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Authors: John Maddox Roberts
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scientific mission. I'm afraid . . ." He spread his hands helplessly. Kiril watched the little power play with interest. She caught the glare of triumph that Izquierda shot towards the skipper.
"I beg to differ, your Excellency," said the skipper. "According to the regs, any retired or reserve officer, at any formal function, is entitled to the privileges pertaining to the highest rank that officer held even temporarily during active service. If you'll check my records, you'll note that at the time of the Li Po invasion, I held the brevet rank of commodore for six weeks. It's all here." She unclasped her spacer's bracelet and tossed it on the table in front of Pierce. "My second officer, that time as now, Hamilton Sylvester, here"—Ham took a bow—"is my escort. I demand to be seated with the perquisites of my rank."
Pierce looked around for help. This was a situation even he had never run up against.
"She's quite right," said Nagamitsu. His tone was emotionless but his eyes held a faint twinkle. Ham and the skipper were seated, causing some changes of arrangement. Last of all Homer was ensconced on a specially-made platform.
"What does your friend drink?" asked Pierce in a whisper. "I fear I've forgotten to find out." He was obviously embarrassed.
"I guess you can't think of everything," said Ham. "Ol Homer's fond of turpentine, with a little prussic acid. He can eat just about anything."
"Check quartermaster stores for some turpentine," said
Nagamitsu, without batting an eyelash. "And the labs should have some prussic acid." The nearest waiter darted away, and Nagamitsu turned to the skipper, grinning. "When a navy vessel runs out of turpentine, she shouldn't be allowed to space."
Kiril turned her attention from the high table to her own. She was acutely conscious of the beauty of many of the women surrounding her. Many of them were navy officers, some were from the lines. She wondered if they were all born that way or could they just afford high-class surgery? It struck her that she did not come off all that unfavorably by comparison.
The waiters began bringing in the first courses. Most of the lood was Earth-raised and she was unfamiliar with it, as she was with most food. What she lacked in experience, though, she made up for with enthusiasm. After the chilled vichyssoise, the waiter set a lobster before her. She looked at it with dismay.
"Hey, Lafayette," she said, "eating this'd be kind of like chewing on old Homer. I'd feel like a cannibal."
"Homer's not a real crustacean," Lafayette assured her. "He just looks like one. That lobster's more closely related to you than it is to Homer." Kiril had her doubts, but the smell of the lobster and the butter sauce overcame them. Lafayette showed her how to tackle the thing. She caught on quickly and ate two.
"Take it easy," said Lafayette as waiters passed carrying platters heaped with entrees. "Just pick small amounts of everything. Those two steaks look a little excessive."
"How come?" Kiril asked. "That's what this is all about, isn't it? Eating?"
"Sure, but there are conventions to follow. Most people here don't have as many lean years to make up for as you."
"Well, let them spend a few years fighting sewer lizards for scraps and I'll let them dictate how I eat." Despite her defiance, Kiril watched the others more closely and tried to eat, like them, with more circumspection. It took an effort of will.
"Excuse me," said a gilded lady across the table from Kiril. "You're with the Space Angel's company, aren't you?"
"That's right," Kiril said, working on a helping of Peking duck.
"Were you on the expedition that reached the Core Star? I
don't recall seeing your features on the news at the time."
"No," said Kiril, reaching for some curried lamb. "I've signed on since then."
"Ah, what a pity," the woman said. "But you must have heard all about it from the rest of the crew, and from that marvelous little alien. Tell me, is it true that he's the most
"I beg to differ, your Excellency," said the skipper. "According to the regs, any retired or reserve officer, at any formal function, is entitled to the privileges pertaining to the highest rank that officer held even temporarily during active service. If you'll check my records, you'll note that at the time of the Li Po invasion, I held the brevet rank of commodore for six weeks. It's all here." She unclasped her spacer's bracelet and tossed it on the table in front of Pierce. "My second officer, that time as now, Hamilton Sylvester, here"—Ham took a bow—"is my escort. I demand to be seated with the perquisites of my rank."
Pierce looked around for help. This was a situation even he had never run up against.
"She's quite right," said Nagamitsu. His tone was emotionless but his eyes held a faint twinkle. Ham and the skipper were seated, causing some changes of arrangement. Last of all Homer was ensconced on a specially-made platform.
"What does your friend drink?" asked Pierce in a whisper. "I fear I've forgotten to find out." He was obviously embarrassed.
"I guess you can't think of everything," said Ham. "Ol Homer's fond of turpentine, with a little prussic acid. He can eat just about anything."
"Check quartermaster stores for some turpentine," said
Nagamitsu, without batting an eyelash. "And the labs should have some prussic acid." The nearest waiter darted away, and Nagamitsu turned to the skipper, grinning. "When a navy vessel runs out of turpentine, she shouldn't be allowed to space."
Kiril turned her attention from the high table to her own. She was acutely conscious of the beauty of many of the women surrounding her. Many of them were navy officers, some were from the lines. She wondered if they were all born that way or could they just afford high-class surgery? It struck her that she did not come off all that unfavorably by comparison.
The waiters began bringing in the first courses. Most of the lood was Earth-raised and she was unfamiliar with it, as she was with most food. What she lacked in experience, though, she made up for with enthusiasm. After the chilled vichyssoise, the waiter set a lobster before her. She looked at it with dismay.
"Hey, Lafayette," she said, "eating this'd be kind of like chewing on old Homer. I'd feel like a cannibal."
"Homer's not a real crustacean," Lafayette assured her. "He just looks like one. That lobster's more closely related to you than it is to Homer." Kiril had her doubts, but the smell of the lobster and the butter sauce overcame them. Lafayette showed her how to tackle the thing. She caught on quickly and ate two.
"Take it easy," said Lafayette as waiters passed carrying platters heaped with entrees. "Just pick small amounts of everything. Those two steaks look a little excessive."
"How come?" Kiril asked. "That's what this is all about, isn't it? Eating?"
"Sure, but there are conventions to follow. Most people here don't have as many lean years to make up for as you."
"Well, let them spend a few years fighting sewer lizards for scraps and I'll let them dictate how I eat." Despite her defiance, Kiril watched the others more closely and tried to eat, like them, with more circumspection. It took an effort of will.
"Excuse me," said a gilded lady across the table from Kiril. "You're with the Space Angel's company, aren't you?"
"That's right," Kiril said, working on a helping of Peking duck.
"Were you on the expedition that reached the Core Star? I
don't recall seeing your features on the news at the time."
"No," said Kiril, reaching for some curried lamb. "I've signed on since then."
"Ah, what a pity," the woman said. "But you must have heard all about it from the rest of the crew, and from that marvelous little alien. Tell me, is it true that he's the most
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