The Princes summons had been short, with no detail to their nature, but it was a royal summons none the less. Upon arrival at the Cambridge Planetary spaceport, the three gentlemen would find themselves escorted to an awaiting shuttle.
Once all had climbed aboard and taken their seats, the shuttle launched, taking them to the older part of Planet Cambridge, a sector belonging to the Royal Family.
Disembarking, they quickly found themselves in a large entry hall, and were instructed to wait by the guards.
Waiting really wasn't something the Admiral was good at, the permanent time shortage of a command job didn't help at all in making him more patient but at this time and in this place he wouldn't dare asking how long they had to wait.
All his life, the least ever since he could remember, he had dreamed of beeing invited by the royal family. Not a very usual dream nor very likely for a commoner to come true, but nonetheless an important one to him.
Yet, he wished it didn't have to come to this. The timing of this meeting made him guess there was just one possible reason for it, overshadowing the delight he felt.
To pass the time he took a closer look at his surroundings, an entry hall bigger than the apartment he had on New London, probably even bigger than some houses in the more rural parts of Cambridge. It's scale alone could teach visitors humbleness of the power and might of the ones who called this mansion their home.
Taking a glance at the other guests, he couldn't help but wish the prince had chosen Victor to accompany them, he didn't see the retired Lieutenant Commander in some time and even though they weren't best friends he would have had someone to talk to. Instead the prince called for a man in a grey suit and without humor, most likely an excellent administrator and a horrible field agent, along with chief constable Hutchinson, a respectable man and officer he didn't know personally either.
The Director was not looking forward to this meeting. He knew that time was short, far too short, and although he had sent out numerous orders he still felt that a meeting was a waste of time, even though he knew damn well it wasn't. He'd never met Officer Hutchinson, although he knew of his reputation, likewise, Steiner had given Weber a brief rundown on what kind of man the Admiral was. If only he had the contacts to find out what kind of person the Prince was.
He wandered into the entry hall, various artworks and busts lining the walls, details of past glory now seemingly worthless. The most noticeable feature of the hall however, was a well built man in an admirals uniform, McIntire, who was pacing around like a headless chook.
''Admiral McIntire I assume, a pleasure.'' The Director said with a thick Gaelic accent, not unlike the one Gaian's had.
The first thing he noticed when the man spoke was his accent as McIntire noted with slight displeasement, it reminded him of his command in Dublin and what the Mollys called a language. He also noticed the man failed to introduce himself.
You are correct, and who do I have the honor of speaking to? I can not remember having met or heard of you yet.
He said while fixating the mans eyes in the way he used to do when dealing with officers misconduct, sending an obvious signal of displeasement about the incivility of whoever that man was.
''Quite Correct'' Weber said, approaching the man and extending a hand ''Director Harry Vincent Weber, of the Intelligence Services. I hope I haven't caught you in a foul mood'' he said, noting the admirals Gaze, something he himself was all too familiar with.
He accepted the extended handshake and the -late- introduction. He would probably have to work with this man in the near future and the SIS was a competent tool for Bretonia. Personal differences wouldn't help anyone.
Not at all, I merely dislike to spend time waiting. I am pleased to meet you Director. I assume Skirka informed you about who I am? Doesn't really matter, information is your business.
He offered Weber a seat next to his, maybe he could use the time to get to know this man who possibly might be or become a valuable asset for the nation.
''Mister Steiner has told me all about you, yes.'' Weber said, sitting down and opening his briefcase to produce a sheet of paper and an envelope. ''He sends his regards'' the Director said handing the envelope to the Admiral. ''Any idea when Officer Hutchinson and His Royal highness will be arriving?''
Chief Constable Nigel Hutchinson sat quietly, in the large room, pondering the reason for the summons, he had decided that turning up in a suit would be a lot more appropriate, than wearing full dress uniform. Didn't the Prince realise that time was precious and there were not enough hours in the day? He would have preferred to send one of his Commanders instead, but a Royal Summons left no leeway.
Nigel was mentality going over all the recent Reports, from his Commanders, highlighting all the troubles in their Systems and requesting more manpower. Recruitment was not going well, as all the competent pilots were going to the Armed Forces, as was expected. What the recruits lacked in skill and experience was made up for in their enthusiasm.
He came to, from his thoughts, and looked over at the other 'guests'. He saw Admiral McIntire, who he knew only from pictures and reputation, bedecked out in full dress uniform, talking to another man dressed in a suit. This other man had the demeanour that you would associate with a 'spook'.
He could not hear what they were saying, but it looked like they were introducing themselves to each other. Suddenly as part of their conversation drifted over to him, he couldn't help giving a wry smile when he heard the question, from the 'spook', ''Any idea when Officer Hutchinson and His Royal highness will be arriving?''. So much for the 'spook' theory, "can't get everything right all the time, Nigel" he chuckled to himself.
Nigel then went back to his contemplating and how to word his responses to his Commanders, telling them that Bretonia was sitting on the bare bones of their backsides and the future was bleak.
'I would like to be half as clever as some people like to believe they are' Life is full of disappointments, it is how we handle them that helps to define us, as a person
A smaller door opened to the side, allowing James to enter. Two guards followed him through, both in their combat uniform, in contrast to James dress uniform. The Colonels pips on his shoulders shiny, his elevation to commander of the Royal Artillery fresh. He made a curved line towards the great doors that stood before them all.
Gentlemen. I'm well aware of the situation so let's not take any more time than is necessary.
He pushed the giant doors open, the two guards taking up positions either side of the entrance. The room itself was swamped in darkness, but as James switched the light on, the room filled with light. The edges illuminated first, showing this to be some kind of entertainment hall, where the royal Family would mingle with guests, perhaps even dine with them. It was the central light, filling the middle of the room that showed the centrepiece. A round wooden table, 12 chairs placed around it, a sword on the table before each seat. James moved into the room, fast but casual, walking round to the seat directly opposite the door. There lay a sword, it's hilt seemingly fashioned of gold, wrapped in a black fabric of the finest make.
Gentlemen, you may know of different orders in the Bretonian nobility. Are you aware of the Order of the Round Table?
His question suddenly answered, Weber rose feeling quite the fool for not noticing the head of the BPA. He did not have time to apologise as the Prince was already on the move into the next room. His question seemed odd, given the nature of the meeting they were all attending , ''It's an Arthurian legend sir.'' Weber began ''The vassals of the king were all demanding to be equal to each other, so King Arthur had a round table built. So everyone who sat at the table was equal, since the table itself had no 'head'. Or so the story goes, why do you ask?''
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