★ Evelyn ★

  The white dress with gold accents that the previous assistant had left behind looked absolutely stunning on Evelyn. It was nicer than anything she’d ever owned, plus it fit well enough, and Colonel Adderley informed her that it was purchased for a single event and had only been worn once.

  There was one slight problem, though.

  That assistant had clearly been shorter. As a result the hemline sat far too high, and the neckline plunged far too low. This was no ball gown; it was a cocktail dress.

  Not only was the coverage lacking, but she had no accessories to match. She wore the same chipped, gold-plated earrings she’d had since she was a child—one of the few things she’d kept from her mother’s belongings—and a pair of scuffed, flat-soled shoes with artificial pearls lining the top. A few were missing, but she prayed no one would notice.

  Her hair didn’t look much better; the best she could do with such limited resources was a loose bun that would inevitably need re-adjusting halfway through the night. Her ensemble was fancy, not formal, and she anticipated that she’d be incredibly out of place.

  “This seems inappropriate for such a formal event,” she said during the elevator ride to the ballroom as she tugged at the dress’s hem.

  “Stop messing with that; it looks fine,” General Moore replied. “And as for the dress code, you don't need to concern yourself with that sort of thing.”

  “I'm not concerned at all, but I'm worried others might be.”

  “Well, I’m not. Know why?" He leaned back and relaxed against the wall with his hands in his pockets. "Because you’re not supposed to fit in with the officers’ wives; you’re here to talk to the men. It’s an open bar, so they should be very chatty. Be friendly, but not too friendly. Don’t make it seem like you’re prying for information. Read the room, and be aware of who else might be listening. And above all, remember that you’re working for me. If you can’t handle it, no pressure. I’ll find someone else.”

  She took a deep breath. “I know this is all part of your plan, and you anticipate gossip, but…”

  “But what?”

  “Wouldn’t they say something? Your commanders? You report to someone, don’t you?”

  He shrugged. “They always say something. I just choose not to listen.”

  They were silent for the rest of the ride, and Evelyn’s thoughts churned with unspoken questions. She didn’t fear the judgment of others, but she’d thought it wise to exercise at least a slight degree of caution. One thing was becoming obvious very quickly, though.

  General Moore could break any rule he wanted, and with his blessing, so could she.

  A slight grin crossed her lips, and she decided that she was going to wear that outfit with as much confidence and conviction as she wanted. This was her dress now.

  Her thoughts were cut short when the elevator doors opened in front of them, and Moore held out his arm. “Now, pretend you like me for long enough to make our entrance.”

  She shrugged and placed her hand in his elbow. “Lead the way.”

  They entered the lobby together and made their way to the ballroom. They were early, she thought, because it was still quite empty. The lights weren’t as bright in here and the walls were a patterned gray instead of white, which offered a mild sense of privacy at least, but otherwise this space was as bleak and devoid of personality as the rest of the Europa Station, and she could sum it up in a single word.

  Boring.

  “Your grand ballroom isn’t all that grand,” she said.

  “Well, that’s Soviet engineering for you. It was a deliberate choice. We use this space for all of our large events, so it needs to be versatile. This is where we host Academy graduations, awards ceremonies, banquets, seminars… when Richard Gray finally kicks the bucket, the memorial service will be held in here, and we’ll all be required to attend and feign sadness. Et cetera.”

  They passed a group of officers standing nearby, and Moore gave them a polite nod, but then kept walking.

  “Where are we going?” Evelyn asked.

  “Straight to the bar.”

  They made their way across the room, and he held out his hand and helped her onto one of the barstools.

  “You know, Evelyn,” he said as he sat down beside her, “it would help if you showed at least a little bit of enthusiasm while we’re here. Lend some authenticity to the charade.”

  “You told me to try to fit in, didn’t you?” She glanced around the room. “Does anyone look excited to be here?”

  “No, which is all the more reason to make an effort. Don’t go over the top—just smile a little bit more.”

  She glanced at him. “Who exactly am I trying to impress, again?”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I can’t help but wonder if you’ve misrepresented your intentions, General Moore.”

  “I’ve misrepresented nothing. It’s no secret what you do for a living, and those girls are usually friendly. We're trying to give off a certain impression.”

  “Is that so?“ She glanced around the room. “Because one of the first things you learn at the club is that friendly girls don’t get very far. Our best dancers never approached clients. They’d just give them a wink and a nod, and then they’d wait. Worked every time.”

  He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  “You wanted me to be observant, didn’t you? Since you seem to like that, here’s something else. I couldn’t help but notice that you’re sitting here alone. No one greeted you when you walked in, and no one has come over to speak to you. It makes me wonder, General Moore, if paid company is the best you can do.”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  He scowled, but didn’t object. Instead, he simply looked away.

  She followed his gaze and turned to watch the rest of the partygoers, casually surveying the room as it filled with uniformed officers and their counterparts. The sound of a grand piano wafted above them, and she spotted a waiter making their rounds with a tray of hors d’oeuvres.

  “So what can I expect this evening?” she asked.

  “Disappointment,” he said as he gestured at the bartender, who nodded back.

  "They already know what you want to drink, I see.”

  “You could say that.”

  She scanned the ballroom again. “What about this is this so disappointing to you?”

  He sighed. “This isn’t just any party. We’re celebrating the promotion of a new general—one I could very much live without. But I won’t be able to, because now she’ll be sitting right there with me on the Council. She’s already been sworn in, and it’s already done. Now I just have to pretend to be happy about it.”

  He sighed again as he stared out at the ballroom. “I hate these things. Stuffy affairs, all of them, and this one’s made even worse by the infamously stuffy military dynasty that’s the Gray family. Fifty years, there’s been a Gray on the Council, and each one’s been worse than the last. We’re four generations in, now. We had a brief respite thanks to the war, but they couldn’t tolerate even the slightest gap in their reign so they’ve wormed their way back in. This newest ‘General Gray’ isn’t much older than you are, and they shoved her in that Council seat as soon as they possibly could. I doubt she was given much of a choice in the matter. The only silver lining is that she seems to be the least contentious of them—for now, anyway. But give it a few years, or possibly even a few months, and there’s no doubt in my mind she’ll be just as bad as the rest.”

  “That’s terrible, that they’d pressure her into that.”

  “Save your sympathy. Trust me, nobody here deserves it.”

  The bartender placed two glasses in front of them, and General Moore gave an appreciative nod as he took one and slid the other to Evelyn. She lifted it up to inspect it, but leaned back when the acrid fumes of straight whisky hit her nose.

  “I’m not drinking that,” she said, setting the glass back down.

  “Suit yourself.” He shrugged, downing his in one go.

  “Is your goal to be so drunk you can’t stand up?”

  “My goal is to make it through the evening by whatever means necessary, and avoid everyone named Gray in the process.” He placed the now-empty glass on the bar in front of them. “There’s probably a dozen of them slithering around here tonight. I doubt many are heavy drinkers, so we should be safe over here. The old man might wander this way though, so keep an eye out.”

  “Is that him?” She nodded toward an older gentleman sitting a few feet away from them at the bar, casually chatting with the thoroughly disinterested-looking officer next to him.

  “No, that’s just Howard. He’s quite prickly in his own right, but easy enough to ignore if you don’t engage in conversation, which is a mistake Captain Schaeffer over there appears to have made.”

  “That’s quite the medal on his uniform.”

  “Yes it is, and he’s the only Council member who’s got one. It was only given to wartime generals.”

  “He’s the only wartime general?”

  “The only one who’s left. The rest are either dead or retired.” Moore looked down, and his voice grew quieter. “He was the youngest member of the Council at the time of his promotion, and now he’s the oldest. He’s held that Council seat for over twenty years, and I remember when he got it. Hard to believe it’s been that long, and who would’ve thought I’d be sitting there with him one day?”

  There was a long pause as he stared down at his drink.

  “How long have you been a general?” Evelyn asked.

  “Eleven years. I was the first to be promoted after the war ended. They threw me one of these parties too, and it was a stuffy affair then, just like it’s a stuffy affair now.”

  She nodded. “How long are we going to sit here before we go mingle?”

  “I'll give it half an hour. There will be a speech at some point, and a toast, and then a fifteen minute interval where I’ll be expected to offer congratulations to one of the least deserving officers ever appointed to the Council. And then, finally, we can leave.”

  “Looking forward to it.” Evelyn reached for her glass and took a sip. “Will you be giving that speech?”

  “Oh no, I don’t do speeches. They only made that mistake once.”

  She set her glass back down as an officer with the reddest hair she’d ever seen approached them and nodded at the bartender, who nodded back and poured him a drink. It appeared that he’d tried to tame his tight curls by putting them up into a short ponytail at the beginning of the night, but after a few drinks and nature taking its course, it was beginning to revert to its original state. No military could ever subdue that hair by anything short of buzzing it to the scalp, but as she glanced down at his uniform, she saw enough medals to indicate that he, too, possessed a rank to which the rules no longer applied.

  “Of course I found you here,” he said with a smirk in General Moore’s direction.

  “Where else?” Moore said, lifting Evelyn’s glass and taking a drink. His words were beginning to slur ever so slightly.

  “How long do you think it’ll be until she resigns?” the man asked, nodding across the room.

  “Too damn long. However quick it is, it’s not quick enough.”

  “I guess I should clarify that we’re talking about General Gray, not your newest assistant.”

  “Go away,” General Moore said.

  The man smirked again as the bartender handed him his drink, then he winked at Evelyn. “Good luck, honey. He’s never had an assistant last longer than a month.”

  And with that, he left before they could say anything else.

  “Who was that?” Evelyn asked.

  “Friend of mine.”

  “Not just any friend, I take it. He’s wearing the same pin you are. Another one of those Council members?”

  “Yes, that’s General Rankin—an incompetent mess of an officer, but still better than the one we’re here to celebrate.”

  “How many of you are there?”

  “There’s twelve seats on the Council, and I expect we’re all in attendance tonight. I’ll be speaking to some of them and avoiding others, especially the newest one.”

  “There are always twelve generals, then?”

  “Yes, there’s a fixed number of Council seats. Well, I guess it could be counted as thirteen if you include the Chief Commander, but most of us don’t. He doesn’t hold voting power except in the event of a tie. Whenever someone dies in office, resigns, or retires, we nominate a new general to replace them, and there’s never more than twelve of us.”

  “What do you mean ‘dies or retires?’ Aren’t there term limits?”

  “No. There used to be, but we did away with that during the war. We lost so many good officers that whenever we found someone even remotely competent, we wanted to keep them around as long as possible. Our leadership was so desperate back then that they started graduating cadets from the Academy early just to fill positions. We had to rewrite nearly every rule we had regarding promotions and discharges just to retain talent.” He sighed. “At the time it made sense, but now it’s more trouble than it’s worth. It means that, in theory, we could have a seventeen-year-old general, which is the minimum age to enlist or enroll in the Academy. It’s never happened, but there’s no rule against it. And conversely, we could have an eighty-seven-year-old general, which did happen. And no, that wasn’t a good thing.”

  “A promotion to general is a lifetime appointment, then?”

  He sighed. “Yes it is, and the newest General Gray is in her twenties, so this is what I have to look forward to for a very, very long time.”

  He finished his drink and set the empty glass down. “Now, Evelyn,” he continued, and his words were noticeably slurred, “at some point you should get out there and start socializing, but until then, I’m going to request that you either close your mouth, or change the topic to something that doesn’t make me want to off myself. Is that alright?”

  She nodded.

  “Good. I’ll order us some more drinks.”

  So he did, and they sat there in collective misery, and it was every bit as much fun as they’d both imagined.