‘You look beautiful, dear girl,’ he told Shion.
‘Thank you.’ She smiled, but it was a serene, enigmatic smile, like that of a marble goddess. It was impossible to think of her, dressed like this, behaving like this, ever breaking down in such fits of giggles. This, evidently, was what she meant by ‘on her best behaviour’.
She kept it up all evening, too. The president was very obviously delighted by this highly ceremonious person, so much more what he’d expected than the uneasy and giggling woman he’d met earlier. She was gracious in every way, moving with the poise of a ballerina, speaking with the courtesy of a diplomat.
Dinner passed off very pleasantly. The Pirrellothian dining room had a low circular table surrounded by broad seats. The table was set with all the dishes being served at the banquet, rather like a buffet. The food was out of reach of the diners themselves, though, and was brought to them on elegant serving dishes. There were about forty guests and at least twice that number in attendance on them, either as waiters, honour guards or personal retinues. Davie North was one of the guests, seated prominently amongst the diplomatic contingent. He too was evidently on his best behaviour. He seemed quietly amused at times, but held cultured conversation with his neighbours about art and decor.
Alex said hardly anything. He had been seated with the other Fleet guests, headed of course by Dix Harangay. Other guests included the captain of the Eagle, Captain Bullard ‘Bull’ Stuart. The nickname ‘Bull’ was certainly ironic, as well as being a diminutive of his given name. Bull Stuart was a small, quiet man of the type who waits patiently at bars while others push past him. He was, however, very highly regarded both in the Fleet and in exodiplomacy circles, a man the Solarans often asked for particularly.
Beside him, looking ever so slightly indignant, was Harry Alington. Clearly, the decision had been made to bring Harry in on Shion’s real identity. It would, indeed, have been discourteous to have excluded him from an invitation to dine with the president, particularly as Alex had been so invited. The shock of discovering that the young Sub he’d been introduced to aboard the Heron was actually from the Veiled World was still evident on his face. The slight coldness in his manner towards Alex also conveyed that he resented Alex not having told him this himself, too.
Alex could see his point. Harry wasn’t stupid, and had to know that Alex had the authority to brief other people about that situation, at his own discretion. He had given security clearance to civilians, including Tass Curlow, telling them about Shion, but had held back from telling Harry himself. Alex might say that the members of the Second had a right and need to know because they were coming to work aboard the ship, while Harry did not. If he was being entirely honest, however, he would have had to admit that at least one of the reasons why he’d decided not to bring Harry in on that situation was because he just couldn’t face all the exclamations and questions and opinions the other skipper would fling at him. And it would, he felt, complicate things unnecessarily.
Now, though, things were different. The arrival of the president, the first lord and other VIPs could hardly have been passed off as a coincidence. Even the media had realised immediately that it was no random chance that had brought the president’s ship to Karadon at the same time as the Fourth’s. They had already worked out that there was an exodiplomacy element to this, too – the presence of the Eagle itself indicated that, to the well informed journalists. Nobody, however, was taking rumours of an alien princess the slightest bit seriously. They had worked out to their own satisfaction that a party of Solarans had asked to meet Alex von Strada. They did that sometimes, asking to meet people who were high profile in the news, and it was known that the diplomats facilitated this wherever possible.
It had also become known that President Tyborne was on his way to Canelon. This too was not extraordinary. Presidents were expected to make at least one or two intersystem visits during their ten-year terms of office, as a slight sop against complaints of government being so Chartsey-centric. If Canelon got rather more than their fair share of these presidential visits, presidential staff could always justify that by some current political imperative. It was not, they would assert, straight-faced, anything to do with the fact that Canelon was one of the most beautiful holiday destinations in the League.
Solarans were known to like visiting Canelon, too, so the journalists at the station had decided that this was a combination of the president taking some Solaran guests there and of enabling them to meet Alex von Strada on the way. Leaked information from within the presidential party had appeared to confirm this, too, so the media were pretty sure they knew what was going on. They could not, of course, report on the presence of Solarans, but they were having a fine time speculating about what the president might have to say to Skipper von Strada.
The president, in fact, had very little to say to Alex. He was giving all his attention to Shion, as guest of honour at the dinner. He spent quite a lot of the time talking to her about Canelon. He sounded, Alex felt, rather like a sales rep trying to convince someone to go there on a package trip. He laid great stress on Canelon’s history and culture. It was a world that had descended into feudal barbarism during the Dark Ages, since romanticised into a world of castles and kings, knights and princesses. Shion, the president assured her, would love it. They had many ancient monuments there, some of them thousands of years old. They also had some of the finest art galleries and museums in the League, a cultural treasure trove.
Shion was polite but uncommunicative. She was equally reticent when the president introduced her to Bull Stuart and told her how much she would enjoy travelling aboard the Eagle.
‘It’s a far more modern ship than the Heron,’ he said, and ventured upon a joke, ‘a far more noble bird altogether.’
Shion gave a polite smile but made no comment. Nor did she respond directly either way when the president, after a long, laborious build up, finally came to the point of inviting her to go to Canelon with them.
‘You will be more than welcome to serve aboard the Eagle as an officer there, if you wish, your grace.’ he told her. ‘And I would be delighted, honoured, to show you something of one of our most beautiful, historic and cultured worlds. The Heron will be visiting ISiS Penrys also, so should you wish to return to them they will be right there.’
The suggestion was, evidently, that Shion went with the Eagle to Canelon while the Fourth went off on their missile-test assignment, meeting up with them at Penrys in a couple of months.
Many things about that apparently bonkers task-schedule now made a great deal more sense, as Alex realised that both the visit to Karadon and the side-trip to Penrys were part of a carefully integrated plan. It was clearly an attempt to ease Shion out of her incomprehensible desire to serve as a junior officer aboard a frigate, and into the far more high-profile diplomatic role that the president and the diplomats and just about everyone else felt to be more appropriate.
‘How kind, Mr President,’ Shion responded without any indication at all as to whether the invitation pleased her or not. ‘I will consider and give you a response tomorrow, if I may.’
‘Certainly, your grace,’ the president said, looking happy with that. That was one of the moments at which Davie North looked amused, too, shooting a glance at Alex as if he expected him to be sharing the joke.
Alex wasn’t, though. He was feeling confused. He felt as if he was seeing a completely different person here, in the grand lady the League president addressed as ‘your grace’. It was more than just a matter of clothing and manners. Watching her in this setting, with her murmuring voice and fluid gestures, those titles, grace of a noble house, purest of blood, breath of the Karlane no longer seemed the least bit incongruous. She was indefinably but disturbingly alien, inscrutable and aloof. The description of her world as the myth of ages, ancient and mysterious no longer seemed like any kind of joke, either. Just being in that dining room felt like being transported to a world very different from anything he knew.
The air itself had been processed to match the atmosphere of Pirrell. It was slightly richer in oxygen than they were used to, but slightly lower pressure. It also had a hint of ozone, so it felt like breathing crisp mountain air with something of a tang of the sea. The food, elaborate structures of fruits and salads, added scents of citrus and greens.
It was the music, though, that really made the setting feel so strange. Here, too, sound-baffles blocked out all external noise. Holographic figures were being projected onto a dais in one corner. Alex recognised it as part of the information pack Shion had brought with her, on the advice of the Solarans, bringing images and recordings of life on her world. This particular recording was of five people, dark skinned like Shion but noticeably shorter, dressed in gorgeous robes and each with a lilac sash on one shoulder. They were playing strange musical instruments, two string, two wind and a kind of coiled drum. To human ears it sounded as if they were each playing an entirely different piece of music, sometimes harmonious but usually not. It was gentle music, but discordant. Since the recording lasted for less than an hour, it was on its fifth repeat by the time dinner came to an end.
Alex, for one, was glad it was over. He was never at his best in social situations, and felt even more awkward than usual in such a strange, rarefied atmosphere. The music got on his nerves and he didn’t like the food, either. It looked fantastic, more works of art sculptured in fruit and greenery than anything he’d have recognised as food. When the waiters brought it over, though, in tiny servings presented on trays which were themselves covered with edible leaves, it turned out to be anything but delicious. Most of the leaves tasted like watery lettuce, some with hints of celery or an earthy aftertaste. There was only one serving, a fruit with the texture of an orange but the flavour of a radish, that Alex found palatable. One of the fruits, indeed, was served with a murmured warning from the waiter that it was ‘rather sharp’. A cautious taste revealed that it was as acid as raw lemon. Shion ate hers with apparent enjoyment, but even Davie North shuddered at that one.
Finally, the last drinks were brought. Seven different drinks were served at the banquet, each brought in a different style of tiny cups, bowls and glasses at different stages of the meal. There was, no doubt, historical and cultural significance to each of the drinks and the vessels in which they were served. As even Alex knew by then, every aspect of Pirrellothian society was heavily imbued with historical and cultural significance. They didn’t just maintain ancient customs without knowledge of their meaning, either. Everyone on Pirrell would know exactly why the final drink was served in a handle-less bowl decorated with purple flowers, and why it was a chilled tea made with bitter herbs. There had been no alcohol served with the meal. Alcohol was not unknown on Pirrell, but it was considered very low status, certainly not something that would be served at a formal occasion like this.
Once the bitter tea had been sipped, Shion thanked the president for his great kindness in providing such a banquet. Then she presented him with the fabric Martine had carried for her, and the rose that Hali had brought. Both were traditional gifts from royalty, believed to bring good luck upon a household. President Tyborne demonstrated his knowledge of Pirrellothian culture by handing the fabric to one of his staff with a request that it be hung on the wall of his quarters, while the rose was to be placed beside the door to his office.
It was past midnight by the time they returned to the Heron. The nightwatch had been set and most of the crew had turned in, but Buzz had waited up for them.
‘I hope you had a pleasant evening?’ he asked, as he welcomed them at the airlock.
‘They were all very kind,’ Shion answered, noncommittally. Then she turned to Alex, a hopeful note in her voice. ‘Could I sit in on the nightwatch, please, skipper?’
Alex felt himself relaxing. As weird as the whole experience had been, he could see that Shion was anxious that it wouldn’t change anything here, that they would still accept her as before.
‘Yes, of course,’ he said, at once, and with a smile at her splendid attire, ‘You’d better get changed first, though.’
She laughed at that and went off happily with Martine and Hali. When she came back a few minutes later she was back to her usual self, comfortable in shipboard rig and entirely at her ease with them.
‘Can I have a cookie?’ she asked, finding that the rigger was taking orders for drinks and snacks. Alex had asked for soppo and a dog, himself, finding that dining on watery leaves and morsels of fruit had left him more hungry than if he’d skipped dinner altogether.
‘Certainly,’ Alex agreed, since that request had been made to him. She could, in fact, eat as many cookies as she liked, since the restriction to two a day was a medical advisory and did not have the weight of an order. It had been agreed, though, that she would do as Rangi asked and only have extra cookies either with his or the skipper’s permission. The very fact that she was asking told Alex that she considered she’d earned that treat by the way she’d behaved during the dinner.
She had, too, as Alex soon realised.
‘Just how close was that to a real Pirrellothian dinner?’ he asked her, curiously.
Shion gave him a look of mingled incredulity and laughter.
‘Er...’ she said, and shook her head as Alex and many of the others on the command deck started laughing too. ‘Sorry. I don’t want to be rude,’ she said, and gave a gesture she used sometimes when apologising, touching first one shoulder and then the other. ‘I know they were trying really hard and went to a great deal of trouble trying to please me. But...’ she shook her head again and gave a helpless little spurt of giggles. It was apparent to Alex that, like the Hall of Veils aboard the presidential transport, the dinner had been a travesty of what it should have been.
‘Ah,’ Alex said, with some regret mixed with his amusement. He had hoped that she, at least, was enjoying the occasion. ‘Did they get anything right?’
Shion considered. ‘The table was the right height and the tea was made properly,’ she said. ‘Other than that, no.’
‘But I thought the food was sent from Pirrell,’ Buzz commented, slightly surprised.
‘Yes, packed in cold store boxes,’ Shion agreed. ‘Which isn’t usual for us, we prefer our food to be fresh, eaten the same day as it is harvested. I’m sure the people who dressed it did their best to copy pictures from the information pack, too. But you have to understand that every element of a formal dinner is so prescribed, in such detail, that even a millimetric misplacement of an item would be noticed. Some of it wasn’t intended to be eaten, either. It was like,’ she grinned, ‘people eating the flowers set to decorate the table. And the hana, the fruit that made people shudder,’ she chuckled at the memory, ‘that’s not for eating at all, you’re supposed to squeeze a sprinkle of it over the tray, as an aromatic for the next serving.’
‘But you ate it too,’ Alex pointed out.
‘Of course!’ Shion laughed. ‘It would have been rude to do otherwise, seeing that my hosts had made such an error. And no, it isn’t any more palatable to me than it is to you.’
‘And the music?’ Alex queried, which made her gurgle again.
‘We never record music,’ she told him. ‘We made that recording specially because the Solarans told us how highly you value pictures and recordings of life on their world. They helped us with the technical issues, too, of recording things in a format that would be compatible with your technology. But music, you see, is a live event for us, a spontaneous and creative act, not something that can or should be pinned down into any fixed form. The musicians performing there are indeed amongst the most celebrated artists of my world, and might well be asked to perform at a banquet. But music, for us, always springs from the spirit, and what they were conveying there was their deep unease at being recorded at all. It also conveyed their sorrow at my leaving, since it was recorded at the dinner given for me before I left.’
Alex’s first reaction was one of satisfaction that his own feelings about
the music’s nerve-jangling discomfort had been right. Then he thought about what it must have been like for Shion to have to sit there listening to that on repeat for more than four hours while the diplomats put her through an excruciating parody of her culture. He picked up the cookie tin that the duty rigger had brought, and offered it to her.
‘Help yourself,’ he said.
Chapter Ten
The following morning, Alex went over to the Eagle for a meeting with Dix Harangay. The First Lord had quarters aboard the destroyer, rather than the presidential transport. They were quite luxuriously spacious by Fleet standards, with a daycabin that even had a tiny ante-room where his adjutant worked. Alex was obliged to wait there for several minutes before being admitted.
‘Sorry to keep you,’ said Dix, and gestured Alex to a chair. ‘Have a seat.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Alex sat down and looked at him expectantly. This was not, after all, a social visit.
‘All right – first,’ Dix said, briskly, ‘thank you for everything you’ve been doing here, Alex. I appreciate that it hasn’t been easy, juggling exodiplomacy responsibilities with operational demands. And Harry Alington certainly hasn’t made that any easier.’ He gave a slight shake of his head, as if marvelling. ‘I’ve had him over here this morning, giving me a load of guff about fine old traditions and blaming the media for the mess he’s made of things.’
Alex knew already that Harry Alington had been invited to breakfast with the First Lord, because Harry had made a point of telling him so. It had been apparent that he felt that to be a mark of high favour, with a poorly concealed note of triumph when he learned that no such distinction had been given to Alex. In this, he showed a fundamental lack of understanding of the First Lord. Dix did not need to make any show of cordiality towards Alex because they were already friends. Inviting officers to breakfast with him was actually one of the ways Dix worked on relationship building, particularly with officers he considered to be a problem in one way or another.
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