“Hello?”
“Hello?” Xmary called back.
“Are we decent in there?” The voice belonged to Bascal Edward de Towaji Lutui, the former Pilinisi Sola and Pilinisi Tonga, the Prince of Tonga and of the Queendom of Sol. Now, newly elected as King of Barnard.
That hatch had been verbally sealed, but of course locks meant very little in a programmable world, where Royal Overrides could compel the obedience not only of machines but of the very substances from which they were made. At least the king had had the courtesy to knock.
“Hi, Bascal,” Xmary said. “Come on in.”
The hatch swung inward, and Bascal stepped into the room. He was wearing the same sort of uniform that Conrad and Xmary were, but his was purple and bore no insignia. He wore no crown or other signs of office, unlike his mother the Queen of Sol, who wore a ring for every civilized planet in her domain and carried, at least on formal occasions, the Scepter of Earth. But Barnard's civilization—all twenty people of it—hadn't had the time to develop such trimmings. Perhaps they never would.
Bascal's skin was the tan color of mixed ancestry, or “hybrid strength” as he liked to say: a dark Tongan mother and an olive—if brown-haired—Catalan father. Bascal was a son of the Islands, now exiled to hard vacuum, hard time, hard life among the stars.
“Hi,” he said, a bit sheepishly. “Are we interrupting?”
“Not now,” Xmary replied. “A few minutes ago, you would have been.”
“Well, that's all right then.” Bascal stepped inside, away from the hatch, and a woman trailed in behind him. Her uniform—green and black like everyone else's, though it didn't go with her bright blue skin—bore the markings of an engineer.
“You know Brenda Bohobe,” Bascal said.
Xmary looked annoyed. “She is my Chief of Stores, third engineer, and fax machine specialist, Your Majesty.”
And more. Brenda had been one of the Blue Squatters, along with Robert and Agnes and the others. Conrad and Xmary had met her at the same time Bascal did, in the midst of the Children's Revolt. The king was just being pedantic, a failing he seemed to have fallen into in the wake of his election.
“Hi, Brenda,” Conrad said.
Brenda looked back at him with an expression that was both irritated and smug. “You didn't mess the place up, did you?”
“Not that I know of, Engineer Three.” Conrad tried to say this in a way that dressed her down but didn't make him sound overly concerned about it. He was technically her superior, after all. But it was grinding, her always sniping at him like that.
“Ah,” Bascal said, his eyes lighting on the hologram. “Planet Two. Now there's a site for naive eyes, who've never yet caught glimpse of a thing undoable. Plotting its takeover, are we? Scheming its subjugation to the fist of Man? Or are we making friends, filling out a shopping list to surprise it with the gift of ourselves? That's the fist of Woman, I reckon: to love a thing into submission. Either way, my friends, I'm encouraged to see you fuffing by its light. I was going to name the place—such is my privilege, I'm told—but I figure we should wait for the formal introductions. Find out what she's like, how she treats us.”
“You need a shave,” Conrad observed. It was just an expression; what Bascal really needed was to reprogram the cells in his face to stop producing unsightly hair. Either that, or simply step through a fax machine, commanding it to give him a real beard.
“Do I? Who says?”
“What, are you growing a beard? Growing one?”
“The old-fashioned way,” Bascal agreed. “It seems more proper than just printing one, or printing myself attached to one. I'm not dressing up here, Conrad—I'm growing into a role.”
“It's a lucky thing everybody's in storage,” Conrad prodded. “You look like you're growing into a pirate again. Or a hobo.”
“Ha, ha. You slay me, sir. A king does need a beard, though, don't you think? It provides a certain sense of gravitas.”
Conrad smirked. “Even a king in exile?”
“Especially a king in exile, boyo. I have no real duties here. I command the expedition, but your darling Xmary here commands the ship. My citizens are in a state of quantum slumber, and even when they awaken, they'll be much too busy to look to me for anything more than emotional support. Unlike my parents, I really am a figurehead. I rule myself and nothing more.”
Xmary smiled, without much warmth. “It takes more than a beard, Your Majesty.”
Bascal's answering smile was equally polite. “I never said otherwise, Captain. It's a grave responsibility, to look good doing nothing. Eternally, no less, for we shall never die! But give me time and I'll do nothing better than anyone has ever done it. I'll be the King of Nothing, and Nothing will bow down before me in admiration.”
Xmary laughed at that, though she clearly tried not to. She and Bascal had had a fling once which had ended bitterly, and as far as Conrad could tell, that sort of thing never really healed over.
“Don't you have a ship to steer?” the king asked gently. “I saw the Earth outside my window. These are treacherous shores, awash in paint chips and spalled flecks of wellstone. The detritus of civilization: bullets, every one.”
“Robert has the con, Sire, and my complete confidence.”
“Ah, good for him. Though this ramrod of a ship may be thin for his tastes, as well as freakishly light.”
“Still,” Brenda said, “it's a safe feeling, knowing he's up there.”
Instead of Xmary, yeah. Conrad opened his mouth to dress Brenda down more firmly—
But if there was one thing the King of Barnard knew, it was how to head off an unpleasant conversation before it got too far along. He turned to the window and spread his arms. “Where is it? The Earth? The moon? We came up here to see them, to revel in their glow.”
“You're a few minutes late,” Conrad said. “If you like, I can rewind it for you. Or change the magnification or something.”
But Bascal just waved the suggestion away with a frown that was partly genuine. “No, no. It wouldn't be the same. I can see the Earth in playback anytime I want, right?”
“But not the real thing, maybe never again,” Brenda said sourly. Or maybe that was just her normal voice; it was hard to tell the difference.
“Well,” Conrad said, in his best official, first-mate tone, “perhaps we'd best surrender the room.” He turned to Xmary. “Shall we finish our walk?”
“Sure.”
When they were outside, sealing the hatch behind them, Conrad muttered to her, “Those two are spending a lot of time together. I never see him anymore without her attached at the hip. Are they an item? Have they been?”
“For a while now,” Xmary said. “You know, for a first officer in charge of crew issues, you're not very observant. You might want to work on that.”
“Well, I'm slow, but I get there eventually.” He thought for a moment before adding, “Do we need a title for her? Something like Philander or Sackmate, but for women? You know, to denote her formal status as consort to the king?”
“How about Shrew?” Xmary suggested sweetly, plopping herself on the handrail and sliding down out of sight.
Chapter two.
Perihelion tides
Four weeks later, the bridge was crowded with nonessential personnel. Xmary and Conrad of course, and Robert in the Astrogation seat, and Agnes Moloi at Information, and Zavery at the somewhat redundant position of Systems. Bascal and Brenda were here too, in special chairs that had been installed for the occasion, and beside them was Ho Ng, the Chief of Security. Thankfully, Money Izolo and Peter Kolb, the first and second engineers, were down in the engine room itself, monitoring the reactors. But Bertram Wang, the second astrogation officer, was here, standing because there were no extra chairs, nor space to install one.