built of golden stone, with arched colonnades. Trees shaded its wings, silver-bell willows and ghost elms with pale green streamer-leaves draped from their branches. Three million people lived in Selei City far below, but this region of the mountains was off-limits except to guests of the Ruby Dynasty. Tomorrow, the Assembly would convene in the city; tonight, the elite of that legislative body had invaded the palace.
Kelric wore his dress uniform. After many studies, the ISC protocol experts had designed it from a dark gold cloth that glimmered. The sheen seemed superfluous to Kelric, but it thrilled the analysts who charted how his appearance affected the public. The tunic had a gold stripe across his chest, and a gold stripe ran up the trousers, which Protocol claimed accented the length of his legs. It wasn't clear to him why anyone would give a buzz in a battleship about the length of his legs, but his bewildered comments had no effect on their efforts. They polished his boots to a shine and fastened a dark gold belt around his waist, all the time rhapsodizing about how the uniform complimented his physique. It was mortifying.
He put off going downstairs as long as he could, but finally he descended the staircase that swept into the foyer of the Grand Opera Hall. Chandeliers dripped with sunburst crystals, and gold shimmered on the walls. Guests filled the room, sparkling in their finery. Human servants rather than robots moved among them, carrying platters of drinks or pastries. So much for his mother's "small" dinner party.
As Kelric entered the Hall, he fortified his mental barriers until the emotions of the crowd receded. He was actually prodding his mind to produce certain chemicals. They blocked the neurotransmitters necessary to process the brain waves he received from other people. If he produced too many blockers, it damped his ability to think; at the extreme, to protect himself from Aristos, it could cause brain damage. But for a party, he needed only levels that were a natural and normal precaution.
A man carrying a tray of goblets bowed to him. With a self-conscious nod, Kelric took a glass of a gold drink that bubbled. He would have preferred Dieshan pepper whiskey.
A woman in a long green dress was talking to several people nearby. She glanced idly at Kelric, then froze with her drink raised, staring at him. It was odd. He lived here, after all. They were attending an affair hosted by the Ruby Dynasty; seeing a member of that dynasty shouldn't elicit surprise.
Everyone in her group was staring at him now. They bowed, all except the woman, who kept gaping, her face flushed. Then she jerked as if remembering herself and bowed as well. Bewildered, Kelric nodded to them and kept going.
After he passed the group, he glanced at himself. Nothing looked wrong, and he didn't think he had done anything strange, unless they noticed his slight limp. He eased down his defenses to search for clues, but the pressure against his mind increased, and his head throbbed. The moods of his guests swirled, too many to distinguish, a thick stew of emotions flavored by anticipation, curiosity, jealousy, avarice, boredom, and sensuality. Ill at ease, he reinforced his barriers until they muted the onslaught.
"I haven't seen you at one of these in ages," a man drawled.
Kelric tensed as he swung around. Admiral Ragnar Bloodmark stood there, idly holding a goblet of red wine. Tall and lean, with sharp features, he had an aura of menace, as if he were ready to strike. His dark coloring came from his Skolian mother and evoked a lord of the noble Houses, but his grandfather had actually hailed from a place called Scandinavia on Earth. Ragnar was a Skolian citizen, however. His impressive military record and seniority should have made him the top choice to head the Imperial Fleet. Kelric had never trusted him, which was why he had promoted Chad Barzun instead, and he doubted Ragnar would ever forgive him that
Kelric wore his dress uniform. After many studies, the ISC protocol experts had designed it from a dark gold cloth that glimmered. The sheen seemed superfluous to Kelric, but it thrilled the analysts who charted how his appearance affected the public. The tunic had a gold stripe across his chest, and a gold stripe ran up the trousers, which Protocol claimed accented the length of his legs. It wasn't clear to him why anyone would give a buzz in a battleship about the length of his legs, but his bewildered comments had no effect on their efforts. They polished his boots to a shine and fastened a dark gold belt around his waist, all the time rhapsodizing about how the uniform complimented his physique. It was mortifying.
He put off going downstairs as long as he could, but finally he descended the staircase that swept into the foyer of the Grand Opera Hall. Chandeliers dripped with sunburst crystals, and gold shimmered on the walls. Guests filled the room, sparkling in their finery. Human servants rather than robots moved among them, carrying platters of drinks or pastries. So much for his mother's "small" dinner party.
As Kelric entered the Hall, he fortified his mental barriers until the emotions of the crowd receded. He was actually prodding his mind to produce certain chemicals. They blocked the neurotransmitters necessary to process the brain waves he received from other people. If he produced too many blockers, it damped his ability to think; at the extreme, to protect himself from Aristos, it could cause brain damage. But for a party, he needed only levels that were a natural and normal precaution.
A man carrying a tray of goblets bowed to him. With a self-conscious nod, Kelric took a glass of a gold drink that bubbled. He would have preferred Dieshan pepper whiskey.
A woman in a long green dress was talking to several people nearby. She glanced idly at Kelric, then froze with her drink raised, staring at him. It was odd. He lived here, after all. They were attending an affair hosted by the Ruby Dynasty; seeing a member of that dynasty shouldn't elicit surprise.
Everyone in her group was staring at him now. They bowed, all except the woman, who kept gaping, her face flushed. Then she jerked as if remembering herself and bowed as well. Bewildered, Kelric nodded to them and kept going.
After he passed the group, he glanced at himself. Nothing looked wrong, and he didn't think he had done anything strange, unless they noticed his slight limp. He eased down his defenses to search for clues, but the pressure against his mind increased, and his head throbbed. The moods of his guests swirled, too many to distinguish, a thick stew of emotions flavored by anticipation, curiosity, jealousy, avarice, boredom, and sensuality. Ill at ease, he reinforced his barriers until they muted the onslaught.
"I haven't seen you at one of these in ages," a man drawled.
Kelric tensed as he swung around. Admiral Ragnar Bloodmark stood there, idly holding a goblet of red wine. Tall and lean, with sharp features, he had an aura of menace, as if he were ready to strike. His dark coloring came from his Skolian mother and evoked a lord of the noble Houses, but his grandfather had actually hailed from a place called Scandinavia on Earth. Ragnar was a Skolian citizen, however. His impressive military record and seniority should have made him the top choice to head the Imperial Fleet. Kelric had never trusted him, which was why he had promoted Chad Barzun instead, and he doubted Ragnar would ever forgive him that
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