Starfishers Volume 1: Shadowline by Glen Cook Page A

hatred of the Dees impair his trust. The Dees were a raggedy-assed gaggle of hypocritical thieves, boosters, and news managers. They were a waste of life-energy. But . . . Cassius suppressed his feelings because he had faith in Storm’s judgment. This watch officer had not been with the Legion long enough to have developed that faith.
    Should Storm ever fail, openly and dramatically . . . Cassius did not know what he would do. He had been with Storm so long that, chances were, he would bull right along in the official line.
    Storm surveyed his sons again. He awarded Lucifer one of his rare smiles. The fool had been trying to kill his own wife.
    Storm thought of Pollyanna, shuddered.
    He had to let them off easy. This pocket revolt was his own fault. He should have passed the word about the woman.
    He did not think much of himself just then. He had done his usual trick, not letting anyone know what he was doing or why. He was screwing up too much lately. Maybe he was getting old. In this business survivors eliminated the margin of error.
    He locked gazes with Lucifer. His son stepped back as if physically shoved.
    Lucifer was just six years older than Mouse. He was large and well-built, like his father, but his mind had his mother’s bent.
    Lady Prudence of Gales had been a High Seiner poetess and musician in the days when her people, the mysterious Starfishers, had not completely retreated into the interstellar deeps. She had come to the Fortress as an emissary, recalling Prefactlas, begging for help to save her sparsely populated, remote homeworld from Sangaree domination.
    She had touched Storm with naked trust. No man knew where to find the elusive Seiners. She had given him that secret in the naive hope that that would move him to help. She had cast the dice, betting everything on a single roll . . . And she had won.
    And Storm had had no cause for regrets.
    He remembered Prudie better than most of his women. A hot, hungry little morsel in private. Cool, competent, and occasionally imperious in public, and daring. Bedazzlingly daring. Never before or since had anyone cozened the Iron Legion into fighting on spec.
    He had pulped the Sangaree on her world. She had given him a son. And they had gone their separate ways.
    Storm had known countless women, had fathered dozens of children. His parents had had no concept of fidelity either. Three of his brothers had had different mothers. Michael Dee had had a different and mysterious father.
    Frieda Storm was guilty of her indiscretions, too. She did not press Storm about his.
    So Lucifer had been an artist born. And he was good. His poetry had appeared with that of giants like Moreau and Czyzewski. The visualist Boroba Thring had done a kaleidoshow based on Lucifer’s Legion epic, Soldaten , using one of Lucifer’s Wagnerian scores as background music. But Lucifer considered writing and composing mere hobbies.
    He was determined to prove himself a soldier. It was a vain ambition. He did not, as they say, have the killer instinct.
    The free soldier had to act without thought or remorse. His antagonists were professionals. They were quick and deadly. They would permit him no time for regrets or reflection on the barbarity of it all.
    Storm forgave Lucifer’s shortcomings more readily than he did those of sons with no talents. He had hopes for the boy. Lucifer might someday find and become true to himself.
    Benjamin and Homer were twins. Storm’s only children by Frieda, they were, in theory and their own estimation, his favorites. They were rebels. Their mother defended them like an old bitch cat her kittens.
    Probably my fault they’re delinquents , Storm thought. They’ve been men for decades and still I treat them like boys. Hell, they’re grandfathers .
    This extended life leached a man’s perspective. The twins were as unalike as night and day. Storm sometimes wondered if he had fathered both.
    Benjamin was a blond Apollo. He was the darling of the