PJ poured whisky for himself and Macnamara, and gave Sula a Citrine Fling. He pulled his armchair closer to Sula and leaned toward her.

"Lady Sula," he said, "I want you to know that I'm completely at your disposal. Ever since the war began I've wanted to volunteer, I've wanted to prove myself worthy of...well," he hesitated, "a certain person."

So he was still in love with Sempronia, Sula thought, even after she'd run off with another man.

Don't feel so superior,she told herself. PJ wasn't the only person in the room to make the mistake of falling for a Martinez.

"I've tried to think of something I could do," PJ said. "I've racked my brains. But I have no military skills, and it's too late to establish a career in the civil service. I even thought about becoming an informer or a spy."

Sula tried not to show her astonishment at this last revelation. Sothat's what he was talking about, she thought as she remembered a drunken monologue from PJ at a reception.

PJ settled back in his chair, a sunny smile breaking onto his face. "And now it's come true. I can beyour informer.Your spy. I can seek enemy secrets right here in the heart of the capital."

Alarm rose in Sula. "No," she said quickly. "Don't try to spy out anything. You'll get caught and killed and put the rest of us in danger." At PJ's downcast expression, she added, "Just live your normal life. Youalready possess considerable knowledge that's of value. Tell me what you know."

PJ seemed uncertain. "What do you mean?"

"What's the news? What do you hear at your clubs? What are the Naxids doing?"

"Well," PJ shrugged, "they're all over the place, aren't they? Taking over the High City. They claim that they're bringing everything back to normal, the way it was under the Shaa, but that's not true." He took a sip of his whisky. "They've got their own people in charge of all the ministries, all the departments."

"So how do people feel about that?"

"They're angry, of course. But...baffled." He shrugged again. "Nobody knows what to do. Like Van, who I was talking to in my smoking club. Lord Vandermere Takahashi, I mean."

The Citrine Fling stung Sula's tongue. "Go on," she said.

"He's in the Meteorology Department," PJ said. "He's got a new Naxid supervisor, and he doesn't know how to act. He's loyal, of course, but could he be charged with treason if he followed her orders?"

"He might be shot if he didn't," Sula said.

"Probably not in the Meteorology Department," PJ allowed, "but if he were in anyplace critical, like my friend Sun is at the Ministry of Police, that would be different. He's got Naxids asking him for information all the time, and he doesn't know what they're going to use it for, whether it's an ordinary request or something they could use to prosecute loyalists. And of course he's had to take the oath of allegiance to the new government-does that make him a traitor or not? Will he be prosecuted or killed after we win the war?" He blinked. "The former government-thereal government, I mean-was quite vehement about cooperation with the Naxids. And Van's worried too, because even the Meteorology Department will have to take the oath sooner or later."

"I see," Sula said. Ideas sizzled through her mind.

She thought she knew the message that she wanted to send to the population.

Martinez spent the transit to Termaine in the Flag Officer Station, strapped to an acceleration couch and wearing a vac suit.Illustrious was at general quarters, standard procedure for a warship that might encounter an enemy on the other side of a wormhole. Martinez, as the squadron's tactical officer, sat facing the squadron commander, Lady Michi Chen.

The ship's captain, Lord Gomberg Fletcher, directedIllustrious from Command, on another deck. The Flag Officer Station concerned itself only with squadron maneuvers and grand strategy, not with the details of running the cruiser.

The squadron entered "hot," radars and ranging lasers hammering in search of a foe. The Naxids knew Chenforce was coming, and they just might have prepared some kind of surprise.

No surprise was in the offing, though since the Naxids had turned off their own radars, it took some hours for this to become apparent. Termaine Wormhole 1 was a considerable distance from Termaine's primary, outside the heliopause, and it would take days for Chenforce to near the planet. If there were any surprises, they would be farther into the system.

In the meantime, Michi Chen's own demands were being pulsed to Termaine via high-powered communications lasers, and repeated on radio frequencies for the benefit of shipping. All ships in the system were to be destroyed; all crews in transit to abandon ship if they wished to live. All ships on the ring were to be cast off without crews, all docking and construction bays to be opened for inspection, any uncompleted ships thrown into the vacuum with everything else. And Squadron Leader Chen's own message to be broadcast regularly on all planetary media, assuring the inhabitants of the planet that the Fleet still had teeth and were still able to punish rebels...

The demands were not negotiable. The destruction of Bai-do had made that clear.

It would be nearly half a day before the commander of the Termaine ring received the orders, and another half day beforeIllustrious could expect a reply. No incoming missiles appeared on the squadron's sensors. The only ships visible were fleeing Chenforce under as many gees as their crews could stand. It seemed that the squadron was safe for the present.

"Inform the squadron they may secure from general quarters," said Squadron Commander Chen. Her fingers rapped in rhythm against the armrest of her couch. "Ships to remain on alert, and point-defense systems to be placed on automatic."

It was not beyond possibility that missiles were incoming at relativistic speed, and the ships' automatic laser defenses would be the most efficient defense against such a threat.

"Yes, my lady," said Lady Ida Li, one of Michi's two aides.

Martinez looked at his commander. "Will you be requiring anything else, my lady?" he asked.

"No. You're at liberty, Lord Captain."

Martinez closed the tactical display, then pushed the display over his head until it locked. He unstrapped from his acceleration couch, grabbed one of the struts of his acceleration cage, and tilted the couch until his feet touched the deck. He stood, stretched to bring the blood tingling to his limbs, and then removed his helmet and took a grateful breath of fresh-or at any rate fresher-air.

Michi Chen, still on her couch, removed her helmet and stowed it in the mesh bag intended for that purpose. She tilted the couch forward to get to her feet, and Martinez, like a good staff officer, stood by to offer a hand if necessary.

She didn't need his help. The squadron commander was a handsome, stocky woman, with graying dark hair cut in straight bangs across her forehead. She looked up at Martinez. "So far, so good," she said. "I keep wondering if we're going to find an enemy fleet waiting for us."

Martinez, who had been wondering if he was going to be obliged to kill another four billion people, nodded in tactful agreement. "I think they're fully committed to Zanshaa. I think they're flying over the capital waiting for us to surrender."

Her lips gave a twitch of amusement. "I think you're right. But my job obliges me to worry."

She adjusted the collar of her vac suit to a more comfortable angle, then led the way out of the Flag Officer Station. Martinez followed, wishing that someone had invited him to dinner.

Martinez ate alone in his office, staring sourly at the plump buttocks and chubby faces of the naked winged children that so oddly ornamented his office walls. He was served by his cook, Perry, and he dined alone.

It was normal for him to eat by himself. A tactical officer was typically a lieutenant, and would mess in the wardroom, a kind of club for the lieutenants. Martinez, a full captain, couldn't take a meal in the wardroom without an invitation. Squadron Leader Chen had her own dining room, as did theIllustrious captain, Gomberg. Unless someone invited him, or unless he invited others, his unique status on the ship ensured his solitude.

He had left the relatively carefree life of a lieutenant behind, but he missed the companionship that life had once brought him. He would have happily traded that companionship for the loneliness of command, but the fact remained that hewasn't in command, and he had to dine alone anyway.

Perry cleared Martinez's plate and offered to pour more wine. Martinez placed his hand over the glass.

"Thank you, Perry," he said. Perry took the glass and left in silence.

Martinez called the tactical display onto the wall, just to make certain nothing new had appeared. Even though the naked children on the walls gazed at the displays as if in fascination, Martinez found there had been no change.

He closed the display and gazed at his desk, at images of Terza floating in the midnight surface. He thought of the child they had made together and he was suddenly possessed by a desperate exaltation, a hunger he could taste far more keenly than he had his meal. The idea of a child was a wonder to him, and he felt a blade-sharp longing for the child that he had never quite felt for Terza.

Suddenly, desperately, he wanted to be with his family aboard theEnsenada, the Martinez family yacht that was taking them from abandoned Zanshaa to safety on Laredo. He wanted to be with Terza, to bask in her placid smile and watch the minute progress of the child growing within her. For a brief, intense moment he would have thrown away all ambition in exchange for a quiet life of familial bliss.

There was a knock on the frame of his cabin door, and he looked up to see Lieutenant Chandra Prasad, the one person onIllustrious with whom he didn't want to be alone.

"Yes?" he said.

Chandra entered, closed the door behind her, and walked to his desk. She braced properly at the salute, shoulders flared back, chin high, throat bared-the posture imposed by the empire's Shaa conquerors on all vanquished species, the better to allow their superiors to cut their throats if they felt so inclined.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" Martinez said.

She relaxed and held out a thick envelope. "From Lord Captain Fletcher."

The envelope was of thick smooth paper in a faintly cranberry shade, no doubt custom-made for Captain Fletcher by the foremost papermaker of Harzapid. The seal on the envelope had many quarterings and reflected the captain's illustrious heritage.

Martinez broke the seal and withdrew a card, which invited him to dine with the captain on the next day, to honor the birthday of Squadron Commander Chen. Exigencies of the service permitting, of course.

He looked up at Chandra. She had auburn hair, a pointed chin, and a mischievous glint in her long eyes.

"I'll come, of course," he said.

"Shall I wait for your reply?" Chandra asked.

Even though the captain's quarters were only a few paces away and the invitation nothing a sane officer could possibly decline, custom of the service nevertheless required that Martinez reply to a written invitation with a written reply.

"If you're not required elsewhere," he said.

The mischievous eyes sparkled. "I am entirely at the captain's service," Chandra said.

Which was all too true. Lieutenant Lady Chandra Prasad was Captain Fletcher's lover, a situation dangerous with potential for intrigue and service politics. That potential was all the greater for the fact that she and Martinez, at the time both obscure lieutenants of provincial origin, had once been involved with each other, a tempestuous relationship that featured mutual betrayals and a parting that had left Martinez feeling relieved rather than rueful.

Martinez didn't know if Captain Fletcher knew of his involvement with Chandra, and the lack of certainty made him uneasy. His unease was increased by his knowledge of Chandra's character, which was ambitious, restless, and explosive.

Which was why he didn't want to be alone with her for any length of time.

He got a card and envelope from his desk and in his best hand wrote a brief acceptance. As he sealed the card in its envelope he had a mental picture of Fletcher touching the card stock with his sensitive fingers and shaking his head at its inferior quality.

Martinez offered the envelope to Chandra, who was looking down at his desktop with her head tilted, casting a critical glance at Terza's pictures.

"It's unfair that your wife is beautiful as well as rich and well-connected," she said.

"She's also talented, brave, and highly intelligent," Martinez said, and held the envelope clearly in Chandra's line of sight.

Her full lips gave an amused twist. She took the envelope, then glanced with her long eyes at the naked, winged boy-children fluttering on the office walls. "Do you like the view from your desk?" she asked.

"The captain tells me they're calledputti, and they're an ancient artistic motif from Terra."

"I wish they'd stayed there."

"I imagine you'd prefer naked girls," Chandra said. "I seem to remember that you liked naked girls very well." Martinez looked up at her and saw the invitation in her eyes. Suddenly he was aware of the nearness of her, the scent of her perfume. He looked away.

"Not in such quantity," he said.

"Don't underestimate yourself. You juggled quite a number of us, back on Zarafan."

He looked at her again. "It's not Zarafan anymore."

Now it was Chandra's turn to look away. Her eyes passed over the chubby children. "Still," she added, "it's a good deal more cheerful than what the captain has inhis private quarters." Martinez told himself that he wasn't interested in what Chandra had seen in her visits to the captain's chambers. "Is that so?" he found himself saying.

"Oh yes." She raised an eyebrow. "It's nothing like what he's got in the public areas."

Pornography, then,Martinez concluded. The thought depressed him. "Thank you, Lieutenant," he said.

"I won't take up any more of your time."

"Oh," Chandra said, "I don't have anything to do. I'm not on watch for hours yet."

"Ihave work," Martinez said. Chandra gave a shrug, then braced to the salute.

Martinez again called up the tactical display. Chandra left the room.

Martinez glanced at the display and saw nothing new. In fact he had no work, not until the squadcom found a task for him or something unexpected turned up on the tactical display.

He wished there were more to do. He very much wanted a task in which he could lose himself.

The alternative was to think about what might happen to Termaine if the system's governor refused Michi's demands. Or to think about his marriage. Or think of Chandra, near, available, and dangerous. Or, worst of all, to think about Caroline Sula.

In an attempt to fill the hours till supper, Martinez called up hypertourney on the desktop computer and tried to lose himself within a game of strategy and abstract spacial relationships.

He played both sides, and lost.

FOUR.

This is the official newsletter of the loyalist government-in-exile. A loyal friend has suggested that we send this to you. We hope that you duplicate this document and share it with other loyal citizens.Do not send this through electronic mail! We distribute this notice through safe means, but you cannot. If you send this electronically, the rebels will trace this message to its place of origin and you will be caught.

If you can, reproduce this newsletter using scanners and duplicators that cannot be traced to you. Remove the image and/or text from the duplicator's buffer afterward, if you can. Share it with friends, or display it in a public place.

If you can't reproduce this material physically, share this information with friends you can trust.

What We Owe Our Government The fact that we are under occupation by an invader has caused even loyal citizens to question their actions and to wonder what is required of them. They do not know how to respond to the rebels who have seized the capital and whose demands on the population are backed by threats of arrest, torture, and violence. They are uncertain how to respond to the invaders' demands for loyalty. We of the secret government offer the following as a guide.

As loyal citizens, we owe the government-in-exile our trust. We trust that they are fighting on no matter what the Naxids tell us through their controlled media. We trust that our government will return, defeat the rebel forces, and restore legitimate rule. We trust that the rebels will be punished along with those who helped them. Likewise, we trust that those who resist the Naxids will be rewarded by a grateful government after the restoration.

What else do we owe our government?

We owe it to our government to stay alive! We can't resistthe usurpers if we're dead. Therefore we should avoid any unnecessary acts of confrontation that will result in our being captured or killed. This doesn't mean that we shouldn't resist the Naxids, just that we should resist wisely, and on our own terms.

In order to resist, we must first organize and share information. Sharing this newsletter with your family and with trustworthy friends is a beginning. If you possess information that may be of value to the secret government, try to pass it to someone who may be able to make use of it. If you discover anything that the Naxids wish kept secret, spread the secret as widely as you can.

We owe the government the use of our minds!Keep track of rebel activities. Note which Naxid gives which orders. Note which of your neighbors and colleagues follows those orders, and with what degree of enthusiasm. Keep your memories clear and fresh. After the war you may be required to testify.

We owe the government our service against the rebels!The enemy can be attacked. Not simply through force of arms, but through other means. Rebel placards can be defaced. Loyalist slogans can be painted on walls. The latest anti-Naxid jokes can and should be circulated.

If you can, you are allowed to attack Naxid officials. They are mortal, and they can die. But remember that you are not required to risk your life needlessly-make sure of your escape route, then strike!