Free The Praxis by Walter Jon Williams Page B

Sula looked composed enough in her vacuum suit, but this time there was no mischievous twinkle in her eye—she’d learned well enough that this was no laughing matter. Admiration for her courage warred in Martinez with despair over her foolishness.
    But he had to admit she did it beautifully—faster this time. She’d learned her lesson, her boat dancing in all three planes at once. And then the docking, the battle against the tumbling inertia of the yacht, and finally the great triumph in which the two boats flew, linked, through the silent glory of space.
    Martinez wanted to shriek and dance. He even found himself looking at Enderby, as if for permission—but the lord commander sat silent at his desk, a slight frown on his face, absorbed in whatever he saw on his own displays. Dancing was not going to be a part of the program.
    Sula’s next transmission showed a woman exhausted, limp in her couch, with locks of her golden hair pasted by sweat to her forehead. Martinez could imagine the battle she’d been through. But the gleam in her eye was back, and this time it was a gleam of conquest.
    â€œI am going on board.”
    The battle was over; now there was only the inspection of the prize.
    When news came that there was no air in Blitsharts’s cockpit, Martinez’s heart sank only a little. Having had hours in which to think about it, he’d concluded that it was unlikely that the yachtsman was alive.
    The next report came after the silence in which the airlock door cut off Sula’s transmissions.
    â€œBlitsharts and the dog are dead.” She was back in the cockpit of her pinnace, floating within close range of the cockpit camera. “There was a leak somewhere in the cockpit, and his faceplate was up and he’d turned off most of the cabin alarms. I suppose you shut off a lot of alarms when racing—proximity alarms, acceleration alerts—and when the depressurization alarm went off, he probably shut it off without noticing what it was. At some point he released the dog from its acceleration couch, but I doubt he was in his right mind by then—he’d probably lost it just before that long acceleration burn.” She seemed to shrug inside her vacuum suit. “I will follow this transmission with the recording I made aboard Midnight Runner . This is Cadet Caroline Sula, concluding her report.”
    Martinez watched in fascination. The Caroline Sula who uttered these words seemed neither the mischievous pilotcadet nor the weary, triumphant warrior, but someone somehow lost…almost misplaced in time, both older and younger than her actual age. Older, because she seemed timeworn, almost frail. Younger, because there was a helplessness in her glance, like that of a wounded child.
    Had she counted so much on Blitsharts being alive? Martinez wondered. Or perhaps she knew him, even loved him…
    He was tempted to replay the transmission, so he could better understand why her reaction seemed so exaggerated.
    â€œLieutenant Martinez,” Enderby said.
    Martinez gave a start. “Lord Commander?”
    â€œPlease convey to Cadet Sula my congratulations on her successful maneuver. It required both skill and courage.”
    Surprise swam through Martinez’s brain. “Yes, my lord.”
    â€œI have decided to award her the Medal of Merit—” Enderby hesitated. “—Second Class. Please have the necessary documents on my desk by the end of shift.”
    â€œVery good, my lord.”
    Enderby had been watching all along, Martinez realized. Watching the transmissions while he sat at his desk, expressionless as always.
    Another idea occurred to the lord commander. Enderby continued, “Compose a document for release to the Fleet News Service, then send it to me for review.”
    â€œVery good, my lord.”
    â€œOh—another thing.”
    â€œYes, my lord?”
    â€œIn your message, please admonish Cadet Sula for the