Arabella of Mars(101)

Arabella’s breath caught in her throat. “I do recall that.”

“The life of an airship captain’s wife is not an easy one,” he said. “She does not see her husband for months, or years, at a time. And if you were my wife…” Now he did face her. “I … I have faced … certain difficulties, within the Company as well as without, because of my … race.” He gestured to his own face, the warm dark eyes, the deep brown skin. “I have … weathered these difficulties, through diligence, patience, and perseverance, but they do continue. And if you were my wife, they would redound upon you a hundredfold.” He stepped closer. “I … I am sorry, Miss Ashby. I have chosen this life for myself, and I have no regrets. But I cannot ask any other person, especially one I hold in such high esteem, to take on such a heavy burden.” He hung his head. “Therefore I must, with very great regret—”

He was interrupted by a loud clatter from the corner, which drew his eyes as well as Arabella’s.

It was Aadim. His head was moving, very slightly, from side to side.

That small movement might, conceivably, have been a stray motion from a maladjusted cam or sprocket—though Aadim was never in any thing other than the very best of adjustment. But then, with a smooth whir of gears, Aadim’s head turned decisively to the left, his green glass eyes locking on the captain’s brown ones. At the same time his hand rose from its position on the map, pointing directly at Arabella.

The head nodded. Once, twice, three times the chin rose and fell. Firmly. Deliberately. Unmistakably.

Then head and hand returned to their previous positions, and with one final click the automaton fell silent.

Arabella and the captain turned to each other. Her face, she was sure, reflected the baffled wonder she saw upon his, though certainly in much greater degree.

“Well—,” she began, and at the same time he said, “I suppose—”

They both stopped. The captain’s expression was so serious that Arabella was forced to suppress a fit of hysterical giggles.

“For many years,” the captain began again, “I have depended upon Aadim in matters of navigation and direction.”

“His … his judgement in these areas is generally quite … reliable,” Arabella managed to reply.

Then, in one smooth motion, the captain crossed the small distance between them and descended to one knee. For the first time she could recall, his intelligent brown eyes looked up to hers. “Miss Ashby,” he said, his voice entirely level, “will you be my wife?”

Arabella swallowed past a lump in her throat. “Yes,” she managed. Then, more firmly, “Yes, I will.”

They blinked at each other for a time, both clearly uncertain as to how to proceed. Arabella smiled nervously. “This must be the most unusual proposal in the history of romance.”

“It might well be. Though I fear we will never be able to share the story with any one.”

“Perhaps our children,” she said, and suddenly her eyes filled with tears.

The captain rose and embraced her, his strong warm arms enfolding her in a protective circle which, for the moment, neither Martians nor lawyers nor even death could enter.





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A book is a small thing—you can hold it in your hand—but it takes many, many people to bring it to fruition.

I’d like to thank the folks at Tor, my publisher: Moshe Feder, who acquired it; Christopher Morgan, who edited it; Patrick Nielsen Hayden, who provided invaluable support; and Patty Garcia and Irene Gallo, who were incredibly helpful and enthusiastic. I also must thank my agent, Paul Lucas, and the rest of the team at Janklow & Nesbit, who negotiated the deal and held my hand through the whole first-novel thing, and my excellent copyeditor (or should that be copyeditor?) Deanna Hoak.

Many people provided advice and support along the way. Sara Mueller was the first, helping me to find the core of the book in a morass of keen ideas; the librarians at Multnomah County Library were always helpful; Ian Osgood suggested the atmospheric phenomenon that I eventually named the Horn; Mary Rosenblum gave me tips on aerial navigation and publicity for authors; Dick Pilz told me about drogues; Shashi Jain checked my work on Captain Singh; and Doug Faunt provided information from his personal experience on period sailing vessels and bought (in a charity auction) the right to have his name in the book. Sorry it took so long.

I’d also like to thank everyone who critiqued the book as it went through its many revisions. Felicity Shoulders, Damian Kilby, and Dave Goldman provided early feedback; Walter Jon Williams, Michaela Roessner, Rick Wilber, Kim Zimring, Jay Lake, Diana Rowland, Daniel Abraham, James Patrick Kelly, Oz Drummond, and Carrie Vaughn at Rio Hondo provided feedback on the first nine chapters; Sherwood Smith, Tina Connolly, Eloise Drummond, MeiLin Miranda, and Amanda Clark provided comments on the first complete draft; and Grá Linnea, Jennifer Linnea, Mark Teppo, Rob Zeigler, Bradley Beaulieu, Kris Dikeman, Brenda Cooper, Adam Rakunas, Beth Wodzinski, and Chris Cevasco at Coastal Heaven provided feedback and encouragement, and helped me with my cover letter and elevator pitch.

Thanks to Kim Stanley Robinson, Patricia Rice, Madeleine Robins, Mary Jo Putney, Jim C. Hines, Marie Brennan, Tina Connolly, Kurt Busiek, Sherwood Smith, Michael J. Martinez, Pat Murphy, and Ellen Klages for early blurbs and comments.

Extra special thanks to Mary Robinette Kowal, my invaluable guide to all things Regency and navigating the dangerous shoals of publication; Patrick Swenson, who ran the Rainforest Writers Village writing retreats and (along with Jack Skillingstead) pointed me to the man who would become my agent; Shannon Page, who helped me keep writing through the most difficult days; Marc Wells, who gave up his Worldcon so I could attend; and Janna Silverstein, my greatest adviser and cheerleader.