“And we’re all grateful,” she said. “Once these formalities are over, we can get down to work on the real issues.” She looked around the vast reception hall and added, “Under somewhat less crowded circumstances, of course. Out of all these people, I think I see perhaps half a dozen who might actually need to be in the loop. Maybe fewer.”

“You and I, of course,” Crow said. “The Planetary Legate. The Governor. Colonel Griffin, will you be there as well?”

“I’ve found that the Colonel wears many hats,” Tara Campbell said. Griffin couldn’t tell from her expression and tone of voice whether she meant to counter the Paladin’s subtle dig or simply to state a fact. “One of them is Prefect’s liaison with the local intelligence networks. So we’ll definitely need him on the team.”

“It will be my pleasure,” said Michael Griffin.

The Fort

City of Tara, Northwind

December, 3132; local winter

Tara Campbell was pleased to see that in spite of the last-minute nature of the operation, the Regimental reception for Paladin Ezekiel Crow was going smoothly. For a combat officer with a sideline in domestic intelligence, Colonel Michael Griffin had turned out to be surprisingly good at pulling a party together. She made a mental note to write him up a letter of commendation; as her father had said more than once, it never hurt to have another one or two of those in your personnel file, as a reserve against later disaster.

In the meantime, she intended to take advantage of her first opportunity to spend any length of time with the newly arrived Paladin. She still felt somewhat irked that the Exarch had placed so little confidence in her, but the irritation was tempered with a profound relief that she was not, after all, going to have to face everything that was coming alone.

And if she had to work with a Paladin of the Sphere, she had to admit that Ezekiel Crow was one of the best: distinguished graduate of the military academy right here on Northwind; Planetary Legate for Footfall in Prefecture V; leader of a successful campaign against smuggling and terrorist activity in that region; Knight of the Sphere; architect of a peaceful settlement to the Liao Conservatory of Military Arts Rebellion; and finally, a Paladin at the young—for that position—age of forty.

She wasn’t certain what she’d expected, as far as appearance went. She’d seen occasional pictures and tri-vee likenesses of him, and while they gave the viewer an idea of things like height and coloring, and recorded his fondness for wearing civilian clothing of plain color and conservative cut on those rare occasions when he wasn’t in uniform, they did nothing to convey his undeniable presence.

Crow had chosen to wear dress uniform that night—making it the first time that many of the guests at the reception had seen a Paladin in all of his glory. Tara was glad that she’d decided to wear formal civilian clothing, which wouldn’t threaten to outshine him. The plain black velvet gown made an effective contrast to the richness of Crow’s military regalia.

Alone among the guests, Colonel Griffin had seemed less than completely overawed by Ezekiel Crow. He’d been perfectly respectful, of course, just… standoffish, in a way that he had never been while working with Tara alone. Perhaps he too had felt insulted on her behalf by the Exarch’s gift. If so, she could hardly fault his loyalty.

Everybody else, on the other hand, had professed themselves delighted to meet the Paladin. Tara watched with appreciation as Crow greeted the president of the Northwind branch of Bannson Universal Unlimited, talked economics with him earnestly for three minutes, and sent the man on his way smiling.

At the next lull in the conversation, she murmured, “Damn, my lord, but you’re good. I couldn’t have handled him that neatly if I’d tried.”

His answering smile warmed the dark blue of his eyes, and softened his austere features into something close to attractiveness. “I’ve had considerably more practice.”

“It’s the part of political life I like the least,” she admitted. “Pretending to be interested in everybody. I suppose I’m just a soldier at heart, like my father.”

“You could do worse. Everything I’ve heard about Jon Campbell says that he was a good man.”

“He was,” she said. “It’s been years, now, and I still miss him.” She forced a smile. “But enough of past hurts. Can I offer you some whisky punch, my lord?”

He shook his head. “Your local recipes are too strong for me, I’m afraid. I don’t drink.”

“Try some of the pink fizzy stuff, then. It’s guaranteed free of intoxicating or hallucinogenic substances.” She caught the eye of a member of the catering staff. “Bring the Paladin a glass of the offworlders’ punch and a plate of the mixed pastries, please.”

She turned back to Crow. “We don’t want you expiring from hunger before we have a chance to pick your brains and use your expertise.”

“I’ll do my best to stay alive, then, and ready for the picking.”

It was hard to tell in the atmospheric lighting of the reception hall—myriad small faux candles in the crystal chandeliers overhead, and dozens of larger ones in the mirror-backed sconces along the wall—but she thought that she saw him color slightly as soon as the words came out. She was surprised. She’d thought that a Paladin would be above noticing such accidental double meanings, let alone committing them.

Apparently not, she thought, blushing a little herself, and hastened to change the subject. “I foresee a deal of boredom in your future, my lord. Everybody from the Planetary Legate down to the cooks is going to be lined up to ask you what’s what and how are they doing it this year back on Terra.”

“Not the cooks, surely.” His plate of delicacies had arrived, and he was making considerable inroads into the smoked finny serpent in pastry, the candied fruits, and the little cakes with the nut toppings. “I haven’t had some of these dishes since my student days here. I’m guessing that all of the ingredients are local?”

“Yes.” His words gave her an idea. She turned it over in her head a couple of times, then said, “We’ll have to schedule at least a few of your many, many meetings for an afternoon in Castle Northwind. The cooks will be put on their mettle by the chance to show off.”

“Castle Northwind is your family’s principal residence?”

“Yes,” she said. “I live here in the city these days, but Castle Northwind is where I did most of my growing up. The staff will be delighted if I bring them home something as exotic as a Paladin.”

“By all means, then, let us give your staff a treat.”

Tara found herself blushing again. She was not completely inexperienced—she could hardly be that, after getting her schooling in the intense and often sexually charged atmosphere of the Northwind Military Academy—but in all of her half-formed fantasies and daydreams, she’d never visualized herself in such casual, almost flirtatious, conversation with a Paladin of the Sphere.

Don’t even think of it, she told herself. He outranks you politically and militarily both, he’s a guest on your world and—very soon now—in your family home, and he’s quite probably been sent out from Terra for the express purpose of either keeping you from making disastrous mistakes or reporting back to the Exarch when you do. No good could possibly come from a romantic entanglement with this man.

She would have to be careful around Paladin Ezekiel Crow.