“Good morning,” she said, and smiled at him. “After a very good night. Do you happen to have a name?”
He smiled back at her with a flash of strong white teeth, like a carnivore’s. “Nicholas Darwin.”
That was a local name, she thought, not Clan. She felt a slight disappointment. Locals could be fun, in their way, but they always had people they wanted to go back to, and work that they did not want to abandon. “Are you off one of the DropShips?”
He laughed. “No. I’m a tanker. Star Captain.”
That was not so bad after all. She propped herself up on one elbow and drew a fingernail along the line of crisply curling hair that ran down the center of his chest. “Darwin is not a Clan Wolf name.”
“It was—” his breath caught as her fingernail slid downward “—my mother’s family name. My father was a Wolf Clansman, or so she said, and the genetic tests agreed.”
“Ah.”
Her hand stilled, and she considered him for a long moment in the morning light. Not really a local, then. True, he was freeborn and only half Clan—not quite good enough, it seemed, to go all the way to win a Bloodname and earn the right to ride a ’Mech into battle. But nevertheless he was both pleasant to look at and pleasant to take to bed, and Star Captain was a good enough rank that she need not be ashamed.
She made her decision.
“My name is Anastasia Kerensky.”
“I know,” he said.
“What!” she exclaimed indignantly. She sat bolt upright, so that the sheet slid down off her body and crumpled around her hips. “You knew?”
He was laughing, damn him, and giving her an unrepentant grin. “I recognized you buying drinks for the Purple Light Bar and followed you out.”
“You followed me out.” She was still seething, although inwardly she had to admit that she had not exactly been keeping a low profile at the time. “Why?”
“Curiosity,” he said. “You acted like you were looking for something, and I wanted to see if you found it.” His expression turned reminiscent. “And you certainly did. The way you handled that guy in the street… remind me never to make you mad.”
“You’re coming real close right now,” she said, but she let her accent slide downward into Tassa Kay’s casual imprecision, to take the sting out of the threat. “But you’re right, Nicholas Darwin. I did indeed find something that I was looking for.”
She rolled out of bed, heedless of Nicholas Darwin’s gaze, and went over to the closet and began pulling out clothes for the day. Uniform, this time, and working, not dress. “I had a question. I was looking for the answer. And I found it.”
“Fortune-telling through personal violence? That is a new one.”
“There are a great many liars in the universe,” she told him. “But death and violence, in my experience, tend to tell the truth.”
At some point the night before—she was not sure if it had happened during the fight in the alley or during the sex afterward—Anastasia Kerensky had achieved an enlightenment of sorts. She knew what she wanted—she had always known what she wanted—but she understood now that the subtle approach was not going to work. On the likes of Duke Aaron Sandoval, perhaps, or on the offspring of House Kurita—clever, subtle adversaries who could appreciate a well-turned ploy. But Kal Radick was not a subtle man.
She shut the closet door and headed out of the bedroom, carrying the clean uniform with her.
“Where are you going?” Nicholas Darwin said.
“Right now? To get washed and dressed. And after that, Headquarters. I have words to exchange with the Galaxy Commander.”
17
Steel Wolf Headquarters
The Four Cities, Tigress
May, 3133; local summer
Anastasia Kerensky entered the Steel Wolves’ strategic planning room unannounced and let the door shut behind her. She noted with satisfaction that Kal Radick was indeed where his aide had told her he would be; even better, the big, high-ceilinged room was packed with Kal Radick’s trusted subordinates, Star Colonels Ulan and Marks, as usual, as well as other high-ranking Warriors of the Steel Wolves. The tri-vid map display filling the surface of the table in the center of the room confirmed her suspicion that she had walked in on yet another batchall. Based on the map, Small World was the latest planet chosen to be the target of the Wolves’ concentration.
As soon as she had everyone’s attention, she strode up to the table, to a spot opposite Kal Radick. She gave herself a slow count of five to look at the map of Small World, then deliberately raised one eyebrow and nodded as if to herself. Only then did she look across the table and say to Radick, “I am glad to see that our reverses on Quentin have not daunted you.”
To either side of her, in her peripheral vision, she could see Marks and Ulan shifting position slightly and looking at each other. Their uneasy reaction confirmed her guess that she had not even been supposed to be here for this bidding.
He ignores me, he cuts me out. Me, Anastasia Kerensky.
The realization added fire to her resolve; she felt anger now, as well as justification. She channeled that anger into a wealth of dubious scorn as she spoke to Radick again, “But …Small World?”
Galaxy Commander Radick regarded her with a look of dawning unease. He replied carefully, as befitted the circumstances, when he must know that she had some agenda of her own, but not yet what that agenda might be. “Star Colonel Kerensky, would you care to participate in the batchall?”
“No.”
She saw him relax a little at her answer, and under the relaxation noted a flicker of what had to be carefully suppressed contempt. He said, “The Star Colonel may remain and observe the bidding if she chooses.”
Anastasia smiled a little at Radick, just to unnerve him further. “I am not interested in observing the bidding.”
That caused a whispered buzz of comment among the assembled officers. They looked from her to Radick and back again, aware like their commander that something was up, but not knowing what.
“Then what is your purpose in coming here?” Radick asked.
“I wish to declare a separate batchall at this time.”
The blunt statement brought on another, louder buzz of comment. Anastasia pushed on. “I am bidding myself, and myself only, to fight against Kal Radick in a Trial of Possession.”
This time, there was dead silence in the room for the space of several breaths. Then Radick spoke. “For which of my resources or possessions do you intend to challenge?”
“Your rank as Galaxy Commander. And leadership of the Steel Wolves.”
“On what grounds?”
“On the grounds that they are yours and that I want them to be mine.” She met his gaze across the map table, where the three-dimensional topography of Small World lay spread out between them. “We are Wolves, are we not—what more is needed?”
“Rank and position are not appropriate stakes for a Trial of Possession.” Radick looked at her narrowly. “Judging by your own words, it seems that you intend a Trial of Grievance.”
Anastasia kept her face unchanged with an effort, though she could not keep her chin from lifting slightly in the face of Radick’s insult and her shoulders going back. She had not anticipated so deft a counterchallenge.
If she were to fight a Trial of Grievance against Radick and win, she still would not have the rank and position that she desired. To obtain it, she would have to fight her way through a Trial of Position with all of Radick’s other Star Colonels—who would almost certainly turn their attention to eliminating her, the outsider who had defeated a popular commander, before moving against each other.
And he insults me as well, she thought, implying that I am ignorant of proper tradition and protocol. He thinks that making me angry will make me stupid. Wrong, Kal Radick. It only makes me angry.