"A pity," Greyffin chuckled under his breath. "You're probably spoiling everyone's fun." Then nodding to Calhoun, he took his place in a huge, high-backed chair behind the table. "Baxter," he said, "Onrad's privately described your plan to save Fluvanna in spite of the CIGAs." He raised his eyebrows.
"About time to let me in on the details, eh?"
"Aye, Your Majesty," Calhoun replied, immediately swinging into what must have been his ten-thousandth presentation. Brim and Drummond stepped clear of the projectors and took seats at the side of the room, doing their best to appear as if fresh information were reaching their ears, too.
Mercifully, the elder Carescrian had prepared a capsulated version for the Emperor, so he spoke for little more than a half metacycle. But during that short time, he covered every important factor. And just as he finished, Prince Onrad strode into the room to stand by Greyffin's side.
"Well, Father," he asked with a grave look, "what do you think?"
The Emperor nodded thoughtfully, joining the tips of his fingers and thumbs. "Wonderful," he pronounced at length. "Just the right treatment. Completely beyond the CIGAs. Bloody wonderful. In fact, Baxter," he said, angling his head toward Calhoun, "during the past week, I have mulled over some ideas about your staffing problem."
"I'm all ears, Your Majesty," Calhoun declared. "We need ev'ry bit o' help we can gat wi' that particular problem."
The Emperor took a deep breath and frowned. "It seems that the bloody CIGAs have forced some of our finest officers and starsailors from the Fleet in the last few years," he mused grimly.
"Commander Brim knows," he added with a wink, "Now assuming that some of them have the forbearance and patriotism he exhibited, what would happen if I personally extended them an offer to rejoin the Fleet at their old grades plus one promotion? Shouldn't at least a few of them come through for us?"
"Counting Starfury herself, we'll need to find volunteers for eleven ships," Onrad warned.
The Emperor shook his head. "Commander Brim already has a crew," he said. "If what I hear is correct, he will lose only a few when he announces that Starfury's been leased. So you will only need enough for ten." He looked around the room while passing his fingers among the beams from a tiny panel of lights near his right hand. "Here, let me read an offer I've had drafted." He frowned as he peered onto his tabletop where a display lit his face from beneath. "First," he began, "by Imperial Edict, all candidates, officers, and enlisted alike will be offered special one-year reserve commissions and enlistments in the Imperial Fleet at their previous grade plus one. To obtain these, however, they will be required to 'disappear,' serving in the Fluvannian Fleet as mercenaries in what will be known as the Imperial Volunteer Group, or IVG for short."
"What happens after the year is over?" Onrad asked.
"Afterward," Greyffin continued, glancing up from the table, "if I decide not to extend the term of service, I shall personally guarantee each volunteer a permanent place in the Imperial Fleet—working at his or her IVG specialty and rank." He looked at Brim and smiled. "I shall extend the same sort of offer to certain persons who already have positions in the Fleet, including Starfury's entire crew. It will, of course, require them to resign their commissions. But each will have my personal guarantee that they may return." Turning to Calhoun, he raised eyebrows. "How does that sound, Baxter?"
Calhoun grinned. "I think your personal guarantee wull do it nicely, Your Majesty," he said.
"That's all I would ever need."
"Good," Greyffin said. "Harry? Wilf? Is there anything you want to change?"
"Nothing, Your Majesty," Calhoun said.
Brim shook his head, bemused at hearing the Emperor use his first name. "Nothing, Your Majesty," he seconded.
"In that case," Greyffin declared, applying thumb and forefinger to a minute signing window on the tabletop, "it is now a proclamation. Onrad, call in the Fluvannian Ambassador and we shall begin 'recruiting' immediately."
In less than a cycle, they were joined by a tall, slender woman in fashionable Avalonian dress.
She had straight black hair that reached her shoulders and bangs cut straight across her high forehead.
Her calm, almond-shaped eyes complemented a long, narrow nose and wickedly thin lips. She wore a restrained business suit, all in black, with a white ruffled blouse and a skirt so long it revealed only high-heeled slippers and a hint of slim ankle. "Your Majesty," she said, bowing almost double.
"Madame Orenzii," Greyffin said, nodding from his chair. "These men are the vanguard of the warship crews who will soon fortify your fleet. May I present General Harry Drummond, Commodore Baxter Calhoun, and Commander Wilf Brim."
Orenzii bowed to Onrad, then looked from one officer to the other until her eyes stopped at Brim. "You are captain of the Starfury, are you not?" she asked with no trace of an accent.
"I am, Madame Orenzii," Brim answered.
The woman laughed. "Raddisma made me promise that I should not leave the castle without thanking you once more for saving her life," she said.
Brim felt his cheeks burn again. "I think Consort Raddisma gives me credit for a great deal more than I accomplished," he replied.
Orenzii bowed with only a wink for comment, then turned to face the Emperor. "Your Majesty," she said, "I have been empowered by Nabob Mustafa IX Eyren, The Magnificent, to begin recruiting as soon as qualified space crews can be located."
At that, Calhoun stepped to the Emperor's table and bowed. "I should count it an honor to become the first volunteer," he declared proudly.
"Your Majesty," Orenzii asked, turning to the Emperor, "is your office perhaps available for this historic occasion?"
Greyffin smiled, peering down at the work surface of his table. "I detect the fine hand of my son here," he commented with a chuckle. "The necessary documents have already appeared on this display—including my own. Even the signing window is activated, no doubt for the Commodore's fingerprints, eh?"
"Well," Onrad admitted, "I did make a few preparations for this meeting. Nothing elaborate, of course, but..."
The Emperor shook his head. "Hmm," he muttered wryly, "since everything appears to be in good order, I suppose we proceed. Commodore," he said, rising from his chair, "come sit here. You may as well be comfortable while you sign away a year of your life.''
Calhoun took his place at the table, carefully reading the displayed contracts. "All right," he said at some length, "I'll sign." Twice, he placed his thumb and forefinger on the signing windows with a flourish. Then, Orenzii signed for her government.
"Congratulations!" she said, shaking Calhoun's hand with great gusto. "You are now a Commodore in the Royal Fluvannian Fleet."
"It is a great approbation, madame," Calhoun said gallantly as he stepped back from the table and fixed his eyes pointedly on Brim.
His were not the only eyes peering in that direction. "Well, Commander," the Emperor said, "shall I assume you also intend to volunteer?''
"Poor Brim," Onrad observed with a broad smile. "He only won back his commission two years ago."
Greyffin chuckled gently. "Don't think of this as losing your commission again, Commander. The next year ought to be much like an assignment to a very special covert mission. That should be nothing new to you."
"Aye, Your Majesty," Brim agreed, settling into the Emperor's chair. Before him, shimmering on the surface of the table, were three lettered documents. On his left was a Form 889A, VOLUNTARY TERMINATION OF FLEET SERVICE, everyone joked about the forms, but in the eyes of idealists like Brim, they were suicide notes. Next to it was a one-year commission for service in the Fluvannian Fleet at the rank of Commander. On its right, the Emperor's guarantee was dynamically changing contents as writers elsewhere in the palace attempted to hammer out a legal document at a dead run. Brim waited until the characters had stabilized, then read the new parts, and eventually signed all three documents. "Good of you to sign," Onrad remarked. "I noticed Father's pledge going through at least three drafts while you tried to read it."