole ghastly mess at the GasClipper race. He knew they were dead. If he wasn’t dead too, he was more alone than he’d ever been in his life, with nothing much to come back to. Saluus felt sorry for him.
His first thought had been that with Fassin so reduced, there would be no danger of Liss going back to him if he ever did reappear. But then he’d thought about how people could confound your expectations sometimes, and how women in particular could display a sort of theoretically laudable but harmfully self-sacrificial kind of misplaced charity when they saw somebody damaged. Luckily Jaal Tonderon was still alive. Sal and his wife had invited her to stay with them for a while. He wanted to encourage her to be strong for Fassin, if he ever did make it back, and they were all still there.
The Dweller Embassy had been a great success. The Dwellers had seemed keen to make up for the misunderstanding in the storm and the Ulubis Mercatoria had been desperate not to fight on two hopeless fronts at once. Another moon, Uerkle, had been designated as the new site for the Seers’ Shared facility -construction was well under way — and a small fleet of ships had been welcomed into orbit around the gas-giant. Seers had started direct delving again — the equipment for remote delving was not yet all in place — and the Dwellers either didn’t notice or didn’t care that a lot of new so-called Seers were really Navarchy, Cessoria and Shrievalty scouts — spies, if you wanted to be blunt about it — searching for Fassin Taak, searching for the also-disappeared Dweller called Valseir, searching for any sign of those weapons used against the Mercatorial forces during the battle in the GasClipper storm race and searching too for any hints or traces of the Dweller List and anything remotely associated with it — so far, admittedly, all completely without success. Even these scout craft had to be tagged and traceable and escorted by a Dweller guide, but it was a start.
Also in the preparatory — and to date unsuccessful — stages were the negotiations with the Dwellers to forge an alliance or get Mercatorial hands on Dweller weaponry. The Dwellers had shown themselves to possess offensive capabilities — well, strictly speaking, defensive capabilities, but that didn’t matter — nobody had credited them with. If they could be brought into an alliance with the rest of Ulubis system, the whole balance of forces between the invaders and the defenders might be turned upside down. Even if the Dwellers only shared some of their military-technological know-how — or just lent out or hired some of the devices — that might make enough of a difference for Ulubis to resist the invasion on its own without having to wait for the Summed Fleet units to arrive.
And if that failed, then there was the delicate matter of how to get the Starveling invasion fleet to attack Nasqueron and so, with luck, dash itself to pieces against whatever hyper-weaponry had destroyed the Navarchy forces in the storm battle.
So much to think about.
Saluus was wearing a jacket but he’d come out without gloves and so had put his hands into his pockets to keep them warm. Liss slipped one arm through his, suddenly there at his side, nuzzled up to him, her skin-perfume seeming to fill his head. He looked down at her and she pressed closer to him, following his gaze out to the south and the stipple of light from the orbital structures.