26
Once Anyon departed from Sean’s apartment, Carver asked, “Do you have something appropriate to wear?”
“Yes,” Sean replied.
“The Institute’s uniform won’t work,” Carver insisted. “You have risen beyond that. And not something that will tag you as originating from an outpost world. There are some among the Ambassador’s party who’ll be looking for a reason to dismiss a newcomer.”
The more things changed, Sean reflected, the more they stayed exactly the same. He reached toward the back of his closet and extracted an outfit he had only worn once before. “Will this do?”
Carver’s eyes widened. “Where did you come up with that?”
“It was Insgar’s idea.” The suit was an elegant copy of the senior Diplomat’s formal attire. Only this one held neither medals nor rank. His jacket and trousers were both of midnight blue, tailored from the finest cloth available. The velvet collar was of the same color and matched the column hiding his jacket buttons. “I wore it to the dinner she held for Elenya’s parents.”
“That will do perfectly.” As Sean changed, he said, “You know the story of the outpost twins who saved the Assembly?”
“Professor Kaviti claimed it was a trifling affair and refused to teach it,” Sean replied.
“Ambassador Kaviti is a fool,” Carver said.
“No argument there.”
“When this is over, I will personally instruct you and Dillon in the matter. For the moment, know this. Your actions in defeating the aliens and the rescue of your friend’s relative—both indicate that same potential.” Carver gave that a long beat, then asked, “Do you know the definition of a hero?”
“No sir.”
“A hero is a common soul who rises to meet the challenges of his or her time. I urge you to think on that.” Carver rose to his feet. “Ready?”
“Yes,” Sean replied. And now he was.
They made Sean stay with the official group through an excruciatingly long day. First came speeches in a language he had not yet had a chance to learn. Four hours spent sitting and trying not to fidget or yawn. Then Anyon and a potentate from Cygneus Prime signed some documents. Which meant another hour of standing around and applauding on cue. Then a press conference. Military parade. And finally a banquet. Sean had no idea what the planet looked like, other than some fancy rooms and the view from a balcony where he stood and watched an army march past.
The food at the banquet wasn’t bad. At least, Sean enjoyed the first seven courses. After that, he kept hoping one of the servants would offer him a pillow. He was seated at the far corner of the central table, beside the same Cygnean official who had shadowed him all day. The guy didn’t speak any lingo but his own, was about five hundred years old, had the face of a desiccated prune, and possessed all the personality of a cadaver.
After the banquet, Cylian stepped up beside him and said, “One more meeting and we’re done.”
Sean groaned softly.
“I take it you did not enjoy yourself.”
“If this is a Diplomat’s life,” Sean replied, “you can count me out.”
Only then did he realize she was smiling. It transformed her features. The cold hardness was completely erased. In its place was an elfin mischief. “This shouldn’t take long,” she promised.
But she was wrong. They met in Anyon’s palace suite and went over the next day’s schedule, which was basically more of the same. Nobody else seemed the least troubled by the prospect. When they finally broke up, Cylian motioned for him to remain behind.
After everyone except Carver departed, Anyon said, “Are you ready to begin your true work?”
“Our Sean did not enjoy himself today,” Cylian offered.
“This is merely window dressing,” Carver said. “Theatrics required by the job.”
Anyon moved about the room, shifting the position of small items, then stepping to the next table. “I am wondering if it might be better to send in a bevy of Praetorians.”
“No,” Carver said. “No troops. Not yet.”
“We don’t even know if his brother is still alive.”
Suddenly Sean was no longer sleepy. “What?”
“Dillon was supposed to have checked in,” Carver said, then continued to Anyon, “There are a hundred reasons for him not having reported back. That is why we selected him as our field agent. A good agent must be able to live beyond the rules.”
Anyon shifted to the window. “A dozen seasoned troops—”
“—will break the conditions being set in place by the treaty you are negotiating. We had to agree to that point before they issued our formal invitation.”
Anyon shifted the curtains, stared at the night, then let the drapes fall back in place.
Carver turned to Sean and Cylian. He gestured silently. Go.
Cylian reached for his hand. They went.