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Personal Journal of Lieutenant Jean-Baptiste Chevalier de Lisieux
Saturday, 3 July 2297
The day began with the reasonable expectation that I would board the cruiser Suffren for passage to Aurore.
It ended with Sergeant François Blanc claiming the divan in a luxury suite aboard the Jean Bart, while Aspirant Laetitia Claire Cassart and I occupied the two bedrooms by virtue of rank.
I had known neither of them existed that morning.
We discovered one another in the departure hall beneath the Beta Canum beanstalk, three strangers waiting beneath the same embarkation notice. None of us had been told that other military passengers would be traveling aboard the Suffren, still less that all three of us were bound for Aurore and eventual service with the Foreign Legion.
The coincidence became apparent gradually.
Blanc first noticed my orders folder. Cassart recognized the Suffren’s departure code. Once we compared destinations, the army’s intention became clear, though it remains uncertain whether it had consciously assembled us or merely placed three names on the same transport request.
I suspect the latter.
I had arrived in full dress uniform, including sword and service pistol, precisely as my orders required.
This proved unfortunate.
The latest security directive on Beta Canum requires military personnel away from their bases, units, and official duties to travel in civilian clothing. The measure is intended to make soldiers less conspicuous to separatists, terrorists, and anyone else inclined to regard an isolated uniform as an inviting target.
I had not received this directive.
Blanc had, but chose to ignore it.
Aspirant Cassart had both received and complied.
She therefore arrived dressed sensibly in civilian clothes, while Blanc stood in standard army service uniform and I displayed myself in full ceremonial splendor beneath the terminal lights.
Sergeant Blanc is a large, dark-skinned man of obvious African descent, whatever his surname might suggest. He has the posture of a career soldier and the expression of someone who expects every new inconvenience to have been arranged by an officer.
Cassart is an Aspirant with a completed university education. She carries herself with the careful restraint of someone accustomed to being observed. She is strikingly attractive in a way that is both deliberate and inherited—or rather, deliberately inherited. I recognized the old prenatal enhancement family after a moment. One encounters the look often enough among people of a certain generation.
It would have been unforgivably rude to acknowledge this aloud.
She has studied xenology and related colonial sciences. The army paid for her education and now intends to recover the cost through eleven years of service, beginning with a year as an Aspirant before her commissioning as a Sub-Lieutenant.
Her assignment to Aurore, which possesses no known intelligent indigenous species, suggests that someone in personnel believed the phrase colonial sciences was sufficiently close.
We had only just established that all three of us were bound for the same cruiser when an exhausted transportation official summoned us to the desk and informed us that the Suffren would not be taking us anywhere.
The cruiser had been redirected.
No explanation was given beyond the words “operational requirement,” which can mean almost anything and usually means that further questions will be ignored.
Our orders remained unchanged. We were still expected on Aurore, and the transport office had therefore secured last-minute passage aboard the passenger liner Jean Bart.
The official presented this as good fortune.
The Jean Bart travels the Earth–Aurore circuit by way of several stops along the Arms. It is comfortable, prestigious, and considerably slower than a naval cruiser making a direct passage.
There was also only one available suite.
We took the beanstalk train into orbit together.
The ascent gave us enough time to move beyond names and ranks, though not far enough to call ourselves acquainted. Beta Canum fell away beneath the carriage in stages: terminal structures, city, haze, cloud, and finally the curve of the world itself.
Cassart asked whether either of us had served on Aurore.
A resounding negative from us both.
Indeed, Blanc has barely been off-world before. He also fought in the Central Asian War and the Franco-German War, and he has little affection for Germans. This is not uncommon among veterans of that conflict. His distrust of officers appears broader and more personal.
He also knows that I am the son of a noble family. I did not tell him. My name did the talking.
I suspect the sergeant formed a complete opinion of me before the train cleared the lower atmosphere.
For my part, I learned that his assignment to the Legion followed a disciplinary incident involving an officer. It was either the Legion or years in prison. He chose the former. For his sake, I hope he has no intention of striking a Legion officer.
The Jean Bart is not remotely like a naval vessel.
It is a grand hotel that has acquired a stutterwarp drive.
The reception staff met us with faultless courtesy. Much of that courtesy was directed toward my uniform and name. Cassart was initially mistaken for a civilian traveling in our company. Blanc was initially mistaken for our orderly.
He corrected the misunderstanding with admirable economy.
Our suite contains two private bedrooms, a salon, a dining recess, and a broad display showing Beta Canum beneath us. The divan converts into a third bed and is apparently considered sufficient accommodation for an adult passenger.
Military hierarchy settled the arrangements before any of us discussed them.
The lieutenant receives one bedroom.
The Aspirant receives the other.
The sergeant receives the divan.
Cassart began to offer him her room.
Blanc stopped her.
“No, Aspirant. Wouldn’t want to overturn civilization on the first day.”
I explained that the arrangement reflected rank rather than personal worth.
He replied that officers always say that.
Our transport crates, meanwhile, remain assigned to the Suffren.
They were not rerouted.
At present, Cassart possesses the civilian clothes she wore aboard and whatever she carried in her pockets. Blanc has one army service uniform. I have full dress.
Including the sword.
Blanc and I were required to surrender our sidearms to the purser. I would much have preferred to keep it, but I suppose we shall have little use for it.
Blanc also possessed a second weapon.
I discovered this when he removed a compact pistol from somewhere inside his uniform while arranging his belongings. It is an unusual civilian design, small enough to conceal easily and apparently manufactured from materials that do not register properly on standard civilian security scanners.
I asked whether it was authorized.
He asked whether I intended to inspect the paperwork.
I said I might.
He said that in that case he would first need to remember where he had put it.
The weapon is now beneath his pillow.
I think he may also have at least one bladed weapon on his person.
The Jean Bart has boutiques, tailors, laundries, and every other service one might expect aboard an expensive liner. The purser assures us that suitable clothing can be purchased and charged against our travel accounts.
Blanc has declared that he will wear the same uniform until Aurore rather than pay liner prices.
Cassart believes the military will reimburse reasonable expenses.
I admire her faith.
We are now settling in.
Cassart has taken the smaller bedroom, although the difference between them is negligible. Blanc has unfolded the divan and tested it with the suspicion of a man expecting either structural failure or a hidden surveillance device.
My sword is secured in my room.
Blanc asked whether I used to take it to bed with me.
I told him I did not.
He looked disappointed. As if I had missed some joke of his.
I cannot wait for this trip to be over.