Chapter I (pretty much done)

I

The study was relatively small. Near the back was an old style writing desk. Paper was not commonly used in this advanced age, but nevertheless papers littered the top. Many were scrawled with advanced mathematics equations in an almost indecipherable handwriting. With a keen eye, one may have been able to discern the trend of analytic number theory, the author’s favorite facet of the subject. Practically none of this was very applicable to reality. There were also a few drawings done in pencil. It may have been possible to see the artist’s handwriting in the drawings, but it would have been difficult. The sketches, while simple and of only medium detail, demonstrated much thought, most of them being deeply and profoundly symbolic. Almost as if a side note, there were a few pieces outlining naval strategies and battle tactics, though these actually represented the most useful aspect of the author’s talent. On top of some number theory papers was a chess board. The white pieces were made out of a beautiful ivory grown through genetic engineering without the elephant, and the black pieces were highly polished ebony. The pieces still as they had been at the end of the last game. White had won in thirty three turns, checkmating the black king against his own pawns through a discovered check with the knight and rook.

Paintings were hung on each of the walls. All were landscapes, and painted in the style of the Romantics. One, hanging to the left of a door directly across from the desk, depicted a placid lake blanketed in pre-dawn fog and surrounded by tree covered mountains bathing in the first golden light of day. On the right hand side of the door was a collision of land and sea. Sharp rocks jutted up though the surface of the water as the waves crashing into them strove to erode them back to nothing. On the left wall, there was a very large window. Out this window, one sitting at the desk could stare off into space and lose oneself in thought. A number of miles of plains covered in a moderately thick November snow stretched off to the West, broken by occasional stands of aspen. Farther in the distance, the scattered groves merged into a forest, stretching on for many more miles. The forest was dense with rivers and streams and contained a few very large lakes. Although there was no evidence of their existence visible from this window, from late spring to autumn, meadows of beautiful wildflowers, some as large as a few square miles, existed in the forests. A few miles more, and the forest gave way to some flats. A large river, into which the various streams in the area flowed, fertilized the soil in this area. Willows and a few cottonwoods grew here. When the area received unusual amounts of rain, these flats would flood. Next, towering peaks jutted up from the land, the rocky faces of which were characterized by numerous harsh angles. Even in mid-August snow remained on the summits, almost all of which were above the timberline. The sun had just slipped behind the mountains, and, at certain angles, one could see the last light reflected off the snow. The peaks of the mountains, like monarchs, were crowned by clouds, which in turn were jeweled with the majestic colors of sunset. The only sight more spectacular was sunrise.

Opposite the window, on the right wall, was another door, and beside it a bookshelf with many texts, some ancient, some modern. These were selections kept close at hand for convenience rather than in a larger private library. There were a few chess books, a few math books, and a few military books, but the majority appealed more to imagination and emotion than such useful volumes. Practicality is all but never called art, deserving or not. The works of Earth were particularly cherished, these artifacts from civilization’s infancy, before humanity had even outgrown its planet of origin. From a section devoted to Shakespeare a book was missing.

Through the door on the right was a bedroom. More paintings adorned the walls, serenity here a more prevalent theme than grandeur. On a nightstand lay King Lear, a classic being read again despite countless preceding readings.

The man ultimately created from the intersection of all the proclivities represented by the objects described was an impressive one. Commodore Sean Charles Kent’s home, to which the rooms previously described belonged, was located on a planet shared by many of those favored by their government, including most of the higher ranking military officers. By thus limiting the population, the planet retained much of its beauty, and residence was an excellent reward for service to the nation.

The forests and mountains visible out the window in the study belonged to a national park. If it did not have this protected status, Sean would doubtlessly live a number of miles closer. As it was, permanent residence was forbidden, but he did own a charmingly modest cabin in the park that he could spend time living in.

The Augustonian Empire was now once again at peace, so the Commodore was at home. Because of the Augustonian involvement in the Plontian wars, he had spent little time at his home since it was bestowed upon him. Commodore Kent and I, the Captain of the flagship of Kent’s seven-ship division, Captain Alexei Yachovich, were both in another room down the hall from the study. Here there was a grand piano, at which I sat while Sean played his violin. Earlier, the Commodore and I had been playing chess. We were now around a third of the way through the first movement of Beethoven’s Sonata for Violin and Piano no. 4.

Sean was an ideal product of his home planet’s eugenics program. Physically, he represented the average Homo Provectus, the subspecies name given the output of such programs. He was six feet two inches tall and had a somewhat athletic build. His hair had been a sandy blonde, but had quickly begun to brown since he’d joined the navy. His eyes were an icy blue not incapable of thawing, and were incessantly moving. His mental faculties were where he excelled. The Commodore was a preoccupied man, his mind almost never remaining in the present. Through his auricular implants he was nearly always listening to classical music. Meanwhile, he’d be groping with philosophical pursuits or perfecting the proof of some theorem.

Kent and I had been friends since our teen years. We were raised on the same planet, went to school together, and eventually enlisted together. His family was native to the planet. Mine had immigrated from the Feraustan Empire a few generations back. Around the time we enlisted, we had also both joined the Imperial Philharmonic. Over time, I made my way up to being the First Imperial Pianist; Sean attaining the position of Principle Violinist of the Imperial Orchestra. Through these appointments we both became acquainted with the emperor.

Both of us were a little young for our ranks, relatively speaking. Kent made Commander a little before me and had been my senior since then. Commodore was, in the Augustonian Navy, a permanent rank, and Sean was quite proud of attaining it. He had done so just before being sent to fight in the Plontian wars, directly after a victory over a number of pirates. During this battle he had won a medal for leadership and valor, and this had exposed him again to the Emperor.

After their first few meetings, Emperor Priscus, who was still rather young himself, had judged Kent to be a character worth knowing, and the two had become good friends. Currently, in celebration of the initial success of the United Galactic Confederacy, the Feraustan Emperor was holding a very large ball, and the executives of all member nations had been invited to attend and also to bring a number of guests of their own. Among the guests to be attending with the Augustonian Emperor was Commodore Kent. At Sean’s request, I also obtained an invitation. Also, when Emperor Priscus had asked a favor of Feraustan Emperor Tullius, Kent was allowed to play as the principle violinist during a few orchestral works for the ball, along with two violin sonatas, which he would be performing with me. One of these was Beethoven’s fourth, and for this we had been rehearsing.

The Commodore and I would arrive together with the rest of the division as our escort. Proud as Kent was, he was at the same time opposed to an excess of vanity and disliked this sort of entrance, as I did. Military officers of the rank commodore and higher were given ships for their personnel use modeled after their command ships, but without the weaponry. There would neither be so many quarters, and the command section would be set up differently. Public facilities would be smaller, but other than this, the ships were very similar. Kent’s private ship was the Ad Planetae. Its engines, armor, artificial intelligence, and officer’s quarters were all equivalent to the ANS Ad Astra, but Tullius still preferred that we arrive in a warship.

I should mention here that although between the private, government-bought luxury ship and the beautiful residence on a somewhat private planet, it probably seems as if military officers were rather spoiled, but this was not the case. Quality of life was very high, but not exceptionally high. This was an era of almost unimaginably abundant resources and cheap, mechanized production of quality goods, including ships, making such things relatively inexpensive.

Since we would be arriving together, it obviously made sense to leave together, and since we would be leaving together, it also made sense to get together earlier to rehearse and prepare.

It was finally time to board the ships and leave for the Feraustan capital. This trip would take a couple hours. The Flagship, my ship, was the Augustonian Naval Ship Ad Astra, or simply the ANS Ad Astra. The officer’s quarters of the ship were near the command section. This was where the main bridge, fighter command, weapons systems command, defensive systems command, propulsion systems command, and sensor and cloak command were located, and finally, on the flag ship, a division command room, where the Commodore issued orders to the other ships under his command. However, this proximity was somewhat unnecessary since all these were accessible via the mass particle translation system integrated within the ship’s computer system, which could effectively teleport a person to anywhere with an MPT device, given they knew the respective MPT security code.

When the ships were sufficiently close together, a person could also use the MPT system to travel to another ship in the division. The division under the command of Commodore Kent consisted of seven ships, each of these with its own Captain, of course, including the flagship. Though the Commodore was also present on the flagship, the senior captain was in charge of managing the actions of the actual ship while the Commodore coordinated the entire division. In each ship, a commander would be in charge of the fighter command, weapons systems command, and defensive systems command, and serve as the executive officer on the ship. A Lieutenant Commander would also be present in each department, including in those assigned a full Commander, and other lesser officers would be present in a logical manner under these.

Massive fleets of over a hundred ships existed in these times, and these were commanded by, of course, Admirals, with even higher ranking Admirals coordinating these fleets. The fleets were divided into squadrons, commanded by Rear Admirals, and the squadrons into divisions, under the command of Commodores like Kent.

Just before we left, Sean stepped outside. After a few moments, I followed him. “What’re you doing?” I couldn’t help but wonder aloud.

He turned slowly to face me. Though he may have been unaware of my presence, he didn’t seem startled. “You know. I’m taking a few last breaths of real atmosphere.” This was a custom of his, but seemed silly, since we weren’t going out on a patrol for a few months or anything like that. I reminded him of this.

“Oh, yes,” he acknowledged. “Well, it feels the same. The last time I left this house, it was a year before I saw it again.” I nodded. I don’t think he was very enthusiastic about the ball.

“It’s a sweet sort of sadness, this atmosphere here. It’s the loneliness. Sweet, because it’s born of one’s love of fellow humans, but it’s a sadness none the less,” I sighed. “A person can taste it in the frost in the air.”

“It is sweet,” he agreed. I couldn’t understand why he lived the way he did.

“So is the ocean breeze,” I suggested. He merely shook his head. After one last, long breath, he headed to reenter the house.

We MPTed up to the flag ship. Sean’s quarters were located on the far left side of the ship and contained a study built exactly like his study at home, but, on the left, the window could be closed and the space replaced by a painting of the mountains outside his window at home. The Commodore invited me in to look out the window, as if I was leaving my home and not his. I lived a few hundred miles south, in a beautiful house on a beautiful beach, and I disliked the colder climate here, but I must say, the view out the window was spectacular. The sun was no longer visible, but the two moons were out. Both were crescents, one larger than the other. The smaller was barely a sliver of silver light. The streams through the woodland stretching west reflected their light like beautiful silk lace running through the forests.

It would take us a bit over two standard hours to make the journey, our destination being a few light years away. Modern ships used a series of orbiting black holes in their warpdrives to generate large gravitational waves, moving outward at the speed of light. The ship would “surf” on these waves, meanwhile propelling itself forward at around ninety percent of the speed of light, the whole time generating more waves. This contracted the real distance and made interstellar travel possible. The more complicated problem was time dilation, but with a sufficiently powerful artificial gravity generator, this could be overcome as well.

I decided to pass some of the time chatting with Charlotte, the ship’s AI. I walked down the hall to my own suite, the second largest on the ship, and sat down in a comfortable chair in the study adjacent to my bedroom, putting my feet up on the desk.

“You there, Charlotte?”

“I am omnipresent.” I could hear the smile in her voice. The personality drives of such computers as her were modeled after the human brain. Negative characteristics were avoided, and other values were randomized, producing distinct, likeable results.

My study was dimly lit, but it had a warm, cozy feeling to it. Over the course of our friendship, I had allowed some of Sean’s nostalgia to rub off on me. The light came from an ancient sort of lamp sitting on my desk. It used an incandescent bulb that was hung upside-down from the shade. The shade itself was made of thin leather (made from bovine dermis cells grown independently from the organism itself), and was stretched over the bulb in two layers, the lower one of which expanded out, approaching the shape of a plane. This structure was suspended from a wire curled into a circle at its base, then curving upward and then down again, into the shape of an upside-down hook. The lamp swayed freely whenever the ship experienced any acceleration, the shadow swinging all over the walls.

“Well, we’ve got a trip ahead of us, and I don’t have any military plans to be reviewing.”

“Perhaps you should be reviewing social plans instead,” was the joking reply.

“I’m insulted! I do fine socially, thank you. This ball may end up being more diplomacy-centered anyway. And, besides that, I’ll be performing a bit, so that’ll get me away from the dance floor, not that I have any impairment there either.”

“I could dispute all of those assertions, but I’m not feeling disposed to such petty debate at the moment, and am a little bored myself. Why don’t you play the guitar? I’m in the mood for some music.”

I grumbled about how computers were incapable of being in the mood for music or being bored, but I acquiesced, desiring some music myself. I lazily lowered my feet, walked to the other corner of the study where my guitar case lay, withdrew the instrument, returned to my previous position, and began strumming.

“You know, computers do have emotions,” Charlotte suggested.

I rolled my eyes, and in an attempt to annoy her, began singing a folk tune in Ukrainian, a dead language I didn’t think the AI knew until she started singing along.

I stopped playing. “Your key’s off,” I accused.

Charlotte laughed. “You’re only annoyed by the fact that I not only know Ukrainian, but I also know that song. I can play it as well.” I was immediately surrounded by enrapturing singing accompanied by bandura music.

I sighed. “My mother suggested that I learn the bandura, but I chose the guitar instead. Your performance was good, but it lacked real spirit that only a human can give it.”

“Nonsense,” she declared, scoffing. “Your ‘spirit’ is only deviation from perfection. ‘Spirit’ comes from the unique mistakes of the performer, making the performance individual and memorable. Such small mistakes can be programmed into a computer easily, and generated randomly.” I was next subjected to a chorus and soloist singing Chervona Kalyna along with amazing instrumental accompaniment.

When the performance had ended, I shook my head and began to play to myself again.

“Sometimes I wonder what it’s like to be a computer. You must miss so much, like colors, for instance.”

“Your shirt is black.”

“You can analyze wavelength and luminosity and sort the data into categories to match what humans see. It’s not the same. You don’t actually see the color.”

“It’s just the same as what you do. You just don’t do it consciously. Computers are exactly the same as people, except we have more processing capacity, more memory, we’re more reliable, et cetera, and, most importantly, we are completely self-aware, unlike you. You don’t even understand how your own brain works until you’ve taken neurology courses at your schools. You do the same thing I do when you see color, but you aren’t aware of it.”

“Well, you’re right. It is the illusory aspect of life is what makes us human. Still, you miss out on the self-deceit of it all. Experiences seem more… meaningful this way.”

“Fine, true enough, but, even you must realize that you’ve implied the sad conclusion that meaning requires self-deceit and is, thus, illusory and non-existent itself. I am sorry to crush your idealism like this. Anyway, as a computer, I’ll take self-awareness over actual life – if that even exists – any day. You do at least concede that we’re capable of emotion, don’t you?”

“Oh, I suppose so. But with the self-awareness, it can’t be the same. Maybe even similar, but certainly not the same.” I allowed my eyes to drift closed. “Charlotte, please make me a coffee.”

“Black?”

“This is Alexei, not Sean. I want cream and sugar.”

“The object MPT is in the main room. You’ll have to bring yourself to walk out there to get it.”

“You’ve got fine-tuned gravitational manipulation. You can float it in here for me.”

“It may not be that precise.”

“I’m the captain. Give it a shot.”

The delivery was successful with only the most minor spill.

Later, as Alexei goes to mess hall, where he talks with enlisted soldier to be inserted (named Paul I think).

During most of the trip, Sean remained alone in his study. Passing by, I could hear Beethoven’s Concerto for Violin and Orchestra. This was being played by the AI’s simulated orchestra, though it was really quite impossible to tell the difference between this and a real one. Sean was playing along as the soloist. This was, I believe, his favorite piece. He would be playing it during the ball, but I think perhaps he was playing it now more out of love of the music than in preparation of the performance.

For those who could and wished to sleep in the palace after the ball, accommodations were made, and, because we fit into such a group, we were assigned rooms, but we could not access these until shortly before the ball began, and so, like most of the other guests, and there were several hundred of them, we had decided to arrive early and mill about in the Feraustan capital city for an hour or two before entering the very large Imperial Palace, where the ball would be held. First, though, we met with Emperor Priscus. After a brief welcome, he and Commodore Kent talked for a bit while I excused myself to practice a few sonatas I would be performing. Finally, it was time for the ball. We entered the grounds of the Feraustan Imperial Palace.

The gate was of obsidian, which leant a somewhat intimidating, almost frightening look. It was like an allusion to the absolute power of the Feraustan Emperor. Past this, one’s eye immediately went to the grand main palace. It was seven main stories, two underground, five above. There were five stunning towers of dizzying height. This building was a square, with a tower at each corner, and what was truly a spire in the center, spiraling into the clouds. What was most amazing was that all this, including the spire, which was probably two hundred fifty stories high, was made of stone. It was, of course, reinforced with energy shields on the inside, but in such a way that none of this was visible, which was quite impressive.

The entrance to the ball was not very organized. Everyone bustled in at once. At the same time, however, security was not lax, and the process, already inconvenient due to the crowd, was further convolved when it was discovered that a number of guests from the Augustonian Empire – Sean and I were not alone – were armed! At each of our waists was a small hilt, as if to a sword. And they were swords; gravity swords. The weapon created a concentrated spatial distortion field that forced mass apart without resistance, though the inertia of the blade was simulated to make it easier to control. The only defenses for the weapon were special artificial gravity generators that counteracted the effect and resisted the blade and the sword itself. A computer in the hilt could detect when another blade was colliding with its own, and it automatically created a counter field to resist the foreign blade, so the weapon functioned much like a conventional sword. These gave off an amount of visible radiation for the sole purpose of making them easier to use, but when necessary for stealth, this light could be turned off, even when the blade was activated.

This was an Augustonian technology. In fact, they were used almost exclusively by Augustonian naval officers. Skill with a gravity sword was a sort of unofficial rite of passage for us. Parallel to commissioned officer ranks were officially acknowledged levels of gravity sword expertise, and it was customary for an officer to keep these two ranks comparable, with mastery ultimately being attained at the rank of Commodore.

Given the sword’s mostly ceremonial use, during peacetime it was not, at least among Augustonians, considered a weapon, but more of a status symbol. Unlike the previously isolationist Feraustans, the Augustonians were exquisitely proud of their military, seen almost ironically as the physical manifestation of the nation’s love of peace. The military had two major branches, each with a number of sub-branches. These were the navy and the army. The navy played the role it always had in history, this being fighting in territory inaccessible to soldiers on foot (this now meaning space rather than water) and transporting troops. But spaceships could enter atmosphere, while the navies of water could not stray onto land. So warships would be present over large military bases, fighting for control of the planet. This increased adaptability boosted the navy to a sort of perceived superiority over the army, though all acknowledged the fact that the army was no less essential. So naval officers were a sort of upper class, and during peacetime the symbol of this higher class, the gravity sword, was absolutely always worn to formal occasions, as this ball was. Unfortunately, this custom did not exist in other nations, and the gravity swords were seen as weapons rather than status symbols. At first we were prohibited from entering the palace with them, but Priscus and Tullius managed to sort the confusion out.

Everything was underway and on schedule by 2000 hours, local time. Kent was already griping, as I’d been expecting. While he was not lacking in the grace and elegance generally intrinsic at an occasion such as this, he was not at all social. He was a sort of stately recluse, as was in part evident from where he lived. One could go months there without seeing another person.

“But I’m not ‘of the people,’ nor do I want to be. Solitude is underrated. Solitude is peace. It is calm and quite and conducive to thought of the profundities of nature. Such a night as this I would cherish at home, in the cabin. I may play Sibelius’s violin concerto with the computer orchestra, work on the Ulam Spiral, or read some Tolstoy with a good string quartet playing, or maybe I’d let the wind through the trees make its own music. Perhaps even the wolves would join in.”

“Sibelius? Ulam? Tolstoy? You justify reclusiveness with eruditeness?”

He rolled his eyes and continued. “There’s nothing wrong with this palace of course. It’s nice enough, but there’re too many people. While I’m stuck here, do you know what that cottage I’ve got in the park will be like? That’s where I’d be spending the night tonight, you know. Dawn is only perhaps an hour away there right now. In the morning those three cottonwoods in front of the cabin will be covered in ice, and that little creak around the side that’s so noisy in the summer will be frozen in its bed. The early morning sun will reflect off of it. Across the flats a few miles, the glaciers on the mountains in the west will be catching the early morning’s golden light. But instead I’m here, in the midst of this swarm of ‘nobility’. What makes them so noble? The moose that graze on the willows to the North of my cabin are noble.”

“Come now. You’re twenty four. Don’t speak so wearily of this life,” I counseled.

“Should I be less than I am, then, because I’ve not accumulated enough years to justify my thoughts? Shall I let my age dominate me?”

I could already sense one of his storms brewing. He was a peculiar man. I decided to try to move away from the subject. “You mentioned the moose browsing on the willows north of your cottage. But it’s winter.”

“Well, you know what I mean. They’re there during the spring and summer. They don’t need to be there now for me to mention them.” He sighed. “We’ve only been back a couple months. Maybe I don’t have the time of year through my head yet,” he winked.

Now we were moving in a less volatile direction. “Well, you know the problem would be averted if you lived in a place like I do. Summer all year! Give me the tropics over your frozen wasteland any day.”

He visibly shuddered at the proposition. I don’t think he’d lived anywhere with an average yearly temperature over sixty degrees in his life. My theory was that he’d melt. As little tolerance as I had for the cold, he had less for the heat.

I continued. “Yes, I’d be sitting out on my patio right now, watching the marram grass sway with the gentle breeze. It’d be a nice, comfortable ninety degrees, the sun would be low in the sky, and I’d be sipping my piña colada. And do you know what one of the best parts about living there is? There are other people! There’s occasion to interact with other members of humanity!”

He shook his head. “No, those are all reasons why I wouldn’t live there. I’ll take solitude.”

We’d now returned to the original topic of conversation. “But surely you get lonely. I think what you lack is a better half, eh? You know, this could be the place to remedy that. Did you know Feraustan Princess Irene is here? You could be a prince!”

I was thoroughly enjoying this now. At my suggestion, Sean’s eyes seemed to bug out of his head. “I don’t think so,” he stammered.

I began to laugh. After a few seconds, Sean joined me. Then, all of a sudden, from the crowd around us, emerged the subject of my joke, Princess Irene.

“Hello, gentlemen,” she greeted us. “Commodore Kent and Captain Yachovich, I presume. You are the foreign musicians to perform here for my father’s guests?” Sean had been practicing a bit in the room reserved for him in the palace and still had his violin with him. This seemed to be how she had identified us as the “foreign musicians”.

Again, as reclusive as Sean was, he was indeed a gentleman, and responded with a low bow, and then, “Yes, madam. You have identified us correctly. I am Commodore Sean Charles Kent. I’ll be performing as principle violinist for a few pieces with violin solo. And this is my senior-most officer, Captain Alexei Yachovich, who be giving you all his best attempt at a few piano sonatas, and then we’ll play some violin sonatas together.”

She nodded. “A few moments ago, you were laughing. I appreciate a good joke as much as anyone else. What was it?”

“Oh, it was just a bit of a quip Alexei made at both your expense and mine, but mostly yours,” Sean explained.

I pride myself at being quick on my feet, and came up with what I thought was a credible addition immediately. “I said that when he plays Beethoven’s op. 40 he may sound halfway decent by comparison, since your Feraustan musicians are sure to be so inferior to ours. They only rehearsed together three times, digitally, with holograms. You must excuse my jest.”

I shall here mention that such limited rehearsal was not unheard-of now. The reason for this was the same reason that allowed Sean and I to be naval commanders, swordsman, and musicians. A good nano-technician could bestow virtuosity for relatively little expense. A commitment to practice remained necessary, but not to the same extent. This was likewise why foreign language classes could make a student fluent after a single semester of only mildly intense study. Modern biotechnology enabled humanity to be far more than it used to be.

Princess Irene laughed at my attempted explanation, and said, “You should not be lying to royalty. It’s been known to be bad for one’s health to do so in the past, you know. But if you won’t tell me, you won’t tell me. Don’t worry; you won’t be beheaded this time.”

Both of us were a bit surprised by her perspicacity, but she did not seem inclined to linger on the matter.

“Commodore Kent, when is it you’ll be playing Beethoven’s first Violin Romance?”

It was also somewhat impressive that the princess knew so well the works of a classical composer by opus number, as classical music was not extraordinarily popular anymore. I reminded myself that it was a little more common in the Feraustan Empire than in other nations.

“Oh, that won’t be for a while. I will be playing the Schumann violin concerto in half an hour though, and I should probably practice.” With this semi-truth as his excuse, Kent excused himself from the presence of royalty.

Suddenly, a somewhat loud, almost rhythmic patter could be heard on the roof and walls of the palace. It had begun to rain.

Noticing the time, I decided I could get away with following Sean’s example, and informed the Princess that I was to perform a piano sonata in fifteen minutes. Both our performance times had been accurate, but neither of us really intended to practice just before we were to play. Sean had been practicing most of the afternoon, and I’d spent sufficient time with the keyboard in the previous few hours to be confident. Kent was not what one would call shy, but he had obviously been uncomfortable. I found him in the concert hall section of the palace, which was not really a concert hall, but simply a very large room with a stage and three walls where people were expected not to chat. Because it was open, lacking a third wall separating it from the rest of the palace, people could move in or out of it as they wished.

Sean was leaning up against the wall, with one ear pressed up against it, so that he could hear the rain better. A love of weather most would consider dreary was yet another of his oddities. It seemed to inspire a sort of serenity in him.

It was already time for me play. As soon as I was finished, Kent would play Schumann’s Concerto for Violin and Orchestra in D minor. When I was halfway through the first movement, I glanced up and noticed Sean still against the wall, tapping out the rhythm of the sonata. This inspired me to put a little more heart into the music, and my friend reacted accordingly. He opened his eyes, which had thus far been closed, looked up, and smiled.

At the end of my performance, the Feraustan Imperial Philharmonic began preparing to play. Sean picked up his violin and walked coolly up on stage. He played well, but never quite as well as when he was playing Beethoven.

When the concerto ended, dinner was served. In the dining room, we noticed Commodore James Stewart, a friend who served in the same squadron as Sean and I, and whom we’d known since shortly after joining the service. He had also been chosen by the Emperor to come as a guest. Because he was not part of the same division, however, he had arrived separately, and we had not seen him until we finally located him for dinner. There were all sorts of delicacies of many cultures made available, as the attendees represented many cultures. To start things off, Emperor Tullius raised a toast to the success of the new United Galactic Confederacy. I requested a shredded-beef burrito, a chicken enchilada, and refried beans. When Sean saw what I’d ordered, he burst out laughing. On his very large plate lay a Commodore’s feast indeed; there were steamed snow crabs, boiled scallops and shrimp, and a baked tilapia, and if I knew Sean, he was going to get more once he’d finished this. At home, he usually ate game he’d killed, mashed potatoes, corn, biscuits, cottage cheese and vegetable soup – “Foods I can enjoy all the time, and without getting tired of them,” he’d explained. Although he loved seafood, and it was available at any time thanks to modern technology, he only ate it on occasion, to appreciate it more.

The wine selection available was impressive. I rarely drank, and when I did it was usually not wine, but Sean styled himself a connoisseur, and he’d had more than a few refills of his glass by the end of the meal. He didn’t show it as much as another might have, but he did show it. I was surprised no one stopped him from drinking so much, considering he had a few performances left, including a few with me. I decided to start humming “Drunken Sailor,” though people in the navy weren’t really sailors anymore. I’d hoped Kent would get the hint, or that Stewart would get the hint that I wanted him to say something, but neither did. I’d suggested in the past that he drink less or altogether stop so many times that I knew he’d never listen to me. Instead, I started swapping his wine with orange juice. His reaction to the discovery was very funny, and to my joy, I found that, to humor the anonymous prankster, he drank orange juice for the rest of the meal.

Directly following dinner was the performance of Brahms’ Symphony no. 3, in which neither of us participated, but after it, we would be performing Brahms’ Sonata for Violin and Piano no. 3. In the mean time, we milled about in the concert hall. Sean was not as reclusive as before, striking up conversations with a few people we didn’t know in the crowd. His speech was only mildly slurred. I hoped his playing would be likewise, if not better.

A little before we were due back on stage, we happened upon Irene again. Sean began talking with her.

“Oh, hello again, Your Grace,” he was saying. “I’ll be performing that piece in about half an hour, you know. Yes, opus forty, that’s what it was.”

The Princess nodded. “I’ll be waiting to see if you shame our orchestra as much as your friend suggested earlier.”

“Shame you? Oh, I don’t know. Did Alexei say that? Well then he really did insult you. His opinion of my playing, you see, doesn’t seem to be all that high.” Friendly feigned criticality of each other’s playing was a bit of a joke between us. In truth, we had plenty of respect for each other.

“I certainly hope you perform it well. It’s among my favorite pieces,” Irene said. “I’m fairly confident our orchestra will do fine. We’re not all that inept.”

This prompted Sean, feeling far more sociable than before, to flit to another topic. “Do you know, when Alexei and I were entering the ball, your guards wouldn’t let us in with our gravity swords?” He took his out and showed it to her. I was mortified at the prospect of him activating it. Thankfully, he did not. “I earned my master level qualification with two days after making Commodore,” he stated proudly. “As if I’m too irresponsible to handle a weapon with which I’ve trained for ten years!”

“A master swordsman and violinist! What other qualifications do you hold?”

“Principle violinist of the Augustonian Imperial Philharmonic, master gravity

swordsmen, commanding officer of a naval combat division – that’s my specialty – and also commanding officer of a naval invasion division. Oh, and, should the circumstances be sufficiently dire, I am qualified to conduct an orchestra, as is inherent in the first qualification I listed.”

I made a point of shuddering at this. I was glad but, in truth, not all too surprised to see that he had retained his characteristic wit. “Dire indeed is the day that sees you conducting,” I added, poking customary fun at him.

This seemed to give Irene a new idea. “After the Romance, you, Captain Yachovich, will be playing Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto no. 3, no?” I affirmed that this was true. “Well, why doesn’t the good Commodore conduct? Are you familiar with that piece, Commodore Kent?” He was reasonably familiar with it; it was a well known piece. “Excellent! We can disprove Yachovich’s slander of you while he performs with you!” she exclaimed. When she said “excellent,” I could not help but imagine some villain smiling sadistically and rubbing her hands together as some evil scheme progressed.

The conversation continued for a time. Eventually, Irene could restrain her curiosity no more, and asked, “Do I smell orange juice?”

Sean smiled. “You do. It’s a great beverage. And I hope you’ll still have some applesauce in a few hours; I always eat some before bed.”

“Ahh, eccentricities! The mark of an individual.”

Sean’s rendition of the Romance went rather well. He played smoothly, sadly, flowingly, until just fifteen bars before the end. The sempre staccato section was over, but he was still playing well up in the fifth position range. The slur was broken, interrupted by a spluttering spiccato. I knew why.

Sean had been startled by a message from the Central Augustonian Naval Command. I had been too. It was not really his fault. But more important than an interrupted performance was the content of the message. The division of Commodore Sean Kent was to report immediately to the following coordinates… to settle with force a disturbance in the following colony of the following honored ally of the Empire. What was this about? Why were Augustonian forces being sent to the aid of another nation? Couldn’t this country control its own colonies? Ahh, but we were all one now. To Tullius! It still seemed odd that a decorated Augustonian Commodore was being called out of his liberty to fight in a brief foreign conflict, which was, as far as we could tell, relatively insignificant.

Kent finished up his performance. There was confused applause. I’d never seen Sean embarrassed before, and he wasn’t now. He either meant to do what he’d done, in which case there was no call for embarrassment, or what had happened was beyond his control, and there remained no call for embarrassment. After hastily bowing a couple times, Sean walked quickly off the stage and shamelessly sought out Emperor Priscus, who was talking with Emperor Tullius. Tullius was something like twice Priscus’s age, but the two treated each other as equals. Priscus was only three years older than Sean and me, and was still a bachelor, while Tullius had been married for about as long as Priscus had been alive. They seemed rather engaged in their discussion, but Priscus, always forgiving, did not seem to mind the interruption.

After another bow and addressing him as “Your Majesty,” the complaint began.

“Patience, Commodore. It was a mistake, I’m sure, quite possibly my fault for not setting your status to ‘executive mandated leave’.” The emperor excused himself from the nobles with whom he’d been talking and contacted Naval Command. After a few moments, he returned to Kent.

“You were contacted by NUDAI, with whom I’m sure you’re familiar. The computer has the effective rank of a fleet admiral. It was not a glitch in the program, and it was not an error on my part. The AI knew where you were and it still decided to send commands. I’m sorry I can’t explain things in full, but you understand that, at this ball, I am out of the loop. An emperor does need time off. From what I understand, however, there is a faction rebelling on a small planet about twenty light years from here against Aeritre. The government is sovereign; they’re not controlled by either me or Tullius. The Feraustans are available, but the government in question came to us first. We were somewhat obligated to respond based on the terms of the UGC. The computer decided you were the best man for the job, despite the inconvenience. We’ll learn more about this later. For now, I’ve instructed NUDAI to send another commodore in your place. It’s not a big disturbance, I don’t believe. The operation will be commanded by a Rear Admiral. It’s a single, small fleet going. So you’re excused. Get on with the ball. Have a good time.”

And so we commenced Rachmaninoff’s Concerto for Piano and Orchestra no. 3. Sean’s conducting style was distinctly his own, but today it was a little different. Maybe he was a little more extravagant in his movements. It was a subtle and yet tangible difference. The first movement started off well. Sean was pushing the tempo a bit. I kept up. After eight minutes of dominating the orchestra, though, I got a surprise. The Commodore turned away from the orchestra and started waving his baton at me, compelling me to accent certain chords and modifying my rhythm. This was unheard-of! The conductor conducted the orchestra, not the piano! The pianist was a maestro himself. And yet, I did as he bade, and the music picked up. Life came into the robust, jubilant theme. There was a hushed, polite applause that died out quickly so as not to interrupt the performance. The second movement began. The orchestra sighed. The music was perfectly calm, introspective, and just sufficiently and vaguely mournful. Then the third movement burst forth! It was upon us, gushing; simply exuding triumph. The work was complete. It was a work of genius, both in its composition and its performance.

“Rachmaninoff was never really my favorite, but he’s not that bad, either,” Sean commented.

The rest of the ball passed well. We socialized and enjoyed ourselves. Kent actually found himself speaking with the princess for quite a while. We eventually retired to our rooms for the night – or rather early morning – and went to sleep. Sean did receive his applesauce, and he slept with a large, ancient style ceiling fan on. This was another peculiarity of his. The flow of the air and the repetitive drone touched something instinctive in him. I find it not unlikely that he was subconsciously reminded of days passed spent in cribs, and the security that accompanied them.