Gareth closed the book and placed it atop a pile of three others on the sidetable next to his comfy reading chair. Two days and four books on the topic wasn’t going to make him an expert on art, but he could at least have a reasonable conversation at the event without looking like a complete fool.
Plus Grodray had brought in an older man, a Grace of some note as an art historian, to prep him for tonight. Apparently, the older a Grace got, the longer their tentacles grew, so he must have been ancient, since some of his had come down to nearly his waist when they hung still.
And he knew everyone that was going to be at the show. This was Orgoth Vortai, so that would be critical. Gareth wasn’t native to the planet, but even he had been impressed. The Accord Ball was the social event of the season, and everyone who was anyone on the planet had been trying to get tickets to attend.
It was a fundraiser, so the major players either bought seats, or an entire table, for astronomical sums that supported the Accord Hall of Arts, the gravitational center of Grace culture. Lesser players were admitted as far as the front hall, where everyone could watch the beautiful people arrive, and then they were allowed into the hall itself after dinner, where they could mingle.
Rumor had it that the deals done every year at this event represented a serious percentage of the planetary output. At least in total cash.
How the Constabulary had gotten three tickets, Gareth didn’t know, but obviously, strings had been pulled. Or they had the cash for something like this in their operating budget.
Or they just sent a few officers undercover every year on general principle.
He checked the time on his nightstand and decided he was close enough to ready. A quick look in the mirror hung on the wall to confirm everything, and he stuffed his new pocketcomm into the breast pocket of his blazer. The palm-sized stun pistol was on his thigh, hidden away inside the pant leg. He picked his beret up off the nightstand and went to the door.
He was supposed to wear the beret inside, but that just didn’t fit with how he was raised, so it could wait until he was in the auto-car.
Grodray and Baker were down in the Operations Center when he arrived, chatting with Talyarkinash. Interestingly, while he was in the so-called grinder outfit, undercover, both of them where in their uniforms. Baker had even gone so far as to wear her outer tunic, like she was taking this sort of thing quite seriously.
Both women turned to him when he entered and gave him a critical once-over. Actually, all seven women in sight did the same, but Gareth tried to ignore that fact. And the intense interest and smiles on those faces.
“Beret?” Talyarkinash asked, so Gareth put it on, draping it just right.
“Yes,” she said a moment later. “You’ll do. Quite nicely.”
Gareth blushed at her tone. It was not entirely friendly. Or it was, but not just that. No, he was the center of a lot of attentions, right now, like a beautiful woman who had walked into a room full of sailors who had been to space for too long.
Uncomfortable. Unpleasant turnabout. He would have made a note to say something about that sort of behavior when he got home, but he quashed that thought before it ever took shape.
There was no home. Not anymore. There was the Accord of Souls. And whatever he did to fit in here. For the rest of his life.
Gareth found himself standing at attention, like this was an inspection, so he forced himself to relax. It was an inspection, and he had apparently passed, from the looks, but he wasn’t being graded.
Much.
“We’ll depart first,” Grodray announced simply, coming over to stand close.
He was a tall man, but skinny. Standing next to Gareth just emphasized his own, massive bulk.
Gareth nodded.
“You just smile and make small talk, Gareth,” he said with a friendly grin. “Nobody knows you here except us, so it makes a good way to quietly introduce you to Accord society in a way that doesn’t require a lot of legend-building on your part. You be aloof and mysterious. Talk art as if you’ll be writing all this up for some magazine under a pseudonym later, and everyone will be polite.”
“Then what?” he asked, still a little fuzzy on the overall picture.
“Then we’ll see who nibbles at the bait,” Baker said. “Nobody knows who you are, so you can make a whole range of new connections that can turn into contacts later.”
“Okay,” Gareth agreed. “I get that, but why don’t I have business cards to hand out when they ask? I’m really just supposed to give them my first name and a comm box?”
“It forces them to perk up,” Grodray said. “Makes you a galactic man of mystery, especially as an unknown who could afford a seat at this table, and had the connections to get in. Everyone will want to know who you are. Make them work at it.”
“Okay,” he shrugged. “Never really done undercover work, but I can at least talk art.”
“And on Orgoth Vortai, that is all that matters, Gareth,” Talyarkinash smiled up at him, reaching out a hand to flatten his lapel a little and run her hand down the wool of his blazer. Maybe a little too long. “I can’t wait for you to tell me all the details later.”
“And that’s our cue,” Grodray said. “Your vehicle will arrive in ten minutes, so you should arrive just as the red carpet starts to get interesting. Remember, aloof and mysterious.”
Gareth nodded and watched them head to the door. He had his pocketcomm, his wallet, and his stunner. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t embarrass himself, or the nice man who had walked him so carefully through so much art history.
All he had now was that and those four books of modern art history and biography he had largely memorized.
Hopefully, it would be enough.