<h3 style="text-align: center">Jack


    At some point in my tenure as Depper''s assistant, I got a phone line installed right to my desk, which I thought was very modern and also created a whole lot of extra work and bother. My desk was in the open pen in the center of the administrative floor at Cabinet Hall. The receiver of the phone was not very good, and I had to speak rather loudly to make sure I was understood on the other side. The men at the desks around me did not seem to appreciate the disruption. My duty, though, was to Depper, not to my seatmates, so afternoons found me cradling the receiver with my shoulder and trying to take notes on whatever urgent matter was at hand.


    "I understand that, Mayor," I said, speaking to a man who had been hoping to speak to the MS, not myself. "What the Master Secretary is saying is, after the industrial road has been paved, you need to make sure at least two of those lots are set aside for military arms plants. We are facing a serious rifle shortage and we need the cooperation of local government to get this sorted."


    I listened as the mayor listed all the relevant obstacles. I had brought up the rifle shortage with Depper, and he had allowed me to see about getting the matter resolved. The caveat was that he would not lift a finger to help me. So, here I was, trying to work it out all on my own with a million other things on my plate.


    "Yes," I said to the mayor, "he''ll do his best to attend your campaign announcement speech. Thank you again."


    A courier from the first floor walked by and dropped a message on my desk. I hung up, rubbing my eyes with exhaustion, and knew there was little chance the MS would actually attend the mayor''s event. "Send a card is more likely," I muttered to myself. Then I spoke up to catch the courier before he could head out the door. "What''s this?"


    "From Armor Command," said the Cabinet courier. He had nothing else to say, and so he left.


    I opened the note. The message had been relayed from Captain Boll at Fort Firclaw. "What?" I said aloud in confusion. I had no idea why Murdoch would be reaching me from Dubhamer through official channels. The note itself, something about my father and a girl I did not know, appeared to be nonsense.


    Irritated and distracted, I folded up the message and put it in my pocket. It''s with embarrassment, I admit, that I had no sense of urgency when I read it. Just at that moment, Edmund Depper approached from behind. "Can you work tonight?" he asked.


    "Yes," I said. I tried to say yes to everything, no matter how inconvenient. I figured that was a simple rule I could make for myself, to help my career.


    "What?" said Depper, sensing my hesitation.


    "Nothing. I can," I said.


    "What?" he asked again, more insistent.


    I wasn''t used to having Depper actually care about my personal life. "My father''s visiting. I was going to see him for dinner, but I''ll cancel."


    Depper for once seemed to be in a good mood. He put his hand on my shoulder, and I sensed some odd sensitivity within him. "Go see your dad," he said, and did not ask me to work the night.


    That evening, I arrived at the place that had become tradition whenever my father was in town. The name was Bistro Moderne, and it was a Western-style establishment with both a restaurant and a full bar. Tonight, it seemed exceptionally busy. I was grateful my father always insisted on making a reservation.


    I wore my typical work suit, which was gray, and struggled to get through to place an order at the bar amid a packed throng of rich, tuxedoed men. Unable to make it across the floor, I gave up. I would have to wait until my father arrived and order my cocktail at the table.


    Listening to the four-piece band, I put my hands in my pockets and tried not to seem out of place. Then I looked ahead and saw one of the only women in the room walking toward me. From her features, I figured she was Paxanan, but she wore a face of makeup with a red lip and a red women''s suit in Far West style. She was well-built, with curled black hair, and looked possibly twenty-nine or thirty. She had a chilled glass of beer in each hand.


    To my surprise, she came up to me, although I was sure that I did not know her. There was no way a woman of that grade could escape my memory.


    "Someone bought me this," she said of her second beer, handing it over. I accepted it, and realized she had simply approached me because we were both alone.


    "Cheers," I said, and our glasses clinked together. Then we both drank. I watched her, and I watched her lips leave a red stain where they touched the rim. "Seems like your lip paint gets around," I said, pointing.


    "It''s called lipstick," she said. "And I like to leave something to remember me by."


    If I had been more canny, or more paranoid, I would have expected this was some kind of trick. In the moment, however, I did not think myself important enough to be tricked, and I was also used to women taking the chance to approach me in their own right now and then. So, I simply smiled. "Where did you pick that up?" I asked, referring to the makeup habit. It was unusual at the time, even for the city set. "Crisayni? Have you been taken in by the ways of the Far West?"


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    "What does it look like?" she asked, and moved her free hand down the side of her body to show off her Western red skirt and jacket.


    With that, I decided she wanted me. "It looks like I''d like to eat you alive," I said.


    She scoffed and laughed with a fake reproach. "What a forward young man you are."


    I doubled down. "You got me a drink. I should make it worth your while."


    She glanced over at a group of tuxedoed men and seemed to know them. "In theory, I''m supposed to be welcoming the crown prince to Archcove."


    "Benedict''s coming here?" I asked with astonishment. It was rare for a royal to ever leave the walls of the palace over in Pax. The thought of him showing up in a bar, like some common businessman, was almost unfathomable.


    The woman turned back to me. "Rumor has it he wants a government posting."


    I nodded. "Maybe he''s what Cabinet needs."


    Taking another drink of beer, I checked my watch. The woman had soft, rouged cheeks and big brown eyes. At this distance, I could smell her perfume. I was just about going crazy at the thought of her slipping away. "My father won''t be here for another twenty minutes. Why don''t we go find an empty banquet hall and see what''s under the tables?"


    My proposition came too late. The side door of the bar burst open, and, to my shock, Prince Benedict himself entered Moderne. He wore not his ceremonial robes but a black tuxedo. There were medals on his chest, along with a large gold calendula boutonnière. He carried a shiny cane in his hand, like a gentleman, like a star.


    The men in the bar cheered and mobbed him, pushing past me and the mysterious red-suited woman. The prince, who was on the shorter side, beamed and raised his hands in greeting. He was not particularly handsome, but he was not ugly either. He had a small moustache and wire-rimmed spectacles, and had such an incredible aura that you felt pure awe just from seeing him.


    "Rain check, Clearwater," said the woman in red.


    Even in that moment of astonishment, I still noticed the strangeness of these words. "You know me?" I asked. All at once I had the feeling there was some scheme afoot.


    "It''s my job to know," said the woman in red. She winked at me, teasing, taunting, and stepped away to join the mob as they followed the prince to an adjacent banquet hall.


    "Hey!" I called out after her, "your name. Damn." In the chaos of the moment, I had let her get away. Whatever private banquet hall was holding the prince''s event was not one in which I was welcome.


    I drank my beer alone in the bar, cursing my missed connection. Shortly after, my father arrived in the lobby, and we both got seated and ordered our usual steaks.


    "How''s Cabinet Hall?" he asked me while we were eating at the small, gold-edged table.


    "Busy," I said. The band had paused for a bit, which suited me, because I did not want to yell.


    "Busy''s good," said my father.


    "How''s Mother?" I asked.


    My father smiled. "The same. The men at Paxcorp are all impressed when I tell them what you''ve been up to. A few years under Knollblum and you''ll have a springboard into your pick of industry postings."


    I chewed and thought. I knew he had some desire to see me follow his footsteps in private industry, but I hadn''t thought he would bring it up so soon. "And what if I decide to stay in government?" I said.


    To my relief, he wasn''t angry. "Then bully for you, of course, son," he said, clapping his hands together. "I support you in anything you do. I''m not one of those legacy nags."


    I can''t tell you how relieved I was to hear that. I blotted my lips with my napkin and heard a roar of laughter from the banquet hall behind me.


    "The crown prince is here," I said, pointing a thumb toward the closed doors.


    "In this restaurant?" asked my father. He was just as surprised as I had been.


    "Believe it or not," I said. "No retinue, no ceremony, just walked in like a mortal man."


    My father took a drink and shook his head. "Things are changing faster than most people realize."


    "What does it mean for us?" I asked.


    He shrugged. When he did, his tuxedo buttons puckered just a little, and I could tell he''d had it tailored about seven pounds ago. It was not my place to tell him to take it out. "Well, my job''s easy," he said. "Keep making better automobiles and selling them at fair market price. You''re the one in the labyrinth of politics now."


    "I think you''re understating your hand in things, Father," I said. I knew that the goings-on of government intimately affected the affairs of Paxcorp.


    He chewed another bite, and the gristle gave him time to think. "That''s for me to know," he said. Then I saw something flash across his eyes. "Heard from Murdoch?"


    When he asked it, I remembered the note for the first time since it had arrived on my desk. "Yes, actually. I meant to mention I got the most baffling communique from him through Armor Command this afternoon."


    Instead of trying to recite it, I simply passed the note to my father. He put on his spectacles and read it by dinner table candlelight. With each word, his face grew more stern. "I don''t know any Sarah Paul," I said, "or a damn thing about wildflowers. Is this some secret between you two?"


    "Yes," said my father, "and it''s not about flowers. He must be under observation."


    I was surprised to see my father looking so grave, and I felt foolish for not having passed him the message first thing. I watched him try and think through the code. "Sarah Paul," he said. "Secret Police."


    This was all quite mysterious. "Don''t tell me he''s in trouble."


    He folded the note again. "Let''s hope not. Tell me. Who''s someone in the Army you trust absolutely? Someone I could go to with this in total secrecy?"


    I scowled. I knew almost no one in the Army. The people I did know, I had no way of knowing whether or not they were dirty or clean.


    Then one man at the Engineering Labs came to mind.


    "Well," I said with a sobered sigh, "Tom Trussford. If you can reach him."