“He also says he wants to talk to you,” Jack said. “Once he’s in front of you, if he doesn’t address what you want him to, you’ve got some call on him to answer you or leave. He asked for the meeting. You’re granting it.”
“We agree it’s safe to have a meeting?” Kris asked. She got nods from most. The colonel frowned but said nothing.
“So, we are going to have a meeting,” Kris said. “How fancy do we go? How fancy can we go?”
“We are just an exploration ship,” Captain Drago said.
“Now dealing with a Lord of Lords,” Penny added.
Kris made up her mind. “But we got a princess. Abby, lay out dress whites. Jack, Penny, Colonel, you go full dress.”
“Swords?” the colonel asked.
“Swords and sidearms. Captain Drago, you and your crew get into the most colorful nonregulation set of threads you have. Purple velvet jacket, gold trim.”
“And jet-black bell-bottom trousers. Got you, Your Highness, straight out of Gilbert and Sullivan, I think.”
“Am I in uniform?” Abby asked.
“No, you are a lady-in-waiting. Formal ball gown. Ah, have you got one to fit Cara? We might as well put that twelve-year-old to work.”
“I have a ball gown for her, one that matches mine.”
“What better shows this is not a military mission than to bring along our junior spawn, I mean kid,” Kris said, trying to pull her head out of Iteeche speak for a moment.
“She’ll love it,” Sulwan said. It amazed Kris the number of grins that sprouted around the bridge. That kid had her hooks everywhere!
“Professor mFumbo, do you and a couple of your boffins have full bib and tucker?” Kris asked.
“I wondered why we packed all that extra weight. Yes, and several of the distaff executives brought their ball gowns. How many can I invite?”
“Ten—no, twenty. Equal male and female.”
“Done. Oh, Your Highness, what about Judge Francine? She and her bailiff do look impressive in their judicial robes, and she would feel most left out if not included.”
Kris pulled at her ear for a moment, trying to picture the scene if she threw a full bash. A grin grew on her face. “Why not. All the reports say the Iteeche love ceremony. Let’s give this Ron-what’s-his-name Chap-something-or-other a show. Nelly, inform Ron that we will be glad to welcome him aboard, with any of his honorable retainers, in three hours. If they don’t remember from negotiations how long an hour is, teach him.”
“Doing so, Kris, in the most proper of Iteeche,” Nelly replied.
6
The next three hours were somewhere south of chaotic. While Nelly gave Kris a refresher on what they knew of the Iteeche, Kris got dressed. Even just the white choker took a lot more time than she wanted. Full decorations, yes, but now Abby and one twelve-year-old also had to be poured into full ball gownage.
The light green satin set off both Abby’s and Cara’s chocolate skin, and the several petticoats swished the wide skirts out delightfully. Abby had to lay down the law to get Cara to stand still and not twirl about.
So it was way too close to showtime when Cara danced down the passageway, leading Abby and Kris from their state-rooms toward the main docking bay. The girl’s skirts swirled out, sending Marines, sailors, and all others fleeing. Cara danced, and sang, “I am pretty, I am pretty,” and if the song had any other words, they were long forgotten.
Kris figured once they got to the docking bay, things would settle down and get serious.
Boy was she wrong.
Somehow, someone on the Wasp had knocked together a throne for her and a similar resting place for a four-footed being. They’d even cushioned it with a Persian rug. Liberated, if Kris’s memory served, from Professor mFumbo’s own office.
The Iteeche would have no cause for complaint.
Assuming he knew the value of Persian rugs.
Problem was, Kris wanted to keep everyone standing, get the introductions over with, then go on to whatever was the real reason an Iteeche was, if not in human space, certainly far from Iteeche space.
But before Kris could open her mouth to start rearranging the furniture, she got a look at the boffin stand-ins for courtiers.
Twelve men, not the ten she’d set as maximum, were standing around, three in full white tie and black tails. The rest . . . well Kris had been to balls where men showed off the peacock coloring that now passed for formal. She’d expected that scientists would be stodgy.
She was wrong. The pants, tights, vests, and tails were in so many variations of the spectrum, Kris had to fight off a headache. At least these twelve stood around very quietly.
There were thirteen women; all heads of their own departments or subdepartments. And all in luscious ball gowns. Including Teresa de Alva, Director of Information Support, who wore what the magazines had assured the women of Wardhaven only two years ago was the latest fashion from Paris.
The gown swept the floor, rising in rich folds to well below her belly button . . . where it stopped. Above that, it was a thin coat of paint. Very thin.
Teresa de Alva had both the figure to carry it off . . . and the personality. If the Iteeche had an eye for human mammaries, she would be most eye stopping. She certainly held the eyes of the male boffins. And their silence. Even Marines, posted around the periphery of the docking bay, were having problems maintaining “Eyes Front.”
Indeed, Teresa was holding everyone’s attention . . . and quickly gained Kris’s.
“So, if none of us have ever been to a royal court on Earth or one of the few real kingdoms in space,” de Alva was saying, no doubt a hit on Grampa Ray for the informal court he ran, “I would suggest that we use the next best thing. Didn’t you love the court life in Love’s Noble Price?”
Just the naming of that media hit brought sighs from the other women present.
And a squeal of glee from Cara.
“George, you can do that whirly bowing thing.”
“No, I can’t, my love,” came right back at de Alva.
Kris came down . . . hard. “I don’t want anyone doing any bowing thing.” Kris fixed Professor mFumbo with a gimlet eye. “Did someone miss the message? I need stand-ins for courtiers. Wooden mannequins, no motors, no brains, would suit me very well, thank you.”
Kris found herself facing a pair of blue-and-gold breasts that she hoped were not loaded.
“I thought you wanted to dazzle him with a full court,” Teresa said, not so much as a millimeter of space left in her self-assurance for a denial from Kris.
“Terry, court etiquette takes years of practice. I doubt if the actors in the media spend less than a day rehearsing each scene. We don’t have that time, and I won’t have people falling on their faces in front of the Iteeche.”
Kris took three steps forward and got every eye in the bay on her, not Teresa’s boobs. “If you haven’t heard it before, we’ve found an Iteeche quite a ways off their reservation. I want to know why. We need to find that out without getting anyone killed or a war started. I swear to God that if any of you mess up, I will personally shoot you right here in front of the Iteeche, if that’s what it takes to keep him, her, or it from going ballistic on us.” Kris drew her sidearm from the small of her back. Waved it.
The room got very quiet.
Kris did a 360-degree turn. She had everyone’s attention. Even the Marines, now eyes rock-solid front, were paying her very close attention.
“Good. I’m glad we understand each other. You boffins, form a semicircle behind that chair. Chief,” Kris said, pointing at the chief bosun, “get that overstuffed chair, table, or whatever that is,” she said, pointing at the rug-covered platform, “out of here. Not too far out. We might end up needing them, but out of sight.”