Chapter 14

Dear Abbie,

I think I read somewhere that someone described traveling by ship as having all the boredom and confinement of being in a prison with none of the safety. I'm coming to believe that he was right! I've never considered myself an outdoors person, but right now I'd give half my inheritance for an hour's stroll in the woods. And I'm really coming to hate wormhole jumps! Some serious Bulkhead Fever here.

Alby Vorsworth leaned back in his chair and sighed. They were only three weeks on their way and he was ready to scream. And he wasn't even sure why. The training cruise in his senior year had lasted almost six months and it hadn't bothered him the way this was. Of course he wasn't being kept quite so busy this time. On the training cruise he'd been a probationary 'ensign junior grade' and that meant that he was given every scut job that the real officers didn't want to do. This time he was a lieutenant on the regimental staff. Not that Colonel Fetherbay and his senior staff didn't find plenty for Alby to do! But still, they couldn't find enough to keep him busy for every waking hour, even in a shrunken standard 24-hour day.

Barrayar's day was 26.7 hours and that was the one Alby was used to. But the other two planets in the Empire had different length days and the planets of the Nexus had an enormous variety, with days lasting from a few hours to a few months. When within the Empire, ships' 'days' were adjusted to match that of the planet they were operating near, but when traveling the Nexus the ships operated on the 24-hour day of Old Earth. Nearly everyone followed that convention and clocks on ships all over the nexus were synchronized with the moment of midnight in a small town on a small island on a planet that few had ever visited. It was all for safety reasons, of course; when ships had to make maneuvers timed to the split second it made sense to make sure everyone was using the same second!

Alby leaned forward and resumed typing. How are things going with you? Only a few more months and you'll be a senior! Top of the heap! How are things working out with the new Commandant? I've heard a few rumors that he's not quite so friendly toward you girls as Sylvanus was. Did I mention in my last letter that he's now our brigade commander? I see him fairly often at staff meetings. I have to say that being on the flagship is a mixed blessing. I guess I know more about what's going on than most people, but I sure miss seeing Anny and Jer and Patric. And I miss you, too, girl! I just hope…

Alby heard the door slide open and he banished his letter from the screen. "You ready to go, Vorsworth—shit! You aren't even dressed!" Alby spun around and saw Lieutenant Nate Gilchrist, his roommate, standing in the doorway—in his dress greens. He hurriedly checked the time.

"What's the rush?" he asked, puzzled. "That reception doesn't start for over an hour."

"We still have to get over there! The shuttle is leaving in five minutes!"

"What? You mean it isn't here?" Alby lurched out of his chair.

"Alby, you idiot!" snapped Gilchrist. "Didn't you read the orders? The reception is on the Cetagandan flagship!"

"Oh crap!" Alby started frantically dragging out his dress greens with one hand and trying to undo the fasteners on his black fatigues with the other.

"No time to change here!" cried Gilchrist. "Bring your stuff and you can change on the shuttle!" He scooped up Alby's boots and belt. "Come on!"

Shit! Shit! Shit! moaned Alby to himself as he followed Gilchrist through the labyrinthine corridors of the Prince Serg. The ship was enormous and it was a long run to the shuttles. When she had been launched, before Alby was even born, she was arguably the most powerful warship in the human galaxy. There were a few others in various fleets (including Barrayar's) that might claim that title now, but the venerable Serg was still the pride of the Barrayaran fleet. She'd been designed as a flagship from the start and the accommodations for staffs and various hangers-on were extensive. The expedition commander, Admiral Lord Vorburke, had decided that he wanted all the senior officers, both for the fleet and the ground forces, aboard the Serg during the long voyage to Nova Paveo for ease of communications and consultation. Alby could tell that Colonel Fetherbay would have preferred to stay closer to his troops, but since the regiment was spread out on three different transports anyway, this was an acceptable compromise.

He and Gilchrist clattered down a companionway to the deck holding the hanger bays for the shuttles. There was a crowd of people waiting there, preparing to board a pair of shuttles. "Thank God all the senior officers and the civilians are on their own shuttle," hissed Gilchrist. "All the junior staff are on that other one. Come on, and try to not look conspicuous!" They gave all the big brass as wide a berth as possible and slipped into the crowd of junior officers just as the shuttle's hatch hissed open. Alby tried to sneak aboard quickly, but there was a crunch at the hatch and he was forced to wait. He felt incredibly conspicuous in his black fatigues. He glanced toward the other shuttle and Fetherbay was staring at him. Brigadier Sylvanus was standing right next to him and his eyes turned in Alby's direction, too. Sylvanus made some comment and Fetherbay grimaced. Great. The clog cleared out and Alby made it aboard.

Immediately the other officers began making comments about his dress. Those who actually knew him well made jokes at his expense, but he just smiled and gave back as good as he got. Well, nearly. He was clearly on the defensive here.

"Hey Alby, sleeping on the job again?"

"Your clock still set on Barrayaran time?"

"Nah," said Gilchrist. "He was writing love letters to his girlfriend." The other laughed and Alby blushed.

"Hey, at least I've got one!" he replied. This drew more laughs and groans. He shucked off his fatigues and pulled on his dress greens as quickly as he could. For a moment he panicked when he couldn't find his cap, but then Gilchrist handed it to him. At least he didn't have to worry about the stupid sword. Standing orders were for no swords aboard ship—and the Cetagandans probably wouldn't appreciate a bunch of sword-armed Barrayaran savages on their flagship. He pulled his tunic into place and brushed his hand against his medals to make sure they were straight and then surveyed the sets of eyes still focused on him. There wasn't another man aboard, even the captains, who could boast two wound medals and the Distinguished Service Star that he wore. The Infantry Combat Badge and the Assault Landing Badge with one star were pretty much unique, too. He was a combat veteran, damn it! So let the others laugh. He took the seat next to Gilchrist just as the shuttle moved out of the hanger bay.

"So why's this circus being held on the Cetagandan flagship?" asked Alby.

"I don't know," admitted Gilchrist. "But they were the last task force to join up with us. I guess they want to play host."

"Probably just want to show off."

"Yeah, that, too. Ever met a Ceta?"

Alby thought back. "Nope. Don't think so."

"You'd remember if you had. I have, twice. On my first shipboard tour, oh, almost five years ago now. Bumped into them on a couple of shore leaves. Worst bunch of stuck-up bastards I ever met."

"How jolly. So what are they dragging us along for? A batch of lieutenants and junior captains? I'd have thought this would just be for the big brass."

"Dunno. But it ought to be interesting."

"But they aren't bringing all the staffs," persisted Alby. "There are what? Thirty of us here? Between the expedition HQ, the Fleet HQ, the two brigade HQs and the four regimental HQs we've got about a battalion's worth of staff lackeys—most of whom outrank us. Why'd we get the honor?"

"Like I said, I don't know. Just lucky I guess. Now shut up, it's a thirty minute trip and I'm gonna take a nap." Gilchrist slumped down in his seat and closed his eyes.

Alby frowned in envy. Gilchrist was one of those lucky ones who could fall asleep anywhere, anytime, and wake instantly, fully alert. Alby stared out the 'port for a while, catching a brief glimpse of the rapidly dwindling Prince Serg and then, for lack of anything better to do, he pulled out his computer pad and called up the information that was available on the Cetagandan task force. There wasn't a lot. A list of ships and the military units they were carrying, short bios on the senior officers, synopses on Cetagandan military procedures and tactics. The only thing that really caught his eye were the specs on the Cetaganda flagship, the Celestial Tiger. It was enormous, even bigger than the Serg. Newer, too; the navy only had guesstimates about its armament and capabilities. Alby was certain that there were Barrayaran sensor officers trying to get a look past the Ceta's shields to fill in some of those blanks at this very moment. Some of the naval officers aboard this shuttle probably had orders to do as much sightseeing as they could once aboard, too.

"My God! Would you look at that thing!" An exclamation from up forward jogged Alby out of his musings. He followed the turned heads of the other passengers and looked out the 'port. Ah, the very subject of his study had come into view.

Barrayaran warships were all sharp angles, deliberately reminiscent of swords and spears and battle axes. They looked fast and dangerous. Cetagandan warships were… different. They were built all in sweeping curves, almost… organic in shape. Like some rare and exotic orchids that had been bred for space travel. As with everything the Cetas did, they were elegant. Beautiful, even. Still dangerous, though; somehow you knew they were dangerous despite their beauty.

And the Celestial Tiger was indeed beautiful. It was painted—did the Cetas use anything so crude as paint?—all in blues. From deep midnight blues that almost vanished into the background blackness, to delicate arctic blues that reminded Alby of the snow at Fort Vorolson. He stared at it in wonder…

"Yeah, but can it fight?" growled one of the other officers. That brought forth laughter and the spell was broken. That was the real question, after all, wasn't it? Alby imagined that despite its beauty the ship could still be torn to bits if a gravitic imploder lance got past its defenses.

There seemed to be a number of other shuttles converging on the ship's docking bays and they had to wait. The naval officers aboard spent the time speculating whether this lump or that bump was a weapons mount or a shield emitter; Alby just enjoyed the show. Finally, it was their turn to dock and the shuttle slid into a cradle in the hanger bay.

As they debarked, Alby noticed the other shuttle from the Serg a few dozen meters away in another cradle. The last of its passengers were just unloading. He and all the other junior officers headed that way and reattached themselves to their commanders. Fetherbay raised an eyebrow when he saw him. "Everything in order now, Lieutenant?"

"Yes sir. Sorry about that."

"Try to stay out of trouble, will you?"

"I'll do my best sir." Fetherbay's expression seemed to say that he wasn't sure if Alby's best would be good enough. But he didn't say anything else and turned away.

Alby looked back at the shuttle and started in surprise. He hadn't been able to get a good look at the 'hanger bay' on the way in and now that he did, he gasped. There wasn't really any bay at all. The place looked as though it was open to the vacuum of space. Only the faint shimmer of force screens showed what was keeping the air in. As he watched, the shuttles were pushed through the screen on their cradles and then flew off. Two new shuttles were lining up in the distance to make their own approach. And in the other direction the 'bay' connected with an enormous open space, crowded with people.

"Damnation," whispered Gilchrist beside him. "I sure hope those force fields don't fail!"

"You were right," replied Alby. "They are a bunch of show-offs. It's impressive, but I'll take good solid metal bulkheads any day!"

"That's for sure! But look at this place! It's as big as Emperor Ezar's Hall at the Academy! Mostly open space, too! How can they give over this much volume to some damn reception hall—on a warship!"

"I'm thinking that the Celestial Tiger ought to be named the Paper Tiger," said Alby. "Just a hollow shell. All show and no substance."

"Well, not all show," said a navy lieutenant who had overheard them. "There's still enough ship left for a lot of other stuff. But, you are right that this thing can't be near as powerful as she looks from the outside. I bet the old Serg could take her in a fight."

"Let's hope we don't have to find out," said Alby. "Which way to the food?"

"Not sure if we're supposed to… oh, okay, here we go," said Gilchrist. A batch of Cetagandans in their blood-red dress uniforms had appeared to escort the Barrayaran contingent. The officers had the full, traditional face paint of the ghem class. The swirling patterns, which held some significance Alby didn't understand, made it very difficult to read the expressions on their faces. The enlisted men only wore a painted glyph of some sort, a unit designation, he supposed, on one cheek, but their expressions were nearly blank, just an understandable caution in the presence of dangerous former enemies and dubious current allies.

There was an exchange between the escort commander and Admiral Vorburke and Ambassador Vorpinski that Alby couldn't overhear and then the whole gaggle headed off to join the others in the enormous open space ahead of them. It really was an absurdly ostentatious thing to have on a warship. A transparent domed ceiling soared overhead showing a vast starscape. Walkways curved through formal gardens (did the Cetas have any other kind?) linking larger platforms on different levels. It was really quite lovely. Thinking back to his interrupted letter to Abbie, he felt that this was almost as good as the walk in the woods he'd been wishing for. Hundreds of other guests from the expedition, most dressed in an eye-bewildering array of military uniforms, moved about, tended by nearly an equal number of servants. The space wasn't as large as it had seemed at first, there were some clever architectural touches to make it seem bigger, but still…

The Barrayarans were escorted to one of the platforms and asked to wait there. Apparently there was going to be some sort of formal welcoming ceremony as soon as the last contingent was in place—and they were just arriving now. Servants appeared bearing drinks and Alby snagged one. The crystal glass contained a clear golden liquid that he sniffed and then sipped. "What's that?" asked Gilchrist who was eyeing his own glass of ruby-red.

"Not sure," replied Alby. "Wine, I guess. Not much kick to it."

"Well, go easy. I don't want to have to carry you home."

"You know me."

"Yeah, exactly!" Alby smirked at that. Gilchrist was senior to him but he was all right. He'd gotten to know the man at HQ before they left and now that they were rooming together they were becoming friends… sort of.

"Okay, okay, I'll… holy shit! Will you look at her!"

"What…? Oh my God…"

A party of Cetagandans was moving along a walkway just in front of them. There were a number of officers in the red uniforms, but in the center of the group were a man and a woman, wearing flowing, multi-layered robes rather than uniforms. The man had his face painted in the most elaborate patterns Alby had yet seen. The man was probably someone important, but Alby only had eyes for the woman. She was tall, and even though the walkway she was on had to be at least two meters below his own platform, it still seemed like he was looking up at her. She had an impossible cascade of space-black hair that tumbled down her shoulders and her back to trail on the floor. Her face… her face was incredible. He couldn't even begin to describe it, but it was the most stunningly beautiful face he'd ever seen. Ageless, like some immortal fairy queen. Young as spring, ancient as winter… Alby suddenly gasped for the breath he had been holding.

"One of the haut women," said Gilchrist.

"Has to be," whispered Alby in agreement.

"Close your mouth, you're drooling."

"No I'm not…! Damn!" Alby ran his hand over his mouth.

The Cetagandans stopped on a platform in the center of the chamber and the man made some sort of speech welcoming the guests and praising this unprecedented act of galactic cooperation, but Alby scarcely heard him. He couldn't take his eyes off the woman. He'd heard about them, even seen some vids of them, but they hadn't prepared him for the reality of them. The Cetagandan haut women were the stuff of legends.

The social structure of the Cetagandan Empire was very complex and only partially understood by outsiders. At the top were the haut. These were a relatively small group of genetically engineered men and women who ruled the Empire. The exact nature of their gengineering was a closely guarded secret although it obviously had produced at least one incredibly beautiful woman. Supposedly all the haut women were like that. What else their efforts might have wrought was less obvious. Long-life, yes, the emperors and empresses for whom dates of birth and death were known indicated life spans well over a hundred and fifty years, but that wasn't all that unusual among the other galactics. But as far as anyone knew there were no real supermen being produced. No immensely strong, immensely smart, telepathic super mutant hauts had ever been encountered. What, exactly, the haut were up to with their genetic manipulations was a mystery.

The other question was how the hauts maintained control over their subjects. Next on the ladder were the ghem. Alby's galactic sociology teacher at the Academy, a Polian named Glickman, had once likened the ghem to the Barrayaran Vor class. That had nearly caused a riot in the classroom and by the next semester Professor Glickman had left. But as insulting as it might seem to a Barrayaran, Alby had to admit that the comparison wasn't that outrageous. The ghem filled nearly all the officer ranks in the Cetagandan military and the upper ranks of the civil administration as well, much as the Vor had once done on Barrayar. No one was really certain if, or to what extent, the ghem's genes might have been tinkered with, but again, nothing extraordinary had ever been encountered. But it was clear that while the haut ruled, it was the ghem who actually ran the Empire and kept control of the working classes who vastly outnumbered both the haut and the ghem combined.

The ghem ruled the lower classes through force and the threat of force, but why the ghem submitted to the haut was another mystery. There were far more of the ghem and they were in command of the military and the civil government.

Or maybe it's not that much of a mystery!

Alby continued to stare at the haut woman. The man she was standing next to must be the ghem-ambassador to the expedition and she was his wife. A wife awarded to him for his service—and to ensure his continuing service. To be given a haut wife was just about the highest honor a ghem could receive. There was also the rumor that the haut controlled a horrifically powerful arsenal of biological weapons to keep the ghem in line, but from what he was seeing, Alby speculated that the carrots were probably far more effective than any stick.

"Oh to be a successful ghem!" he sighed.

"You're not kidding," agreed Gilchrist.

But the welcoming speech was over and sadly the ambassador and his wife moved away. Alby was half-tempted to follow to try and get a better look, but he restrained himself. This was ridiculous! She was just a woman, no matter how beautiful. And she belonged to someone else. He shook himself, half drained his glass, and looked around for food.

This was quickly found, provided by another swarm of servants with trays. Tiny canapés and hors d'oeuvres and little sandwiches, each one a work of art that it was almost a shame to eat. Almost. Alby gulped them down by the handful. The chow on his ship wasn't bad, but this was amazing.

Once the immediate threat of starvation was averted, he and Gilchrist began to mingle with the other guests. They were nearly all military men—oops! Wait a minute, not all of them were men. Looking closely he saw that a fair proportion of the officers here were, in fact women. Sexually mixed militaries were, by far, the rule in the Nexus. Barrayar and Cetaganda were two of the notable exceptions. Wow, it's a shame Anny isn't here! I wonder what she would think of this? He puzzled over the ranks worn on the confusing array of different uniforms, but it was clear that at least some of the women were senior officers. He smiled, visualizing Anny someday in a general's uniform. If anyone could make it happen, she could.

He was able to identify the contingents from Escobar and Pol and Vervain without any difficulty, but some of the others defeated him. Well, the Earth contingent was easy to spot simply because the variety of uniforms from its nation-states was by far the greatest in any other grouping.

"It's kilt, mon!" cried one of them suddenly. "Not a bloody sarong! A kilt!"

"Glad he clarified that," said Gilchrist. "I would have taken him for a Betan, too."

"I've never seen any Betan with a set of whiskers like those," said Alby.

"True."

Alby chatted with a few of the friendlier looking officers. Most of them seemed quite excited by the prospect of some combat on Novo Paveo. After a bit he noticed a cute female officer who wasn't talking to anyone else at the moment. He walked over and said: "Hi."

"Hi yourself," she replied, looking him up and down. "Barrayaran?"

"Yes. And you're from Earth?"

"Canada."

"That's part of Earth, right?"

"Last I checked, yes."

"Alby Vorsworth, here." He extended his hand.

"Izabella Cresswell-Jones." She took his hand and shook it. "Enjoying the circus?"

"Oh yes. When do they bring on the dancing bear and the jugglers?"

The woman laughed and her voice had a nice musical quality to it. "They really are sort of overdoing it, aren't they? The Cetas, I mean."

"That's always been their style, I guess."

"That's right, you Barrayarans have had a closer look at them than most people, haven't you?"

"I guess. It's all sort of ancient history to most of us, though. The Occupation, I mean. My grandfather fought them, but I don't think the current generation has the sort of hatred for them that his generation did."

"So you don't have a problem working with them?"

Alby shrugged. "All you Earthers have fought each other at one point or another, haven't you? It sure seemed that way in the one history course I took. And yet you're all working together now."

"True," said the woman, shrugging in turn. "But most of our wars really are ancient history, not just two generations removed."

"I'm on the staff of an infantry regiment. You?"

"Junior intelligence officer for our naval squadron."

"Ah, then we're not likely to cross paths. Pity."

"Our paths crossed here," she said, smiling. "So who knows?"

"That's true," said Alby, smiling back. "Maybe we can…"

"Hey Alby." He looked over his shoulder and there was Gilchrist.

"What?" he said, trying not frown. Find your own, dammit!

"Colonel wants us. Now."

"Drat." He looked back at Cresswell-Jones. "Sorry, gotta go."

"Duty calls. But I'm aboard the Toronto, give me a call if you have the time."

"I certainly will. See you." He reluctantly turned away and followed Gilchrist.

"I thought you had a girlfriend."

"Just being friendly. What's the Old Man want?"

"You'll see."

"That means you know something. Come on, Nate, spill it!"

"You'll see. Be patient."

Alby had no choice but to follow along as Gilchrist wove his way through the throngs of officers and servants. Eventually they reached a platform that wasn't quite so crowded. Colonel Fetherbay was waiting there, but so was Brigadier Sylvanus and General Vordanov, the overall ground forces commander, a man he recognized as Ambassador Vorpinski, several Cetagandans and… and…

"Major Vorpatril," he blurted out. Sure enough, his father's aide from before he retired was standing there. But he was in civilian clothes and had a striking woman on his arm who looked strangely familiar.

"Not 'major' anymore, Lieutenant," said Vorpatril with a smile. "Finished my twenty years about six months ago."

"He's just Lord Ivan Xav now," said the woman. "Deputy Counsel Lord Ivan Xav to be exact."

"Oh, I see," said Alby. "Uh, congratulations, sir."

"Thanks. And this is my wife, Tej. Tej, this is Alby Vorsworth, the General's son. I think you might have seen him at Vorkosigan House once or twice."

"Oh, of course. How is your father these days, Alby?" asked the woman.

Yes, that's where he'd seen her before. "Uh, actually, not so good, I'm afraid. He's not handling retirement too well."

"Oh dear, sorry to hear that."

Alby shrugged, but before he could think of a reply, Ambassador Vorpinski broke in. "Gentlemen, ladies, as Ghem-Ambassador Driden said a short while ago, this expedition is an unprecedented experiment in galactic cooperation. One aspect of that cooperation that has not been widely talked about—at least on Barrayar—is the agreement for an officer-exchange program."

Officer exchange! thought Alby in shock. Omigod, they aren't planning to send me off somewhere…?

"This will not only allow the forces of the expedition to work together more efficiently as we learn each other's operating procedures," continued Vorpinski, "but it will foster a sense of camaraderie among the troops. We have all agreed that this is a good thing."

Why didn't they warn me? But wait, Nate certainly knows something! Maybe they aren't…

"We will be sending off a half-dozen of our young officers to some of the other contingents. Lieutenant Gilchrist has graciously volunteered to spend some time with our Cetagandan allies. "Thank you, Lieutenant!" Vorpinski nodded at Gilchrist.

"My pleasure, sir. I look forward to the opportunity."

Nate, you rat! Why didn't you tell me? But then what am I doing here?

At Vorpinski's gesture, the Cetagandans stepped forward. One was a general, if Alby was reading the complicated rank insignia correctly. The other was the equivalent of a major. The third was much younger and just a lieutenant—or something.

"Ghem-General Olan, may I present Lieutenant Nathaniel Gilchrist of the 61st Imperial Infantry." Gilchrist came to attention and saluted crisply.

The Cetagandan simply nodded in return. "Welcome to my staff, Lieutenant. I hope that you will find the experience… interesting."

"I'm sure I will, sir."

"Ghem-Force-Leader Jenow will acquaint you with your duties." Olan indicated the mid-ranking officer. "And now, in exchange I present you with Ghem-Platoon-Chief Benin. He is a son of the head of security of the Celestial Garden itself. I trust you will take good care of him." The young Cetagandan stepped up, clicked his heels together and bowed stiffly to Vorpinski.

"Ah, yes," said Vorpinski. "Welcome Ghem-Platoon-Chief, your father's reputation is well-known. We have given some thought as to who should be your… host while you are with us." He glanced toward Alby.

Oh God, no…

"This is Lieutenant Albustus Vorsworth. He comes from a long line of exceptional officers. His father was head of our Operations Center until he retired just recently."

"The Vorsworths are known to us," said Olan. "This is acceptable."

"Excellent," said Vorpinski. "Lieutenant, say hello to your new roommate."

[Scene Break]

Ivan grinned at the look on Vorsworth's face. The young man looked completely gobsmacked, but managed to stammer out some sort of reply. His colonel took charge of him and Benin and moved off with them. The exchange ceremony was over so Ivan took Tej's arm and headed away in search of a few more of those incredible little canapés they'd been serving. "Having fun?" he asked Tej.

"Oh yes," she replied, "This is simply amazing. I begin to see why my grandmother was so annoyed at being sent away from the Celestial Garden."

"Yeah, I guess Barrayar, Komarr, and even Earth probably seemed a bit drab in comparison." As improbable as it seemed, Tej's grandmother was one of the haut women. My children will have haut blood in them…

"You've actually seen some of the Celestial Garden, how does this compare?"

"That was almost twenty years ago, Tej. Miles saw a lot more of it than I did and I was… distracted a lot. But yeah, this brings back a few memories." Hell of a thing to stick on a warship, though!

"You said that you've met that young officer's father?"

"Briefly. He was just a colonel then, although as a result of Miles' little adventure he was promoted to general."

"How about his mother?"

"No, never met her. And I gather that this kid's mother is one of Dag's first wives. He's since been awarded a haut-lady and has been cranking out a few new sons. This poor sod is just an also-ran now, I'd wager."

"Oh dear. Do you suppose that angers him?"

"Hard to say. The whole Cetagandan class system is so confusing. His father's status is elevated by the haut-wife, which will elevate his status, too, but he'll always be junior to these new sons even though he's a lot older. Or so I guess." He spotted a servant with a full tray and snagged a few of the treats it bore and handed one to Tej.

They walked for a bit, taking in the kaleidoscope display of uniforms. It still felt strange to not be wearing one himself.

"Do you miss it, Ivan Xav?" asked Tej.

"Miss what?"

"Being a soldier?"

"Of course not!"

"Yes you do. I can tell by the way you look at the other officers. The way you keep almost saluting generals and such."

"Well, maybe a little. Twenty years of habit doesn't get erased overnight. But I'm still happy to be done with it all, at last."

"Good. But this is quite an amazing display. I never dreamed there could be so many different uniforms! It's like some sort of martial fashion show!"

"Yeah," chuckled Ivan. "Half of these I have no clue…" he paused, catching sight of one uniform he did recognize. Well, well, well… He headed in the direction of a batch of officers all wearing light gray uniforms. He looked around but didn't see any familiar faces. Maybe he was wrong…

"Well hello, Ivan," said a voice from behind him. "Fancy meeting you here."

He turned and there was the person he'd been looking for. A tallish woman with dark hair and a strikingly beautiful face.

"Oh, uh, hi, Elli," he managed to say.

"It's been a while," said the woman.

"You know this… person, Ivan Xav?" asked Tej, who was frowning.

"Just… professionally. Tej, dear, let me introduce Admiral Elli Quinn, commander of the Dendarii Free Mercenaries."