Second Born

"I'm not a diplomat, Lord Bontrio," I said. "Strictly speaking, I'm simply a retired captain of the Royal Navy of Novalbion, and a sales representative of an off-planet company."

"You're also a Baron, my lord. We noblemen have to stick together. What sort of host would I be if I allowed my dear cousin from Novalbion to sit at home on one of the most delightful nights of the Season?" He reached into his desk, withdrew an engraved invitation in its envelope and wrote what I recognized as my name in Medusan script on the envelope before passing it to me.

"His Majesty enjoys meeting people from off-planet. He's a great believer in progress for Medusa, you know. I am certain he will enjoy talking to you."

"What is the dress for this ball?" I asked. Lord Bontrio searched for the right words, couldn't find them, and reached for a Medusan-to-English dictionary. He flipped through it and found what he was looking for.

"It's a white tie affair, cousin. That means medals, order stars and sashes, and because this is a Royal Ball, coronets."

"I will look forward to seeing you tonight, my dear cousin, " I said, and took my leave.

Following a conversation with Hurry, Honey engaged a coach and driver for me. Although Peregrine carried an aircar, it would not do for a nobleman to appear at the Palace driving himself. Even Hurry, attending in his capacity of military attaché, would be driven by one of the Embassy's Marine guards. So at 9 PM, resplendent in my lightest weight tails with the Star of Merit at my throat, my left breast sporting a triple row of decorations starting with the Cross of Valor and ending with assorted campaign medals, my 'crown and crossbones' atop them all, the star of the Imperial Order of Merit anchoring its gold sash above my left hip, and the palisado coronet denoting my rank on my head, I climbed the cool stone steps to the entry of the ballroom and presented my invitation to the majordomo. He rapped his staff of office and announced, "His Excellency Edward, Baron of Novalbion!"

Close enough for a nonhuman planet, I suppose. I was momentarily the focus of all eyes as I descended the steps to the ballroom floor. I scanned the room out of long habit. The mass of orange skin and waving black hair was seasoned with humans -- I identified Junkers, Moguls, Deseretis, Brasilnovians, Khalsa, Normands and my fellow Novalbions by headgear, formal dress, uniforms or medals; and a few aliens -- black-scaled Haephestans; three Angelus, their wings folded to their backs, moving cautiously in their powered exoskeletons as they did on any world with more than the 1/6^th gee field of their home planet; and to my suspicious eyes, a clot of red-skinned, barbed-tailed Alphans.

Hurry moved to intercept me, bringing me to meet the Novalbion ambassador and introduce me to his opposite numbers from the Khalsa embassy. The Khalsa were our allies in the late war. I'd been sent by Fleet Command to perform reconnaissance missions for them twice, once in the Percival and once when I had the Sword-class escort Flamberge. Commander Jarwal Singh, the naval attaché, remembered my name from intelligence reports and my nickname from anecdotes told by the Novalbion naval liaison officer who had accompanied him into battle. We were toasting my Flamberge and his Sukhveer when Baron Bontrio sought me out.

"Baron Edward, Their Majesties and the Royal Family will be arriving momentarily. There will be no receiving line as such, but I am sure you would appreciate the opportunity to pay your respects."

"You are too kind, dear cousin." With a courteous nod to Commander Singh, I allowed myself to be towed away. Duty always comes before pleasure, and my duty here was to NBCA.

We had gone just a few steps when Medusan horns blared and drums rattled. The majordomo rapped his staff three times and announced, "Their Majesties Berit and Emera, King and Queen of Medusa; Her Royal Highness Derica, Crown Princess and Heir to the Throne; and Her Royal Highness Princess Kinthia!"

Music that I presumed was the Royal March of Medusa played as everyone bowed and the four Medusans processed down the staircase across the room from us. On reaching the bottom, they disappeared into the throng. Bontrio seemed to know where to go; he wove his way around the perimeter, avoiding the dancers on the floor. In a short time I found myself face to face with the Medusan Royal Family. The Chamberlain introduced me to King Berit.

His Majesty the King was taller than the average Medusan, clear eyed, well muscled and straight as a laser. I liked him immediately. He surprised me by taking my hand and brushing it lightly with a tendril after I bowed to him.

"I presume Your Excellency is here on business? You work for New Birmingham Combat Armaments, so I presume you wish to sell us firearms of some sort."

"No, Your Majesty. Not conventional firearms, but pulse-lasers."

"I've heard of those, but I've never seen one. Lord Chamberlain, please be so kind as to see to it that Baron Edward is given whatever he needs to arrange a demonstration for Us."

'Of course, Sire," said Bontrio.

"Berit acts impulsively on occasion, but when he does so he is nearly always correct," said Queen Emera, offering her hand. I bowed, took her hand and kissed it in the accepted style of the Imperial Court. She met my eyes as I straightened, brushing my face with a tendril. Her irises were the same glossy black of every Medusan I had met so far, but had the clarity of one who can scan right through to the bottom of your soul, a seer. Apparently she liked what she saw, for she took over the introductions.

"Our Heir, Crown Princess Derica."

Princess Derica instantly brought to mind half a hundred zaftig, bursting-with-health, country-girl hons I had met over the years. Although she was dressed in fine gauzes and a jeweled shelf of a bustier to support the bajungas jutting proudly from her chest, so large they made her look top-heavy even compared to other Medusan women, I had the feeling she'd be much more at home in tweeds and boots with a gun in her hands and a hunting dog ranging ahead of her. My elder brother Robin adores the type. I started to bend to kiss her hand as I had the Queen's, but she forestalled me by giving my hand a forthright shake ... just as the hons of whom she reminded me would have done.

"Can your pulse-lasers be used for hunting, milord?"

"They can, Your Highness."

"Good! I'll look forward to your demonstration."

"And my other daughter, Princess Kinthia," said the Queen, a tendril flipping subtly toward where she stood a little behind and apart with a meaning I took to be, "Get over here, now." I turned to the Princess and was struck dumb.

She was much taller than most Medusans, including the King and Queen; tall enough to look me in the eye at 185 centimeters. Her eyes were hazel, the first Medusan I'd seen whose eyes were not black. Her skin was golden rather than some shade of orange. She had regular facial features with pronounced cheekbones and a straight nose instead of the flatter nose of the Medusans I'd seen thus far. Had she been human she'd have been considered busty, a C cup at least; by Medusan standards she was flat-chested. Instead of a line dropping straight to the hips, she had not merely a waist but an hourglass figure. She had long showgirl legs with firm, slender thighs, shapely knees and exquisite calves tapering to lovely ankles and narrow feet in jeweled flats.

At New Rugby, I had taken a course in Classical History of Old Home Terra. The crystal had a section on Public Entertainments. It included a chapter on something called "the movies." One of the segments had concerned a class of actresses called sweater girls. Except for her waist length raven hair Princess Kinthia was the image of one called Jane Manfield, or something like that.

"A pleasure, Your Royal Highness," I managed to utter as I bent to kiss her hand. Her hair stirred but did not touch me.

"You are too kind, milord," she murmured, her cheeks darkening in a blush. Before I could think of something witty to say, Lord Bontrio was easing me away from the Royals. When we were out of earshot, he turned to me.

"That was very gracious, what you did for Princess Kinthia. Most Medusans feel sorry for the King and Queen. One absolutely gorgeous daughter to follow them on the Throne; one ugly, misshapen, defective one who stays out of the public eye so as not to offend the sensibilities of the people. To look upon her makes some of us physically ill."

"Why do you say she's defective?" I asked, thinking of the thousands of Novalbion women who would sign a pact with Satan for Princess Kinthia's looks.

Lord Bontrio's eyes widened. His tendrils flipped up at the ends all at once, a reaction I knew from my briefing crystal signified surprise. "Didn't you see? Her hair is so fine she cannot form tendrils as the rest of us do. It is as if -- " he groped for the right words "-- as if half a hooman's face muscles did not work and your hands were wrapped in bandages with only the thumb free. She can talk but make none of the visuals and touches we normal Medusans take for granted."

"I see." We took crystal glasses of zulac, the Medusan equivalent of champagne, from a passing servant. Hurry and the Ambassador had both warned me about this stuff. It tastes mild but is significantly more potent than brandy; there are organic euphorics in it that make brandy seem tame. Two glasses are enough to put any but the most seasoned drinkers under the table. We walked onto the terrace that overlooked the formal gardens, where a Medusan officer in full fig and Lieutenant Colonel Andrews in his dress uniform joined us.

"Colonel Vamana is one of His Majesty's equerries," explained Bontrio. "He will make the arrangements for your demonstration tomorrow. I must go to arrange for your quarters."

"My quarters?" I asked.

"It is the custom for an officer demonstrating new weapons to be the guest of the Crown," said Bontrio in a matter of fact way, his tendrils fluttering in a pattern that was the equivalent of a Frank or a Normand raising his shoulders and opening his palms.

"Oftentimes there are competing companies seeking government contracts," Hurry cut in. "It's not unknown for competitors to sabotage an opponent's gear to obtain an edge to close the deal. Puts me in mind of the way business is done back home, actually.

"Custom dictates that no such chicanery take place while one is a guest under the King's roof. It's quite sensible, when you think about it. Take my aircar and driver, get what you need from your ship, swing by your digs and pack a bag, then come back here. I'll deal with your coachman for you."

When you're caught up in what is plainly a time-tested system, all you can do is go with the flow. Colonel Vamana suggested that he accompany me to assist in any way he could. I had the feeling he simply wanted to fly in an aircar. He didn't mind getting his hands dirty and helped me and the Marine driver load my sample cases into the car. A brief stop at my lodgings to pack enough for a couple of days at a country place, and we returned to the Palace. Servants carried my cases to a strongroom where the Colonel posted armed guards and applied seals to the cases and the strongroom doors, and we rejoined the party in the ballroom.

He handed me off to Bontrio, who informed me a manservant had been assigned to me. He was unpacking my bags and would serve as my valet for the duration of my stay at the Palace, and would guide me to my quarters when I wished to sleep. I thanked him and we parted.

I watched the dancers for a little while. The dances were formal, with rigid steps and patterns in lines or squares at slow to moderate tempo, the males and females weaving around each other with stylized gestures. Their tendrils moved in time to the music and occasionally interwove or brushed their partners. I took this as flirting behavior, a common secondary theme in formalized dance.

"Interessting, no, Captain?"

I turned to see an Alphan beside me. They had been cobelligerents with the Junkers in the last war. That was reason enough to dislike them, but their refusal to surrender even when the situation was hopeless and their barbaric treatment of prisoners and citizens of occupied planets, especially those they deemed as being of inferior races, had elevated a natural antipathy to hatred in my case. This one had pearlescent horns and claws, a Demon in the prime of life. The thin leather clothing he wore had chainmail epaulets with the sunburst-and-dagger of the Alphan Navy on the shoulders, the loops and pips of a Captain on the sleeves, a dagger that looked far more functional than ceremonial on his belt, and enough tinware on his chest to open a jewelry shop. I knew enough about Alphan decorations to read his medals. This Demon was a line officer and he had seen more combat than most.

"I do not believe we have been formally introduced, sir."

"Ah, but we have met before, Captain. My name is Sonellion. When your ship David Stirling attacked Gininad IV and desstroyed the advance basse we had built there, I had command of the light cruisser Emeemiar. You killed mosst of my crew, Captain. My ship losst propulssion and burned in the atmossphere. Did you think we would not learn the name of the captain who led that raid, Edward Wellessley, or that Alphans would forget?" His paw dropped to his dagger and I heard the click as the retaining strap was unclipped. I turned toward him, my body masking my hand as I shoved a Bulldog pulse-laser into his stomach.

"Our worlds are at peace, Captain Sonellion. The war is over. We both fought as our leaders directed and did what we had to do in carrying out those orders. I have nothing against you, but if you do not take your hand off that blade this instant I will burn a hole clear through you and fuse every nerve in your body."

Sonellion's hand fell away from his dagger. I plucked it from his belt and slipped it into my order sash. His eyes burned with hatred and his tail lashed angrily, but in this venue and with my gun in his belly he dared not do more.

"I suggest you return to your embassy forthwith, Sonellion. Good night." I turned from him and walked away, returning the Bulldog to its holster. Hurry, who has observed the exchange, came over to me.

"That was a little tense, Buc. I was ready to back your play, but you could have provoked a diplomatic incident. Diplomats are not supposed to go armed, you know. I suppose there may even be one or two who don't."

"A good thing I am not a diplomat, then. That Demon is carrying a very large grudge as well as a very large knife. Can you discreetly get rid of this?" I asked, exposing the dagger in my sash.

Hurry's eyebrows rose and he disappeared it up the sleeve of his tunic so quickly it seemed like sleight of hand. He laid a hand on my shoulder.

"You had better watch your back. Taking a weapon from a Demon in combat while he yet lives is an insult bordering on mortal to them. I'm not sure how that imperative applies to military attachés, but best you walk softly. I'll speak to a couple of friends of mine. Perhaps they can arrange for Sonellion to be sent home."

"An outcome devoutly to be wished," I agreed. As Hurry turned to look for someone in the ballroom, I snatched a glass of zulac and retreated to the terrace. The encounter with the Alphan had shaken me more than I wanted the Hurricane to see.

I sipped at my drink and looked out at the gardens. It was a mark of how shaken I was that I did not immediately realize I was not alone. Screened from view by some kind of potted plant, Princess Kinthia was looking through a glass panel at the dancers. I took my glass and joined her, coughing discreetly to announce my presence. She started at the sound, then relaxed when she recognized me as the alien who had been polite to her.

"Am I intruding, Your Highness?"

"No, Your Excellency. Please, join me," she said, waving a hand in invitation and shifting to her right to make room. I moved up beside her into what felt like an oasis of calm.

"I often come here to watch the dancing when Mother and Father hold a ball," she said eventually, sounding wistful. "The patterns are so precise and elegant, the dancers so graceful to see."

"A beautiful princess such as you should be on the dance floor leading the dancers, not watching through a window," I said gallantly. She turned on me, her spun-silk hair rustling.

"Beautiful?" she flared. "How can a pale, graceless gawk compete with someone like her?" She gestured at Derica, slowly pirouetting under the hand of her partner, her firm buttocks and the tips of her breasts brushing her partner's coat as he closed to put an arm around her in the next measure of the dance.

"When Derica goes to the ball, the young bravos trample each other for the chance to dance with her! Not only because she is the Heir, but because she's a ravishing beauty, a dream made flesh by the ribald gods to torment males! She can have her pick of any scion on the floor and they will be so pathetically grateful for her favor they all but grovel at her feet! There is an underground painter making a fortune painting nude portraits of her. Not that my sister would ever pose for such a thing, you understand, but the bravos all fantasize about having her in their beds if not as their wife. When she finally decides on a mate, I expect there will be a wave of males killing themselves over the imagined loss of the love of their lives.

"What am I by comparison? I'm too tall, too thin, too pale, with ugly pipestem legs. And I cannot form tendrils, so I cannot even talk or court properly! When I am forced by protocol to dance, my partners are always disgusted, ashamed to be seen with me! It is all they can do not to vomit! Look at me!" Tears filled her lovely hazel eyes, tears of shame and rage.

"I am looking at you, Your Highness," I said soberly. "Do you see me vomiting? Do I look disgusted? I tell you truly, Princess Kinthia: I would be honored if you would grant me the privilege of a dance with you." I held out my hand to her. She hesitated for a long moment, looking at me with something of her mother's perception, before she took it. I started to lead her into the ballroom but she held me back.

"Not in there, milord. Out here, on the terrace."

"As you wish, Your Highness." I assumed the first position of the next dance as the orchestra began the introduction that told the dancers what the dance would be. She moved up beside me.

"Under the circumstances, Lord Edward, you may call me Kinthia." She placed her golden hand on top of mine as the music signaled us to begin.

As had every noble son and daughter of Novalbion, I learned the formal dances of our culture in my early teens. I had enjoyed the process enough to continue studying dance until I went off to the Space Academy. It was good exercise and fun, save when I was paired with an hon who had two left feet.

Kinthia moved with an inborn grace that reminded me of a ballerina I had dated for a few weeks, until she had discovered I was a second son and not the heir to Father's title. We moved together well as we felt out our strengths and weaknesses in the dance. She knew the steps but had little practice dancing with a partner. I had the confidence but not the muscle memory of the steps that comes only with many repetitions. We each gave something to the other and gained in the process.

"You dance well, Lord Edward, she said, moving around me in a sixteen step circle of tiny hesitation steps.

"Just Edward, please, Kinthia," I replied, raising my arm so she could maintain hand contact as the dance required while she passed behind me.