by Rob Buckman
“Really?”
“Oh yes. Remember, this is the Free Traders Guild Hall, and not, as some believe, the Avalon Embassy.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” Rolly eyed the room as the admiral waved his glass around.
“All this is donated by the Free Trader captains to impress their trading partners. This is where most of the trading is done, and it makes a statement not to screw with them.”
“I think I see.”
“Oh, I’m not saying they will cheat you, far from it, they expect a fair deal, or fair trade, for what they are selling, and expect the same in return. You only come through that door once if you cheat them, and neither they, nor any other trader, will come near you again if you do.”
“Do we… I mean the Royal Navy have any idea how far out into the black they have been, sir?”
Admiral Rawlings chuckled. “That’s a great question. Up the spiral arm, yes. We know pretty much how far out they, and we, have been as well. Past the Rift, it’s anyone’s guess.”
“Not telling?”
“No. They and the Voss are very closed lipped about how far out they have been, and what they’ve seen. The whisper is that both have been to the core and seen the elephant.”
“Elephant, sir?”
“Yes, the elephant. If our observations are correct, there’s one hell of a large black hole at the center of our galaxy that some wag named the ‘Elephant’.”
Rolly knew the expression, one familiar to enlisted men who wrote home saying “they’d seen the elephant” or "I'm off to see the elephant." Using it to describe the experiences of war and soldiering. The term has many possible origins going back as far as 3rd Century B.C. when Alexander the Great and his Macedonian warriors defeated the elephant-mounted army of King Porus in the Indus valley.
“That’s a long way out, sir. Do you believe it?”
The admiral looked at him a moment, then nodded, “Yes, these free traders are a hardy lot, and I wouldn’t put it past them to have gone that far and up one of the other arms of our galaxy. Maybe one of these days they’ll tell us.” After that, they mingled with the rest of the movers and shakers of London, nodded to some, shaking hands with others they knew. The admiral listened with half an ear as people were announced, and his ears pricked up when he heard one particular name called.
“Well, well, well. Now what is Tirra Lightly doing here?” He murmured.
“Who… sir?” Rolly asked.
“Tirra Lightly. She’s the chief Sirrien spook hereabouts. Although her title is commercial attaché,” the admiral replied.
“Oh, I see.”
“Trying to sneak a few spy bots in would be my guess. Good luck to her doing that.”
Tirra Lightly walked up the white marble steps and greeted the Avalon ambassador warmly, at least to all appearances, wishing she could stick a knife in between his ribs instead of shaking hands with him. “Glad to see you again, Ambassador.” She greeted softly.
“And you, Ms. Lightly. It’s not often you leave the confines of the Sirrien Embassy.”
“I wouldn’t miss meeting the great Max Tregallion for anything.” She answered, switching her attention to Victoria Dennison
“Nice to see you again, Ms. Lightly. I’ll see if he has time to meet you.” Victoria shook hands, and for a moment, they got into a hand squeezing contest, but much to Tirra’s displeasure, Victoria just smiled as if nothing was happening. By unspoken agreement they disengaged neither the winner, although in Victoria’s case she hadn’t exerted anywhere near her full strength to counter Tirra Lightly’s grip. To Victoria, it was more amusing, and educational, as she now knew the Sirrien spy chief was augmented. Stupid of her really to give away that much information. As for meeting Max Tregallion, it would be a cold day in hell before she’d let Ms. Lightly within shouting distance
Tirra Lightly carried on down the greeting line making note of who was here and who wasn’t. It annoyed her that she hadn’t been able to make Victoria Dennison squirm a little, but it did confirm that she was a lot stronger than she looked. Avalon had a nasty habit of turning over their unofficial embassy staff on an irregular basis, thereby keeping all the other intelligence services guessing who was who. Just then, the majordomo announced another guest and she looked over her shoulder with interest.
“The Lady Anne and her escort, Lord Seaford.” Few paid attention to the announcement, concentrating more on the free food and drink, or chatting with several traders or brokers. A second name drew the admiral’s attention as well.
“The Lady Bridgett and her escort, Leftenant Michael Ross. Duke of Argyle and the Outer Islands.”
“Hmmm. Brought out a couple of the big guns did they?” The admiral murmured into his glass as he took a sip of the excellent champagne.
“Pardon, sir?”
“Nothing, just an observation on the quality of the guest list, is all.”
Rolly looked at the Lady Anne for a moment and smiled slightly, “I must say, that I would have thought Lord Seaford might have found a more suitable partner to bring to the party, sir.” Homely was about as charitable as he could manage.
“Who… what?” The admiral asked, looking around.
“The Lady Anne, sir.” Rolly Vargas shook his head slightly in wonder. The Lady Anne was a frumpy looking young woman with mousy brown hair, thick eyebrows, buck teeth, and cow brown eyes. Her dress almost looked like a hand-me-down from an older sister. Why any young woman in this day and age would willingly walk around looking like she did when she could go to any competent doctor’s office and fix it was beyond him.
“Oh, yes. I see what you mean.” He stopped for a moment, frowning. “As far as I know, the Lady Anne is just a King’s Messenger… Humm, I wonder why she’s here?” It surprised the admiral somewhat that the Lord Seaford was her escort unless he and the Lady Anne had been dragooned into coming by the King.
“Ha… there you are, Admiral Rawlings,” Victoria Dennison seemed to glide across the floor as she walked. “If you’d be so kind. I’d like you to come and meet this evening’s guest of honor.”
“Max Tregallion?” Seeing the Lady nod. “Why, by all means. I’ve always wanted to meet the man in person.” He responded, placing his empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter.
“You as well, Leftenant Vargas. I’m sure you’d both like to meet the legendary Max Tregallion.”
“Me? Oh… yes. I’d be delighted.” Suddenly, Rolly felt ill at ease. It was one thing to meet an admiral or two here and there in his duties, but to meet a living legend and the founder and owner of Avalon, was in a class by itself.
“Legendary, indeed!” The admiral snorted softly. “If you listened to the half the stories told about him you’d think he was ten feet tall and ate little children for breakfast.” He muttered to Rolly as he followed behind ambassador’s aide.
Victoria Dennison guided them through the crowd to a small sitting room off to the side where Max Tregallion was holding court. Several people exited the room as they approached, some looking a little red around the ears, hearing harsh laughter float out behind them. They entered, with Victoria leading the way, and saw a tall, portly older man and a smaller one holding a bottle.
“Well! Are you going to refill my glass before I die of thirst or stand there looking mournful with your thumb up your ass?” The old man growled at the smaller man standing off to one side.
Leaning on his cane, he turned and held his glass out. The other man was only short in comparison with the older man, who stood about six feet three tall. His salt and pepper hair and lined face spoke of old age. How old it was difficult to say. If this was Max Tregallion, he had to be over a hundred and fifty years old, but it didn’t look as if age was slowing him down any. The shorter man poured more Torgon brandy into the glass and stepped back his eyes constantly sweeping the room.
“So, who have you brought now, Victoria?” The old man grumbled.
“Behave yourself, Max,” Victoria snapped, “and slow d
own on the brandy. You’ve a long evening ahead of you. And please be polite to our guests.”
“Har! That’s what I like to see. A girl with beauty and brains.” His old face broke into a grin. “And who the hell are you, sailor boy?”
“Admiral Rawlings, Mr. Tregallion. At your service.” Admiral Rawlings answered gruffly, not used to people treating him to lightly, “sailor boy” indeed.
“Hum, I just bet you are, my lad. Nice to see you again, Admiral.” He said in a soft voice as he leaned forward to shake hands.”
Admiral Rawlings did a double take. Unless Max Tregallion was getting senile, he knew for a fact he’d never met the old man, so why the again?
“And you must be Rolly Vargas, the admiral’s shadow.” He held his hand out and shook a bemused Rolly’s hand with a crushing grip before the admiral could say anything.
“Sit, sit, and have a drink.” He looked around, “Well, don’t just stand there, pour the admiral and Leftenant Vargas a drink, you lazy snot!” Max Tregallion’s manservant came over, and handed each a glass and poured some of the brandy. “Here’s to the King and His Majesty’s Royal Navy.” Max added as he raised his glass.
“The King and his Royal Navy.” The admiral responded. Rolly did the same, and took a tentative sip and almost choked. He recovered quickly, seeing the admiral take a hefty swig and not bat an eyelid. It wasn’t brandy as he expected, but a cool, flavorful drink from some unnamed fruit that just happened to look and smell like brandy.
“Excellent Brandy. A ’57 if I’m not mistaken.”
“It’s a ’54 actually. Bought this off a ship that landed on Avalon. Now what was her name… Oh yes, I remember. The Hemlock, wasn’t it?” He asked, looking around at his surly manservant.
“Yeah, that’s right. The Hemlock.” The man answered, rolling his eyes.
“The Hemlock?” Admiral Rawlings sat up a little, and looked at Max Tregallion, and his manservant. Were there two ships that just happened to be named Hemlock? Then something else clicked into place. Unless you had very special permission, no outside ship ever landed on Avalon. The closest they could get was Christchurch.
“An old tramp cargo ship was she?” He asked.
“Yes, she is. You know. One of those old ships that do the milk run out along the fringe of civilized space,” Max said, waving his glass around as if to encompass the whole universe.
“Yes, I’ve heard of her a couple of times. Do you know the name of her captain?” The admiral asked softly looking down as he swirled the drink around in his glass.
“Yes I do… let me think. The old gray matter’s getting a bit slow in my old age,” Max chuckled, tapping the side of his head with a forefinger.
“His name is Captain Bear, sir,” his servant interjected softly as if helping his master to remember.
“I knew that, you insolent sod. Do you think I’m getting senile or something?” He snapped, glaring at the man.
“No, sir. Just bloody cantankerous in your old age is all.” The man muttered loudly as he stepped back.
“I heard that!” Max growled. “Now, where was I…” He glared at his manservant, “Oh, yes. Captain Bear. Quite a charming fellow really. Very accommodating and all that. Handsome, intelligent, and a real ladies man from what I hear.”
“Har! In addition, not above tooting his own trumpet, I’ll wager,” the admiral snorted, “I also heard he was a bit too flamboyant for my liking, and likes to bend, or even break the rules on occasions. He also has little or no regard for authority!” The admiral grumbled. He cocked an eyebrow at Max Tregallion and tried to see through the camouflage to the young naval officer he knew.
It took a moment, but Rolly Vargas finally caught on at last, and quickly suppressed a smile as he buried his nose in his glass. Not having ever met the real Max Tregallion, he was betting that Mike’s imitation of him was spot on. The question was, why the subterfuge? Even being the admiral's flag officer, he didn’t know all the goings on. The last thing he’d heard was about the message drone on station waiting for Mike to reappear in Sol system and pick up the message about flowers. What the actual encoded massage was he didn’t know.
“Of course, you’ll stay for a late supper, Admiral. I insist on it, once we’ve got rid of the free loaders that is.” He said, waving his cane in the direction of the crowd outside the sitting room.
“Of, course, Mr. Tregallion, I’d love to.” In addition to chewing your impudent young ass out when I get the chance, was his afterthought. Nevertheless, he had to smile to himself. Mike had found the perfect way to obey both sets of orders. Stay out of Sol system as Captain Bear, and to report to him as soon as possible as Captain/Leftenant Gray. Just then they were interrupted, and Max struggled to his feet, and leaned heavily on his cane.
“Mr. Tregallion, I’d like you to meet the Lady Anne, and her escort, Lord Seaford, and the Lady Bridgett and her escort, Leftenant Michael Ross, Duke of Argyle and the Outer Islands.” The lady Anne didn’t look at all happy about being here, and he knew nothing about the temper tantrum she’d thrown when told she needed to be here.
* * * * * *
“What!”
“I said, you need to dress up as the Lady Anne and go to the party at the Free Traders Guild Hall.”
Princess Anastasia drew herself up and took a deep breath. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to parade around London in that ridiculous costume, father. It was bad enough having to go off planet dressed like that.” Her father sighed. King he might be with the power of life and death over the people in his kingdom, so to speak, but when it came to his daughter, like many fathers before him, he found his authority over his grown daughter somewhat limited.
“Anna! This is an official request from the Avalon Embassy, and a secondary request for you to go as ‘The Lady Anne’.”
“Requested by who… whom?” She corrected.
“I don’t know, but the unofficial word is that Max Tregallion will be there, the owner and ex-president of Avalon.”
“So, now I’m at the beck and call of some backwoods mucky muck… why can’t I go as the Princess Royal?” She stopped in mid sentence, her brow pulling down into a very unladylike frown. The Avalon Embassy shouldn’t have even known about her alter ego. The only person she knew from that planet was Mike. Could this request be somehow connected with him? The King also hated puzzles and intrigue at the best of times, but this request from the unofficial Avalon Embassy had him scratching his head.
“I don’t know… unless it’s for your safety.”
“If that red-nosed, fat bastard has anything to do with this…” Anne started to say.
“As far as I know, the Prime Minister has nothing to do with this invitation, and I wish you wouldn’t call him that. The situation between him and the royal family are strained enough as it is without him finding out you call him a red-nosed fat bastard, even if his is.” The King replied, suppressing a slight smile.
“I refuse!” Princess Anne almost stamped her foot, folding her arms over her chest instead, glaring at her father. It was a stance he’d seen before, and he wondered briefly if Mike Gray’s solution of putting her over his knee and spanking her bottom wasn’t so misplaced after all. He remembered a few times when his impulse was to do just that, and mores’ the pity he hadn’t.
“Anna! This is a royal command. You will dress up and you will go, is that clear!” In answer, she simply stormed out of the room and managed to slam the door behind her. In the end, with a lot of pouting and snapping at everybody within hearing, she went. Seaford of course came in for his share of her displeasure, and by the time they reached the Guild Hall, the temperature into the ground car was hovering around absolute zero.
* * * * * *
Being corralled and ushered along by the stunningly beautiful Victoria Dennison didn’t help Anne’s mood any. Beside Victoria, she looked positively ugly, a feeling she wasn’t used to.
“Har! Bit of a long winded title you have there, young man.” Max gr
umbled as he shuffled over and shook hands with the men first, and then bowed to the Ladies and kissed their hands. They both curtsied to him and he smiled, the Lady Anne’s curtsy was nowhere near as graceful as the Lady Bridgett’s.
“Yes, sir. It is a bit of a mouthful sometimes, but you know these functions, they love to impress the lesser folk.” Mike Ross replied, sounding a little bored at having to mingle with ordinary business-class people. It was a good performance, and would have fooled Mike, if he hadn’t known any better.
“Seaford! I think I know your father.”
“You do… did?” Seaford asked in surprise.
“Yes. Isn’t he the one with the title, a broken down country estate and doesn’t have two shekels to rub together?” Max growled, giving him a wolfish grin. Seaford gritted his teeth.
“You must be thinking of another Lord Seaford.” He replied, feeling himself get a little red around the ears. Max Tregallion leaned forward and took hold of Seaford’s shoulder.
“Har! That’s not what you told me a while ago at the Royal Ball.” He whispered. Seaford stiffened.
Max Tregallion was never at the royal ball. Had Mike Gray told the old man what he’d said?” Seaford looked at Max Tregallion again, seeing him wink. Then it hit him, and he had to stop himself gasping in surprise. Max covered it by turning to the Lady Anne and Lady Bridgett.
“So, what are you to ladies doing here? Dragged along by these two ne’er-do-wells as fluff and decoration?”
“Well, the royal family was otherwise engaged, so the Lady Anne and I were…” Seaford coughed into his fist, “strongly requested to stand in for them.”
“Huh, couldn’t they have found something a little more appealing? I mean, the Lady Anne is about a lovely as the back end of a London taxi with the doors open.” Max said from behind his hand in a loud “stage whisper.” The Lady Anne looked outraged and stamped her foot.
“How dare you! I find you exceedingly rude and uncouth, Mr. Tregallion,” Lady Anne replied in a snippy tone Mike knew all too well, looking daggers at Mike/Max. But, she was stuck in her role as the Lady Anne otherwise she would probably have come over and punched his lights out. Still, it was fun to poke fun at her, but Mike suspected he’d pay for it later.