Aaron smiled. Exactly as Clancy had predicted. Smart man. “As you can tell from our arrival, I have been lucky enough to secure one of the finest ships, and the finest captains, in the Inner Sphere. This came to me ready-made, and for that, I am most fortunate.
“But the ship came with a name as well, and Captain Clancy informs me that it is highly unlucky to change a ship’s name. I owe the captain my life, and he has never steered me wrong in such matters. Therefore this ship is called what it is called, though the name is ironic. I come not to enforce tyranny, but to stand side by side with you against it!” He shook his fist in the air. “Death to tyrants! Long live House Davion!”
The guests arrived by limousine, motorcade, and, in one case, VTOL executive plane. Altogether, there were about twenty-five for dinner. The politicians were perhaps surprised to see some of the planet’s hottest holo and music stars in their midst, but the mysterious invitations, along with lavish gifts, had been arranged and sent to those celebrities as soon as Tyrannos Rex arrived in the Ningpo system.
Two by two they came, up the red carpet into the entrance hall, and there they waited under the light of the crystal chandelier. And waited.
Crisply uniformed waiters served fine champagne, and a string ensemble in the corner played selections from Bartow’s Symphony for Davion. There was adequate room for all to mingle and talk, though even a few more people might have crowded things a bit.
Aaron watched them on his security monitors and smiled. “Anticipation,” he said to Paxton, “is as powerful an intoxicant as the fruit of the vine.”
The little room, the nerve center of Paxton’s security network, was located in what had come to be called “backstage”—the more functional part of the complex-within-a-ship that Aaron was building. This area included the kitchens, storage areas, some of the servants’ quarters, and a war room where Aaron could work with his senior advisors to oversee his three interlocking empires: political, business, and military.
Per Paxton’s suggestion, the plans had also just been amended to include a press room, where his staff could both monitor and feed the press of any planet they were visiting. It would include a small holostudio where Aaron could record or broadcast his own speeches and announcements.
Paxton nodded. “And it gives the workers a few more frantic minutes in which to tie up loose ends.”
“Well, that, too.” While the transformation of Tyrannos Rex was remarkable, it was far from complete. The carpenters, craftsmen, decorators, and shipwrights he had hired had labored through the journey—and quietly since their landing—to get as much ready as possible.
Yet a great deal of what would be seen was just for show. Many rooms were represented only as rough metal frameworks into which walls and ceilings would later be built. There were doors that opened to nowhere, and Aaron had instructed that the locks be double-checked, lest some curiosity-seeker accidentally plunge into a darkened cargo bay.
He hoped that what his guests did see would be perfect, and would provide the illusion that the rest of his quarters were finished as well. As with a Tri-Vid set, the object was to show what needed to be shown, and allow the mind to fill in the rest.
The door opened and Deena Onan entered, looking lovely in an emerald gown that shimmered when it moved, and which provocatively bared one shoulder. Her auburn hair was braided and piled on top of her head.
Paxton looked at her and raised an eyebrow.
She shrugged. “How often do I actually get to dress myself up? It’s a treat.”
Aaron ignored their banter. “The progress report, Deena?”
“The workers have cleared out of the finished areas. I’m having the maids make a last sweep to be sure everything is clean and that the workers haven’t missed any details. The parlor off the main ballroom is ready to use, and I’m even told that you should be able to sleep in your new bedroom tonight.”
Aaron frowned. “That wasn’t supposed to be a priority. None of the guests are going to see my bedroom.”
Deena grinned slightly. “Really, my Lord, you should be more optimistic. Anyway,” she continued, “the chef is complaining that the kitchen is a kludge—inadequate—and dinner is ruined. Never mind what he says. I’ve tasted the soup, and I’ve now found something better than sex.”
“Well, then,” said Aaron, “I will at least have that to look forward to.” He looked back at the screens. “I suppose it’s time, then.” He turned to Deena and came to attention. “I present myself for inspection.”
She scanned him from the shoes up. “I can’t improve upon perfection, Lord Governor.”
“Well, then, let’s go win ourselves a world.”
He made a dramatic entrance at the top of the stairs, gave a little speech of welcome, and then led his guests up and into the main part of his quarters.
The grand hall was wide and opulently furnished with antiques, tapestries, and paintings by modern masters. Many of these furnishings were recognizable from the Chipley Arms. He’d liked the hotel’s style so much, he’d ultimately decided to strip three suites and a mezzanine before leaving.
The grand hall was an important part of the illusion. It allowed a clear view from the top of the stairs to the far wall of the ballroom—nearly the whole length of the cargo bay—making the quarters seem vast. In fact, it was little more than a hallway at this point, with most of the doors leading to unfinished space, or to rooms too unfinished or not yet fine enough for public viewing.
A few doors were simply façades, nearly flush against hidden bulkheads or the outside hull. A door suggested a space beyond, even if it was permanently screwed shut. One of the designers Aaron had hired had a background in amusement-park attractions, and had proved to be an excellent asset.
As they arrived in the ballroom, the formal dining room could be seen through sliding pocket doors to one side, the long table set with fine silver and china. The centerpiece was a three-dimensional version of the SwordSworn shield, carved from ice, and surrounded by fresh flowers.
Before dinner there was more champagne, and hors d’oeuvres on silver platters. A soloist played the viola while the rest of the musicians were moved upstairs. A blond, waifish Tri-Vid starlet abandoned her companion and began flirting with Aaron, who found himself flirting back.
Aaron spoke with the Governor, of course, but merely to greet him and his wife, and to exchange a few social pleasantries. He made a point of paying no more attention to him than any other guest. For now, he wanted to draw the focus away from business, and make the Governor forget Aaron had arrived not just with a ship, but with an agenda.
The meal, as Deena had predicted, was excellent and well received. The finishing touch was a flaming ice dessert made with sweet cream, native Ningpo fruits, and eggs, in a crisp pastry shell.
It was over coffee afterward that the first discussion of the SwordSworn coalition took place. As Aaron had hoped, Governor Xiao was the one to bring it up. “Lord Governor, as charming and impressive as this evening has been, I’m afraid I can’t offer you what you want in return.”
“A gracious host expects nothing of his guests but the pleasure of their company, Governor. Whatever could you be talking about?”
“I know you’ve come hoping I’ll commit the Ningpo military to some sort of joint action against the House Liao incursions. I don’t see how I can justify such a thing to my people. We’re already allowing your forces to use our jump points, and I have reservations about that.