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“You will see. I nearly starved after making a noise during inspection. I cannot eat the preekech that you humans consider palatable.”
    Like anyone who adored languages, I had a working knowledge of all the curses and swear words used in the many cultures and systems of the Imperium. It was an inspired choice of epithets for the survival rations, whose unassuming acronym had been reapplied by my peers and me to other, less savory terms when we had had to taste the bars in question. The aromas coming from the serving hatches were appealing. I compared it with my memory of survival rations, and peered once again at Podesta. Was he that much of a stickler for rules? Why had I not heard about that during our transfer to the Wedjet ?
    Ah, but I must have heard it, but not retained the fact for future use. Where had this sense of dread anticipation been while I was admiring my new uniform in the mirror? I had thought that after spending more than half my life running into the Emperor casually in the hallways of the Imperium Compound I would consider any lower form of authority pussycatish in comparison, but frankly, what my tablemates were saying made a large, cold lump appear in my stomach. I swallowed deeply, feeling my throat constrict. “I’ve got some bridge-rebuilding to do, I see.”
    “You won’t get the chance,” the Uctu said, the blue spots on his forehead glowing slightly. “I’ve never known to change his opinion, Podesta.”
    My heart sank. “My mother,” I said, “is going to flay me.” I supposed that the admiral would write to her about the white stripe on my trousers, too. Why hadn’t I listened to Parsons?
    “Wait . . . Kinago?” Xinu asked, curiously. “Tariana Kinago Loche is your mother?”
    “Er, yes,” I admitted. I had already begun to compose the explanation I would have to make to Mother in my head. Words came glibly to mind, but she could just turn off the audio portion of my missive, so my eloquence would mean little. A pang of conscience told me she would not believe it. If I added a suitably pitiable expression and an austere background with a suggestion of the dungeon about it, perhaps I could elicit her maternal sympathy on my behalf. I gave another quick peek at Podesta and tried to guess his age. He might have been a contemporary of hers. They may even have been at Academy together. I gulped unhappily and added two or three more abject apologies to my mental text. “That’s her.”
    “The First Space Lord?” Redius asked, dropping his jaw in interest. I nodded, feeling more miserable by the moment.
    “Your mother is a hero!” Anstruther exclaimed, raising her hands in ecstasy. Her champagne-colored eyes sparkled. “I’ve viewed everything there is to see about her. The battle of Marquardt’s Pass, the siege of Colvarin’s Department Store system, the border defense against the Geckos . . . sorry, Kolchut.” The golden-eyed female ducked her head abjectly.
    “No offense taken,” the Uctu said. “Born in the Imperium. My parents fled the Autocracy.”
    “You, a noble of the Imperial House, are only an ensign?” Xinu asked.
    “Well, everyone’s got to start somewhere,” I pointed out modestly. “I graduated from the Academy only two weeks ago.” I decided not to mention the brevet lieutenancy.
    “Do we call you ‘your lordship’?” Anstruther asked, with a dreamy expression on her face.
    “Only on formal occasions,” I explained hastily. “We’re fellow officers now, equals in the Space Navy in service to the Imperium.” Maybe I could mitigate Mother’s coming outpouring of fury by mentioning her many fans on board. I had my camera with me. A few video testimonials should go down well. But Mother had this very uncomfortable way of finding the needle of truth secreted in the proverbial haystack of obfuscation. That attention to minute detail was, in fact, one of the reasons she had become a hero.
    “Your sire must be something special to have won her