Mercifully, none of the senior Fleet officials had many thoughts to inflict on the gathered hoi polloi.
Brim listened to their words echoing hollowly from military voice amplifiers. He even concentrated—and appreciated the praise he heard for men and Bears. He was especially gratified to hear Lord Wyrood state that, "the Carescrian Wilf Brim" had done much to prove his Admiralty Reform Act (and that a number of new Helmsman Academy slots would be opened in honor of his accomplishments). But when he attempted to probe below the glossy surface of their flawlessly delivered words, he encountered the same lack of basic understanding that characterized the absentee owners and controllers of the mine operations in which he'd once toiled.
No matter who you were, it seemed, once you reached—or passed—a certain level of command, you eventually lost contact with the reality of the work being done—mining, fighting, either one. Herrish, Drei'ffen, Penda, even Wyrood spoke in vainglorious terms of "glory," "bravery," "heroism," and the like.
Brim wondered if any had ever lived on a blockade line—where the most common terms were more like "terror," "desperation," and "death." He wasn't sure if anybody aboard old Truculent ever did have time for heroism. He was xaxtdamned well sure he hadn't himself.
Then he relented—a little. Unlike the mine controllers, it actually seemed as if these officers wanted to say something worthwhile. In their own manner, they cared—partly to save their own skins, of course.
But nevertheless, he felt they did care. And at least for now, it was enough.
Laurels were awarded after the speeches (Were they afraid to lose their audience otherwise?). The admirals stood in a line facing the Blue Capes, Prince Onrad in the center. On one side, Admiral Penda dispensed medals; on the other, Lord Wyrood called out names from a tabulator board. "Utrillo Barbousse, torpedoman," Wyrood boomed.
Brim watched the big rating stride impassively to a point directly in front of the Prince and salute as if such an encounter had been a daily occurrence for years. Gallsworthy's words suddenly echoed from Truculent's ruined bridge. "Now there's a real Blue Cape."
Each medal accompanied a short, personal conversation with the Prince that invariably sent the recipients back to their positions on the plaza with outright smiles breaking through their carefully nurtured military sangfroid. Brim was so thoroughly mesmerized by the proceedings that when the next called was
"Ursis," he found himself almost unprepared to follow!
He watched with a heightened sense of concentration while Onrad spent an even longer time in conversation with the younger Sodeskayan—until the Bear's words suddenly broke everyone within earshot into gales of very genuine-looking laughter. Wiping his eyes, the Prince clapped Ursis' shoulder and said something with a great smile beaming on his face. Then he turned to Penda, took the proffered decoration, and pinned it to Ursis' collar. They saluted. A smiling Nikolai Yanuarievich Ursis returned to his position on the other side of Borodov, and the name "Wilf Ansor Brim" boomed hollowly from the loudspeakers.
Ears roaring suddenly in a nonsensical attack of pure stage fright, Brim felt himself moving across the pavement. Mentally, he jerked himself around as he walked. There was nothing different between this and his first meeting with the Prince back on Avalon. He snorted quietly as his mind came back under control, and he stopped the prescribed three paces from the line of nobles, saluting energetically.
"Well, Lieutenant Brim," Onrad remarked with a distinctly pleased expression. "You seem to be turning up in my life with some regularity these days." His eyes strayed past Brim's shoulder to wink at someone in the formation of Blue Capes. He laughed. "That pile of blond curls atop my cousin yonder seems to turn up often in the same places." He shook his head. "Coincidence, of course," he said.
"Of course, Your Highness," Brim assured him.
Onrad stood in silence for long moments, considering. Finally, he shook his head. "You know, Wilf,"
he said in an underbreath, "aside from my own considerable masculine jealousy, I think she's made a damned fine choice." He chuckled quietly. "As if what 1 think means anything to the independent likes of her!" Then he became serious. "Unless I miss my guess—which I don't all that often—you have just accepted a hard road with her." He took Brim's elbow. "It's a damned important road, and it requires one very strong man to follow it." He pursed his lips. "Of course, it's none of my business—I simply have a habit of butting in where I shouldn't. Take good care of her, Wilf. Someday, she'll probably be the most powerful woman in the galaxy, and then she'll need love— real love—from someone who doesn't have an ax to grind." He winked. "But then, I couldn't know anything about you two." He smiled.
"Coincidence she's come all this way, of course."
Brim bowed. "Coincidence, of course, Your Majesty," Brim said with a straight face.
"Good for you, Wilf," the Prince said with a smile. "You will do well." Then, once again, he became serious. "And I did come here to present you with a reasonably significant decoration. Although it is probably only the first (and the least) of a whole series of medals I shall pin to your cape over the next period of years—if we survive." he turned to Penda. "The Imperial Comet, if you please, Admiral," he ordered.
Brim felt his heart skip a beat—he actually questioned his ears. That medal was only given...
Onrad laughed. "I caught the look in your eye just then, Wilf" he said. "And though it was Regula Collingswood who put you in for it, I was damned proud to sign my name beside hers. You deserve the medal." He grimaced. "You should have been decorated for the part you played in the A'zurnian mission, too," he continued. "Old Hagbut killed that one, though. I found that out through my Army sources, but I couldn't do anything about it. I've got to back up my senior officers—even when they're wrong."
Speechless, Brim could only shake his head for a few moments. "I am terribly honored, Prince Onrad," he finally stammered.
"Actually, I think I am, too," Onrad said with a grin. "I shall look forward to our next encounter, my Carescrian friend. They always seem the result of some interesting excitement."
The Prince's words were a clear sign of dismissal. Brim stood at rigid attention while Onrad fastened the device to his collar just below his badge of rank. This finished, he stepped back to salute. "I shall indeed look forward to our next meeting, Your Highness," he said. Then, turning about-face immediately, he marched back to his place in the line.
From this opposite vantage point, he had no trouble locating Margot in the assembled sea of Blue Capes. She had been standing in the front row, directly behind him throughout the whole ceremony. And her wink, this time, was all for him.
Borodov closed the ceremony by receiving two medals: one Imperial and one Sodeskayan, before his reassignment to the Admiralty in Avalon. Afterward, the nobles followed Onrad back to the headquarters building in (approximate) step to additional marches from Glamnos Grathen—at which time the formation of Blue Capes disintegrated with a sea of happy cheers. Brim dodged to Margot's side in a matter of ticks. She shook her head happily amid the noisy throng and smiled as she took his hand.