by Dave Bara
Government House had been the official working residence of the highest royal leader, the Director, during Imperial times. Quantar had been without a Director for a century and a half, since the end of the Imperial Civil War. My father had taken the title Duke of KendalFalk at the age of seventeen when his father had passed away, but officially the government was run by an elected parliament and not by the old system of royal peerage. However, the merchant class had always held more control over the government purse strings than the parliament had, so it had become a mostly ceremonial body in post-imperial days, subservient to the wishes of Merchant House. And the richest merchant princes on Quantar were still the Cochrane family.
“Centuries ago,” I said, “when the planet was just a frontier outpost exporting hardwood lumber, coal, and minerals from the north, the original syndicate which owned the planetary rights sold them to a company based out of Australia, on Old Earth. The company was called Queensland and Northern Territories Amalgamated Resources.”
“Q-U-A-N-T-A-R?” said Dobrina, smiling even broader. “How quaint.” I laughed.
“Well, it gets better,” I said. “The majority stockholder in QUANTAR was a man by the name of Cochrane. So, for the last four hundred years or so, our family has owned the rights to the seat of power here. And that right was affirmed by the Corporate Empire when it formed.”
“So you grew up privileged,” she said.
I shrugged. “I grew up in the north, away from all this, at KendalFalk, in a place called the North Palace that our family traditionally used to escape the steamy, humid summers here in New Briz. In recent times there’s been a movement among the family to make KendalFalk the new capital, but New Briz always manages to keep its place,” I finished. That was true enough. The merchant class hated KendalFalk’s bitter winters worse than New Briz’s sweltering summers.
The history lesson over for the moment, we made a vertical landing behind Government House on the official pad reserved for the Duke of KendalFalk, Quantar’s official Head of State and, coincidentally, my father.
I led Dobrina out into a sunny but brisk day, typical for winter in the northern latitudes. I descended the steps first and then held out my hand as my superior officer, my lover, and the first Carinthian in well over a hundred years set foot on family soil.
I tilted my head so that our uniform caps wouldn’t hit and kissed her sweetly on the lips. “Welcome to Quantar, Commander Dobrina Kierkopf,” I said.
“Thank you, Peter,” she replied. “Or should I say ‘Thank you, Viscount’?”
“Peter will do for now.”
“And is this kiss a traditional greeting when one arrives on Quantar?” she said.
I smiled. “It is for me.”
Then I led her to the waiting ground car and we took the short ride to Government House together in silence, hand in hand.
The ground car pulled up at the main entrance to Government House. It was a gray marble building with an imposing façade, done in traditional British colonial style. I stepped out into the dimming daylight and snapped off a salute to the House Guards, then was inundated with the sound of clicking cameras and shouted questions.
I was unprepared for the press contingent to be so large. They surged forward, taking my picture at every possible angle and shouting questions. I looked back at the ground car longingly, wishing I could be back inside. I turned back and stuck my head in. Dobrina smiled back at me.
“The triumphant hero returns home,” she said.
“You don’t have to go through this,” I said back, really speaking for myself. “I had no idea this was coming.”
“I know. But it has to happen sometime. It may as well be now.” I resigned myself to her wisdom, then extended my hand to help her out of the car. She stepped out gracefully and into the waiting mob of press. The questions came at us rapid-fire while we stood for pictures.
“Is this Commander Kierkopf?”
“Are you engaged?”
“Do you have plans to tour the city, ma’am?”
“Will you be staying in the same room?”
I held up my hands to quiet the crowd. “There will be plenty of time for questions later,” I started, not really sure when that might be. “But for right now I’d just like to welcome Commander Kierkopf to Quantar on behalf of my family and the people. It’s been far too long since we’ve had a visitor from Carinthia to Government House.” I was absolutely stumped then, so I just finished with a “thank you” and took Dobrina by the arm as the press continued shouting after us. I hustled her under a canopy and up the steps to the East Portico where a Guardsman held the door open. We were escorted in to an anteroom and there dispensed of our caps, gloves, and coats. A domestic family attaché named Perkins greeted us there and then took us down the hall to a lifter, where we went up two levels to the private apartments.
Perkins had assigned us separate rooms, across the hall and down from each other, and I wondered if this was my father’s doing, protocol and all. I had never really had a particular room here growing up, as “home” was almost always the North Palace at KendalFalk. After a few minutes of settling in, I had the porters unpack my belongings and then made my way down the hall to an open loft, where I found Dobrina and Perkins already fully engaged in conversation over tea and biscuits. I took the chair reserved for me and started in myself.
“I had expected to see my father when we arrived, Perkins,” I said.
“Couldn’t be helped,” said Perkins. “He’s detained right now with government business in his offices. He told me to tell you that he’ll see you at the reception tonight, at seven o’clock in the East Room.” I checked my watch, which had automatically adjusted for local time. Half past four.
“Well then, it seems we’ll have time to rest before the evening’s activities.” I winked at Dobrina but she stayed stoic, ignoring me. Perkins turned to her.
“I’ve had your closet filled with some fine evening wear, based on your size measurements from the navy database. You should find something quite appropriate for the reception,” he said. Dobrina took a sip of her tea before responding.
“Thank you for your thoughtfulness, Perkins, but I am active duty in the navy and will be wearing my dress uniform tonight. If you could have my jacket and trousers pressed I would be most appreciative.” Perkins seemed displeased but nodded.
“Of course, madam,” he said, then stood to go. “If you’ll excuse me.” He nodded to us both and then left us alone. I looked at her.
“We have two and a half hours before the reception,” I said, smiling mischievously.
“Which I intend to spend in that marvelous porcelain bathtub I saw in my room,” she said, standing up and coming toward me. She put her hands on my shoulders and then kissed me on the cheek before turning to go. “I’ll see you at seven, Commander,” she said over her shoulder as she went.
“Commander will do for now. But you’ll have to call me Viscount later,” I said after her. She spun and gave me a quick sly smile and then disappeared around the corner and down the hall to her room.
I pulled up an ottoman for my feet and lay back in my chair, soaking in the last of the day’s winter sunlight through the window, then crossed my arms in my lap, closed my eyes, and sighed.
“Ah,” I said aloud, “home.”
I was in my navy dress blues by ten of the hour, freshly showered and shaved, after one of the multitude of house assistants had delivered my newly cleaned and pressed navy jacket and helped me dress, though I hardly needed it. I was out the door with a thank you and then down the brief distance to Dobrina’s room, there knocking gently on the door. I got a muffled “come in” for a reply and turned the knob, stepping through.
Dobrina was at her wardrobe mirror, fully dressed in her Carinthian Navy green dress uniform, making some last minute adjustments to her short-cropped military-cut hair. I shut the
door behind me and crossed my arms, admiring her for a silent moment while she tussled with an errant curl. She had a pleasant, angular face that positively shone with life when she smiled, which she wasn’t doing just now. I contemplated her and my feelings for her as I watched.
I’d seen enough of her taking her frustrations out in the fencing arena and the racquetball court to know she felt a deep sense of personal responsibility for the loss of Impulse, even though I constantly reminded her that it was the rogue Historian Tralfane who had betrayed her crew, and me who had actually sent the Lightship on her final course toward oblivion. I knew it didn’t help alleviate the individual pain and professional loss she felt at being the sole Carinthian survivor of her doomed crew, besides of course Impulse’s original Captain Lucius Zander, but in my mind it did speak to her character, which was simply another thing about her I admired, among many. I also decided as I watched her primp that she didn’t need to be beautiful, as I probably loved her anyway, and love, I noted, tended to ignore any flaws of the physical kind.
“You’re staring,” she said, still moving the curl around on her head and not looking at me.
“It’s a hobby of mine. Sometimes I do it when you’re asleep, just so you can’t complain,” I said. She gave me glance of mild annoyance before finally ending the battle with the curl and turning toward me.
“Will I pass being presented to your family?” she said. I smiled and walked up to her, giving her a kiss on the cheek and a warm hug.
“You’ll be fine,” I said. “Just don’t forget you’re representing an entire planet to the royal family of Quantar.”
“Oh,” she said, “Is that all I have to worry about?”
“For now,” I said.
“Are we ready?” she said, pulling back from me. I admired her one last time.
“More than ready.” I stuck out my arm and she took it. I escorted her out the door and down the hall toward the stairway to the East Room, two floors down. We walked the first flight in silence, then came around to a long landing, open to the ballroom below. I walked us to the balustrade and looked down. There must have been two hundred people in formal regalia milling about, champagne glasses tinkling as the hum of anticipatory conversation filled the vast room. An orchestra took up one corner of the ornate hall, setting up on a large stage from which there would no doubt be speeches made. Marble columns supported the exterior walls and chandeliers of ancient crystal lit the room in soft, glittering gold tones from above. Multipaned glass doors lined the far side of the hall leading to a patio that overlooked the formal house gardens. Men in military uniforms mingled with finely dressed merchants and political dignitaries, almost all of them with an equally fine lady in attendance. It was quite a spectacle.
“Are none of the merchant class ladies?” asked Dobrina. I shrugged.
“The merchants tend to hand down their properties by heredity, which tends to favor males. The political class, though, is much more egalitarian. Almost a quarter of the parliament is female,” I stated, then contemplated that a moment. “Perhaps we’re not as modernized as we think. Is it like that on Carinthia?”
She shook her head. “The Planetary Assembly is almost half women, but we have no real merchant class. The Feilberg family runs the military and has the executive powers, and the courts for that matter. The noble class is small, and there are few wealthy independent merchants to challenge the status quo. It tends to cut down on the competition.”
“Hmm, very efficient. How much power does the Assembly have?”
“Not much,” she admitted. I pulled her back from the balustrade.
“Things are more complicated here. But enough of politics,” I said as we made our way to the stairway again. “We have a performance to conduct.”
She laughed as we rounded the corner, then stopped me just out of sight of the milling crowd and kissed me quickly on the lips one last time. “For luck,” she said. I smiled back.
“You won’t need it,” I said.
We came down the stairs first to a smattering of applause, which turned into a much more robust cheer. By the time we got to the last of the marble steps and set our feet on the ballroom floor, we were surrounded by well-wishers and we were both shaking hands and fully engaged in greeting the crowd. This went on for some minutes before the orchestra started the Quantar anthem, which brought the hustle and bustle to a stop. We all stood as they raised the flag outside in the garden courtyard behind the dais and I sang along to “On Quantar Fair” with the rest of the crowd, stopping to share a smile with Dobrina as she clung to my arm.
My father, Nathan Cochrane, Director of Quantar, made his entrance at the conclusion of the anthem to another warm round of applause, which we both heartily joined. It seemed unusual to see him out of military uniform, instead wearing the dark civilian suit of a merchant. Madrey Margretson, his longtime secretary at his naval office, accompanied him to the stage, which was a bit of a surprise to me. I had assumed their relationship had ended with the closing of his military service. Apparently, I was wrong.
Grand Admiral Jonathon Wesley of the Unified Space Navy and his matronly wife accompanied my father. Wesley was wearing full military dress regalia. As the applause rippled on my father spied me in the crowd and waved for me to come up to the stage.
“I was afraid of this,” I said to Dobrina. “We’re not part of the spectacle, we are the spectacle.” She didn’t say anything, but squeezed my arm tightly as we made our way up to a pair of empty chairs. I sat Dobrina down and then turned to my father.
“I’m proud of you, son,” he said as the applause continued, shaking my hand and then giving me a big hug. He was a huge man, and I still felt like a child being embraced by him. I hugged him back.
“Thank you, sir,” I said. Then he released me and Wesley was there to shake my hand, but thankfully without the embrace. My father went to the podium and lifted his hands to the crowd to quiet them, then unfolded some papers, which I assumed was a prepared speech. I sat down next to Dobrina, grateful to be out of the limelight for the moment, and took her hand in mine.
“I want to thank you all for coming,” my father started, then proceeded with the usual acknowledging of dignitaries and the like that happens in most political speeches. After a few minutes of this he turned to me.
“I would be remiss if I didn’t ask you now to turn your attention toward my son, Peter, and his companion, Commander Dobrina Kierkopf of Carinthia. These two are true heroes of the Union and the Navy, and I am proud that after such an arduous journey that I am sure you have all heard about, they are finally here with us today,” he said. He made no mention of our more recent arduous journey to Jenarus and back, but then that was still classified.
What proceeded was a thankfully short speech about the loss of Impulse, and how we had both fought so hard to defeat the Imperial dreadnought that had threatened Starbound. He welcomed Dobrina formally and she had to stand and acknowledge the crowd while we all applauded.
Then things got more serious. There was to be a medal ceremony, which neither of us had been informed of previously. I made a mental note to have a conversation with Mr. Perkins about that. The parliament had apparently voted to award us both the Quantar Cross of Valor, and Merchant House had approved. One of the parliament members came up with the medals in velvet cases, and everyone applauded as they were placed around our necks and we posed for photographs again. Once we had sat back down, of course my father had to mention the drama film that would be showing the next evening on the digital networks, highlighting our personal exploits in the Starbound affair. I covered my eyes in mock horror and the crowd laughed.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered to Dobrina, “It’s what they do here.”
“I can’t wait to see who plays me,” she said, and we shared a quiet laugh.
At that, Wesley came up and made a brief speech, then gave us another set of medals, the N
avy Cross. I had never heard of the Navy Cross, but the Unified Navy was new so I assumed the honor was legitimate and not made up just for the occasion. We both stood dutifully as he pinned the medals on our uniforms. As we made our way back to our seats the orchestra struck up the anthem again and then the dais broke up.
We spent the next two hours drinking toasts and mingling with very important people we would no doubt not remember in the morning. Precisely at ten o’clock I was delighted to find Perkins at my side whisking Dobrina and me into the library where we both sat down heavily in matching oversized leather chairs. My father and Wesley followed a few minutes later, accompanied by their dates. I got my first hug then from Madrey, which was a blessed relief from the evening’s events, and something I’d grown used to in my times visiting my father’s office at the Admiralty.
“So good to see you again, Peter,” she said.
“And you, Madrey,” I said back. She kissed me on the cheek as my father and Wesley sat down across from us. Madrey released me and I glanced across at my father.
“Is there something you want to tell me, sir?” I asked. My father smiled as Madrey and Mrs. Wesley ventured off to the far end of the large room, drinks in hand, leaving the four of us alone to chat.
My father took a drink of his brandy. “You may as well know now, son. I intend to marry Madrey in the spring. It will be announced after Reunion Day, at the turn of the year.”
“Congratulations, sir,” I said. “And to you, Madrey,” I called down to her. She smiled and waved.
“It’s been coming for a while, son. I tried to live without her for a few months after I left the Admiralty, but I found I just couldn’t function in my new role, in more ways than one. After that it just sort of happened.”
“I couldn’t be happier for you, sir,” I said. It had been eleven years since my mother had passed away, and with the more recent loss of my brother Derrick I was just truly glad to finally see him happy again.
“Civilian life is busy, but in a much different way than in the military. I found I needed a companion to navigate uncharted waters,” he said. I felt as if he were trying to justify his choice to me, and it made me uncomfortable.