GLORIA STOOD IN THE RECEIVING LINE AT THE entrance to the Ellisons’ ballroom and watched as the Emperor approached. Black-clad Imperial Security forces were everywhere, but the mood was festive and relieved. The greatest threat to the Empire since the Fifth of October Plot had been overcome—at least, that was what the media said—and Gloria and the OSI had played a vital role in that triumph. It was a night to crow, and she felt proud and happy.

Charles, resplendent in his gaudiest Imperials, was accompanied by his cousin, Lord Brockinbrough, and Larry’s son, Gareth, as well as a flock of aides, equerries, and ranking flotsam. First in the reception line was President Ogburn; he and Charles exchanged minutely calculated bows. The legal fiction maintained that the Emperor could not set foot on a planet without the invitation of the local government, and all the necessary rituals were observed.

Following Ogburn came the Ellisons and their son, hosts for the affair, then Quadrant Administrator Cornell DuBray, the Parliament Minister from New Cambridge, a collection of local and Dexta bigwigs, and finally, Gloria VanDeen, Director of the Office of Strategic Intervention, whose reception this was. Conspicuous by his absence was Dexta Secretary Norman Mingus. His daughter, Saffron Mingus Bartholemew, was also absent. And his grandson was in prison.

Gloria’s satisfaction over the resolution of the PAIN threat was tempered by her awareness of the very personal pain it had caused Norman Mingus. Publicly, details about the Savoy shipment remained hidden, but it was impossible to hide the fact that Mingus’s grandson had been deeply involved in terrorism. Unflattering facts about Whitney Bartholemew, Senior, had also been dredged up, and an unwelcome spotlight had been aimed at Saffron Mingus Bartholemew. The media were already speculating about whether Norman Mingus might be forced to resign over the affair.

Gloria could not bring herself to believe that it would come to that. Mingus had told her once that he would never resign, and, after forty-two years in office, he was far too wise in the ways of power to allow himself to be forced out.

The Emperor made his way down the line, seemingly relaxed and unhurried. Gloria marveled at Charles’s ability to put commoners at ease and give them the impression that there was nothing more important in all the Empire than making small talk with his subjects. After two weeks of nearly nonstop schmoozing, Gloria thought she was beginning to get the hang of it, herself, and the experience would come in handy if she decided to become Empress. If.

She still didn’t know and hadn’t had time to give the matter much thought. But the sudden reversal of OSI’s fortunes made a future in Dexta seem more viable than it had a few weeks ago, when Erik Manko loomed large on her horizon. And, as Empress, would she be permitted the fun of dashing off to putrid scumworlds and risking her life in hand-to-hand combat with dangerous terrorists? Unlikely.

And then Charles was standing before her, handsome and grinning. Gloria gave him a little bow and let him clasp her hands. “A splendid reception, Ms. VanDeen,” said the Emperor in a formal and audible voice. “We thank you for inviting us.”

“And you honor OSI by your presence, Highness.”

Formalities out of the way, Charles ran his eyes over Gloria’s almost entirely naked body. She was wearing nothing but two strands of alternating diamonds and lapis lazuli, one low around her hips and the other hanging down from it to provide strategic, if symbolic, coverage, along with matching bracelets and earrings. She had last worn the gems on Mynjhino, on an evening that had ended in gunfire. No such excitement seemed likely tonight.

“Those diamonds look vaguely familiar,” Charles said in a quieter, more private voice.

“They should,” Gloria said. “You gave them to me for our second anniversary. You said the lapis lazuli matched my eyes.”

“Ah, yes. I did, and it does. You look marvelous, as always, Glory.”

Gloria leaned close to him and whispered in his ear. “You got my message?”

“I did.”

“And you brought the…uh…item?”

“Right here in my pocket.”

“Thanks, Chuckles. I owe you one.”

“No, I think it is I who owe you. A nice piece of work, Glory, by all concerned. We’ll talk later. For the moment, I still have some Imperializing to do.” Charles kissed Gloria’s hand, gazed into her eyes for a few long seconds, then moved on to mingle with the local gentry.

Larry and Gareth were next. Gloria shook hands with them and said, “Lord Brockinbrough, Gareth, thank you for coming tonight.”

“The pleasure’s all ours, Gloria,” Larry said expansively. “I trust you’ll be coming to visit my humble residence?”

“Not tonight, Larry,” Gloria said. “Maybe tomorrow, after Charles’s speech. I didn’t realize that you had an estate here.”

“One big one in each Quadrant, and a scattering of lesser hovels. My forebears liked to feel at home wherever they went. By the way, congratulations on your latest coup.”

“Yeah,” Gareth added, “that was pretty cool stuff, Gloria.”

“Thank you, gentlemen.”

The Brockinbroughs moved on, replaced by a Duke and Duchess, then a smattering of lesser Lords and Ladies. Gloria smiled her way through the rest of the formal presentations, then finally broke free to do some mingling of her own. She wandered out onto the dance floor and drank in the ambience.

Althea’s little blues band had turned out to be a twenty-piece orchestra that specialized in twentieth-century music of all kinds. They played a few blues numbers, but also everything from Irving Berlin to the Beatles. When they struck up “In the Mood,” Gloria found a partner and assayed an acceptable thirty-third-century version of the jitterbug. Three more men took turns cutting in on each other as they danced with her to the plaintive melody of “Yesterday.” Then Gloria saw something that provoked a laugh and inspired her to do some cutting in of her own.

Elaine Murakami was dancing with Cornell DuBray to a Gershwin tune. Smiling, she tapped Elaine on the shoulder and said, “Pardon me, Elaine, but I’m pulling rank on you.” Elaine giggled and got out of the way.

“Administrator DuBray,” Gloria said, “I hope you’re not planning to steal Elaine from me. OSI is very jealous of its personnel.”

“Fear not, Ms. VanDeen,” DuBray said. “Elaine is a delicious little treat in bed, but she wasn’t much of a spy.”

“You knew that I knew?”

“I figured it out quickly enough. You do have a way of inspiring loyalty in your people. In any event, I’ll see to it that her father is released from prison.”

“Thank you. You’re very gracious in defeat.”

DuBray raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware that I had been defeated.”

“Well,” Gloria said, “you certainly haven’t won. In case you hadn’t noticed, OSI is here to stay.”

“Yes, I suppose it is. Very nicely played, I must admit. You won the hearts and minds of the Dexta masses, then capped it off with a dazzling bit of personal bravado. The Quad Admins can hardly dispatch you to bureaucratic limbo after such a performance.”

“We’re the Fifth Quadrant now,” Gloria said. “Get used to it.”

DuBray actually laughed at that. “As I told you, Gloria, we really are on the same side. OSI’s triumph is Dexta’s triumph, and Dexta’s triumph is my own. However, we still have our differences, and don’t imagine that the Quad Admins will simply bow before your brilliance. We won’t, you know.”

“I’d be disappointed if you did,” she said. “I look forward to a long and lively rivalry.”

“As a matter of fact,” said DuBray, “so do I.”

 

PETRA WISHED SHE WERE SOMEWHERE ELSE. Anywhere. Weehawken, even.

After what had happened the day before, she was not really in the mood for festivities and gaiety, least of all at the Ellisons’ bemuraled mansion. Barely a month ago, she had enjoyed her triumphant entry into New Cambridge society in this same ballroom, but she could take no pleasure in the memory. She had lost Pug, she had lost Whit, and somehow, she felt that she had lost herself.

She didn’t feel like being a Tiger tonight—maybe not on any night, ever again—but she had discovered that she had little choice. She’d had no time to run out and buy something conservative, so she found herself wearing a violet gown with a wide, deep neckline and a plunging back. Just the thing for a woman who romanced mass murderers.

On a night when she wanted to attract as little attention as possible, she found herself being asked to dance and offered drinks by a seemingly endless succession of smiling Dexta men. They offered their congratulations and expressed their admiration while staring at her daring cleavage, and Petra simply smiled grimly and tried to get through the evening without a complete emotional meltdown.

And there were the Ellisons to be endured. The haughty parents and their upward-bound son, with Steffany Fairchild at his side. She had exchanged formal and frosty greetings, then tried to avoid them. But she could feel them, staring down their noses at her, disapproving of her very existence.

She had also tried to avoid the media riot that followed the capture of Whit Bartholemew and the subsequent recovery of the missing plasma bomb. Dexta Internal Security had clamped a tight lid on the precise facts, but the Public Affairs Office could not resist exploiting such a triumph, and very much against her will, Petra had been trotted out at a press conference that afternoon. She had made a brief statement, then offered terse answers to a flurry of questions. When someone asked her about the nature of her relationship with Whitney Bartholemew, Junior, she had said only, “We were friends,” then quickly exited the meeting.

Her friend had tried to blow up the city, and she had tried to put him in jail. Friends, indeed. They hadn’t really been friends, at all. They had been hot, passionate, angry lovers, each seeking something indefinable from the other. Perhaps Whit had sought something normal in her, some link to an everyday existence that he despised; and perhaps she had yearned for something abnormal in him, an expression of defiance and rebellion against a world that had rejected her. Whit’s father ignored him, but hers had walked out on her. Pug’s parents pushed him upward; her mother seemed to want to pull her downward. One lover killed, another yanked away from her by his family, and a third who was nothing less than a monster. Some life.

There was a sudden regal fanfare from the orchestra, and the Emperor appeared on the bandstand. Petra watched from the far end of the ballroom and wondered what was going on.

“One of the nice things about being Emperor,” Charles said as a hush fell over the crowd, “is that occasionally it is my lot to recognize and reward the accomplishments of certain of my subjects. While it is something I enjoy, it is not something I do lightly. Imperial honors are not easily earned, nor carelessly handed out. They signify that the person designated has served the Empire in a way that goes beyond the norm and is worthy of our highest recognition and gratitude. Tonight, it gives me great personal pleasure to honor one such individual. Would you please come forward and be recognized…Petra Nash!”

It took a moment to register. Me?

All around her, people were applauding. They opened a path for her, and Petra found herself walking dazedly forward, then up the steps to the bandstand, where the smiling Emperor awaited her. He put a hand on her shoulder and maneuvered her around till she stood next to him. Petra looked around, still not certain there hadn’t been some mistake.

Charles raised an arm, quieted the crowd, then dipped his hand into a pocket of his tunic and withdrew a blue-and-gold ribbon with a large gold medallion dangling from it. “Petra Nash,” he said, gazing directly into her eyes, “in recognition of your outstanding and meritorious service to the people of the Empire, and with deep personal gratitude for a job well and bravely done, I am pleased to present you, on behalf of three trillion grateful and admiring subjects, the Imperial Distinguished Service Medal.” With that, he draped the ribbon around her neck. The golden ornament, with a profile of Hazar the Great etched on it, felt cold and heavy as it nestled between her breasts. She found it hard to breathe.

As the applause swelled, the Emperor bent down and said, “Congratulations, Ms. Nash. Would you do me the honor of the next dance?”

Petra gulped and nodded. Charles took her by the hand and led her down to the dance floor. The orchestra began to play “Moonlight Serenade” as the Emperor put his arm around her and guided her around the floor.

“I’m glad we finally had the chance to meet,” Charles said. “Gloria often speaks of you.”

“She mentions you, too, sometimes, Your Highness,” Petra managed to reply.

“Favorably, I trust?”

“Uh…mostly, sire.”

“Yes, well, I’m hoping I can enlist your aid in a most important matter, Ms. Nash. As you must be aware, I’ve asked her to marry me again and become Empress. I fear she’s reluctant to leave Dexta, however, and I know she would not want to be separated from her dearest friend. So you must promise me that if Gloria agrees to become Empress, you will accompany her to Rio and serve as her personal assistant.”

“Uh…”

“And, of course, if you do, you won’t simply be Petra Nash.”

“I won’t?”

“No, you’ll be Lady Petra of Weehawken. Sounds rather nice, doesn’t it? You know, I don’t believe I’ve ever ennobled anyone from New Jersey before.”

Petra nearly tripped over her own feet, but the Emperor smoothly rescued her and smiled down at her. At six feet four inches, he towered over her.

“Your…Your…uh, Highness,” Petra stammered, “I…I…”

“You will help me persuade Gloria, won’t you? As Emperor, I know the importance of having strategic allies.”

“I…uh…”

Charles laughed indulgently. “Say no more, Ms. Nash. Just keep my request in mind, if you would.”

“I certainly will, Your Highness.”

“Splendid.” As the song ended with the familiar swirl of Miller reeds and muted horns, the Emperor leaned over and gave Petra a kiss on her lips. Then he stepped back and led the crowd in applauding her once again. Amid the kaleidoscope of color and noise, Petra saw the Ellisons standing at one side of the room. Mr. and Mrs. Ellison were clapping politely, Steffany Fairchild looked supremely miffed, but Pug was staring right at her, grinning, and slapping his hands together with enthusiasm. Petra grinned back at him.

Maybe she was glad to be here, after all, she thought.

 

AMONG HIS OTHER ACCOMPLISHMENTS, ELI Opatnu proved to be an excellent dancer. To the strains of “I’ve Got You Under My Skin,” he whirled Gloria around the dance floor with grace and aplomb.

“I’m so happy for Petra,” she told him. “She’s had a tough time of it lately.”

“Honors well deserved,” Opatnu agreed. “And you didn’t do so badly, yourself. But then, you already got a medal for Mynjhino, didn’t you?”

“You’ll get one of your own someday, Eli.”

“I doubt it,” he said. “Certainly, I won’t get one for what I have to do now. Gloria, you have to shut down the investigation of Wendover and the double-flagging operation.”

“What do you mean, I have to?” she demanded angrily. “Where do you get off telling me to do a thing like that? I realize it might be an embarrassment for your Sector, but—”

“You don’t understand, Gloria. I’m not telling you this for myself. I’m speaking on behalf of Ed Smith.”

Gloria looked up at Opatnu in openmouthed shock. In return, he gave her a guilty shrug.

“Did you imagine you were the only one in Dexta who had a debt to the zamitat?”

“Spirit!” Gloria breathed.

“I’m just thirty-seven,” Opatnu said, “and I’m already a Level Seven and a Sector Administrator. I’d like to think that my native abilities had something to do with that, but the truth is, I’ve had some help. Of course, that kind of help isn’t free. You should realize that by now, Gloria.”

Gloria took a deep breath and let the air out very slowly. “I guess I did realize it,” she said. “I just didn’t think I’d be making a payment so soon. It won’t be easy to tell Jill.”

“Jill will get over it,” Opatnu assured her. “And what does it matter? This Wendover thing is just routine. The zamies aren’t asking you to sell your soul to Beelzebub. They just want a little help. They turn a few extra crowns on the double-flagging, a couple of minor Dexta officials get some kickbacks, and the Empire loses a little tax money that it will never miss. As I said, it’s routine.”

“And what’s in it for you, Eli?”

“The continuing gratitude and cooperation of Ed Smith and people like him. I get to look good, appear to be clean, and go on doing what I think has been pretty good work for the people of the Empire. The same goes for you, Gloria.”

“I suppose so,” she said. Ever since that meeting in the restaurant with Ed Smith, she had known this day would come. She had accepted it then, and she had to accept it now. It was just quid pro quo, after all. Routine.

 

OPATNU CAUGHT DUBRAY’S EYE, THEN FOLLOWED him into an unoccupied sitting room just off the ballroom. “You told her?” DuBray asked him.

Opatnu nodded. “The deed is done,” he said.

“And how did she take it?”

“She accepted the necessity. You know, this whole thing would have been much easier if you’d told me in the beginning that she has a debt to our friends.”

DuBray shrugged. “If I had known, I would have. That’s one of the problems in dealing with our friends. Half the time, one of their hands doesn’t know what the other hand is up to. Fortunately, I got to wondering how she dealt with Manko and made some inquiries. It surprised me a bit, I can tell you. Pure and high-minded Gloria VanDeen!”

“She’s as human as the rest of us.”

“And as flawed, it would seem. In any case, our friends will be pleased that the investigation has been buried. With the new product ready to hit market, this was no time for complications.”

“I just wonder how Jill will take it,” Opatnu said.

“Jill?”

“Clymer. The one who was running the investigation.”

“Of course. Why, will she be a problem?”

“Probably not. But she won’t be happy about it.”

DuBray clapped a hand on Opatnu’s shoulder. “Take some advice, Eli,” he said. “Stop worrying about other people’s happiness. We don’t do these things to be liked, you know.”

“Why do we do them?”

The two men stared into each other’s eyes for a long, silent moment. Finally, DuBray said, “What else is there?”

 

“WHY DO I HAVE TO DISCONTINUE THE INVESTIGATION?” Jill Clymer demanded. “I’ve worked hard on this, Gloria, and I don’t see why we should just stop in midstream.”

Jill had raised her voice a little when Gloria gave her the news, so Gloria took her by the arm and led her off to one side of the ballroom. The band was playing “With a Little Help from My Friends.”

“Jill,” Gloria said, “I appreciate all the work you’ve done. But the way things are shaping up, with the restraining order and everything, it looks as if this could drag on for months or years. I just don’t think this is the kind of thing that OSI should be getting involved with. Send me all the files you’ve put together, and I’ll see to it that the Comptroller’s Office gets them. It’s more their sort of thing, and maybe they’ll want to pursue it. But as of now, OSI is out of it.”

“Is this your decision,” Jill asked, “or are you getting pressure from higher up?”

“Nothing from higher up,” Gloria replied, accurately, if not with complete honesty. “It’s my decision.”

“Well, I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to like it, Jill. You just have to do it.”

“I see.” Jill stared at her for another moment, then turned and walked away.

It hadn’t been so difficult, after all. In fact, Gloria was mildly surprised by how easy it was.

Routine.