A slender man with thinning hair, a pointed nose, and a thin moustache met them at the door. He pressed his white-gloved fingertips together in front of him and bowed slightly at the waist. “Duke Sandoval. I am Charles Pinckard, the manager. Let me welcome you to the Chipley Arms. I can’t tell you what an honor it is to have such a special guest in our hotel.”

“My arrangements have been taken care of?”

“Indeed, my Lord, though it is unusual to have a guest reserve the entire hotel.”

“I won’t be using all of it, of course. Your best suites are on the top three floors?”

“Yes, and of course I’ll be showing you our Emperor’s Suite on the top floor. I hope it meets with your approval.”

The manager led them to an ornate brass express elevator, which he operated with a key attached to a watch chain on his jacket. It whisked them to the top floor, and directly into the suite. “A private elevator is one of the features of the suite. There are three bedrooms with baths, plus a parlor, drawing room, library and formal dining room. Our kitchen is at your disposal around the clock.”

Aaron admired the furniture. The legs were all gracefully curved, and elaborate scrollwork was deeply carved into the wood. The upholstery was done in plush burgundy velour striped with gold thread. Rich tapestries woven with stylized scenes of the desert and sea hung on the walls. Marble sculptures stood on illuminated pedestals, and mirrors in elaborate gilded frames hung on the walls. Huge carpets, woven in the same style as the tapestries, covered the marble floor.

It was a splendid space—comfortable and impeccably decorated.

He turned back to the manager. “Is there a freight elevator?”

The manager nodded. “Just down the hall, through the common spaces.”

“Good. Some of my men should be waiting in your lobby by now. Please have them brought up through that elevator.”

“Certainly, sir.” The manager raised his hand to his cheek and spoke briefly into the tiny transmitter strapped to his wrist. “Will there be anything else?”

“This will be fine. I’ll take it. I’ll take it all. Now, is your second-best suite on this floor as well?”

The manager looked puzzled. “Yes, just down the hall.”

“Good. I’ll be staying there. Show me, please.”

The manager stepped to an inlaid set of double doors and swung them open to the corridor outside. He hesitated and turned. “But, my Lord, I thought this suite was satisfactory?”

“Oh, yes, it’s perfect. That’s why the men are coming here.”

Just then, an elevator at the end of the hall opened, and a full load of large, rough-looking men stepped out. An observant person might have recognized them from Captain Clancy’s crew. They looked completely out of place in the elegant surroundings.

They marched up to Aaron. A bald man with a nose that appeared to have been repeatedly broken seemed to be the leader. He looked at the open doors. “Is this the place, Duke?”

Aaron nodded. “Strip it—carefully; I don’t want anything broken or scratched—and take it all back to the ship.”

The manager’s eyes widened. “Strip it? I don’t understand.”

“I’m taking the suite, Mr. Pinckard, or rather, all its contents. I’ll pay for full replacement of course, plus a generous overhead, and we’ll compensate you for loss of use while the room is being redecorated.”

The manager’s jaw hung open. “Redecorate. But—This is impossible. These are all antiques, some dating back to the Star League.”

“Which is exactly why I’m taking them. These aren’t the sort of furnishings one purchases off a showroom floor. The quickest way to furnish a luxury suite is to find one that’s already furnished, and remove its contents to the new suite.”

The manager just couldn’t seem to wrap his head around what Aaron was saying. “Move the suite?”

Two men positioned themselves on either end of a couch, bent down, and lifted it onto their muscular shoulders. The manager watched in horror as they carried it down the hall to the waiting elevator.

Aaron waved his hand in front of the man. “The second-best suite in the hotel?”

“Yes,” said the manager, seemingly grateful for some task he could relate to. “This way.”

Three more men walked by, one with a lamp, one with a rolled-up tapestry over his shoulder, and a third carrying a statue wrapped in a blanket.

The manager opened another set of doors. “This is the suite. Um—Will you be stripping it, too?”

“I’ll be staying here for a few days while my ship is being refitted. Put my valet and bodyguard on this floor as well. The floor below will remain vacant as a noise buffer.” He had a sudden inspiration. This was a fine opportunity to gain the individual loyalty of Clancy’s crew. “Oh, and the gentlemen who are hauling this furniture, they’ll need first-class rooms on the lower floors. There will be another forty-five or so coming from the ship as well. They should all have rooms. I’ll be taking care of their meals, bar tabs, and room service. And of course I’ll pay for the damage.”

The manager paled. “Damage?”

The Duke ignored the question, turning to Deena. “Call the ship. Tell Clancy that anyone who can get shore leave is welcome, including him.”

“That won’t happen, my Lord. He loves that ship.”

“I agree, but ask him anyway.”

“Damage?” The manager worried over the word like a dog with a bone.

Deena glanced at him and shrugged. “They’re sailors on leave. There will be damage.”

The manager nodded his head sadly. “Of course.”

“I understand,” said Aaron, “that you have a very fine chef.”

The manager brightened a little. “He is, if I may say so my Lord, exceptional. Chefs have come from throughout the Sphere to study his techniques.”

“That’s good,” said Aaron, looking out through the suite doors as a massive dining table was carried past, “because I’ll be taking him with me as well.”

The manager’s mouth hung open. He blinked. Blinked again. “But of course,” said the manager, “but of course.”

Aaron relaxed on the balcony outside his suite, feet propped on an ottoman, a fresh batch of company reports on his computer pad, a cold drink made from some sort of fresh-squeezed cactus juice in his hand. His view extended down a strip of parkland through the heart of the old city, to a dockside amusement complex that seemed to operate all day and most of the night.

He’d spent almost an hour the previous evening looking down at its colorful lights and spinning rides. Everything—even the boats that cruised the harbor—seemed to be outlined in strings and lines of colored lights. He’d even sent for a pair of binoculars, so he could watch the people from behind the ferro-glass canopy that protected him from snipers.

Part of him wanted to be down there, too. Walking the boardwalks, peering into the shops, smelling the spicy intoxicants wafting from every food stall and vendor cart. Oh, to be a fledgling cadet, feeling powerful in his new uniform, a beautiful and deeply impressed young lady holding his hand, seeing those spinning lights reflected in her eyes.

He pushed the thoughts away. Such things were for overgrown children, not for men of title and power. Those days were gone. They would not come his way again. He tried to work, and suddenly found himself unable to concentrate.

He took his feet off the ottoman and climbed out of his deeply padded wicker chair. He stood next to the railing, looking out, reaching up to put his fingertips against the cold glass. He was a long way from forty, but could he be feeling old?

Or perhaps just alone. There were aspects of life that were passing him by in the rush to power.

There were women, of course. Companions, flings, but his requirements for anything beyond that were very strict. He would not be merely choosing a wife, but a duchess, and perhaps something more than that. There was the matter of heirs as well. There was far more to consider than his own pleasures and whims.