see the King has invited the pitiful dregs of the past, the whipped dogs of the sad old Mars Legion to spice up his evening. He'd do better to send that riffraff to the mines instead of parading them in front of their betters."
An Out-System Admiral of the Imperial Navy Piehl didn't recognize turned on the Star-Lord.
"That man, Trone, is not riffraff. You'd do well to remember it, and your manners."
Trone just raised his eyebrows and said nothing. Piehl felt as if every ounce of blood in his body was in his face.
Flex's hand was on his arm. "Ignore it, Captain," Flex said in a stage whisper, "less than a pimple on a the ass of progress."
Piehl looked at the Star-Lord carefully, committing his face to memory. He was an older man in his sixties. The name was familiar.
When Piehl reached a point in front of Trone, an aide stepped forward to introduce them.
"Sir Claren, may I present Brigadier General Sir Aubrey Jerrad Piehl, TSV. General; Sir Claren Trone, Lord Darien Sur-Maine."
Trone had a tight contemptuous curl to his lip. He stared at Piehl.
Piehl stood straight; at two and a half meters he towered over the diminutive Star-Lord. Piehl had the soldier’s way. He stared down at the smaller man. He didn't offer his hand or take the Star-Lord's when it was offered. Piehl spoke to him in the flat, piercing bark of the flight deck.
"You are rude, Trone, in a house where you are a guest. Perhaps you feel safe here. You are not safe from me, little man. Kings are often plagued by human lice who insult their hospitality and kindness. I would consider it an act of fealty to remove such lice from the Royal coat. Do you understand me, little man!"
He leaned forward into Trone's face and put a lot of snap into the “little man”.
The slack, mottled flesh of Trone's neck turned red pale, but his reptilian expression never changed.
He hissed. "Who..who..do you...think you are...talking to, criminal!" He was so filled with rage the words exploded out a fragment at a time. "You should have been exterminated nine years ago. This night when you go back to your pitiful ship, look in the mirror. It may be the last time, General." The last word was spoken with a sneer of contempt.
Piehl couldn't hold himself back. "You don't have to wait, lice. Begin exterminating now if you've the stomach for it."
Trone started to bring his hand up and the King's aide deftly stepped between them and had Piehl moving down the line so smoothly the incident seemed unreal. Piehl knew it wasn't. When he looked back Trone's malevolent stare never wavered.
Piehl felt stupid, thin-skinned. Hell and damn, first time out in decent company in years and I'm ready to kill someone. Well done, Piehl.
When they reached the out-system admiral they came to attention and rendered him formal salute. Piehl thought how the profession of arms was such a small, exclusive club. It wasn't unusual for one military man to know everything about another though they'd never met.
The aide moved forward to introduce them. "Admiral, may I present Brigadier General Sir Aubrey Jerrad Piehl, Commander 3rd Brigade, Mars Legion, and Flight Major John Hathaway Holtzman. Gentlemen, Admiral Carstairs McClellan Commanding, 7th Fleet in Hercules."
So this is ‘Carsty’ McClelland, Piehl thought.
The admiral impulsively shoved out his hand and shook their hands.
"Yes, by God, if you'd lasted three months beyond Vincent's it would have taken us another ten years to get the job done and by then most of the fleet would have gone over to the Legion. Wretched stupid business!" he boomed, as if all the universe was his flight deck and he'd never learned to tone down to a smaller world.
"Damn me, I might have gone over myself just to see how you did it." He turned to Flex. "I know you too, young man. You were in our files as the best pilot in the Legion. They call you Flex and we called Piehl, inflexible." His laughter boomed around the reception area.
He paused, then looking at both men, spoke in a loud voice. "We were on different sides, but I am proud of you both. You're military men. You fought with honor and courage. I am damned well pleased to finally make your acquaintance."
They both came to attention, saluted, thanked him and reluctantly moved down the line. That little encounter went a long way toward removing the odor of Trone from the air.
Piehl made no mistake about Lord Darien Sur-damned-Maine. He realized the man had been his enemy long before he attended the King's birthday party.
The rest of the evening was uneventful except for one thing. The King made a point of speaking with Piehl personally. He was a tall man with a ruddy complexion; “Child of Orion” some of the court astrologers said, because of his reddish hair.
He had a powerful presence. He didn't speak directly of the war, but his comments were obvious. He had a strong, clear voice and knew how to use it.
"Sir Aubrey, if a man's greatness were measured by the quality of his enemies I would be thought a great man indeed. Personally I would rather be remembered for the quality of my friends. I regret that you weren't my friend in past years. I hope we will be able to repair that error of history."
Piehl admired him so he was able to reply with sincerity.
"Your Highness, perhaps we already have."
"Ahhh...now that would be fine, much to my liking, General Piehl. Some wars should never be fought. They are for the satisfaction and gain of one or two men over things which are indefinable, and indefensible as reasons in any moral sense."
He was even a bit mysterious. "Old wrongs do not always fade in history, or in memory, but they can be made right in the present. Then perhaps one can create new, more honorable pages in history."
He was a polished speaker and it was obvious his audience was seldom limited to the person in front of him.
Deep space here, Piehl thought.
Later as they were making their farewells the King spoke quietly. "General Piehl, perhaps we shall meet again, if not in person, then through another known to both of us."
Piehl didn't know what to make of that so he bowed and said he was at the King's service and meant it. Flex said later that he'd met an equerry of the King who asked if they might meet quietly in a week or so to discuss some shipping business.
On the ride back to the ship they said little, each absorbed in his own thoughts. Piehl thought of Trone and decided they'd better take care when they went about their business in the future. Trone wasn't the type to let an insult pass, and Piehl's outburst at the ball definitely put him in that category.
Chapter 2
The great hall of Darien Sur Maine was shrouded in darkness. A dim light emanated from one corner, cold and feeble against the tangible blackness of the rest of the room. It was a room only a madman or a king could love. In it was a man who was quite mad and wanted desperately to be king.
Beneath the faint
