Fortunes of the Imperium (6 page)

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, but 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.