Ричард Бейкер - Valiant Dust

“Some hope that he is backing the winning side, for a start. And guarantees that our traditions will be respected by offworlders, so that we won’t all be godless Montréalais within a generation or two.” Rashid set down his cup. “I am afraid I must excuse myself, my dear. I believe that Bey Salem wants me to help that Dremish trade representative increase his already vast fortune with some agreement or another.”

“Of course,” she said. “Thank you, Uncle. Don’t let Bey Salem talk you into doing anything foolish. And don’t say too much in front of that Dremish fellow, either. I have a feeling he is interested in things other than business deals.”

Rashid got to his feet and gave her an elaborate salaam. “Have you not yet learned that I can talk all day long and not say one thing of importance, my dear?” Then he headed back inside the palace, his attendants moving in to brief him on his next discussion before he even left the terrace.

Ranya watched him go. Sultan Rashid was not the ruler her father had been, but the self-awareness to know that seemed like a rare quality in a sultan. The fact that he continued to entertain visits from Salem el-Fasi and his Dremish friend while SMS Panther lurked overhead troubled her; it seemed like negotiating with someone pointing a pistol in your general direction. A move intended to elicit some more assistance from Montr é al, perhaps? she thought. Giving the Montréalais reason to believe they had competition for the sultan’s loyalties and might need to up their offer seemed like a shrewd tactic.

She glanced at the clear sky overhead. There is another warship in orbit, she reminded herself. If Montréal’s hands were tied by the considerations of its internal politics, maybe another power would be inclined to show support for the sultanate. She would have to be careful in exploring those options; the last thing in the world House Nasir needed was a rift with its Montréalais sponsors, after all. Something quiet, a back-channel approach, that would be the way to go. And she thought she knew where to begin. Lieutenant Sikander North of the Commonwealth starship Hector might understand the el-Nasir position better than anyone else in the system, and he could serve as a conduit to his own superior officers and the Aquilan diplomats in the system. Besides, she’d enjoyed their conversations, and she thought he had, too.

Is he thinking about me? she wondered, and instantly chastised herself for such a silly thought. Romantic daydreams had no place in her world at this moment. But the fact remained that she wanted to know what Sikander thought about their situation, and what he thought Aquila’s position might be. If a social occasion offered the best way to speak with him again, well, she would just have to make that sacrifice, wouldn’t she?

16

Silver Sea, Gadira II

Sikander reclined on the cushioned bench with his eyes closed, enjoying the feel of the warm sun on his face, the creaking of the rigging, and the endless whispering of the water against the boat’s hull. He’d never actually sailed before, and he loved the experience. All of his previous boating had been aboard powered vessels of one sort or another—usually sport fishing—and generally involved racing to the best or most scenic spots at whatever speed he could manage. The idea that people might take pleasure in going somewhere slowly, or not really going anywhere at all, had never taken hold of him, but a few hours on the sultan’s royal yacht Shihab had changed that. Sikander was a romantic at heart, and the sheer extravagance of sailing gracefully over a blue sea beneath a brilliant sky just as his ancestors had a thousand years ago on Earth was overwhelming.

“Are you well, sir?” Darvesh Reza asked him. The valet stood nearby, busying himself with arranging sliced fruit and iced drinks provided by the yacht’s crew at a nearby table.

“Never better,” Sikander answered. “Why do you ask?”

“You were lying with your eyes closed; I wondered if perhaps you were seasick.”

“Merely enjoying the elements, Darvesh. And you should know that I have never had any trouble of that sort, or I wouldn’t have taken up fishing.” Sikander propped himself up on his elbow and glanced over the low wooden rail ringing the yacht’s expansive stern. The brown jumble of Tanjeer’s buildings and factories had long since vanished over the horizon behind Shihab; the line of barren mountains and sea cliffs outside the capital slowly receded to the north as the yacht glided out onto the Silver Sea, leaving land behind.

Idly he wondered for perhaps the tenth time in the last hour or so why Ranya had invited him to come for a sail. A simple desire for companionship outside her customary circles? A quiet effort to ascertain more about the Commonwealth’s interests in Gadira, or perhaps a subtle message to Montréal or Dremark that the sultan’s allegiance might be flexible? Or was it a romantic overture—in which case, how exactly should he respond to any intimacies that were offered? Sikander had been surprised to receive the invitation to spend a day or two on the sultan’s yacht without the rest of Hector ’s officers along, and a little uncertain of how to reply, but Captain Markham hadn’t hesitated. “If the amira enjoys your company and wants to spend some time with you, consider yourself under orders to attend,” she’d told Sikander. “It offers a unique opportunity to gain the ear of the sultan. But don’t sleep with her, Mr. North. We don’t need any more complications here.”

Of course, not sleeping with someone might also cause complications, Sikander reflected. Which order took precedence—avoid physical intimacy, or avoid diplomatic complications? And if a romantic situation developed, how would it complicate matters with Lara Dunstan when he returned to New Perth? He was fond of her, too, and hoped to renew their acquaintance after his deployment. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Sikay,” he muttered. So far the outing appeared to be perfectly chaste, and in fact it was hard to imagine how he could initiate anything else with two dozen Royal Guard sailors and stewards aboard.

“What was that, sir?” Darvesh asked. He, of course, had to come along as well. Sikander had been surrounded by Aquilan officers at the sultan’s garden party and at dinner aboard the Panther, but traveling unaccompanied on a planet in such turmoil as Gadira was out of the question, especially after the recent attack on the sultan’s skycade.

“Nothing,” said Sikander. “Just reflecting on complications.”

“The entire point of sailing is to simplify things for a time,” said Ranya, stepping through the companionway that led to the main cabin below. She had changed into a light, gauzy sundress, and tied her hair back in a long dark ponytail. “That’s why I love it so much. The palace is busy around the clock, and there is always more to do. Getting away on Shihab compels me to set aside my concerns for a time. It’s good for the soul, I think.”

“In that case, I am gratified by your concern for mine. Thank you for inviting me.”

“I’m glad you were able to break away from your duties when I called.” Ranya crossed the sitting area at the stern and sat near Sikander; Darvesh finished rearranging the tray of refreshments to his liking, and left the two of them alone. “I see you’re sitting in the sun. Most offworlders find this part of Gadira to be too warm for their liking.”

“I grew up in the tropics of Jaipur. This is a pleasant change from New Perth, Hector ’s home port. It’s a rare day that gets above twenty degrees C in Brigadoon.” Sikander smiled at Ranya, and nodded up at the great sails and slanted masts that loomed overhead. “I’m not very knowledgeable about sailing ships. What kind of vessel is Shihab ?”