Not troubling to put on my fortune-teller’s robes or bring out the tent, I sat at the small table near the window and whisked the covering away. The globe looked back at me like a colorless eyeball on a socket made of ebony wood.
I set my hands underneath it and looked into its heart.
I stared for what seemed like hours. Condensation formed between the pads of my fingers and palm. I implored the universe to favor me with an insight regarding our enterprise. How would I know the truth when I saw it?
My eyes ached with the strain of gazing. Then, to my surprise and delight, a tiny thread of cobalt-blue light arched from the mound of one thumb, crossed the arc of the globe to the tip of my left forefinger, where it exploded into minute sparks. Fireworks!
It must be a reflection. I was not so deluded as to believe I had suddenly acquired the ability to see complex illusions like skyrockets exploding. I looked up. The blue sky was clear but for a few whipped-cream clouds and the tapering contrail of a departing spacecraft. But where had the vision come from?
I was not going to get answers from cudgeling my own brain. It had only seen what my eyes had. But I took the image for inspiration for the near future. I was going on an adventure. The next step, naturally, was a going-away party!
I spread the silken cover over my crystal ball and retrieved my viewpad from its charging cradle on my desk. I fell back into my favorite armchair to gather inspiration. Fireworks, first and foremost. Then, food and drink. Next, other entertainment, including musicians, magicians, and a palmist I knew to be reliable and discreet. Decorations! Prizes, to be randomly distributed, according to rules that I would make up on the spot. Then, the guest list, the people I wished to come and enjoy it all.
Pro forma, my cousin the emperor was first on the top of the page, though he never attended any of our parties. Shojan had far too many official events and functions to attend. I didn’t expect him, but all due homage would be paid if he did show up. I made arrangements for the portable Chair of State to be present, under its own marquee in the colors of his coat of arms, with a royal blue ribbon stretched across the arm rests to prevent anyone else sitting in it and taking mocking pictures for their Infogrid files (it had happened; I possessed images taken of many violators. Though it might not be creditable, I was never one of them.). The rest of the guests would be those with whom I most enjoyed being. Ah, the fun of it!
When I finished constructing the theme of the party and assembling the vendors, stationers, and entertainers, I felt rejuvenated. My soul soared. My body was full of energy. My mind kept racing ahead, anticipating the delight on my guests’ faces and the joy in my own heart. I tapped away on the viewpad, enjoying myself more and more as I went along.
Meditation truly was good for one’s morale.
CHAPTER 5
When I was finished making the list of those I wished to attend the party, I ran up and down the small screen. To my chagrin, I realized that there was a gaping hole in the number of invitees. How could I have failed to include my crew? Hastily, I keyed in all of their names. Parsons, first and foremost, must be asked, though he might show up anyhow, to ensure that I did not drink myself paralytic and end up on the launch pad in an unfit state. But I thought with deep pleasure how my crew would respond to the kind of entertainment that my family was accustomed to enjoying.
The cards arrived within an hour from the imperial stationer, who was used to spur-of-the-moment parties within the compound. Each of the thick, cream-colored envelopes was embossed with the name of the invitee. With the mailbot waiting, I sorted out those meant for my crew and kept them. I decided that I must deliver those invitations in person. I wanted to see the happiness on all of their faces.
The reality, though, was a trifle different than I anticipated. My crew, gathered together in the common room on base, received their invitations with some bafflement and disbelief.
“You’re inviting us?” Nesbitt said, his ruddy skin flushed to brick redness. “You want us to serve drinks or something?”
“Only to yourselves,” I assured them. “I want you to be my guests. We are setting out as a company for parts unknown. Therefore you must attend my gala.”
“It’s the night before we launch,” Anstruther said, reading the date.
“Can you think of a better time to schedule a going-away party?” I asked.
“Well, we have to be up pretty early the next morning, sir,” she said.
“Then depart from the festivities when it seems appropriate for you,” I said. “But if you don’t come, I will feel as though I have cheated you out of an experience that you deserve.”
“That’s really nice of you, my lord,” Nesbitt said, his ebullient voice hoarse with emotion. “I dunno . . .”
“I think it’ll be a blast,” Oskelev said, flipping the card up so it cartwheeled in the air. She caught it. “It’s a yes from me.”
“Me also. What garment style?” Redius asked, the coral-red scales on his forehead glowing with interest. Like me, he was a bit of a dandy. I admired the clothes he wore while on leave. “New tunic favored with decorative tail accessory bought.”
“Dress uniform, of course,” Plet said, severely. The others looked deflated.
As one, they turned to look to me for guidance.
“Alas,” I said. “She is right. You are on active duty.”
“I don’t mind,” Anstruther said, pulling her suddenly drooping shoulders erect. “We couldn’t compete with your relatives anyhow.”
“No, indeed, you can’t,” I said, with an expansive gesture. “You are useful members of society, and they are not.”
Leaving the others to buzz over the antique style of printing and the quality of the cardstock, I pulled Plet aside. Though my crew members were immune to the charms of me and my family, I still needed to protect them from my cousins’ sometimes harsh sense of humor.
“I have prepared a dossier on my cousins, with a list of their most frequent hijinks that they pull in the presence of those who do not belong to our genetic blueprint,” I said. We touched viewpads, and the file on mine transferred to hers. “This will help you counter their inevitable jokes on newcomers. For the more egregious attempts, find me or Parsons. We will deal with my cousins from a different level.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said.
I breathed a sigh of relief as I was able to check two more responsibilities off my list.
“Very well!” I said. “I will see you four days hence!”
My crew looked trim and professional in their dark blue dress uniforms, though I had to admit they did seem a trifle out of place in the Edouardo V garden of the Imperium compound. Though I brought them in past the gate personally and introduced them to several acquaintances and friends, such as my personal tailor and the wonderful woman who ran the local public archive, they clung together like waifs. It broke my heart to see the normally ebullient and self-sufficient spacers of the Imperium navy uncertain as to what to do.
The arrival of my mother changed all that. When she was announced by the steward at the gate, Plet’s back straightened like a yardstick. The others, taking their cue from her, stood to rigid attention.
In glided Admiral Tariana Kinago Loche. Since my prepubescent years, I had been a good foot taller than she, but I would never match her in formidable presence. Not that she seemed dangerous, something that her foes had found to their dismay upon encountering this small, slim, youthful-looking lady with her fresh, peach-kissed complexion, her sea-blue eyes, and her marvelous caramel-colored tresses. Tonight, those tresses were arranged high in a waterfall of waves and ringlets, just brushing the shoulders of an impeccable dress uniform. Her pale blue trousers bore a stripe down the side that was not white for an admiral, but platinum for the First Space Lord. Some had mistaken the two to their deep and pathetic sorrow. To crash upon the rocks of my mother’s asperity was indeed to break up and sink without a trace.
The maternal unit approached. I feared for the worst, b
ut she pulled my head down and kissed me on the cheek.
“Well, my dragonlet,” she said. “Is this in an attempt to make up for your outrageous behavior?”
“I am afraid that would take several lifetimes of expiation,” I said.
“So true. Have you been to see your father to say goodbye?”
“Yes, I have,” I said. “I brought him a model of the Rodrigo that I made myself. It is a proper poppet of the ship, since I included a shaving of metal from the underside of the captain’s chair. My chair,” I corrected myself. Mother nodded approvingly.
“That is right, Thomas. You are not a captain yet. Commander Parsons has the highest naval rank of your company. You lead by courtesy. Please do not forget that. I don’t want to have to read another report of you usurping his position.”
“We work together!” I protested. “Parsons himself will tell you that my ideas are sound ones.”
I stopped to cross mental fingers. But my mother had always been adept at reading my mind.
“But you would rather seek forgiveness than ask permission.”
“There never is time to ask permission,” I said, with all truthfulness. “Every time I went against his wishes on my last mission, it had been in the heat of battle, so to speak. It was act or be acted upon.”
“That is the risk you take when there is a chain of command. Don’t assume you know everything, Thomas. In fact,” she added, with a twinkle in her sea-blue eyes that was the physical trait we shared most closely, “don’t assume you know anything. It will keep you out of trouble more frequently than it will put you in it.”
“I will carve your words upon my heart, mother,” I said, leaning over to kiss her again.
“See that you do. And have pity upon young Captain Naftil. He is not as immune to our charms as most. It is his only flaw as a commander. He has a long future in the navy, and I don’t want my own son preventing him from attaining promotion.”
“I will treat him with the respect he deserves,” I said. “You have my solemn promise.”
Mother sighed and shook her head.
“You will treat him as the captain under whose authority you travel, my dear. Don’t forget that. Now, will you make me known to your crew?”
I made the introductions with all due propriety. Mother advanced her hand to shake first with Plet, who had gone so rigid I feared she might implode, then to the others in turn.
“This is such an unruly crowd,” Mother confided to them, with the ease she always showed nervous recruits. “I’m afraid they may topple me off my feet! I would greatly appreciate it if you would accompany me. My escort has not yet arrived.” It was a white lie. I knew she hadn’t brought an escort. After all, she was my mother, this was my party, and she was related to over eighty percent of the guests. But the excuse served to electrify my crew.
“Yes, Admiral, ma’am!” Plet exclaimed, dashing a fierce salute. “Oskelev, Anstruther, right flank! Redius, Nesbitt, left flank!”
“Aye, lieutenant!” they chorused. They took their positions, one fore and aft on each side of Mother. Plet rammed herself into place at the head of the group.
“To the drinks tent,” Mother said, gesturing forward.
“Ma’am, yes, ma’am!”
Together, they marched off. Throughout the evening, I would see them in much the same configuration. The First Space Lord treated them as if they were a flock of chicks and she their mother hen. Gradually, they began to relax, and even enjoy themselves.
I sincerely hoped they would. The chef was the finest I knew, hired away from Sparrow Island for the evening at colossal but reasonable expense. The food was a feast for the eyes long before its aroma touched the nose or the flavors and textures the tongue. A raft of pastries that I hoped would be sufficient for the growing throng came from a bakery that I had discovered in a part of Taino frequented most often by commoners. The secret was out, though, since the baker had pleaded with me to allow her to use her branded doilies and platters for the evening. Wines and spirits had come from the Kinago cellars. For those who knew good vintages, I needed to say nothing more.
As for music and entertainment, the Edouardo V garden was large enough to accommodate three musical ensembles with audience seating, plus smaller venues for close-up magic, acrobats on trapezes, and comedians.
Of the original three hundred people I had invited, I estimated that roughly six hundred and fifty had come. I was not in the least surprised. My cousins and I generally felt free to bring along whomever we wished to a casual event. Formal parties, such as weddings or diplomatic soirees, were considered inviolable, but a going-away bash had very elastic sides. I had purchased food and drink for a thousand, and prepared the Imperium staff to fetch more from selected vendors if necessary.
At times like these, I missed my cousin Scotlin, but he had recently moved to the Castaway Cluster with his wife and children. We still corresponded as copiously as of old, but it wasn’t the same as having him there where I could clap him on the back. I cheerfully greeted our cousin Erita, who sniffed her way past the commoners in the crowd to offer me a fishlike hand. My great-aunt Nestorina sailed in. Behind her were her grandson, my cousin Nalney, and Nestorina’s fourth husband, Gorokomo. Goro was only two years my senior, but he, like everyone else, struggled to keep up with my energetic aunt.
“My heavens, auntie,” I said, submitting to a fierce kiss on each cheek, “you look younger every year.”
She smirked.
“I should, silly boy. I’ve had every rejuvenation treatment known across the galaxy. Look at this complexion!” I surveyed a cheek as smooth as a debutante’s. “Three weeks of Dr. Salm’s special diet, and my skin is back to the same state as when I was twenty. You should try it.”
“I was thinking of trying one to make me look older, auntie,” I said. “No one takes me seriously at this age.”
She laughed. The nearest server swooped in upon her and offered a choice of colorful beverages. She chose pale orange. I turned to my next guests, a Wichu couple wearing brightly polished formal harnesses on their white-furred shoulders.
“Ah, Ambassador!” I said, offering her a deep bow. “And your mate. I don’t believe I have met him before.”
A thread of dance music met my ears from the most proximate of the bandstands. People from all walks of life—well, several walks of life; I did draw the line somewhere—were hopping and gliding together to a famous band just returned to Keinolt from a multi-world tour. I recalled that the ensemble had had their breakthrough performance at a birthday party here in the compound.
“Thomas!”
A stout man with a tonsure of black curls hailed me. Donel was my first cousin thrice removed on my mother’s side. He came over with a group of his friends, none of whom I recognized.
“Thomas, I can never get a story right the way you can. Tell them the one about the malfunctioning flitter.”
I bowed. “It would be my pleasure.” I made conspiratorial eye contact with each of my newfound audience in turn, and began. It was rather a long story, but it built up toward the conclusion a satisfying giggle at a time.
I heard a familiar shriek, and glanced toward the gate.
My cousin Jil arrived amidst a gaggle of ladies whom I did not know, but I did not mind. She acquired friends like a butterfly hunter amassed a collection, and a small thing like their failure to be invited to a private event would not stop her bringing them. She preferred colorful acquaintances to drab ones, but learned every detail of their lives, personalities and preferences. If there was an obsessive love of learning in the Kinago heritage, that is where it manifested itself in Jil. She was not threatened by a friend being prettier or richer than she, though there were few on Keinolt who fit that description. Jil was tall, very slender, with a golden complexion that set off her deep blue eyes and caramel hair that was not dissimilar to my mother’s.
I waved to Jil, making a note to compliment her upon her blue-green gown, which floated upon the evening
breeze like a distant melody. She had not yet notified me as to our mutual travel plans, but it would not surprise me to have her wait until the last minute, the better to prevent me from refusing. But, forewarned was forearmed, and I knew that I had Parsons’s approval to allow her to take ship with us.
She broke free of the pack and, in a thoroughly businesslike manner, cut me out of the circle of friends, but not before I finished my joke.
“. . . And he said, as he picked himself up, ‘You see? It wasn’t so far to the ground. Just one little step.’” My audience laughed appreciatively. When the arm hooked around my neck and dragged me backwards, as if removing me from a vaudeville stage, I had had my applause.
“Thomas, dear,” Jil said, low in my ear. “I need to speak with you.”
“You have my entire attention, cousin,” I said, theatrically clutching my abused neck. “But all you had to do is beckon to me. My throat may never be the same.” I signed for the server to bring drinks. Then I remarked upon the unfamiliar apprehension in her eyes. Teasing her, which she surely deserved, could wait. “How may I help?”
“Thomas, I . . . I hate to ask.”
“Then don’t frame it in the form of a question,” I said. “Tell me a story.”
She pushed me. I staggered melodramatically backwards. The little pantomime broke the tension.
“Thomas! I need to leave Keinolt for a little while.”
“Do you need to leave tonight?” I asked, in all seeming innocence. “Then it was very kind of you to come to my party at all.”
Her eyes went wide with dismay.
“No! I mean, I need to go away somewhere far.”
I frowned. “How far?”
“Well . . . as far as the Autocracy sounds rather good at the moment.”
“What a coincidence!” I said, all jolliness. “My mother is sending me on a diplomatic visit tomorrow morning. Do you want to come along?”
She gripped my forearm with both of her hands. Her painted fingernails, half as long as the digits to which they were attached, dug into my skin through the fabric of my sleeve. I did my best not to wince.
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