David Drake - The Way to Glory

The Way to Glory

Table of Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

The Way to Glory

by David Drake

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any

resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

A Baen Books Original

Baen Publishing Enterprises

P.O. Box 1403

Riverdale, NY 10471

www.baen.com

ISBN: 0-7434-9882-8

Cover art by Stephen Hickman

First printing, May 2005

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Drake, David.

The way to glory / David Drake.

p. cm.

ISBN 0-7434-9882-8 (hc)

1. Space warfare—Fiction. I. Title.

PS3554.R196W39 2005

813'.54—dc22

2005000987

Distributed by Simon & Schuster

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, NY 10020

Production by Windhaven Press, Auburn, NH (www.windhaven.com)

Printed in the United States of America

CHAPTER 1

Xenos on Cinnabar

The pair of footmen at the head of the stairs bowed to Daniel; the older one said, "Senator Kearnes will

be most pleased that you're able to attend, Lieutenant Leary."

"Pleased to be here," Daniel said. He smiled as he passed into the ballroom which took up most of the

second floor of the Kearnes townhouse. Indeed, hewas pleased.

The invitation to Lira Kearnes' fortieth birthday gala specified that officers were to wear full medals

rather than ribbons. The request might well have been intended to display Lieutenant Daniel Leary at his

most splendid; certainly it had that effect.

The Republic of Cinnabar Navy was the sword of the republic, not a weapon of party politics. High

RCN officers couldn't attend this ball because Bruno Kearnes was the central figure in several political

battles of the sort that the RCN kept out of. The unspoken ban on attendance didn't apply to a

twenty-four-year-old lieutenant. The fruit salad on the breast of Daniel's Dress Whites would've been

impressive even for an admiral, however.

Daniel, lately commanding the corvettePrincess Cecile , had returned with dispatches from Admiral

Keith's squadron just in time to give Senator Kearnes his show. Daniel in turn was getting the kind of

adulation that came to those whom the citizens of Cinnabar decided were genuine heroes. It was Lira

Kearnes' gala, but it was Daniel Leary's night.

Daniel scanned the crowd, checking for anyone he might know among those present. The invitation had

been to all four officers from thePrincess Cecile : Midshipmen Dorst and Vesey, and First Lieutenant

Conn Medorn, who not coincidentally was the nephew of Admiral Keith.

ThePrincess Cecile 's signals officer, Adele Mundy, had been invited also—but not because she was an

RCN warrant officer. Adele was Mundy of Chatsworth, head and sole survivor of one of the most noble

families in the Republic. Her father—before his execution for treason—had been leader of the Popular

Party. That was the territory if not precisely the title which Bruno Kearnes appeared to have marked for

his own.

Daniel didn't see any of his fellows from theSissie , but there was plenty of room in this swirling crowd to

get lost. Besides, Daniel hadn't come here to find shipmates. . . .

The small orchestra in the loft above the balcony swung into a polacca. Couples who weren't up to the

lively music left the dance floor in the center of the enormous hall, but others took their place.

A portly banker with investments in shipbuilding remained with the younger couples, however; he

danced with an enthusiasm that made up for his limited skills. His partner was probably closer to his

granddaughter's age than that of his daughter. She complemented the banker's steps perfectly, just as the

tiara of sapphires she wore complemented her blue eyes.

And those blue eyes caught Daniel's across the room as she dipped and spun.

Much of the Republic's wealth and beauty was here tonight. Daniel Leary could have any share of it he

chose,any share, simply by stretching out his hand.

He grinned: which he'd likely do before long. He was a healthy young man, and the voyage back from

the Galactic North with Admiral Keith's dispatches had been a long one.

"Leary!" called a saturnine man in a red velvet suit; his waistcoat flashed with metallic gold.Mawhire of

Rondolet , recalled a rarely visited portion of Daniel's mind; an acquaintance of Daniel's father.

Mawhire's clothing had made an impression on a child who even at seven was more comfortable hunting

on the family estate than he was with the much crueler games that politicians got up to. "Daniel Leary!

Come over here, boy, and let me introduce you to some friends of mine. My but you've grown since I

last saw you!"

Which would've been about seventeen years ago, when Speaker Corder Leary broke the Three Circles

Conspiracy and drowned it in blood. Daniel vaguely recalled that Mawhire had lost a cousin in the

Proscriptions. . . .

"Daniel Leary, may I present Senator Russell—that's Russell of Walsingham, you know . . ." Mawhire

said. Daniel bowed—nodded deeply—to a man with vacant eyes and more facets glittering on his fingers

than there were in the crystal chandeliers above.

" . . . and Tomas Bayard of Bayard and Sons." Daniel bowed again, this time to an ancient man—he

supposed Bayard was male—supporting himself in a walker. Stone-faced servants stood at either elbow

just in case they were needed.

"Surprised to see you here, Leary," Bayard said in a cracked voice. "Given how your father and Bruno

Kearnes get along.Don't get along."

He turned his head toward Mawhire, a quick motion that reminded Daniel of an ancient, poisonous,

lizard casting for prey. "You know that story, Mawhire?" he demanded.

"I recall rumors," Senator Mawhire said, having the decency to look uncomfortable. "But it's not really a

matter—"

"Speaker Leary and young Kearnes there don't get along because Leary and Lira Kearnes got along too

well!" Bayard continued in glee. "Far too well!"

He broke into cackling laughter; it ended abruptly in a paroxysm of coughing. One of Bayard's

attendants held his shoulders while the other slipped a large handkerchief over his mouth.

Daniel smiled pleasantly.I hope you bring your lungs up, you nasty little bastard , he thought. Aloud

he said, "That would've been before my time, sir. And of course it's not the sort of thing a gentleman talks

about."

"Gentlemen!" Bayard sneered. "All a gentleman's good for is feeding the worms!"

"That's the common lot of mankind, my dear Tomas," said a woman suddenly standing at Daniel's right

elbow. Her voice was cultured and as smoothly cutting as a scalpel. "However the lieutenant here has

already accomplished things that will keephis name alive after the worms have devoured what the

doctors have left. Not so?"

"Faugh, glory!" Bayard said. "Women and fools set great store by it, I understand."

He started to turn away, but stiffness and the walker prevented him from doing so quickly enough. The

woman added sweetly, "I suppose women you've had to learn about second hand, haven't you, you poor

dear?"

Daniel allowed himself a satisfied smile toward the magnate's back. He wouldn't have responded to

Bayard directly, out of courtesy toward a sick old man—however nasty—and from the sense of

propriety ingrained by living within the rigid order of the RCN. He certainly wasn't displeased to watch

somebodyelse kick the old bastard in the balls, though—and then put the boot in as he writhed on the

floor.

He turned to the woman. She looked to be in her thirties, but that was probably as much a medical

marvel as the fact Tomas Bayard was alive at all. She was undeniably handsome, but even "the thirties"

was far too old for Daniel's taste.

"Mistress Jacopus," said Mawhire to the lady, "allow me to present the Lieutenant Daniel Leary of

whom we've heard so much. I'd say Daniel was an old family friend, but in fact I can't claim to be any

closer to Speaker Leary today than Kearnes is—or you are yourself, boy, from what I hear? Had quite a

falling out with your father when you joined the navy, I heard?"

"I haven't spoken to my father in some years, that's true," Daniel said, letting his eyes rise as if to view

the frescos of the high ceiling. Cherubs were teasing lions in various fashions in each panel, while between

the paintings were stucco moldings of furious giants straining to burst through the frames they supported.

He supposed the scenes were allegorical; another way of saying they were without interest to him. "I

wonder if there's something to dr—"

"Do let me be your guide, Lieutenant," Mistress Jacopus said, taking his right arm in both hands; gently,

but in a proprietary fashion nonetheless. "I have so many questions to ask you about your medals!"

The Jacopus family was famous for wealth and a determined neutrality in the Republic's

rough-and-tumble—sometimesvery rough—politics. Daniel had heard that one member of the family was

the most famous hostess in Xenos; he didn't doubt that he'd just met her.

The orchestra was playing a hornpipe, but it was a restrained thing compared to what went by the same

name in the spacers' bars around Harbor Three—or any other RCN liberty port. Daniel had spent his

time in those bars when he was a midshipman, an officer by courtesy but not yet commissioned. Since

fame had brought him invitations to dos like this one, he'd found little to regret about no longer being poor

and obscure. The liquor was better and the women were much prettier. He'd never had much interest in

dancing anyway.

Mistress Jacopus led him toward the refreshment table which was set in a corner, in front of double

doors onto a parterre. Servants passed in and out, exchanging full trays and bottles to replace the those

that had been browsed and drunk empty.

Jacopus was taking him by the long route, however, and at each step she nodded graciously and smiled

to another guest. Occasionally she murmured a first name—"Dear Janni . . . "—or title—"Senator, how

nice,"—as they passed, savoring the looks of respect and—from some of the women—fury.

"I hope you don't mind me showing off my trophy, Lieutenant," she said in his ear as though murmuring

endearments. "Because you are quite a trophy, you know."

"Ah, mistress—" Daniel said.

"Christine, please," she said. "And you needn't worry that I'll embarrass you later. I know quite a lot

about your tastes, including the sort ofyoung friends you prefer for recreation. I'd offer to help you there,

but I'm sure a handsome hero like yourself is capable of making his own arrangements."

"That's generally been the case in the past, ah, Christine," Daniel said. "And I do appreciate you, ah,

helping me out of an awkwardness."

Daniel didn't like to talk about his father for a number of reasons, not least that he didn't have anything to

say about Corder Leary. They'd had little contact even before the break—which was over Corder's

remarriage, not Daniel's career. He'd joined the RCN in reaction to that blazing row, not as the cause of

it.

Daniel had spent his childhood on the family estate of Bantry, learning a little about decorum from his

mother—a saint, as everybody agreed—and a great deal about hunting, fishing and manhood from Hogg,

a family retainer. There'd been Hoggs poaching on Bantry from the days of the first human settlement,

long before the Hiatus in star travel drew a thousand-year line through history.

In the eight years since the row, Daniel and Corder Leary'd had no contact whatever. Words had been

said that would've meant pistols at dawn if those speaking hadn't been father and son, but even beyond

that . . .

Corder Leary was a stiff-necked, stubborn man who'd never backed down in a fight. Daniel wasn't his

father and wouldn't have wanted to be him; but much as Daniel revered his late mother, he knew very

well that his temper and his backbone hadn't come from her side of the family.

There was a crush at the refreshments table. Daniel hadn't really been thirsty, just uncomfortable at the

direction Mawhire had taken the conversation, and Christine Jacopus simply wanted to be seen with the

lion of the evening. Instead of forcing his way through, he paused to look around again.

By the etiquette of upper-class Xenos, the only regular servants on the floor were those behind the

refreshments table. The guests' personal attendants were in the balcony above. They could be summoned

to meet their employer in a hallway if required or even escorted onto the floor by a member of the

Kearnes household in event of an outside emergency.

Many of the guests—perhaps a quarter of the total, Daniel guessed, smiling faintly—were accompanied

by silent men and women in simple dress. If you didn't know who they were, they could pass for poor

relations of the glittering guests they stayed close to.

In fact they were . . . well, calling them guards would be harsh but not inaccurate. They were employed

by various couturiers, jewelers, and pawn brokers. They accompanied not the guests but rather the

clothing and accouterments which the guests wore and hadn't paid for; that they very probablycouldn't

pay for. By convention, nobody "noticed" them.

"What is this one, Daniel?" Christine said, touching the spray of gold feathers dusted with real rubies

waving from the peak of his dress hat. She leaned against him a little more closely than she need to have

done.

"Oh, the aigrette?" said Daniel, squinting sideways. "That's the Kostroma Star, a, ah, foreign decoration.

From an allied foreign power, of course, or I wouldn't be permitted to wear it."

Though in truth the fourragere of gold and silver cords across his left breast was the Order of Strymon in

Diamonds; the stones on the clasp at his epaulette were the size of a child's teeth. In theory it entitled the

wearer to the freedom of Strymon, a planet Daniel didn't expect ever to visit again as an RCN officer.

It was stretching the point a good deal to describe President Delos Vaughn as an ally of Cinnabar, as the

events that put him in power had been not only unauthorized by Cinnabar's Ministry of External Affairs

but actively hindered by those well-meaning diplomats. Still, the award was too striking for Daniel not to

wear it unless he were flatly forbidden.

Foreigners had vulgar taste, far inferior to that of Cinnabar, of course. But Daniel had learned that

girls—the girls he found attractive—didn't object to a bit of vulgarity; and truth to tell, the taste of rural

districts like Bantry wasn't nearly as muted as that here in Xenos, the capital.

Christine touched one medal after another, her lips working silently. A circle of guests was forming about

them like mother-of-pearl coating a sand grain in the mantle of a shellfish; not pressing, but rapt in

anticipation of what they might hear. Powerful nobles andvery beautiful women, wondering what the

heroic Lieutenant Leary might say!

Daniel knew it didn't matter. These same people would howl and kick his naked body down the street

tomorrow if he were disgraced and executed; they'd done that with many of those implicated in the Three

Circles Conspiracy. The folk quickest to spurn the fallen were those who'd cheered the loudest in the

days before their overthrow.

It didn't matter—but he was young and he was human. "That . . ." Daniel said as Christine ran the sash

of red silk and cloth-of-gold between her fingers. He spoke to the older woman, but his eyes met those

of the petite blonde beaming from just beyond her. " . . . makes me a Royal Companion of Novy

Sverdlovsk as I understand it. I was fortunate enough to recover a valuable artifact for the throne and

gained Sverdlovsk's support for a Cinnabar initiative in the Galactic North as a result."

The artifact was a diamond engraved with the continents of Old Earth before the wars in which asteroids

had smashed the planet out of its former shape. Daniel had traded it for a warship, and with that ship

he—and the finest crew that ever blessed an RCN captain—had smashed an Alliance squadron. The

sash was showy. For the same incident Admiral Keith had awarded Daniel the Medal of the Republic in

Red—a small bronze cross with a ruby point in the center.

Civilians marveled at the sash. RCN officers braced to attention and saluted when they saw the medal.

The orchestra played a few bars as a signal. Couples began forming for a sarabande.

"Now, Daniel," Christine said, holding his right hand with her left but turning to take the hand of the

blonde beside her. "May I present Thora, the daughter of my great friend Senator Bencini?"

She brought their hands together. Thora simpered becomingly; her fingers gripped Daniel with more than

formal enthusiasm.

"RCN forever," called a dry, carrying voice from across the circle of spectators. Daniel looked from

Thora for a moment and caught the cool, amused eyes of Adele Mundy as she marched past them into

the stately paces of the sarabande beside a fifties-ish man corseted into a Fencibles uniform.

"RCN forever," Daniel echoed gaily, raising the blonde's hand high in enthusiastic triumph.

It was good to be young and an RCN officer. It was good to be alive!

RCN forever!

* * *

If asked, Adele Mundy would've said she found dancing considerably less interesting than shelf-reading:

going through the stacks of a library and placing misfiled volumes in their correct location. Still, dancing

was an accomplishment expected in a noblewoman, so she'd learned it. Though Adele's parents were the

leading lights of the Popular Party, they'd never permitted their children to forget that the Mundys of

Chatsworth were among the first families of the Republic.

"Were" being the operative word there. Every Mundy save Adele herself, studying in the Academic

Collections on Blythe—a member of the Alliance of Free Stars—had died in the Proscriptions by which

Corder Leary had crushed the Three Circles Conspiracy. Adele's sister Agatha had been ten years old

when her head was taken to decorate the Speaker's Rock in the ancient center of Xenos.

The music ended. Adele's partner was in the building construction trade. He turned to her and wheezed,

"Mistress Mundy, it's been a pleasure to dance with you. A great pleasure!"

He bowed as deeply as his corset allowed him, which of course wasn't very deep. Even without the

undergarment, his bright green Fencibles uniform had enough gold piping that it could stand up itself.

"Thank you, Colonel," Adele said, miming a curtsey by spreading her hands with a bare dip of her head.

"The pleasure was mutual."

Which was more or less true: he hadn't trodden on her, always a possibility when Adele danced with

out-of-condition men who were determined to show off. It was a worse problem off-planet, of course.

Here in Xenos she was Mundy of Chatsworth, a person of rank but no particular importance. On the

distant worlds where thePrincess Cecile might land, Adele Mundy was a sophisticate from the capital, a

personage of greater status than any other woman present . . . even in the minds of those women.

The latest style for the sarabande was to keep the toes of the forward foot straight down while executing

the steps in slow motion. Adele filed the information as she filed all information. She'd be called on to

demonstrate Xenos fashion soon enough, she was sure, in a ballroom of unpainted wood or on an open

pavement under unfamiliar stars.

"Mistress Mundy?" said an attractive woman somewhat older than Adele's own thirty-two

standard—that is, Earth—years. "I was told . . . well,are you Mundy of Chatsworth? I don't mean to

intrude, but . . . ?"

The woman, a complete stranger to Adele, was dressed at the height of current style: her neck and wrist

ruffs would make it impossible for her to feed herself. That was probably the point, of course, rather like

the shoes you couldn't walk in that had been a fad among the nobility when Adele was a child.

"Yes," said Adele, knowing her voice held a hint of challenge. She didn't intend that—whoever this

woman was, she clearly wasn't an enemy in the sense that Adele would need the small pistol in the

side-pocket of her tunic.

But therehad been enemies of that sort in Adele's life, even before she joined the RCN and became part

of the Republic's most powerful instrument of policy. Reflexes you've gained on battlefields don't go

away because you're standing in a ballroom now. "I'm Adele Mundy."

"I'm Lira Kearnes, Mistress Mundy," the woman said, obviously embarrassed. "I'd hoped to talk with

you because you're a naval officer. Ah . . . I expected you to be in uniform, so though you were pointed

out to me I wasn't sure. . . ."

"Oh!" said Adele in considerably greater embarrassment than Mistress Kearnes and for better reason.

Here she was treating her hostess like a potential enemy, simply because the woman had wanted to talk

with her. Though why had she mentioned the RCN? "I'm very sorry, I was thinking of other things."

And so she had been, thinking about things that had no business in polite society. Even without the

hardships that resulted from her family's ruin, Adele Mundy wouldn't have grown into a person whom

acquaintances would've described as cheerful and outgoing. She regarded courtesy as the most important

social virtue, however, and she'd just been discourteous to her hostess.

Quickly she went on before Lira Kearnes could resume speaking, "I received an invitation as Mundy of

Chatsworth, mistress. The invitation to the officers of thePrincess Cecile was limited to the

commissioned officers. Or in the case of the midshipmen, those who willbe commissioned. I'm a

technician; a warrant officer, in RCN terms."

The orchestra was playing a rigadoon. It was more sprightly than most of the guests cared to attempt,

but Midshipman Dorst of thePrincess Cecile danced with the athletic grace with which he'd carried out

any task requiring physical strength and dexterity. His partner was a red-haired civilian, strikingly

attractive and just as good a dancer as Dorst was.

Midshipman Vesey, also of theSissie and Dorst's lover, watched from the edge of the dance floor with a

careful lack of expression. Daniel regarded Vesey as a very respectable astrogator. That was high praise,

as it came from a man whom the RCN held the near equal of the incomparable Stacey Bergen, Daniel's

uncle and the man who'd trained him in everything to do with a starship. Vesey was even attractive . . .

but not the way the redhead was attractive.

As best Adele could tell, Dorst loved Vesey; certainly he'd willingly put his tall, muscular body between

her and any danger. But tonight was likely to be a difficult time for Vesey, who seemed completely

oblivious of the bevy of civilian nobles trying to catch her attention.

Adele sighed. She herself had no more interest in sex than the busts on either side of the marble

mantelpiece did. There were others—Daniel Leary was a member of the class—who had an obvious

animal enthusiasm for the business but then got on with the rest of their lives, utterly unscathed by those

activities.

And then there were the Midshipman Veseys and apparently the majority of humanity, who were

regularly turned inside out by what could've been a matter of simple biology. Adele's philosophy hadn't

had room for a deity even before the slaughter of her family, but it sometimes seemed to her that the

whole business was too illogical not to have been Something's cruel joke.

"Mistress Mundy . . . ?"

"I'mvery sorry," Adele said, curtseying to Kearnes in honest contrition. "I'm afraid I'm distracted by

the—"

She didn't know how to go on. Not with what she was really thinking, not to this woman who'd no more

understand than if Adele began chattering in the language of a just-discovered planet which'd fallen into

savagery at the Hiatus and never recovered.

"We don't have much occasion for events like this," Adele continued in a flash of inspiration. It wasn't

exactly a lie. Notexactly . She made a gesture of cultured restraint to the glittering crowd. "I haven't seen

anything to equal it since, that is, in a very long time."

Since my family was massacred; but that was another thing not to say here.

"Would you like to go . . ." Kearnes began. She caught herself and amended her words to, "Would you

mind stepping into a drawing room with me, Mistress Mundy? I know it's my party and I shouldn't, but I

really do want to talk with you. It's about my son, you see."

Adele went blank-faced.Her son?

"Yes, of course," she said aloud, meaning the private discussion rather than that she had any idea of what

Lira Kearnes was talking about. It took conscious restraint to prevent Adele from pulling out her

personal data unit and squatting on the floor to check the Kearnes family in a detail greater than what

she'd thought necessary on receiving the invitation. It was always a mistake not to search deeply when

you had the time!

Adele wore a double tunic and skirt. The translucent outer fabric was a misty gray which slightly blurred

the geometric patterns embroidered in black on her inner garments. The data unit in a pocket on the inner

skirt was hidden from view but instantly accessible. Through the unit's controlling wands—less bulky than

a keypad—Adele had access to the wider universe in the only form she could really accept it: as

tabulated information.

But it would be impolite to bring out the flat rectangle now, and Adele had already come uncomfortably

close to being impolite to Lira Kearnes. Besides, there was a better—if not as natural to Adele—way to

learn what the lady was talking about: she could ask.

"I'm not aware of having met your son, mistress," Adele said as footmen in violet frock coats swept open

an unobtrusive door and closed it behind them. The drawing room beyond was tiled in patterns of circles,

whorls, and multi-pointed stars. Instead of ordinary light fixtures, a screen brightened into the holographic

image of an arched double window looking out onto a palm-fringed beach. Beyond, the sea combed

over sand toward the window.

"Do sit, please," Kearnes said. There were chairs and a table, but she gestured instead to the ottoman

beneath the "window."

Adele seated herself carefully, folding her hands in her lap. The tips of her fingers rested on the hard,

hidden outlines of her data unit.

Kearnes sat on the other end of the ottoman and stared at the upholstery between them for a moment.

When she looked up, she began, "It's my third son, Oller. He's joined the navy, you see. I didn't want

him to go, but . . . Oller's a very high-spirited boy, extremely bright but, well, he has his own ideas. He'd

signed on with a privateer, and it was only because my husband agreed to get him a special appointment

as a midshipman that Oller gave up that plan."

"The RCN can be a fine career for a high-spirited youth, mistress," Adele said, choosing her words

carefully. "It has been for my friend Lieutenant Leary, certainly."

But Danielwas high spirited. Reading between the lines of a mother's description, Oller Kearnes was a

spoiled brat with romantic notions of what it meant to be one of scores or hundreds of people sealed in a

metal box so full of equipment that even to turn around required caution.

Danger is another thing that's more romantic to read about than the reality of blood and burns and the

screams transcending age and gender and even humanity. Pain can be a sound, pure sound, and pictures

can't prepare you for the smell of a man trying to stuff his intestines back into his ripped abdomen.

"Yes, I know that," Lira Kearnes said. "That's why I wanted to talk with you, one of the reasons. I don't

suppose you're a mother . . . ?"

And despite the wording, Kearnes obviously hoped Adele would say, "Yes."

"No," Adele said primly. "I am not."

David Drake - The Way to Glory

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