The Sea of Clouds: Imperial Mars, #2

PROLOGUE

6 May, Martian Imperial Year 500

I arrived at Phobos, after a months-long journey from Liberty Station, carrying nothing but a small duffle full of second-hand kit. It hadn’t been an enjoyable trip. More like the subtle version of being transported home in irons. The ship, unlike most, was equipped with a long-distance radio antenna, through which the details of my late adventures had flashed their way to Phobos ahead of me. By the time I arrived, the Admiralty knew as much about the loss of Liberty Station as anyone in the Navy knew.

Anyone, that is, but me. Fitting my testimony into the exact shape of what they knew had taken up most of my time on the voyage. I would have to explain to the Admiralty how I had managed to lose the Empire’s most valuable economic and strategic resource, without letting slip any of the truth, which was that I’d done it on purpose.

The easy thing, after turning coat and betraying Mars to the rebels, would have been to stay on the station, let them write me down as a deserter. Next easiest would be to pretend it had never happened and try to be a loyal officer from there on out.

But I had chosen neither of those courses. I was here to spy on the Martian Imperial Navy, to do it so brazenly no one guessed, and to do it effectively enough that it gave the rebels some kind of advantage.

The first thing any spy needs is a private communications channel, so I followed the sign that read Radio Office, trailing my duffel behind me. The faint gravity brushed at my inner ear, no good for pinning anybody’s feet to the floor, but enough to tell me which way was down.

I handed myself along the wall, dodging clumsy landsmen who didn’t know how to handle the microgravity. Last time I’d been here, I’d been one of those lubbers, barely able to handle my own duffle. It was quiet here today; no riots or graffiti. I wondered if that meant the unrest on Mars had simmered down too.

The radio office was staffed with a number of clerks, none of whom appeared to be the man I was looking for. I parked myself in the food court across the concourse and waited. If they were on three shifts, sooner or later I’d get a look at all of them.

The crowds passing through Phobos looked the same as ever: enlisted spacers in white, officers in dark blue, civilians in every color. The military sailors were more numerous, but there was plenty of civilian shipping still passing through, even despite the embargo from Earth.

Somewhere down the concourse rang a chime. Eight bells. The clerks across the way went inside their office and new clerks came out. Including one who matched the description I’d been given: short, slim, dark, three rings in the right ear, tattoo running from his jaw down to his neck.

I waited a few minutes before getting slowly to my feet and dragging my duffel onto my shoulder. Looked up the concourse, looked down, checked my pocket watch. Didn’t want to look too purposeful.

The man with the three earrings hovered behind the counter in a close approximation of standing. Good evening, sir, may I help you?

That marked him as a Navy man, at least by background, though he wasn’t in uniform. A civilian would have said miss. I put one elbow on the counter, as if to lean, though I had no weight to lean with. I need to send a message, I said. I need you to tell the Tall Jockey that Lafayette arrived.

CHAPTER ONE

15 May, MIY 500

Moira

––––––––

The pirate king of Liberty Station was in a mood. You could tell by the way the Martian deserters forgot themselves and knuckled their foreheads and called him sir, imagining they could soothe his temper with careful discipline, like they had for their old Navy captains. You could tell by the way some of the Earther pirates stomped around as if they were under one g, looking like prancing ponies when they shot up much higher than they meant to under the Mars-normal gravity.

But mainly you could tell by the shouting. I could hear it from clear out on the concourse. If you CAN’T BE ARSED to CLEAN THE BLOODY WATER TUBES like I FUCKING TOLD YOU, then I don’t know why we’re WASTING STATION AIR on a FUCKING MUDEATER!

The door of the office slammed open and Coelho came out. The commandant, they would have called him on a Martian station. Coelho didn’t have an official title, but we called him the pirate king and meant it. He had the campy style of one, and the temper to boot. His dark curls glistened with hair oil, and his red velvet coat went down to his knees. All he needed was a gouty foot to complete the picture.

Behind him stumbled one of the Earth pirates, dragged by one arm. She was a younger spacer, eyes wide with fear, gabbling, I’ll do it, I swear, I just got behind—

He crossed the concourse to the nearest airlock, cranked it open, and flung her in. She cowered on the far side, too afraid of him to make a break for it.

I pushed away from the wall. Not interfering, yet, but ready to.

Coelho cranked the lock shut and stood, arms folded, fuming, for a long minute. At last he cranked it back open and let the girl out. Just don’t let it happen again, he said at last, while she hiccuped and rubbed at her streaming eyes. She bolted for the water reclamation system, and he stalked back to his office.

Only when the door was shut did I lean back against the wall. I thought I was done seeing airlockings when I left the Navy, I muttered to Marron, who sat in his wheelchair next to me.

He let out a short bark of laughter. I can tell you didn’t serve long with Coelho, he said. They’re his favorite. And he doesn’t always let them out.

I frowned. "He’d better not try it on any of my men."

He’d have a mutiny on his hands, Marron agreed. Speaking of ...

I looked over at him. His graying head, as he sat in his chair, came only to my elbow. It was strange to have him there—in space, he was always at eye level if he wanted to be. The gravity here on Liberty was too much for his space-wasted legs, and he needed the chair if he didn’t want to risk breaking the brittle bones. I don’t follow.

Some of the men don’t care for Coelho. Our old crew especially. And if you wanted the job for yourself... I’m just saying, you wouldn’t get much opposition.

My chin jerked up. I came here to get away from the Navy, and because once I’d done that, I needed somewhere to be. I didn’t have any illusions about what it was going to be like. I know pirates aren’t idealists.

Some of us are, he said. Lucy really got me steamed up, talking about Mars. She got this station for you. Because she wanted to build something that was better than where both of you came from. At this point I’d be heading back to Mars myself, to overthrow the whole classist mess, if my legs worked. He gave them a sharp slap.

I folded my arms across my chest. If you came from Mars, you wouldn’t talk like that. Don’t you think if the Emprex could be knocked off their throne, just like that, we would have done it by now? After a while, you stop daydreaming of making it better and settle for at least getting away from it. Which I did.

He craned his neck to look up at me. Embarrassed, I slid down the wall into a crouch. Not fair to tower over him like that. He jabbed a finger down at his armrest. Why’d you let Lucy go off like that then? I thought she was going to be fixing Mars from there, and you’d work on fixing it from here!

I looked away. She needed a reason to go.

What’s that supposed to mean? You lied to her?

I told her she could keep an eye on it for us. That’s all. I just—I couldn’t stand the idea that she could go home and would choose not to.

She would have stayed for you!

But she didn’t want to, I argued. It was obvious. Or would have been, if she’d thought about it for two seconds. She sacrificed so much for her family. If she’d stayed with me, if the word had gotten out she’d deserted, her family would have lost everything. She might have said it was fine at the time, but I knew she’d resent me forever. The only person she loves more than me is her brother.

I think she loves you more, said Marron quietly.

I gave my head a tight, sour shake. Evidence says no. Because I gave her the choice and she chose to leave.

He glared at me, his black eyes shining out from a sea of deep brown wrinkles. Chose? Bullshit. You sent her away and she did it because she thought she could help you that way, and you’re not doing shit with her sacrifice.

I snapped back to my feet. If I could free Mars for her, I would, okay? But I can’t. We can’t even make this fucking station run right.

It was true. The dream had been to recruit pirate ships to run the mining routes and sell the gasses back to Mars. But we had gotten few ships to sign on. There was more profit in piracy.

Interrupting my thoughts, Coelho’s door swung open again and his curly head popped out. Moira, in.

I pushed off the wall and sauntered over, not too quickly. I’d dealt with more vicious commanders than him. But I could feel Marron’s eyes on my back as I walked away.

Coelho threw himself back into the large chair behind the desk and put his boots up on the table. "Lost another ship today. Martian ship Utopian Sunrise, on its way here loaded with everything we wanted. Close enough to hear the distress call, too far to help."

I nodded. I’d assumed his temper tantrum had stemmed from something of the kind. Been a while since one has made it through. I sat down in the chair across from him, without having been invited to. My little way of not deferring to him like everyone else did.

He didn’t seem to notice. We’re self-sufficient enough to manage for a while, but we’re losing money every day we’re out here. This isn’t what I expected.

I shrugged. Well, it’s not like Earth was paying you much either.

Better than this! He pulled one foot off the desk and leaned forward over the other. I’ve got half a mind to ditch the whole thing. Go back to piracy. Knauss would forgive me if I gave her the station.

My heart raced. I looked languidly away—an automatic reaction to tension, becoming even more casual. If Lucy couldn’t get me to betray my feelings, Coelho certainly couldn’t. You could probably do that, I said.

What would you do, if I did?

Dunno. Knock around the system. See what work my crew and I could find.

He frowned. Probably disappointed at not getting a bigger reaction. He tried a more blatant approach. Are you loyal to me, Moira?

I blinked at him. You gave me my ship. Of course I couldn’t forget that.

There’s talk, around the station. Maybe you’ve heard it.

Some things. All bullshit. I’ve seen your job; I don’t want it.

Well, then. If I can trust you. I have a job for you. He took his other leg off the table and sat up straight. "We’ve got to drive those pirates off the route between here and Mars. I know how they’re thinking. It’s cost-benefit. Without the Martian navy hanging around, it’s easy pickings to get the merchant ships passing back and forth. I need you to take the Mariposa and take the upstream route. Take or destroy as many pirate ships as you can. Make it too risky to be a good bargain."

The undercurrent of his words was easy to detect: I don’t trust you, I need you away from the station, and your crew too.

But what could I do? It was do as he said or mutiny like Marron wanted. And I had had my fill of that already. Coelho wasn’t my choice of leader, but he was keeping Liberty going and that was all I really wanted. If we could get it functional, it would help Mars as much as the pirates—erasing the harm we’d done to Mars’s war effort against Earth, and keeping the terraforming project.

But I couldn’t set my goals any higher than that. Lucy was different. Lucy had ideals, always had. Disillusion her about the Empire, and it only made her want to take it down and replace it with something better. She would never believe that a certain amount of horribleness was always going to be there. Any more than she’d believe that here, on her precious Liberty Station, people were still getting thrown into airlocks for screwing up.

I’ll give it a shot, I said, rising to my feet and throwing him a mock salute.

On the way to the Mariposa’s launch, I was ambushed by Marron, Nguyen, and Yao, three of my closest crew. Are you going to do it? demanded Nguyen, the slight young man with the goatee.

I told Marron I wouldn’t, and he’s obviously talked to you, I answered shortly. What do you think would have changed?

He called you into his office for something, said Yao. She was too young to be a sailor, not that that ever stopped Mars from recruiting children. Might have been looking to pick a fight.

He suspects me because somebody’s talking treason around the station. Hope it wasn’t any of you. I led the way into the airlock, where the empty gray tube of our launch was docked.

Yao cranked the door shut, and Nguyen manned the outer lock. Marron kept his eyes on me. What did he say?

He’s getting rid of us, I said. Sending us to trawl the trade route.

Yao’s eyes lit up. Action.

Hopefully.

You don’t have to do it, urged Marron. What’s he going to do if you refuse?

There will be fighting, I said. "I don’t feel like watching anyone else get thrown out an airlock. Especially not any of you."

I didn’t get this old without learning how to take a calculated risk, he said. The odds—

Are in our favor either way. He’s not planning to abandon the station. Sure, he doesn’t run it how I would. But he’s doing what he can, with the ships he has. If we can clear the route, he can make money. As long as he’s making money, he’ll keep Liberty as it is.

I manned the helm. Behind me, everyone was in their places. Cast off, I ordered, and Yao shut off the magnet that kept the launch in place. The centrifugal force of the station flung the launch away at the speed of an express train, and for a moment we had all we could do to adjust the launch’s trajectory back toward the Mariposa. Marron included. As soon as we had cast off, he rose out of his chair and manned a rear thruster with his powerful arms.

Once the launch was aimed to match speeds with the ship, Marron made his way back up to the bows. I can’t help but think, our trip will bring us close to Lucy.

That detail had not been lost on me. We hadn’t even sailed yet and already my knees felt weak. Of course there wasn’t the slightest chance we’d cross paths; even if by some miracle Lucy was stationed to a ship heading toward Liberty, I wouldn’t be able to say a word for fear of breaking her cover.

But somehow the thought of even crossing orbits put butterflies in my stomach.

I know it, I said, and started the deceleration.

CHAPTER TWO

16 Geminiad

Lucy

Officer, I miss you like crazy. Things got dramatic here at Liberty; I’m going to have to take a trip soon and might not be able to write for a while.

Tell me everything about the parties you’re going to, and what you’re wearing. I wish you could send pictures this way, but I’ve got a good imagination.

––––––––

I tucked Moira’s note into the bosom of my gown. It was that sort of gown, the kind that pushes up the breasts until you can barely see over them, and can stuff any number of small objects down. Not my usual knee-breeches and frock coats, but I had the feeling this was the sort of event where even half the men would be wearing gowns. Trousers don’t have enough room for the amount of lace and jewels you want to wear to an Imperial ball.

The hired carriage pulled up outside the palace and the footman opened the door. Taking a deep breath, I alighted on the plush carpet runner and pulled my shoulders back. My bosom canted forward even more alarmingly, but no matter. I knew I looked perfect, or as perfect as my budget had allowed. The cornflower blue gown had been made over several times, but the lace on it was new, and my mother had helped me alter it so it fit the more relaxed silhouette of the current fashion. But over a corset, still—nature hadn’t given me the waifish figure that the style had been made for. Hair was still ostentatiously formal these days, so my indifferently-colored locks defied gravity in a powdered assortment of braids and pin-curls.

I entered the immense, baroque ballroom to the sound of my name: Miss Lucy Prescott-Chin of Hellas, Midshipman, Imperial Martian Navy. I approached the Emprex, where they sat in an ornate armchair, surrounded by their family, and made a deep reverence.

Your Imperial Majesty, I breathed, inclining my head as low as I could without throwing off my hair’s center of gravity. It is an honor to be present here tonight.

The Emprex beamed. How can I describe them? In a room full of ornate hair and ostentatious gowns, theirs outshone them all. They wore red damask, studded with gemstones, and a snowy jabot of lace at their throat. Their hair—almost none of which could possibly be real—arced almost a foot high. Nestled within the powdered locks was—I almost laughed—a model ship. Not to scale. The body of the ship was the size of a spool of thread, and shimmering sails of silver foil stood out a foot in either direction.

Another officer to grace my party, the Emprex said, turning to the Princess Consort.

The Consort smiled at me. You see, this ball was our little thought for how we could help the war effort. Invite the flower of Mars’ youth, and also as many officers as we could find at home, in the hopes that more would be inspired into commissioning.

I had gathered as much from the invitation. I certainly hope they may, Your Highness.

Beneath its thick white makeup, the Emprex’s face grew somber. The ancestors know we need them. The shipyards are turning out all the ships they can, and we’ve impressed thousands of men, but officers are harder to find. I’m surprised you’re still a midshipman, with how fast they’re promoting officers.

This is my first time home since I was commissioned, Your Majesty, I answered, trying not to sound defensive. I’m supposed to stand the lieutenant’s exam next month.

Ah. They gestured to the side, where their two children were sitting. Princess Sofia Maria, the elder, was older than I and married. She would be our next Empress, the ancestors willing not for many years yet. But the gesture was for the younger son, Prince George Konstantin, who sprang obediently to his feet.

Kostya, you must ask her to dance, the Emprex continued. My son has a space voyage in his future himself, you see. Perhaps he can ask you about it.

I let the prince lead me away, relieved to at least have the most intimidating part of the evening over. The Emprex was, to my mind, more of a symbol than a person: a symbol of the entire Empire, its stability, its power. To meet them in the flesh seemed almost too much. Especially when I’d broken my oath to serve Mars and Emprex. At the time I had been abandoning my allegiance to an idea. Facing the person I had betrayed felt different.

So, the prince began, bowing and taking my right hand to begin the dance, you’re almost a lieutenant.

After less than a Martian year of service, I answered, embarrassed. I hope I’m ready.

I’m sure you are. His dark eyes gazed down on me intently, as if there were no one in the room but us two. You certainly seem intelligent.

I faltered a step of the dance and quickly recovered. Barefaced flattery. I hate it when men flirt with me; it shows an appalling lack of research. My romantic affiliation is a matter of public record. If you can’t be bothered to look it up, you’re not sincerely interested. It’s such an obviously manipulative ploy.

You dance well, he murmured huskily, pouring about a gallon of sex appeal into those three little words. God, if I could master that trick, I would have had women eating out of my hand. There was a time that had been all I wanted.

I decided to spare him further embarrassment. It’s taking all my focus to do it, I said. I usually lead.

It took him a second to follow my hint. Then he threw back his head and laughed heartily, the bedroom eyes immediately abandoned. My apologies, Miss Prescott, he said in a more normal voice. I should have asked. He dropped my right hand, picked up my left, and began to dance backward. Luckily I’m just as good at following.

That was right; his own romantic affiliation was indifferent. When his coming-out hit the social papers, my father had shaken his head. Was he sincerely interested equally in men and women, or was he only trying to widen the pool of available spouses? Not many young people were that mercenary, but then not many young people were princes. He might never have made an uncalculated move in his life.

I led the prince in a slow turn, which he executed flawlessly. So, your highness, I began. You have an upcoming voyage. Are you commissioning as an officer?

Ah, no, he said. My parent didn’t want me to take that risk. I am being sent to Venus on a diplomatic mission. But it means I’ll have to go to space for the first time. I’ve never been further than Phobos before. Any advice?

I tipped my head to the side, thinking it over. Bring cologne, I said at last.

He laughed. Cologne?

I’m serious. You’ll be breathing the same air for months, and the men don’t bathe. Bring cologne, twice as much as you think you’ll want. I swirled him out into a faster spin, which made his long, dark hair and knee-length coat flare out dramatically. Surely there were plenty on the floor who would appreciate that sight, even if I didn’t.

Good to know, Miss Prescott, he said with a wry smile when he landed back in my arms. Ever been to Venus itself?

Nobody ever has, I said. Well, hardly anybody. I suppose the Venusians have.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, he said. And they’ve approved our visit, which means they’re at least willing to entertain the possibility of a treaty. We’ve been asking since the war started. I don’t know what changed their mind.

Possibly that we lost Ares Station to the pirates.

He blinked. You would think that would make us a less desirable ally. We’ll have less to offer them now than we would have had.

They don’t want allies, I said, surprising myself. They like being a neutral party in a divided solar system. If they’re thinking of taking sides, it might mean they’re worried the status quo might be threatened.

His graceful steps faltered for the first time. You think they think we’re losing the war?

I shrugged. I think they’re considering the possibility. And, if they’re willing to put themselves out to prevent it, that might make a great deal of difference.

The music came to a crescendo, and I gave the prince a gentle dip. He was too much heavier than me to try anything more dramatic.

He bowed over my hand before taking my arm and leading me across the floor. I have to spread myself around more tonight, but I know who you should talk to. Miss Yekaterina Liu-Johnson will hang on every word of this political talk. She always does when I bring up the subject.

I allowed myself to be introduced to the lady: tall, somewhat dark of complexion, with a natural curl in the waves of hair that were allowed to hang free from her coif. Not a common look for a Founder, but not so rare either. I made my curtsey. Miss Liu.

She folded her fan, revealing deep red lipstick—an excellent choice, on a face like hers. Miss Prescott. I see the prince is moving on to greener pastures. Struck out with you, did he? He ought to research the guest list. I know I did.

My cheeks warmed as she took my hand. The next dance was a country set, where we couldn’t speak much. I whirled her up and down the lines of partners, separating to step around another couple and clasping her hands again after. A terrible dance for talking, yes, but an excellent one for flirting. Every time we reunited, her eyes sparkled with another smile. I matched hers, unsure if it was because it was the right, political thing to do or because I couldn’t help it. She was playing the same game as the prince, I could tell, but this time it was working on me. Whatever would Moira think?

The dance ended at last, and we sank, panting, onto a settee. Well, you’re energetic, aren’t you? she asked with a curl of her red lips. Some of these Navy people, they come home and can barely make it down the set.

They’re neglecting their exercise, then. It really shouldn’t take above a few days to adjust back to Mars gravity. A man in black and white offered me a drink on a tray, which I accepted.

Miss Liu took one also. Ah, you’re a very dedicated officer, then. Just what the Navy needs right now.

I took a careful sip from the sparkling glass. It wouldn’t do to drink too much, not here, where I had come to be Moira’s eyes and ears and not give too much away. I doubt the Admiralty would agree with you there, I said. They think of me as well-meaning but dense. I’ll be allowed to take the lieutenant’s exam before my next posting, but I expect it will be a long time before I have even a temporary command. I’ve messed up too many times.

Oh, they misjudge you, then. Kostya introduced you to me as ‘interesting.’ Dense people are never interesting.

I deflected the compliment. He told me you like talking politics.

"Not quite true. I like listening politics. I have none of my own; here at court you can make far too many enemies if you have strong political opinions."

It’s the same in the Navy. Certainly I’ve had an opinion from time to time, but I don’t share them with the chain of command. What if I lost out on a chance at preferment because someone was offended by my views?

She smiled, dark eyes sparkling. So you do have opinions. Tell me one.

Damn. Well ... I should have figured this out ahead of time. I had been a fervent populist, a Russet, back in the day, but that was too radical, too close to what I thought now. I think, I said at last, that the political discourse has become far too polarized. The Greens hate the Blues, and everyone hates the Russets and the Grays. It’s far too easy to accidentally give offense, simply by seeming to support one party or the other. When I feel we all, perhaps, agree a great deal more than the politicians and journalists would make us believe.

A lukewarm speech, borrowed from my mother’s political beliefs, which could be summarized by, Can’t we all be friends? My father, a loyal Green, would storm, Not with the Blues, I can’t!

Miss Liu’s smile broadened. You sound delightful. Perhaps the real radicalism is admitting that nine-tenths of what we squabble over, we believe only to have something to talk about.

She wasn’t wrong, given that these four parties only represented the tiny minority of Martians who had a vote. Parliament spent its time arguing about which of the noble interests it ought to represent, while representing very few of the interests of the majority of Martians.

It’s better than the weather, at least, I agreed.

You’ll find the higher you go in society, the less people care, she said. Look at the whist players there. Who do you see?

I cast them a glance over my wineglass. Is that... the Prime Minister and the opposition leader?

The very same. A Green and a Blue, but at every high-level event, they’re thick as thieves.

As we watched, a third joined the party: Vasily Chin-Hawking, a distant cousin of mine and the People’s Tribune. His role was to represent the common people in Parliament: one single voice for the vast majority of the population. And here he was, playing whist with the people oppressing his constituents.

I looked away to hide my anger. My father would be furious. He hates the Blues. We’re a country family, after all. The end of farm subsidies made him so angry he cut off all his Blue friends. Not that he had had many to begin with. I put a little disapproval into my tone.

The voters care so much more than Parliament does. I swear it’s no more to them than whist.

When really, I ventured boldly, there’s not a finger’s difference between the two parties. Not compared to the Russets.

The Russets are just radicals, she said. Encouraging these colonist riots. We had one in Cassini just yesterday. Several police were injured.

I gave a shocked little blink, though I’d read about it in the papers. Things are different from when I went to space last fall. I don’t understand why it’s happening.

She shrugged. There are always malcontents. And this Khan impersonator, handing around all those leaflets swearing he’s still alive, doesn’t help.

"Oh, those, I said. The social reformer was alive, I’d shaken his hand, but I couldn’t possibly betray any hint of that. My father thinks it’s the Russet party leader who writes them."

If it is, he should be drummed out of Parliament, said Miss Liu indignantly. Founders ought to stick together.

I took another sip of wine, feeling a little sick with all this lying. Just because I was better at it now didn’t mean I liked it. Certainly we have a great deal more in common with each other than any colonist.

Miss Liu offered me a ride home in her carriage, which I accepted. I would have had to order one, a tremendous expense.