Renner frowned for a moment, then grinned. "Jack Cargill. Good to see you." He turned to Ruth. "Commander-I guess it's ‘admiral,' now, isn't it?"
Cargill nodded.
"Ruth Cohen, meet Admiral Cargill. Jack was Exec in MacArthur," Kevin explained. "Are you still with the Crazy Eddie Squadron?"
"No, I'm on the High Commission."
"Gosh. You're important. And to think we shared a cabin once."
‘"Here's another Commissioner you know," Cargill said. "David." He indicated a heavyset, balding man in clerical attire.
"Father Hardy," Renner said. "Hey, it's good to see you again. What have they done, loaded the Commission down with MacArthur crew?"
"No, we're the only ones," David Hardy said. "And I'm not sure in what capacity I'm here."
Renner noted the large pectoral cross on Hardy's cassock. "Everybody's been promoted. Bishop, eh? Do I kiss your ring, my Lord?"
Hardy grinned. "Well, you're welcome to, but you're certainly not part of my flock."
"Sir?"
"I'm missionary bishop to Mote Prime. Of course we don't have any converts."
"Sure of that?" Renner asked.
"As a matter of fact, no," Hardy said. "I never did learn what happened to my Fyunch(click), Not that he was a convert, exactly. Anyway, I might be here as the Church's representative, or as the only semanticist ever to visit Mote Prime-ah." He turned toward the door as it opened. "Here's someone you need to meet again. I'm sure you recognize him."
A tall naval officer in uniform. He looked young to be a full lieutenant, but then Kevin Christian Blaine's father had been a lieutenant commander when only a couple of years older, and captain of MacArthur a year after that. The aristocracy got promotions, but they were also weeded out of the service if they couldn't keep up. Or used to be, Renner thought.
"Your godson, I believe," Hardy was saying.
"Well, not that I exercised many of the duties of the office," Renner said. Blaine's handshake was firm. "And this is Ruth Cohen. How are you, Kevin?"
"Very good, sir. And I really appreciated the things you sent for my birthdays. Some of the oddest stuff-holos, too. You sure got around, Sir Kevin."
"Kevin Renner, galactic tourist." Renner reached into a sleeve pocket and took out a message cube. "On that score, your sister sent this. She's on her way, in case you didn't know."
"Thought she might be. I wondered if she might be coming with you."
"It would have been a bit crowded, and she had a lift. The Honorable Frederick Townsend decided to visit New Caledonia."
"He probably thinks it was his idea," Renner guessed.
"You've met Glenda Ruth, but not Freddy," Kevin Blaine observed. It took Renner a moment to realize that he wasn't asking.
The room began to fill. A half dozen Navy officers in uniform, led by a commander who wore a ship's miniature badge indicating he was master of a medium cruiser. They waved to Blaine, but stayed to themselves on the other side of the room. A group of civilians sat in adviser chairs and put their pocket computers on the arm-desks. Another knot of Navy officers came in. They had white shoulder boards indicating administrative branch and sat near but not with the combat officers.
"The accountants," Cargill said. "Here to convince the world that not one cent has ever been wasted."
"Can they do that, sir?" Ruth asked.
No." She seemed to expect more, so Cargill said, "No matter how you slice it, blockade duty is long stretches of utter boredom. Spiced up with random moments of sheer terror, of course, but that doesn't make up for the boredom. Of course the men are going to misbehave. Officers, too. We're just damned lucky to have troops who'll do it at all."
The large double doors at the end of the room opened wide to admit Bury in his travel chair. Renner clucked in disapprovaclass="underline"
Bury's doctors wanted him to spend more time exercising. Bury was accompanied by Jacob Buckman and Joyce Mei-Ling Trujillo.
"She's wearing underwear today," Renner said. Ruth made a face at him. If Blaine and Hardy heard the remark, they didn't comment.
Joyce Mei-Ling Trujillo was in fact quite well dressed, in a thin silk afternoon dress that would have been fashionable on Sparta. She carried a pocket computer large enough that she needed a bag for it. Ruth Cohen sniffed. "Doesn't trust the central computer system to keep records for her."
"I've found journalists are often like that," Kevin Christian Blaine said.
"Experience?" Renner asked.
"Quite a lot. The Navy likes me to do their talking." Bury, Buckman, and Trujillo took places in the first row of the audience seats. Blaine glanced at his watch. "I'd best be getting to my post."
"Me, too," Cargill said. "Dinner tonight, Kevin?"
"Yes, please. Anyplace special, or shall I ask Bury to invite you up to Sinbad?"
"Sinbad, if you can swing it."
The double doors were thrown open again, and a palace functionary came in. "My lords, ladies, and gentlefolk, His Highness the Viceroy."
Everyone stood. There was no other ceremony, but Mercer looked a bit self-conscious as he took his place at the center of the big table. He was joined at the table by Cargill and Hardy, and two others Renner hadn't met. Their place cards named them as Dr. Arthur MacDonald and Sir Richard Geary, Bart. Renner took a seat near Bury and scribbled on his pocket computer.
Arthur MacDonald, PhD. Professor New Scotland. Holds Blaine Institute Chair of Xenobiology.
Richard Geary, baronet. Investor. Member of Board of Regents, University of New Scotland.
There was more, but Mercer was tapping on the table with his gavel. "I call this meeting of the Imperial Commission to order. Let the record state that this is a public meeting. If there is no objection, we will record the names of attendees.
There were various chirps like a hundred crickets as the palace central computer queried everyone's pocket computer to get the meeting attendance list. Renner's computer beeped twice and then rattled. Heads turned. Renner grinned.
Mercer turned to the Commission secretary. "Mr. Armstrong."
"Thank you, Your Highness," Armstrong said. His voice was thick with the accent of New Caledonia. In deference to our guests, His Highness has changed the meeting agenda to omit the opening formalities and routine business. We therefore proceed directly to Item Four, the report from the blockade squadron. His Highness has requested that the fleet prepare a summary report covering the principal activities of the squadron through the years, as well as a more detailed report of current actions. The report will be presented by Lieutenant the Honorable Kevin Christian Blaine, executive officer of INSS Agamemnon."
Chris Blaine stood near the large screen that dominated one wall of the room. "Thank you, Mr. Secretary. Your Highness."
"The blockade force is formally known as the Eleventh Fleet, or Battle Fleet Murcheson's Eye. The mission of Battle Fleet Murcheson's Eye is to intercept any and all ships entering the Empire from the Mote-to enforce the blockade decreed by this Commission. Blockade duty is hard duty, and the officers and men of the Blockade Fleet are proud of our record of one hundred percent success. We have achieved that success in spite of many very real difficulties."
Renner's thoughts chased each other:
I wonder who wrote that for him?
Still, the Crazy Eddie Squadron would have driven me nuts.
Heyyy... He dared not speak his next thought. Chris doesn't sound that bloody convincing, does he? Why not? Raised by Mediators- He doesn't believe what he's saying.
Blaine gestured, and the wall screen lit up to show a wide-angle view of a dozen blobs ranging in color from black to dull red in a bright red glowing background. "The Alderson point from the Mote lies within the supergiant star. Ships can't stay on station very long, so there's a continual circulation of ships from outside the star to the blockade station. They stay until they're too hot, then they go outside to cool off.