The rest of the soirée went splendidly. The captain kept Du Havel monopolized throughout, much to Du Havel's delight. For a man who'd spent most of his adult life mastering the elaborate and often arcane skills of a naval officer, Oversteegen had an impressive grasp of the galaxy's political theory.

Granted, Oversteegen was far too biased in favor of his own views. Granted, he tended to read far too little of the thinking of those he disagreed with, and dismissed them much too quickly and easily. Granted also, his entire outlook was somewhat warped; first, by the inevitable prejudices of his social background; second—Du Havel thought this was much more important—by the equally inevitable prejudices of a man whose active life had been shaped by the immediate demands of a long and savage war.

Still, all in all, a very fine fellow indeed. And, when the soirée ended, Du Havel parted company with the captain with considerable reluctance.

"If I could, I'd propose we meet again sometime soon," he said, shaking Oversteegen's hand. "Alas, I'm afraid I'll be heading off for Erewhon within the week. I'll be accompanying Captain Zilwicki on his voyage there, in order to pay my respects to the family of Hieronymus Stein and his surviving colleagues in the Renaissance Association."

There seemed to be an odd little gleam in Oversteegen's eye. "So I understand. I have t' leave the system myself, in any event. Tomorrow morning, in fact. But, who knows? As fate might have it, Web, we may meet again."

He gave Du Havel a stiff little bow; then, to Cathy Montaigne, one which was neither stiff nor little. "Doctor Du Havel, Lady Catherine, s'been a pleasure." And off he went.

"What's so funny?" he asked Helen Zilwicki, who'd kept well within the orbit of his long conversation with Oversteegen throughout the evening, even if she'd never said a word herself. Web suspected the midshipwoman had a quiet case of hero worship for the captain, even if she'd be caught dead before admitting it.

Helen grinned. "You know, Web, every now and then you might tear yourself away from your scholarly tomes to look at the daily news. It was just announced today, in the naval section. Captain Oversteegen and Gauntlet have been reassigned to Erewhon. Anti-piracy patrol, they're calling it. The ship's leaving orbit tomorrow."

"Oh." A bit embarrassed, Web's eyes dropped. Encountering the sight of torn sleeves, his embarrassment deepened.

"Oh. Hm. I'm afraid your guests must have thought me quite the barbarian, Cathy."

Cathy's grin was even wider than Helen's. "And so what if they did? This wasn't really my crowd tonight, Web. Not most of them, anyway. It was mainly made up of Liberal Party bellwethers, trying to test the shifting winds at an event they could attend without having to openly thumb their nose at New Kiev."

"Yes, I know. That's why I'm a bit concerned I made the wrong impression."

She shrugged. "That depends on how you define 'wrong,' doesn't it? I'll tell you what, Web. I'll leave the theory to you, as long as you leave the sordid tactics to me. It won't hurt me one bit to have lots of aristocratic Liberal Party hacks convinced that I'm the only one who knows how to get along with lower class barbarians."

As they were climbing back up the stairs, heading toward the townhouse's elaborate set of bedrooms—fortunately, Cathy would guide him to his own—Du Havel asked another question.

"Where was Anton tonight, by the way? And Berry, for that matter?"

Seeing the expression on Cathy's face, he grunted. "What? Another case where I should have read the news reports?"

"Hardly! Not unless—"

She shook her head. "Never mind, Web. 'Need to know,' and all that. You'll find out soon enough. For the moment, you can go to your rest in the serene confidence that before too long you'll be able to offend somebody else from the upper crust."

"Oh, splendid," he said. "I do so enjoy that, as long as I'm not fouling something up for you."

"In this case, I doubt it. First, from what Anton tells me, because the upper crustee in question probably doesn't offend all that easily. Secondly, because I don't give a fuck anyway."

"You really should watch your language. Especially now that you're a politician instead of a rabble-rouser."

"Don't be silly, Web. It's part of my charm. Persona, if you will. Who else can the Liberals turn to when the mob gets unruly, except someone who can cuss like a deep-space cargo-walloper?"

"You have a devious mind, Catherine Montaigne. I'd fear for your soul, except I don't believe in souls. Not a shred of evidence to support the notion, I'm afraid."

They'd reached the door to his bedroom. He began to open it, but paused.

"Well. I admit your daughter Berry could be considered a piece of evidence in favor. Hard to explain otherwise how she turned out, really."

"Isn't she a gem?" agreed Catherine enthusiastically. "I sometimes think she's the most levelheaded person I've ever known. Most of the time, I'm sure of it."

"Well put." He shook his head sadly. "I'll miss her, when I leave. I surely will."

As he entered the bedroom and closed the door, he caught a glimpse of Cathy, still standing in the corridor. There seemed to be an odd gleam in her eyes. Maternal pride, perhaps.