I regarded him out of the corner of my eye. He looked the very picture of Imperial marshall virtue. I had to admit he was a handsome devil. I hadn’t ever thought much about what an Inquisitor might look like but he certainly would have done a navy recruiting poster proud.

“I can’t speak for all the young ladies at the ball, but you are certainly quickening my pulse,” I admitted. The doors opened and there was a blast of marshall music that might have been the Imperial Naval March and then we linked arms and sauntered in.
 
“Rear Admiral Blasius Deckard and the Lady Adept Emmaline Von Morganstern of the Administratum,” a liveried servant boomed in quite the deepest voice I had ever heard. They didn’t mention Sol but by the sudden hush that fell over the crowd the word had already been spread. It seemed likely that the Superior Duke had spread the word, boasting of his ‘great friend’ Blasius Deckard without mentioning that their ‘friendship’ was only hours old. I had by that time seen my fair share of Imperial nobility. I was pretty familiar with the level of social engineering and scheming that went on, sometimes I wonder that the Imperium dosen’t collapse in on itself. 
 
The dance floor began to move again as the band transitioned back into a spritely waltz. That was quite the feat moving from the marshal beats of the Navy hymn. I looked over at the band to see how it had been accomplished and saw that the band was composed of servitors, each was a beautiful vat grown specimen with their instruments grafted to their limbs. Such extravagance. 
 
“Well I guess we should dance,” I said.

“Just so long as you don’t do the same dance you did for the crew. Have you seen the mural down in the berthing area?” Hadrian muttered. I turned my head in shock.

“Mural?” I asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, taking my hand as the waltz ended and a spritely sarabande began. We whirled onto the dancefloor with the other couples, the vast majority of which appeared in early middle years, though in many cases this was the result of extensive juvenat work. It was a glittering gathering, quite literally as nearly everyone was bedecked with jewelry that would have begarred a baron. We shared several dances together before an intermission was called and servants in livery entered carrying trays of fresh drinks and entrees which they set on a series of marble benches which ran along the sides of dancefloor. Both Hadrian and I were immediately mobbed by the assembled company. The press of young, and in some cases not so young, ladies around Hadrian threatened to be literally breath taking. It certainly would be a coup for any young women to dance with a dashing naval officer from Sol. I was of course not without my own share of attention. Before I could reach the amasec I was accosted by dozens of elegantly dressed young men all but shouting at me for dances and two marriage proposals which was almost a record for one night.
 
“Gentlemen, please, I am faint from dancing and need a drink,” I told them. It was the wrong thing to say, as I was nearly stampeded by those same young men all trying to get me a drink. It was like a wave rushing out but as they rushed back in they all froze hanging back several feet. I frowned and turned to find myself face to face with a handsome man with chisled features made all the more severe by a pointed goatee. He was dressed in an expensive silk suit cut along vaguely military lines. It was offset by a gorgeous sash of some kind of fabric which was lit by the shimmering luminescence of an internal power pack.  He had a presence about him, perhaps excentuated by the fact that he had chosen to interupt his againg with juvenant at a mature fifty rather than as a smooth skinned twenty something. I made a mental note to see what the Inquisition could do for me in that regard. He handed me a snifter of amasec and I noticed he was holding a second for himself.

“I am Julius Mercutio Ignatius,” he introduced himself in a rich cultured voice, lifting his snifter in formal salute.
 
“Emmaline Von Morgenstern,” I replied lifting my own glass. No surprise that the amasec was excellent, maybe the best I had ever had.

“From my own cellars,” Ignatius said with a smile. At the last moment I remembered that I was from Sol. I sipped the incredible amasec and forced myself to make an indifferent nod.
 
“I am told that you are an Adept of the Administratum,” Ignatius replied. I nodded and tried not to glance around looking for Hadrian.

“May I ask what it is you do for our Holy Administratum?” he asked with an air of genuine curiosity. “I don’t see any ink spots.” I gave a superior smile and a number of piece of information that had been bouncing around my brain seemed to click into place.

“I am a Magus of Xenoarchaeology,” I told him, effecting the superior tone of all academics when dumbing down their specialty for the uneducated. It was so slight that if I hadn’t been looking for it I might have missed it. Ignatius had been begining to smile and there was a sudden pause. Just for an instant but it was there, the briefest flicker of… something. Then he was back to his jovial self.
 
“Xenoarchaeology, really? A fascinating subject. Where have you worked?” he asked. I made a tosh sound.

“I’m sure you don’t want to hear about dusty tombs and glowing glyphs,” I breezed. This time he didn’t react beyond a slight tightening of his grip on his glass.

“We are at a party afterall,” I continued. Ignatius nodded, the smooth veneer returning as though it had never been disrupted. He tossed off the rest of his drink.

“Well in that case I just have one further question,” he said. I arched an eyebrow in what I imagined was proper Terran disinterest.

“Oh?” I asked. He extended a gloved hand to me.

“May I have this dance?”