During the next few cycles, he answered each question as honestly as he could, within his limited knowledge. It was difficult to make noncombatants understand that one often fought more by calm reaction to impressions and reflexes than by detailed study of anything specific. He was patiently giving his third impression of E607's handling characteristics when the gathering was interrupted by Khios. "I've got to steal Lieutenant Brim for a while, gentlemen," he said, breaking into the circle to regrasp Brim's arm. "We have a couple of executive types who insist on meeting him now."
Brim nodded politely at the smiling officers and lifted his hands palm upward. "My apologies, gentlemen," he said. Then he turned on his heel and followed in Khios' wake through the festive atmosphere of music, perfume, and beautiful people.
The secretary stopped nearly all the way across the big room at a small, unobtrusive archway leading off among the hanging tapestries. He knocked gently on an ornate door before he pushed it open, nodding for Brim to follow.
Inside, soft lighting, walls of elegant display cases, magnificent furniture, and deep carpets identified the room as one of the ultraprivate drawing rooms everyone heard of but seldom saw, rooms where the very course of history could be charted quietly—and frequently was. Two tall officers stood talking before a blazing fireplace—one a human, the other a flighted being from A'zurn. Their uniforms were heavy with ponderous badges of rank and decoration.
Khios stopped approximately halfway into the room and bowed from the waist. "Your Majesties," he said. "May I present Lieutenant Helmsman Wilf Brim, Imperial Fleet, on detached duty from I.F.S. Truculent." Then he rose to his full height and indicated the two men. "Lieutenant, Crown Prince Onrad, your host, and Crown Prince Leopold of A'zurn." Startled, Brim saluted while Khios clicked his heels and bowed once more, then silently exited the room, closing the door gently behind him.
Nearly panicked and alone in the center of the room, Brim set his chin, collected himself as best he could, and strode purposefully to a position a few respectful paces before the two young dignitaries. He bowed, then stood looking first at one and then the other. "Your Majesties," he said, seizing his emotions with an icy calm, "I am honored."
Onrad spoke first. He looked to be approximately Brim's age and was powerfully built, with the square jaw and thick neck of a natural athlete. Expensively attired, his basic dress, was the tailored blue uniform of a vice admiral. "So you are Wilf Brim," he remarked, "the Carescrian who has caused all that trouble for Great Uncle Triannic." His broad smile nearly squeezed his eyes shut. "Ha, ha! Well, your partisan campaign to prove out old Wyrood's Reform Act certainly seems to be working impressively."
He nodded to the A'zurnian beside him. "Isn't that right, Leo?"
Crown Prince Leopold exuded an ageless, almost ethereal restraint which, in its own understated manner, stood out like a beacon from all the heavy magnificence of the ornate drawing room. His folded wings reached at least three golden irals from the floor, his eyes were the huge eyes of a hunter hawk, and his look conveyed the very soul of dignity. Here was a man who never acted in haste—nor in passion. He was beautifully clothed in the elegant, old-fashioned uniform of a brigadier general, and he stood with one polished boot on the high hearth. He also smiled at Brim—his an analytical and questioning smile that seemed to test its recipient without so much as. a touch of challenge. "A 'gentle and daring leader,' as my cousins put it," he said. His eyes narrowed and he seemed to look into the very soul of Brim's existence. "A 'complete' leader."
"There, Leo," Onrad interrupted hotly, "tell that to the anti-Wyrood idiots. They are hard to convince."
Leopold sighed and stared into the fire for a moment. "Even they will learn, Onrad—or surely none of us will survive this tumult." He nodded his head. "But those very factions will eventually learn—because the Wilf Brims of this Universe have the strength to persist, and in the final analysis, they do not." Then he reached to the top of the great carved mantelpiece and took a golden chest in his hands. Stepping to a position opposite Brim, he opened it and extracted a tiny crystal image of a winged being—the same figure Brim instantly remembered from the twin pillars outside the quarry on A'zurn where Hagbut and his troops were held prisoner. It was suspended on a small red ribbon. The Prince smiled again. "I have sent all the meaningless text that goes with this to Gimmas Haefdon, Lieutenant," he said. "The only importance is that you understand how much your actions were appreciated in Magalla'ana—and that we shall never forget your dedication to your mission and my countrymen." He grinned a momentary, lopsided grin. "Lieutenant Wilf Ansor Brim," he said, "in the presence of your liege, the Crown Prince Onrad, I award you the A'zurnian Order of Cloudless Flight." He peered deeply into Brim's eyes. "Wear it proudly," he said. "The decoration has never before been awarded to a groundling." Then he fastened the ribbon to the left breast Of Brim's tunic and resumed his original position at the fireplace.
Brim bowed again. "Thank you, Your Majesties," he said.
The A'zurnian nodded.
"And see that you take good care of my cousin Margot," Onrad added with a grin and a half-sensed wink. "I have a distinct feeling you constitute the only reason we shall be honored with her blond presence this evening."
Brim felt his face flush. Then he boldly returned the Prince's smile. "I shall certainly attempt to do that, Your Majesty," he said quietly. After this, be stepped back, saluted, and exited the room, closing the door softly behind him. Outside, he stood for a moment gathering his thoughts. Mentally, he felt as if be had just come through a pitched space battle. Then he shrugged to himself. It certainly was a long way from the ore barges—not an inconsiderable accomplishment for a Carescrian!
He made his way back into the growing crowd, accepting another goblet of meem and scanning the room for Margot's blond curls—unsuccessfully—when a small stir occurred at the entrance doors.
"Her Serene Majesty, Princess Margot of the Effer'wyck Dominions," the majordomo announced in a voice notably louder than before. The babble hushed, and heads turned expectantly.
Brim felt his breath catch as she swept through the door on the arm of First Star Lord Beorn Wyrood.
No longer was she merely an attractive military officer, she now radiated that particular beauty exclusively reserved for the wealthy and powerful. She was magnificent.
She was wrapped in a meem-colored, full-length gown that crossed in front and tied at the neck, leaving her creamy shoulders and back stunningly bare. A matching sash nipped her waist, and a daring slit revealed enough of a long, shapely leg to considerably raise Brim's temperature. Around her neck, she wore an enormous, single-drop StarBlaze that flashed with an inner fire as she laughed and chatted with the First Lord.
"...had no idea the party was that important," someone whispered behind Brim. "She hardly ever attends these affairs."
"Voot's beard," another said in a low voice. "She's wearing the Stone of the Empire!"
"And LaKarn isn't anywhere in sight."
"Noticed that."
Brim watched transfixed as a small crowd formed around I the couple. In a moment, both crown princes appeared, laughing and talking.
Then, the A'zurnian was bending close to Margot, she whispering in his ear. He grinned his lopsided grin and pulled himself to his full height scanning the ballroom with his enormous eyes—which lighted on Brim and stopped. Smiling, he spoke rapidly to Margot, then she was peering Brim's way, too.