were loyal to him. She was damned if she’d be tarred with the same brush. So she’d greeted him with every sign of pleasure. “Dear Sir Syrian. A delight to see you again. I trust you have organized everything with your usual efficiency?”
He bowed low. “Yes, your highness. Everything is perfectly in hand.” His voice seemed slightly strained, but he led her forward to introduce her to the station commander. That worthy greeted her with the perfunctory politeness that the egalitarian Station-folk customarily accorded any of the hereditary title-holders of the empire. The only vaguely unusual public deed was his request to take a holo-pix of Otto III. That request was unlikely to attract much attention from his Imperial masters.
For the first time ever Syrian hadn’t tried to alter her on-planet schedules! Normally, he tried desperately to shuffle her itinerary. This time… he hadn’t. Something must be wrong. So the Stationers had hurried things along to try to upset any assassin’s timetables. She was really upset by the Station folk too… Usually, they were so carefully aloof, even when there were no Imperial officials present. Now, suddenly, the corridors were full of people who had fawned about and wanted to touch her, or touch her clothing, or touch Otto III, even when there were Imperial or League witnesses. Plainly, they didn’t expect her to come back. And Otto hadn’t liked being pawed by all and sundry.
Even if she was heading into danger… she was relieved to be back in the ship. Maybe she was being sentimental, but the imperial barge had a warmth about it that was missing from the League ships. Somehow she felt that it was a place which had been loved, once. It would be a good place to face whatever was coming. And at least while they were in surf it would be safe to relax for a while. The League would never move while she was in surf. It might disturb the Stardog.
The stubby tugs pushed the barge away from the space station, and off into space. The Stardog was on its way and would intercept them there. Shari watched from the stardeck. She’d seen it several thousand times now, but never tired of it. This time the poignant knowledge that this might be her last trip, made the sighting of the indrifting Stardog, with its filament-mat gleaming like a filigree of silver wires against the blackness of space, even more rich and rare. As if to reward her this beast was the most gloriously silvered she’d ever seen.
Gradually the rest of the retinue came up to join her. Last came the Guildsmen and the poor rider, looking like a dog that had just been whipped for no reason he could understand. If only she could tell him… She ignored him, acted as if he simply wasn’t there. Accepted the Leaguesmen’s bow coolly, and turned away from them and the rider.
Actually she was watching them, particularly the rider, in the reflection of the highly polished bar that some long-dead emperor had had fitted to cover the inscrutable Denaari instruments. The odd-shaped alien couches had also been ripped out and replaced. In their place they had fitted comfortable, velvet-upholstered loungers for the Emperor’s guests to enjoy watching the starswirl. She wished the pompous ass had been less fond of Lapis-Lazuli inlays in the mirror-polished surface of the bar. She loved watching the riders while they discovered the difference between Denaari and human ships. The bar gave her a way of doing so without being obvious.
Juan Biacasta studied the model of the Denarii barge again. Carefully he opened the small airlock in the tail-section. It was something he’d found by accident, and he was sure that most people had no idea existed on the centuries old ship. He’d checked it in every online resource he’d been able to find. The Denaari engine-room airlock had been welded shut when they converted the ship to the royal barge. Of course no-one would be able to access the Princess royal’s ship while it was in port.
He bowed low. “Yes, your highness. Everything is perfectly in hand.” His voice seemed slightly strained, but he led her forward to introduce her to the station commander. That worthy greeted her with the perfunctory politeness that the egalitarian Station-folk customarily accorded any of the hereditary title-holders of the empire. The only vaguely unusual public deed was his request to take a holo-pix of Otto III. That request was unlikely to attract much attention from his Imperial masters.
For the first time ever Syrian hadn’t tried to alter her on-planet schedules! Normally, he tried desperately to shuffle her itinerary. This time… he hadn’t. Something must be wrong. So the Stationers had hurried things along to try to upset any assassin’s timetables. She was really upset by the Station folk too… Usually, they were so carefully aloof, even when there were no Imperial officials present. Now, suddenly, the corridors were full of people who had fawned about and wanted to touch her, or touch her clothing, or touch Otto III, even when there were Imperial or League witnesses. Plainly, they didn’t expect her to come back. And Otto hadn’t liked being pawed by all and sundry.
Even if she was heading into danger… she was relieved to be back in the ship. Maybe she was being sentimental, but the imperial barge had a warmth about it that was missing from the League ships. Somehow she felt that it was a place which had been loved, once. It would be a good place to face whatever was coming. And at least while they were in surf it would be safe to relax for a while. The League would never move while she was in surf. It might disturb the Stardog.
The stubby tugs pushed the barge away from the space station, and off into space. The Stardog was on its way and would intercept them there. Shari watched from the stardeck. She’d seen it several thousand times now, but never tired of it. This time the poignant knowledge that this might be her last trip, made the sighting of the indrifting Stardog, with its filament-mat gleaming like a filigree of silver wires against the blackness of space, even more rich and rare. As if to reward her this beast was the most gloriously silvered she’d ever seen.
Gradually the rest of the retinue came up to join her. Last came the Guildsmen and the poor rider, looking like a dog that had just been whipped for no reason he could understand. If only she could tell him… She ignored him, acted as if he simply wasn’t there. Accepted the Leaguesmen’s bow coolly, and turned away from them and the rider.
Actually she was watching them, particularly the rider, in the reflection of the highly polished bar that some long-dead emperor had had fitted to cover the inscrutable Denaari instruments. The odd-shaped alien couches had also been ripped out and replaced. In their place they had fitted comfortable, velvet-upholstered loungers for the Emperor’s guests to enjoy watching the starswirl. She wished the pompous ass had been less fond of Lapis-Lazuli inlays in the mirror-polished surface of the bar. She loved watching the riders while they discovered the difference between Denaari and human ships. The bar gave her a way of doing so without being obvious.
Juan Biacasta studied the model of the Denarii barge again. Carefully he opened the small airlock in the tail-section. It was something he’d found by accident, and he was sure that most people had no idea existed on the centuries old ship. He’d checked it in every online resource he’d been able to find. The Denaari engine-room airlock had been welded shut when they converted the ship to the royal barge. Of course no-one would be able to access the Princess royal’s ship while it was in port.
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