And the Legion’s best silver, which had been brought up out of the vaults for the occasion, sparkled with refl?ected candlelight. Additional color was provided by dress uniforms and the clothing worn by civilians, senators, and other government offi?cials. It was quite a transformation, but Booly had never been one for parties and frowned accordingly.
“It looks like a rim world whorehouse,” the offi?cer observed in a voice so low that only his wife could hear it. Besides being Booly’s wife, Maylo Chien-Chu was president of a vast business empire founded by her uncle, Sergi Chien-Chu, and a natural beauty. She had raven black hair, large almond-shaped eyes, and the high cheekbones of a model. The stiff-collared red sheath dress clung to her long lean body like a second skin and had already begun to attract attention from both men and women alike. She smiled and gave her husband’s arm an affectionate squeeze. “Don’t be such a grump. People need to relax once in a while. Besides, when did you become an expert on rim world whorehouses?”
Booly might have made a response but never got the chance, since that was the moment when the formally attired sergeant major announced both their names and brought his intricately carved staff down with a decisive thump.
“General William Booly—and Ms. Maylo Chien-Chu.”
As the senior offi?cer on Algeron, or anywhere else, for that matter, Booly was a someone in the small, highly charged world of the Confederacy’s wartime government. And given the fact that there were always plenty of people who wanted to curry favor with the offi?cer’s billionaire wife, the two of them were soon hard at work maintaining important relationships, resisting tidal waves of fl?attery, and listening for the nuggets of information that are accidentally or intentionally shared at such affairs. Tidbits that can be stored, used, or traded according to need. Meanwhile, the Legion’s band continued to play, there was a stir as the by now red-faced sergeant major announced, “Vice President Leo Jakov, and Assistant Undersecretary for Foreign Affairs Kay Wilmot.” The words were punctuated with another thump of his heavy staff. The vice president was theoretically the number two person in the government, but actually had very little power, so long as the president was capable of performing his or her duties. Jakov had thick black hair, a vid-star-handsome face, and a full, some said sensual, mouth. His body, which was thick without being fat, seemed to radiate physical power. This fact was not lost on what were said to be dozens of lovers, some of whom were not only well-known, but willing to testify regarding his sexual prowess.
Less known to those outside the realm of government was Jakov’s companion of late. An extremely ambitious diplomat named Kay Wilmot. Those who kept track of such things agreed that the assistant undersecretary had shed at least ten pounds since accepting a temporary position on Jakov’s staff, where, according to certain wags, the
“under” secretary took her title quite literally. But even the harshest of critics would have been forced to admit that Wilmot was a match for any of the vice president’s previous consorts on that particular evening. Though not a beautiful woman, the foreign service offi?cer was attractive, and she knew how to emphasize what she had through the use of carefully applied makeup. That, plus a green dress cut to emphasize her large breasts, drew plenty of attention from the human males in attendance.
All conversations came to a halt, and there was lightbut-sustained applause as the couple entered the huge room, both because Jakov was well liked, and because the military ball was not only the vice president’s idea, but had been funded out of his pockets. Booly and Maylo watched with amusement as at least half of their fi?ckle admirers left to join the throng of beings now gathered around Jakov and Wilmot.
But such defections were to be expected, and without President Nankool being there to claim the spotlight, it was Jakov’s night to be at the center of attention. A role he clearly enjoyed, as senators, ambassadors, and senior military offi?cers lined up to claim their smile, pat on the back, or well-honed joke.
Hors d’oeuvres were served fi?fteen minutes later. In spite of the fact that the Legion’s cooks spent most of their time churning out thousands of meals for both the troops and the large contingent of civilians who had been forced to take up residence on Algeron, they could still produce something approaching haute cuisine when the occasion demanded, a fact that quickly became apparent as trays of beautifully prepared appetizers made the rounds. Included were a variety of creations that not only melted in the mouth, beak, or siphon tube, but represented the full spectrum of culinary traditions found within the boundaries of the Confederacy. Never mind the fact that some of the offerings were diffi?cult to look at, had a tendency to crawl about, or produced what some guests considered to be unappetizing odors.
Thanks to the hors d’oeuvres, and the free-fl?owing drinks from the bar, most of the guests were in a good mood by the time they were instructed to take their places at the carefully arranged tables. Because who sat next to whom, and how close they were to the vice president’s table, was not only an indication of status but a matter of practical importance as well. Since it would never do to put potential antagonists right next to each other—or to unintentionally promote alliances that might prove to be strategically counterproductive later on.
That meant “reliable” people such as Booly and Maylo had been paired with individuals like the recently named Senator Nodoubt Truespeak, who not only lacked some of the social graces expected of top-echelon politicians, but had a tendency to get crosswise with any Hudathan he encountered. Because, while others might have put the horrors of the Hudathan wars aside in the interest of political expediency, both Truespeak and his constituents were slow to forgive.
And as if the sometimes cantankerous Truespeak wasn’t a suffi?cient challenge, Booly and Maylo had been saddled with the treacherous Thraki representative as well. In fact the short, somewhat paunchy Senator Obduro had recently been part of a conspiracy to help the Ramanthians recondition some of the Sheen warships they had stolen. An offense for which he was anything but contrite. The evening’s entertainment had begun by then, which, in keeping with the military nature of the ball, involved various displays of skill by well-practiced legionnaires, sailors, and marines. A group of naval ratings had just begun a spirited stick dance, when Booly noticed that a contingent of noncoms were delivering notes to guests who, having read them, immediately got up to leave. Jakov and Wilmot the fi?rst to do so.
That was not only unusual, but cause for concern, since any news that was so important that the duty offi?cer felt compelled to notify the vice president was probably bad. Maylo had noticed the messengers as well, and the two of them exchanged glances as a staff sergeant approached their table. “For you, sir,” the legionnaire said, as he handed a note to Booly.
The offi?cer thanked the soldier, read the note, and hurried to excuse himself. Though careful to hide her emotions, Maylo felt something heavy settle into the pit of her stomach as her husband walked away, and knew her appetite wasn’t likely to return.
Fort Camerone’s com center was a windowless cluster of rooms buried below ground level, where it would be safe from anything short of a direct hit by multiple nuclear bombs. It had always been important, but now that the government was in residence on Algeron, the complex was at the very center of the vast web of communications that held the Confederacy together.
Most of the intersystem messages that came into the center arrived via FTL courier ships—or hyperdriveequipped message torps. However, thanks to a new technology stolen from the Ramanthians, the old ways would soon be obsolete. Because once all of the Confederacy’s ships had been equipped with hypercoms, it
