As the house expected, the AI component of the warship was woefully insufficient for its range of possible operations. Imperial design tended toward underpowered artificial intelligence. (The house had recognized long ago that its own distributed processing was at odds with strict Imperial AI regulations. Some sort of damage at the beginning of its existence had allowed it to expand without the usual self-governors. The mistress had always approved, however, as long as it was discreet. There were advantages in being down here at the end of the earth, and it was pleasurable to be illegally smart.)

The house took care to note Zai’s reaction, wondering what he would think of his new ship.

Captain Zai and the mistress were together on the western balcony, overlooking a few ice sculptures of aboriginal Home insect life that the house had attempted in the dead of winter, smoothed to abstraction now by the arrival of summer. Zai hadn’t even accessed the entire missive yet, but he seemed upset by what he had read so far.

“Ten years out,” he said. Was it pain in his voice? Or just the cold? “Ten years back.”

The mistress stepped toward Zai, put a hand on his shoulder. He looked at her and laughed sourly, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry to react this way,” he said. “You hardly know me, after all.”

The house scanned the missive and spotted a section it had ignored. The newly promoted captain had been assigned to the Rix frontier, to a system called Legis, ten light-years away, for a tour of indeterminate length.

“I’m sorry too, Laurent,” the mistress said.

Zai placed his hand on hers, blinking from his eyelashes the first flakes of a light snow. He spoke carefully.

“I know we’ve just met. But to lose you already—” He shook his head. “I sound foolish.”

“You don’t, Laurent.”

“But I thought I’d be here on Home for at least a few months. I was half hoping they’d stick me on training staff.”

“Would you want that, Laurent?”

“A staff position? My ancestors would wail,” he answered. “But twenty years. And facing the damned Time Thief again. I suppose I’ve grown tired of his tricks.”

“How long has it been, Laurent? Your career, in Absolute years?”

“Too many,” he said. “Almost a hundred.”

Nara shook her head. “I didn’t know.”

“And now another thirty, probably,” he said. “Fifty, if there really is a war coming.”

“A senator’s term of office,” the mistress observed.

The man turned, his expression changing.

“You’re right, Nara. We may both lose the next fifty years. And you senators have your own Thief. You’re frozen half the time, aren’t you?”

“Much more than half, Laurent.”

“Well,” he said, meeting her eyes, “that’s hopeful, I suppose.”

She smiled. “Perhaps it is. But I’ll still be older than you, subjectively. I am already.”

“You are?”