by Rob Buckman
Wearing earplugs all day made Mike’s ears ache, and his muscles were sore from climbing up ladders from one scaffold level to the other to observe the work in progress. The crews didn’t mind, and smiled tolerantly when he asked questions. It was unusual for them to see any naval personnel on board while the ship was in dry dock, let alone see an inspector in person. Mike hadn’t seen Conner Blake all day, as he’d been off somewhere checking on supplies. That was another headache. All requisitions for equipment, no matter how simple, such as a bucket and a mop had to be in triplicate. For all the miscellaneous material and equipment, they’d need just for his office amounted to a lot of paperwork. To his surprise, later that evening, he found a well-cooked meal waiting for him in the microwave and a bottle of good white wine cooling in an ice bucket. Mike didn’t remember even owning an ice bucket. After a hot shower warmed him up, he ate the meal and downed two glasses of wine before finally unwinding. After reading for two hours and another glass of wine, he didn’t remember much. Somehow he managed to get undressed and into bed, sometime after midnight. At least he hoped he had as that’s where he found himself the next morning, waking up to Conner’s smiling face and a mug of coffee, looking as fresh as a daisy.
“Good morning, sir.” He greeted cheerfully as Mike pried his eyes open.
“That’s easy for you to say, you’re a bloody android! That’s the only way to explain it.” He growled, sitting up and accepting the mug. Conner just smiled and went about getting his uniform ready.
He spent the day inside the labyrinth of corridors at the ministry of supply, going from one office to the next. His finger cramped from writing and typing so much and his head ached from answering the same endless question. If he had an office where was the original equipment and had it been damaged during the course of normal duties. In a tossup between the two, he came down on the side of spending a day working on the hull, rather than face the ministry of supply again. He started spending his days and sometimes week in a particular fabrication shop around the yard, leaning as much as he could about the operation. He read up on fabrication techniques as they applied to modern warship construction, and how it all fitted together. Neither of them had any luck locating the original specification or drawings, and consequently work started to slow. Then he started to worry. Soon, maybe within a week there wouldn’t be any work left to do, and he’d lose the crews.
“I’m out of ideas, Conner.”
“Me too, sir.” He sighed. “Cynthia told me she will have to pull the crews next week if we can’t find anything.”
“I know!” Mike snapped, quickly looking up at Conner in apology. Conner nodded, taking no offense.
“You might just have to design the bloody thing yourself, sir.” He chuckled.
“Don’t be daft. I couldn’t design as ship...” He stopped.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He said, brushing the thought away.
He had designed a ship, or more exactly, he’d been working on a ship design since he was fifteen. Somehow the skeletal framework on the slipway started to haunt him, drawing him back day after day, as if begging him to build her. Another thought struck him about his orders, and the temporary confiscation of his port-a-comp by Naval Intelligence after the mission, the second group that is. Could the two be related? It seemed odd they’d order him to build a ship that didn’t exist, especially without drawings or specifications, yet his port-a-comp did have his ‘work in progress’ design. His comm unit chimed, reminded him that he had an appointment the day after next, one he couldn’t refuse, the medal presentation and the Royal ball. With a sigh, he retired early, but nothing seemed to slow Conner down, and even before his alarm went off, he woke him up with a smile and a cup of coffee. An hour later, still half-asleep, he was on his way, first to Portsmouth, then on to London on the high speed mag-lift train.
By 08:00, he presented himself at Buckingham Palace visitor’s gate, but it took a while to pass through the heavily armed, hard faced Military guard at the side gate. These were not the perfectly turned out ceremonial guard forces out front for the visiting tourists. Each step of the way into the Palace, he was checked and re-checked until at last he could report to the civilian protocol officer, thankful he’d arrived early.
“Good morning, Leftenant Gray, I’ve been expecting you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Oh, you don’t need to sir me, I’m a civilian, the Palace Chamberlain.” He smiled and held out his hand. “My name is Miller, Charles Miller, but most people call me Dusty.”
“Dusty?”
“Long story, do you know what a Miller is?” He motioned him to sit as he spoke.
“Ummm, no, sorry I don’t.”
“A Miller is someone who mills corn into flour, or was a long time ago, and they were always covered in flour dust, hence the name dusty.”
“Now I get it.”
“You will find that a lot here, people being called by all sorts of quaint names.”
“Like Paddy for an Irishman.”
“Right, or Taffy for a Welshman, Jock, for a Scot etc.”
“That might take a bit of getting used to, especially if there are more than one of them.”
“Think what is would be like if you had a crew of them.” They both laughed.
“I’ll have a pages escort you to your quarter and your luggage sent up.”
“Quarters?”
“Yes, you will be staying for the Ball, and by the time that’s over it will be too late to return to your billet tonight.”
“Oh, I see.” Mike was hoping he could somehow get out of the Ball and find Lady Ann instead, now it looked as if he was stuck.
“Thank you, but can you tell me what I will have to do?”
“I’ll have a page come and bring you back here at 10:30, I’ll escort you to the waiting room.” He studied a data pad for a moment.
“The medal presentation will be shortly after that. Depending on when the King finishes his meeting.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, the King specifically asked to have a few words with you in private before the ceremony.”
“A meeting with the King! No one said anything about that to me.”
“I’m not surprised, I only found out myself an hour ago.”
“What on earth would he want to speak to me for.”
“That, you will have to ask him yourself.”
“Oh, right, me ask the King what he wants to chat about.”
“You might be surprised, Mr. Gray.” Dusty smiled at some secret joke.
“Here is a layout of the Palace and a meal schedule for today. You will be expected to dress for each.” Mike took the documents and looked at them.
“Is this formal or informal?”
“Mostly informal, except for special occasions.” Mike looked up.
“You mean these meals are with the Royal family?”
“Yes, of course, and anyone else who might turn up. These are the regular daily routine, and not an official function.” Mike sighed, seeing purgatory stretching away before him.
The young page led him to his quarter, and he was pleased to find that he didn’t have to share it with anyone. It wasn’t just one room, but a suit, complete with a tiny kitchen, giant bath, shower, dressing room, lounge, study, and bedroom. This was part of the Palace itself, and the decor and fitting must be the same as in the rest of the place. Sitting on the edge of the giant bed, he looked around him shaking his head. Why on earth was he here? With no way to get back to Davenport tonight, he punched in Conner Blake’s comm number and undated him. Conner just chuckled and said, ‘better you than me, sir’ and signed off.
“Good Morning, Leftenant Gray, I hope I haven’t kept you waiting?”
Mike shot to his feet and stood at ridged attention, dumb struck. He cooled his heel in a waiting room for over an hour, sitting by a window, musing, failed to hear the King entered.
“No, sir, I mean, your Majesty, not at all.” He st
ood rigidly at attention, not sure what to do.
“Please Mr. Gray, you will do yourself an injury standing like that, please, sit.” Pulling a chair over, the King sat down opposite and held his hand out.
“I... I...” Mike stammered. That brought a smile to the King’s face.
“I have way too much of the protocol, so it’s wonderful to just be able to sit and chat occasionally, that’s why no one announcement me before I came in.” Slowly Mike sat down and shook hands, but even then, he sat at attention, still trying to come to grips with the fact that it was the king sitting opposite, talking to him.
“Sir, I mean, your Majesty, I didn’t hear... I wasn’t expecting...” He closed his eye and swallowed hard.
“You were expecting me to come in with a crown and full regalia?”
“Ummm, no, sir, I mean...”
“Sir, will do nicely, may I call you Mike or Michelle?”
“Mike, sir!” He said immediately.
“Good, would you like a cup of tea, or something stronger? I know I do after that bloody awful meeting with the PM.”
“I’m... I’m not sure, sir.”
“Then I’ll order for both of us.” The King pulled a slim comm unit out of his inside jacket pocket. “Arthur, we’ll have a pot of hot coffee, and two large Brandy’s in the drawing room.”
“Yes, sir.” A tiny voice answered.
“I read the official report of your rescue mission, then your report.”
“Oh, I see.” Mike felt his ears get red.
“Yes, I think you do, quite a difference between the two.”
“Was there, sir? I’ve never seen the official report.”
“Yes, there was. Did you really jump through a window with Lady Ann in your arms to escape?”
“Yes, sir,” Mike blushed bright red, “I have to admit, it was the only way out.”
“Poor planning?” The King asked with a raised eyebrow.
“No, sir, rather a reaction to the situation as it arose, unless you mean the mission as a whole.”
“You think it could have been better planned?”
“The idea itself was brilliant, but after that it began to fall apart.” Just then, the door opened and an older man came in rolling a tea cart, and placed it beside the King.
“Will there be anything else, sir.”
“Not at the moment Arthur, you can tell Mr. Miller that we will be running late due to prior meeting.”
“Very good, sir, shall I pour?”
“Thank you, no, Arthur, I’ll do it.”
“Very good, sir.” With that, he left. The King poured coffee and Brandy for both of them and moved the cart over so Mike could reach. He helped himself to cream and sugar, and took a good sip of the Brandy.
“Are you a student of Military History Mike?”
“Yes, sir, it's one of my passions.”
“Good, it can be very enlightening. Take your mission, for instance. It was originally used many years ago, successfully I might add.” Feeling a little more relaxed Mike sat back and drank his coffee and Brandy. The King then recounted the story of ‘The man who never was’. It was interesting, and Mike could see where the idea had come from, also where they’d ruined it, and said so.
“Overkill, sir. There was no need for the rescue mission in the first place.”
“I know, but thank god they did send it, and you succeeded, otherwise the Lady Ann might not be here now.” He gave Mike an apprising looked, as if expecting him to say something.
“How is she, sir. I haven’t had a chance to speak to her since we returned.” It wasn’t what the King expected.
“She is well, and I expect you will be seeing her soon.” He smiled as he said it, nodding to himself about something.
“Oh?” Mike’s heart jumped and he tried to keep a poker face.
“Yes, there’s that Ball tonight, and you will both be there and you might have a chance then.” The King noted his reaction, not fooled for a moment by the poker face.
They chatted for another half-hour, drinking coffee and sipping their Brandy’s, and much to Mike’s amazement, he found the King and easy person to talk to. Then the King looked at his watch.
“I think it’s time I presented you with your medal, Leftenant, a well deserved one I might add.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“Stay here for the moment and freshen up, I’ll have someone come for you when everything is ready.”
“Yes, sir.” He stood up, and shook hands again.
Mike did manage to find the bathroom, and as he stood washing his hands, he look at himself in the mirror. He was real, this was real, and he just had a conversation with the King. He wondered if his grandfather could have imagined this ever happening. He knew his grandfather had left earth in disgrace, had he ever sat down and chatted with the Monarch? It was a long way from Avalon to the Royal Palace, in many ways. He was pragmatic enough to realize that not many things would change, and in some cases get worse. His fellow officers would see him as an upstart, but that was a horse he’d ride when he came to it. The first part of the presentation went off perfectly, with several officers and civilians receiving decoration and honorariums with all the pomp and circumstance that the occasion demanded. Even Admiral Rawlings was there, seeing a smile on his face as Mike stepped forward upon hearing his name.
“First Leftenant Michael Gray, step forward and be recognized and your presentation to his Majesty, the King.”
Mike marched forward, seeing the King smile at him. They waited for the Chamberlain to read out the citation, and Mike let his eyes wander. Then he froze in shock as the Prince of Wales stepped out of a side door as the immortal words were spoken.
"It is ordained that the Cross shall only be awarded for most conspicuous bravery, daring or pre-eminent act of valor or self-sacrifice and extreme devotion to duty in the presence of the enemy…"
It only took a moment for the Prince to recognize him, and Mike knew the game was up. Just as the King stepped forward to pin the medal on, the Prince stepped up beside his father.
“Please excuse my interruption, your Majesty.” He said, bowing slightly to his father.
“Yes?” The King gave the Prince a questioning look.
“I believe it is part of standing regulation that anyone receiving a commendation be properly dressed for such an occasion.”
“That is correct.” The King gave his son a stern look.
“Then I submit, your Majesty, that First Leftenant Gray is improperly dressed for this presentation.” The King looked Mike up and down for a moment, then turned to the Prince.
“Explain!”
“If I might have a word in private, your Majesty.” There was something in the Prince’s tone that caught the King’s attention, and he nodded, moving out of earshot. The Prince whispered in the King’s ear for a moment, seeing him nod and shoot a quick look at Mike over his shoulder, then they moved apart.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, if you would give us a moment, there is a small matter to take care of before I can present Leftenant Gray with his well deserved award.” With that, he and the Prince walked off the stage and out of the room.
“Damn!” Mike muttered under his breath. He stood there, unsure what to do. That the Prince recognized him was clear, what he was up to now was something else, have him arrested? No, that didn’t make sense. Then again, nor did stopping the presentation. The Prince's comment about being improperly dressed nag at him, but he didn’t have a clue what that meant. Admiral Rawlings took him by the arm then, and led him to one side.
“You look like you are in need of some fortification, my lad, here.” The Admiral handed him a flask. Mike took a quick nip, feeling the fiery liquid soothe his nerves.
“So what did the Prince mean when he said you were improperly dressed?” He asked, looking Mike up and down. He could see nothing amiss.
“I have no idea, sir.”
“Well, whatever it is, his nibs agreed with him.”
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“I think it might have something to do with the fact that the Prince and I have met before.” That caused Admiral Rawlings to raise one eyebrow in question. “A long time ago, sir.”
“Apparently not long enough for the Prince to forget, hay!”
“No, sir.” He answered with a wan smile. In all, it took twenty minutes before the Chamberlain came back out onto the stage, looking a little flustered for once.
“My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen, your attention please. Leftenant Michael...” He stopped and looked down at his pad again, just as Mike turned. “Correction, Sergeant Michael Grayson of his Majesties Royal Marines, please step forward and be recognized.” At that, the other guest looked around the room, muttering to each other.