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mouth’s
beginning to water at the smell of all that food. You know, you’d
think someone’d notice us standing up here and invite us down for a
bite.”
    The man’s companion gave a sardonic laugh.
“They can’t even see us, mate. We’re just part of the scenery.”
    The first speaker glanced down at his
uniform. “You mean they can’t see the queen’s red?” he queried, his
eyes wide in mock disbelief. He shook his head. “And to think I
went to all that trouble ironin’ and polishin’ for nothing.
My comb morion alone took me almost an hour, the damn heavy
thing.”
    He pushed back his silvered helmet and wiped
the sweat from his brow.
    The comb morion – the ancient helmet style with its brim
curved up front and back, like a boat’s bow and stern, and its
crest or comb – was another design link with the ancient royal,
Elizabeth I. However, the contemporary model was lighter and plasarm coated. Plasarm
was the latest in flexible plastic-metal amalgams. The latter had
many uses, including armour. Soldiers also wore a plasarm-coated
cuirass in combat situations.
    “Just think, if I’d known that,” the first
speaker went on. “I could have come along in my weekend civvies and
mixed in.”
    His comrade sneered. “Yeah? You ain’t never
gonna make it down onto that lawn. You need to be born there or
have enough money to pay someone to say you was born there.”
    The first soldier grinned. “Oh well, I can
dream, can’t I?” He mopped his brow again and glanced up at the
sky. “By the bones of the ancients, but those bloody two suns are
killers, ain’t they?”
    A crusty grumble acknowledged.
    To the south, the direction in which they
were facing, they could just see the dark tops of the old fort’s
parapets – the present base for the Vegar garrison. The fort had
been the first structure built on Trion one hundred years earlier.
Some few kilometres farther to the south, they knew, lay Vegar
itself, chief town and seat of government on Trion.
    “Hey up, look you there!” The first speaker
was leaning forward in his eagerness to see something. “Whew! Makes
your mouth water just to look at her, don’t it?”
    A young woman, with regal bearing, was making
her way toward the governor’s shade tent. She was dressed in a
full-length gown that shimmered in the midday suns like gold. Her
auburn hair cascaded to her shoulders in lustrous waves. On her
head, she wore a tiara that sparkled with a wealth of diamonds. The
crowd parted for her like the Red Sea for Moses.
    “ Wow, look at her. Now, that’s an
aristocrat if ever I saw one.” He cast a sideways wink at his
fellow sentry, at the same time uttering a low whistle. “And look
at that yella dress,” he continued. “I sure wouldn’t mind a squeeze
of what that’s holding. She’s some beauty ain’t she? Look at that
figure! Be worth a month’s pay and then some, eh, to cuddle up
with her ?” The
young sentry’s words tumbled out almost incoherently in his
eagerness.
    “ Yep,” his companion acknowledged with a
nod. He looked closer. “But that ain’t yella, mate,” he added
scornfully. “That’s what they call chartreuse . It’s one of
this year’s fashion colours. I ought to know. I’ve been dragged
around enough of Vegar’s dress shops to recognise chartreuse when I
see it.”
    He gave a sudden start and glanced round
apprehensively. “Anyway, you’d better shut up about it. You know
who she is, don’t you? Lady Caroline! If anyone hears you talkin’
about her like that, you’ll be seeing the inside of them cells
under the fort faster than the tongue of a Lumaian lizard
drinking.”
    “ Of course I know who she is,” the first
soldier snorted. “No harm meant, just a little harmless
day-dreaming, is all. I mean, she’s downright gorgeous, and I was –
well – just lookin’. Anyone’d think I was aimin’ to steal the crown
jewels, or somethin’. Like they can’t control what we’re thinkin’,
can they? I