An instant later, the door was pulled open by a slight, gray-haired individual with a narrow face, prominent nose, and the nearsighted eyes of a secretary. "Lieutenant Brim," the man said, extending his hand, "welcome to the Imperial Residence-I am called Lorgan, and while you are here, I shall render any assistance that I can." Despite his peculiar looks, his handshake was firm and masculine. Opening his tabulator board, he inserted a few quick marks, then led the way up the staircase, through an ornate colonnade, and into a great mirrored lobby whose vividly colored ceiling was painted with allegorical scenes from Empires long past.
While Lorgan busied himself with a brace of efficient-looking aides at an ornate desk, Brim studied heroic images of ancient starships behind men and women dressed in vintage spacesuits. He recognized some of them from his early school studies. Most appeared to be planting archaic versions of the Imperial flag on wild-looking landscapes that-by now-had surely become some of the great cities in the Galaxy.
After a few moments, Lorgan provided Brim with a tracking lozenge and a tumbler of sparkling water, then put his hands on his hips and shook his head. "Far be it from me to criticize the perfection we have fairly swirling around us today, Lieutenant," he declared, "but we seem to have reached a snag already. His Most Gracious Majesty, Greyffin IV, already finds himself behind schedule-and it is my bet that he will continue to fall behind as the metacyeles pass. Were I you, I should prepare myself for a long day of cooling my heels."
With that, he shouldered Brim's softpack, showed him to a comfortable waiting room whose exits were controlled by more patriotic-looking Guardsmen, then excused himself and vanished around a corner. Shrugging, Brim found himself a comfortable divan and began to leaf through a news display. He was still twenty-five cycles early for his audience when Lorgan ushered an elderly Bear through the door. "I understand you two know each other," he said with a wide grin.
"Anastas Alexyi!" Brim exclaimed, springing to his feet to hug his old friend in the Sodeskayan fashion. Thank you for coming here!"
"But how could I be anywhere else, Wyilf Ansor?" Borodov asked in his accented Avalonian. "You are like a son to this old Bear-and I am much pleased!" Like Ursis, he had a huge furry head with rounded ears, long aristocratic muzzle, large wet nose, and sagacious eyes set in whorls of the reddish-brown fur that marked Bears of truly patrician breeding.
Many silver strands had been finding their way into the old gentleman's tonsure of late, however, and-to Brim's way of thinking-the total lack of artificial coloring spoke volumes about his outlook on life. As usual, his uniform was perfectly tailored- and he was wearing the insignia of a full captain.
"Voot's wig," Brim blurted. "You've been promoted. Congratulations!"
"Even the Admiralty makes mistakes," Borodov said with a grin. "But I decided I would not tattle on them this time. Research money comes much easier to those with rank, I find in my dotage..."
While they reminisced, Lorgan excused himself only to reappear a few cycles later carrying a tray of delicious patiaseries: tarts, turnovers, pies, trifles, strudels, cream puffs, eclairs, and a graceful silver pot of steaming, delicious cvcesse'. "As I told Lieutenant Brim,"
the secretary said, "it may take a while today."
''It is not to fuss about matters out of your authority," Borodov said, gesturing with both hands. "'No matter how cold the wind blows, Bear cubs and crag wolves find warm caves 'til spring,' eh?"
"Absolutely, Doctor," Lorgan replied without batting an eye. Clearly, he was quite used to high-level visitors from Sodeskaya....
During the next metacycles, it certainly wasn't as if they suffered from poor treatment.
While the morning watch wore on, Lorgan escorted the Blue Capes to an exquisite private dining room, where they snacked on rare Bries, Bel Paeses, Camemberts, Munsters, and Tilsters with delicate crackers and fruit wedges. Then, after a lengthy tour of the palace-afterward, Brim swore he and Borodov had seen more than Greyffin himself!-they repaired to another private dining room for a lunch of oysters, prawns, and lobsters from all over the Empire, served with rich, crusty breads and green salad, everything washed down with a rare bubbling Logish Meem. Their formally dressed waiter topped off the meal with frozen creams and sweet liqueurs.
And still no sign of Greyffin IV....
Midway through the afternoon watch, the two friends were still a million c'lenyts from running out of interesting subjects to discuss, but Brim was now moderately embarrassed about squandering Borodov's afternoon. It had become clear that the Bear was now an important factor in the overall Imperial research effort. At length, Lorgan appeared again in the doorway-and shook his bead.
Brim smiled wryly and glanced at his timepiece. "Still busy, eh?"
"Still busy," Lorgan affirmed. "Looks as if it'll be a little while yet before we get another shot at His Nibs." He turned to Borodov. "Doctor," he said, "your office has been on the line almost constantly for the last metacycle-and..."
"Maybe you ought to go, Doctor," Brim said quickly. "I'll see you again tonight, won't I?"
"But of course," Borodov said. "I shall be here at the beginning of Evening watch." Then he frowned and shook his head solemnly. "Much as I dislike stranding you here, Wyilf, I suppose I really should go. Some discoveries are born with much difficulty."
The secretary nodded emphatically. "I think it would be a good idea, Dr. Borodov."
The Sodeskayan shrugged phlegmatically. "I shall then take my leave. But I shall return in plenty time for the ball-Lorgan will make sure I find you." With that, he lumbered out of the door and down the hall.
"I know of your plans for tonight, Lieutenant," Lorgan added, "and I am personally sorry for these delays."
Brim shrugged, "First things first," he said pragmatically. "It clearly isn't any fault of yours."
After a sumptuous supper in still another private dining room, this in a high tower with a splendid view of the city, Lorgan excused himself after fresh table linens were spread for dessert.
Brim had stepped to the window and was peering out over the city-wondering idly where the Embassy of the Torond might be in the maze of lighted streets-when he heard the door open behind him. "I take it His Nibs is still busy," he said without turning. Borodov was due within the metacycle, and he didn't want to miss him-or the chance to see Margot.
"No, my boy," a deep voice chuckled quietly. "His Nibs has finally escaped."
Brim stiffened. It was not the voice of Lorgan the secretary-but one he had often heard on broadcasts. Taking a deep breath, he slowly turned from the window... he was correct. "Your Royal Highness," he whispered, snapping to attention.
"Do relax, Lieutenant," the Emperor said, offering his band with a smile, "I am delighted to make your acquaintance... for a number of reasons." He was a spare man of medium height-neither young nor old-who looked surprisingly like the pictures that hung in every Fleet starship large enough to have a wardroom. Dressed in a magnificently tailored Fleet uniform-with the insignia of a full Admiral-he wore his gray hair short, parted on the left, and combed straight back from a narrow face. He had close-set gray eyes on either side of a prominent, squarish sort of nose, a striking moustache, and a diminutive, pointed beard. In his free hand, he carried a small wooden box.
Brim smiled to himself as he gripped the Emperor's soft, dry hand. He'd been so sure he wasn't going to meet this man that he'd had no chance to become nervous! All in all, Greyffin IV was a rather ordinary-looking person-except for that particular bearing of total imperturbability that seems to define everyone who is born rich and powerful.