"Let's do it," she said.
The Martian Rangers decurion saluted with a grin, and called to his guard-party. They were ghouloons, of course; in surface suits and armor, but with faceguards swung back. Their muzzles dipped in unison as they wheeled, split into two lines of fifteen, and trotted down to take station in four-footed parade rest up the broad stairway that ran from the upper lounge to the lower. Yolande moved to the head of the stairs; the band struck up the Warrior's Saraband, and the decurion turned to the double line of inhuman fighters.
"Commandant-Governor's… salute!" he barked, as Yolande walked down the stairs. The ghouloon troopers threw back their heads and gave a short barking howl.
She was close enough to see her daughter's face now: flushed with a combination of delight and terminal embarrassment, as the crowd in the main terminal parted. There were cheers and claps; Yolande had come to the Commandant-Governor's post with a good reputation, and was popular enough…
"Ma. Ah, Service to the State."
"Glory to the Race." Oh, Freya, she looks so much like her, Yolande thought, with a brief twisting pain inside her chest. For a moment the years and light-minutes slipped away, and she was a rumpled teenager alone and lonely on her first evening at Baiae School. Like that first time I saw her. Gwen was fourteen now—a little taller than Myfwany had been, a little slimmer. Perhaps more relaxed about the eyes. My own Gwendolyn, Yolande thought.
"Hello, daughter," she said and opened her arms.
The hug was brief but bruising-strong, the New Race muscles squeezing her ribs. Yolande released the girl and held her at arm's length. "Yo' lookin' good, child of my heart." Nikki had been jittering at Jolene's side; now he tore free and threw his arms around Yolande's waist, smiling up gap-toothed. She ruffled the sandy hair and closed her own eyes for a moment; they were rare, these instants of true happiness. Best to seize them while you could.
Nikki was looking sideways at the Rangers. "Decurion Kong," Yolande said, "I think my son might like to review yo' guard-party."
"Yo' bet, ma!" the seven-year-old said enthusiastically.
Yolande nodded to her aide, saluted. "I think we can carry on from here, Tetrarch," she said, and turned back to her daughter.
"Ah, ma?" Gwen was pulling her companion forward. "This is my friend Winnifred Makers, I told yo' about?"
Wide blue eyes, a sharp-featured New Race face, dark-blond hair. Swallowing a little, but bearing up under the stress of meeting the planetary-governor mother of her schoolfriend. Good, thought Yolande, sizing her up. All in order. I don't care what the younger generation says, it's unnatural to get involved with boys before you're eighteen. More than good. They exchanged formal wristgrips.
"Don't be too intimidated, Miz Makers," Yolande said kindly. "It isn't a very big planet, and there aren't many people on it yet." The girl gave a charming smile.
They turned to walk up the stairs. The ghouloons were keeping eyes front, but their pointed ears had swivelled toward the officer and the boy with his earnest questions.
"Imp," his mother said fondly. "Ah, Gwen, here's yo' Tantie-ma." Yolande watched, was gratified to see her daughter give the serf an affectionate peck on the cheek.
"Glad to see yo' again, Tantie-ma," she said.
"I'm… glad to see you, too, Missy Gwen," Marya said. There was a smile on her face, slight but genuine.
Gwen slapped a hand to her forehead. "Oh, here, I brought yo' somethin'. Those books yo' wanted, from that store in Archona? Here's the plaque."
"This is the best time of day," Yolande said, nodding out the window of the car. "This and dawn." The sky was still the color of salmon to the west, with wings of paler color touching the jagged edges of the cratered highlands.
They were taking the long route around the city, along a ring-road of pink marscrete. Out to the left stretched the farms; those were enclosures two kilometers by one, with chest-high walls of native rock and inflated arch-coverings of thinfilm, double-walled envelopes filled with carbon dioxide for insulation. Most were lit from within, and they could see the shapes of plants, banana fronds, grape arbors, flowers, a dozen dozen shades of green, blue, yellow. A few held animals: the inevitable dog-sized rabbits, pigs, even a small herd of dwarf Ngama cattle.
"We feed the outer system from here," Yolande said. The children were supposed to be on a working holiday, from the volume of complaints in Gwen's letters about the assignments they had with them. As well to make a few gestures towards helping their on-site research. "As well as arm and equip it." A nod to the low mounded shapes of factory buildings on the other side of the road.
Winnifred frowned. "But yo' have to ship everythin' up out of a gravity well, ma'am?"
Yolande nodded. Off Earth, it made more sense to think in terms of gravity gradients and delta-V requirements than mere distance. "Not much of one, and this atmosphere is pretty thin. We've got a fusion generator now, —the first planet-based one in the System, too—"and of course the powersats, so launch energy is even cheaper than in the Earth-moon. There's Phobos and Deimos fo' materials in orbit, a couple of the Amor asteroids we've moved as well; the zero-G stuff we fabricate up there. Other things, it's mo' convenient to do under gravity, like food-production; easier to battle-harden them, too."
The best possible shielding was lots and lots of inert matter. "Also, Mars and Mars-orbit make a great base fo' operations among the gas-giant moons- Now there's a hostile environment fo' yo'! But a lot of stuff we need."
As if to underline her point, a streak of light cut the twilight out to the southwest, then slowed and dimmed. "That's a load comin' in, atmosphere brakin' and parachute. Possibly frozen nitrogen or hydrocarbons from Titan with an ablative shield. We've got a maglev railway out to the dropyard… All this is just a trial run fo' the terrafirmin' project, of course. But we expect the population here to double in the next five years." My term of office. "There's even Citizen schoolin' available here, now."
The two girls traded a look of alarm. "Don't worry," Yolande chuckled. "Wouldn't move Gwen, not from Senior School. Might bring Nikki out, though." He was riding in the rear car. "Lots of other projects here: the mass-driver up Olympus Mons, prospectin'… I've arranged fo' guided tours fo' yo' two, next two weeks. Should give yo' plenty of material for those papers Gwen was tellin' me yo' have to write."
* * *
The Commandant-Governor's Residence had started as a simple box, back when Nova Virconium had been a glorified research outpost, and had been added to substantially in the years since; much of that was domed courtyards, the primary luxury on Mars. Yolande had laid on the family dinner in her favorite, the one with the goldfish pond in the center, and the murals her city's first professional artist had done for her predecessor. They showed Martian landscapes, as they might look some centuries from now. A vastly larger Nova Virconium, streets lined with elongated trees, looking out over a Hellas Sea speckled white with the sails of pleasureboats. Children running on grass and flowers beneath birch trees. Skiers vaulting impossible distances on the slopes of Olympus Mons. The lower slopes, it was twenty-four kilometers high, and the peak would be out of most of the atmosphere, even when Mars had seas and breathable air.
Yolande smiled and leaned back in the chair, watching the houseserfs clear away the last of the dishes, sipping at her coffee. Nikki had gotten sleepy hours ago; not surprising, after an exciting day. Gwen and her Winnifred had been a delight. Wotan and Thunor, was I ever that enthusiastic for . . for life? she thought wryly. I remember it, I think. When does it slip away? She shook her head, watching as one of the chrome-yellow carp in the pond leaped. It flipped half a dozen times end-for-end, then dropped back with what she could swear was a look of shock. Embedded compinstructions. She supposed there must be very little in a fish's repertoire of behaviors that was not instinct. Poor little bastards will need a long time to adjust.
It had really been quite nice of the girls to sit talking with her this long; it was nearly 2400. They had been sharing a
stateroom with four others for the three weeks from Earth; very little privacy. With a fond sadness, Yolande glanced down the corridor they had taken. Probably a lot of giggles and whispered confidences between the kisses, if I recall, she thought wistfully. Ah well. What had the ancient Greek said, back when? "Comport yourself fittingly, and age will come not to you, but to another whom the God has prepared for it?"
"Bloody liars in bedsheets," she muttered, rising. Most of the household was quiet; there would be a duty staff on call over in the public section, and the guards, of course.
There was a light under the door of Marya's office; she had proven very competent, handling household accounts, now that Gwen was too old to need or want a nursemaid in attendance. Probably screening those books Gwen got her, Yolande decided. The serf was a fanatic reader, now that she was cleared for it. Also a churchgoer, which had surprised her owner considerably. Suitably modified, religion was all very well for the common ruck, but Yolande had not expected the American to be superstitious. Ah, well, anything that helps, she decided.
"Marya," she said, touching a finger to the door.
The serf looked around, raising her fingers from the keyboard. Symbols crawled across the screen; probably some game or other. Marya was not a bad chess player, and even better at go.
"Yo' go to that church, ovah on Chain and Barracoon, don't yo'?"
"Yes, Mistis." She bowed slightly. "I had been planning to attend the wedding there, your secretary Hans's son. With permission."
"Just what I was goin' to mention. The girls and I are goin' walkabout tomorrow. Gwen'll want yo' along, but that'll be in the afternoon. We'll pick yo' and Jolene up towards the end of the reception, when I drop in. Suit?"
"Thank you, Mistis." She inclined her hair until the black flow of it covered her eyes.
"Good to see her again," Yolande continued. "Got a warm heart, that girl. Glad I let yo' help raise her." The Draka nodded to the screen. "Certainly hasn't fo'gotten her Tantie-ma…" Curiosity moved. "Tell me, Marya. How do yo' feel about her?"
A minute's silence. Yolande saw the other's hands tighten on the edge of the desk. She suspected that lack of privacy was one of the things the American had found most difficult to adjust to. Citizens had little enough, in the Domination, and serfs less. "I love her, Mistis," the serf said, her voice softer than usual. "It's… She's the only child I'll ever have, after all."
True but not the whole truth, Yolande thought, regarding her quizzically. Marya had always refused to bear children of her own… And I think that Gwen's the only thing in the Domination for which you have any affection at all. Understandable, of course.
* * *
"One more minute, and then we leave," Yolande said to her daughter.
The family party had tactfully arrived just after the party moved from the chapel to the reception hall. Both were in the ground floor of a serf tenement. It was fairly well appointed; these people were elite serfs: Auxiliaries owned by the War Directorate, middle-level administrators, comp operators, cartographers, technicians, similar people from the Combines operating here. The Domination had learned long ago that a certain amount of privacy and comfort was essential for such, and these were family apartments with their own kitchens and even bathrooms. The lower floors held the communal facilities: game-rooms, viewers, the church, an elementary schoolroom. All attractively decorated in an amateurish fashion, but some of the handmade items were skillfully done.
From the brief glimpse, Yolande decided that the wedding entertainment was charming as well, in a homemade and rustic fashion, decorations and refreshments both. Very sedate, but then this type of serf tended to be quiet-living. The ruck of compound-dwellers were brutishly unrestrained, having nothing to lose; when the ferocious discipline of their existence was relaxed, little interested them but food, sex, alcohol, and kif. Allowing for elegance, education, and greater resources, there were similarities in the Citizen outlook on life, and their personal servants followed suit. These middle strata were strange to both, and she found them a little baffling. No wonder the headhunters watch them closest of all, she thought. There had been a green-coated Orpo, a member of the Order Police, in attendance until she glared him out.
Not much he could do when the Commandant-Governor showed up, she thought ironically. Of course, there are probably informers and listening devices here. Which was as it should be, of course. The priest would have been carefully selected and trained, as well; the Catholics had agreed to that, in order to be allowed to function in the Domination at all.
"Why do we have to leave right away, ma? It's sort of fun," Owen said.
"This is their celebration, honeybunch," Yolande said quietly; they were standing by the door, at the head of the table. "I came here because Hans is a treasure. It gives him status, yo' see? More and they'd get uncomfortable. Remember, I don't own these, the State does."
She tasted her wine, which was surprisingly drinkable for the local product, and looked down the trestles. Hans was at a little distance; he glanced her way and smiled, bowing, and his plump wife flushed and beamed as Yolande raised her glass in reply. His son was gangling and blond, the new daughter-in-law petite and dark, Hindu by her looks; some sort of landing-field maintenance tech. The guests milled about tables set for a banquet, doubtless a potluck by the households of the guests; the presents were at the other end of the streamer-hung room. Yolande had contributed a diskplayer and a crate of wine, enough to please without embarrassing.
The speech had been the usual thing. Brief, praising Hans and his wife as skilled and valued servants of the Race, hoping the newlyweds would lead productive lives of service, and their children after them. Kissing the bride and groom had been no hardship, they were both quite pretty and radiantly happy… and now it was time. She looked around for Marya; the serf was over in a corner, talking to the priest. They both sank to their knees and linked hands, heads bent together; Yolande frowned at a vague memory. Isn't that supposed to be some sort of private rite? she thought. Confession, or confusion or communion or something? Oh, well. A glance at her watch, and Marya stood.
Hans came over. "Thank you again, Merarch," he said, and gave her the full bow, hands over eyes. There was a ripple as the room followed suit.
"No problem, Hans," she said, holding up a hand. "I know the difference between goin' through the motions and really tryin'." Which had helped her considerably, and this was an important career stop. "If there's ever any trouble, feel free to ask fo' help."
"Pretty weddin'," Jolene said, with a sigh.
Yolande yawned and stretched, wiggling her shoulders against the pleasant jasmine-scented smoothness of the sheets and looking up through the ceiling of her bedroom at the silver-bright circle of mirror in the sky. It kept the night moodily half-lit, but not enough to dim the stars away from its circle. Like a moon, she thought. One perfect and un-stained, the first fresh idea of a moon dropped pure and untouched from the mind of a god. We did that. That had been the first; the second was down south, put up just last year, wanning the frozen water and carbon dioxide of the south pole. It had already made a difference to the atmosphere, although you needed instruments to detect it. They were the biggest constructs yet made by humans, although gossamer-thin.
"Yo' saw mo' of it," she said. "Everythin' go nice?"
"Beautiful singing," Jolene said from the foot of the bed. "They've got a really nice choir. Good fiddler, too, had fun dancin' befo' yo' arrived."
"Sorry to drag yo' away fo' nothin'," Yolande replied. Nikki had charmed Decurion Kang into taking him out with the ghouloons on a carefully edited training patrol for the rest of the day, and his mother into allowing it. Kang had confessed that he was irresistibly reminded of a younger brother, back on Earth…
"Oh, that was the fun part," Jolene said, and laughed. "I don't know these here folks well enough to fit in at a feast. Incidentally, think that nice Mastah Kang had an eye on me."
Yolande turned a critical eye on the serf. "Yo' lost weight
on the trip out," she said. "It suits."
Jolene touched her stomach. "Does, doesn't it. Only good thing about not bein' able to eat." She had never been able to handle zero-G.
"Shall I lend yo' to him, then?" That was not something a junior officer would feel free to ask of a Merarch, frontier informality or no.
"Mmmm. Maybe in a while, Mistis." She sighed again, looking up through the bubble ceiling herself.
"Pretty."
"Jolene." She looked around. "Why did yo' never marry, yo'self?"
"Oh… wanted to travel around, Mistis. See space, especial, even if it makes me sick." Not easy; plenty of serfs were assigned to space, but that was with the military or the Combines. Jolene had ample intelligence, but had been far too expensive for such buyers. "That's difficult. Iff'n I got tied down too hard, yo'd have moved me out of personal service. I've got my Marybeth, anyhows." A year younger than Nikki; Yolande suspected Teller was the father, but it wasn't particularly important. "Mastah Nikki's out like a light. Not surprisin', after tearin' about like he does… That boy, he must have fusion power somewheres! Settled Marybeth in down by my quarters, too." A frown. "Yo' know, I was thinkin'… Folk there at the church, they say Marya goes regular. Didn't know her to be that religious, back to home, Mistis."
"People change," Yolande said, yawning again.
She was tired, but it was the pleasant fatigue of keeping up with two high-energy adolescents, not the nagging brain-tiredness of days spent fighting administrative problems. With a wry smile, she thought of enemy accounts she had read that depicted the Domination as a smooth well-oiled machine moving in perfect coordination. If they only knew. Thank the Yankees for inventing the computer, otherwise the clerks would have locked us in rigor mortis, like a fossilized dinosaur. She put work out of her mind; barring emergencies, that could wait until Monday. It was a relief to have only household matters to concern her.