This was the beginning of the game, and Xavier knew it. The munchkin had been here for a week. If there were any psychological or physical adjustments needed by lunar tourists, Wayne and his companions would be right in the middle of those changes, while Xavier had already adapted.
“Well played,” Wayne said as Xavier reached him, and they shook hands. My, my, aren’t we all polite when the cameras are on?
“To what exactly are you referring, Sir Wayne?”
Oh? He was a knight now? Damn, this was more fun all the time!
“Well, if I’m not mistaken, our day begins in just over ten hours. Should we really partake of libation until the early hours?” Wayne winced at his faux Britishisms.
“The journey is long, Sir Wayne. You will have time to recover, I promise you.”
Wayne could see it in Xavier’s icy blue eyes. His first guess had been correct: Xavier hadn’t forgotten or forgiven, but he wasn’t going to cheat. When he crushed Angelique, it would be completely aboveboard, leaving her no grounds for appeal.
Xavier smiled. “You look well. The desert air must agree with you.”
There it was, the poisoned needle hidden in the haystack, a coded reference to his current status in Vegas. Couldn’t let it alone, could you? “I take the billet assigned,” he said. “For Queen and country.”
For a moment, the tension between the three of them dropped, and they just looked at the disk-shaped room, the hundreds of fans dressed as nineteenth-century Englishmen and — women. This was it, the greatest entertainment event in human history. Perhaps, just perhaps, that was enough to temper the antagonism.
A waiter passed, carrying a tray of brandy snifters filled with champagne. Angelique plucked one from the tray, and they did the same. She raised her glass. “To a fine adventure.”
Xavier raised his glass. “To old friends, old memories, and a fine adventure,” he said. Then Xavier and his coterie glided away.
“Not… quite what I would have expected from Lord Xavier,” Angelique said thoughtfully. “One wonders if he has fully revealed his intent.”
Well, it was probably safer to be too cautious than too trusting.
“Ah well. If we knew everything, would it really be as much of an adventure, Sir Wayne?”
“Nicely observed, Lady Angelique,” he said, and they raised their glasses in toast.
Kendra had seen Scotty at the other side of the room, and knew that he would make his way over to see her in his own time. Every broken marriage is broken in its own way.
In the meantime, she watched the crowd. The gamers, the tourists, the Heinlein staff and those who had come in from around Luna and the L2 to be a part of this… everyone who had been given costumes and instructions on playing their parts.
Her heart was starting to trip-hammer. She’d wondered how she would feel, seeing Scotty again after three years. Now she knew.
“Well, Ms. Griffin, don’t start counting your chickens before they cross the road.”
She turned to look up at Toby McCauley, well over six feet of broad shoulders and narrow hips, dashing in his vermilion tailcoat with double vertical rows of silver buttons. His gut had spread a bit, but the Fabrication shop steward she’d dated for a month three years ago was still imposing, a fact he was putting to good use in his campaign against her. He was quite good at smiling while he slipped the knife in, and was perfectly aware that he was responsible for the nickname “Sheila Monster.” Unfortunately, the moniker had stuck. And the “Ms. Griffin” part. She’d kept the name because it was easier for people to pronounce than Tuinukuafe had ever been. And she still liked the way it sounded. The way it felt to say it.
“I’ll find other entertainment, then,” she said.
He grinned at her lazily, and she wondered what odd and perhaps embarrassing memories he was hauling out of mental storage. Dammit, she didn’t know why she reacted that way, but she didn’t like it.
“Well,” when McCauley was making a point, and wanted to seem all folksy, his Outback accent tended to rise to the top. You’d hardly know he’d taught engineering at Monash University, before winning his berth at New Melbourne. “Are we having fun yet?” He smiled, but she detected a certain tautness there.
“Isn’t fun a good thing?”
“Everyone has a lot at stake here. Especially you.”
“You, too.”
“I know. This whole game thing… could make us look silly, you know. It better run as smooth as glass.”
His eyes flickered away from her for a moment. That was interesting. She’d played poker with Toby, and seen that twitch and glance when he didn’t like the cards he’d been dealt. Maybe he wasn’t quite as confident about election as he wanted her to believe.
Or maybe something else. Jealous that Scotty was coming, perhaps? His smile brightened, and the odd expression was gone. “I just don’t want us looking like clowns, love. I’m not the only one worried about this gaming rubbish. And worries equal votes.”
Three weeks until the election, and there was little doubt that Mac’s polling was pulling even with her own. She still had a margin… but he’d cut it in half in the last week. But the Moon Maze Game could work in her favor.
“Hope you haven’t made a blue, love,” he whispered, circling behind her like a shark nosing an unguarded limb. Made a mistake. Aussie slang. “Then there’s always hubby dear.”
“What about my Scotty?” she said, already knowing the answer.
“Here comes drongo ex as we speak,” Mac said, and smiling politely, wove his way away. Modern Australian slang didn’t quite mesh with nineteenth-century Britain, but she doubted their conversation would make any of the game-vids. There were limits to the amount of fantasy she was willing to tolerate.
Counting to ten controlled her temper, forced a smile back to her face as Scotty and his partner arrived at her table.
Kendra stood for a chaste hug, and a small, dry kiss. “You look good, Scotty.”
“Back at you.” His hug was warm but unpresumptuous, his arms as strong as a flyer’s. He said, “Kendra. I would like to present my friend Ali. Ali, my ex-wife, Kendra Tuinukuafe.”
“I usually use Griffin,” she said, smiling her warmest welcome. She shook hands with the little man.
His palms were moist and warm, but pleasant. Ali was quite dark, and lithe in a wispy way. He wore golden pantaloons and a buccaneer shirt that felt more Arabian Nights than nineteenth-century sub-Saharan, but he seemed entirely unconcerned. Ali bowed deeply. “As-Salamu Alaykum”
“Alaykum As-Salaam,” s he replied.
“Even in my far and humble land, I have heard of Kendra Griffin,” he said. “I believe you keep an eye on some of my father’s treasures.”
“I do my level best,” she said. “But be not so humble. Your name has traveled far, as well.” She refrained from speaking further details aloud: Doubtless many in the room already knew of Ali, but she had no intention of broadcasting his identity to anyone who hadn’t made the connection. Privacy is a precious commodity. A prince masquerading as a prince was a delicious conceit.
Ali surveyed a knot of gamers congregating around a glittering, meticulously detailed ice sculpture of Buckingham Palace. “I think I’ll join my new friends,” he said. Then to Scotty: “You can see me from here, yes?” The sarcasm was unmistakable.
Scotty pretended not to notice. “Sure. Go ahead.”
Kendra sipped at her drink for a few moments, and then sighed. “I won’t lie. I wondered how it would feel to see you.”