It's early in the third shift on the sunless, 'round the clock station -- just about middle of the night on a normal shadow -- and you're heading back to the ship on some errand. Maybe you can't sleep, maybe you forgot something on board, maybe you just like to drop in at all hours, or maybe you're a "night owl" (though there isn't really a night on Relay) and like to work during the third shift.

On your way you cross through the observation lounge overlooking the vast docking bay where the Kolvir is in "drydock." The lounge here is mostly deserted, there are a few people passing through but nothing like the crowds that gather to gawk at the sleek intersteller yachts or warships.

However there is one person here that you think you recognize, a woman....

She's tall and slender, one might almost say skinny. She has long legs and long, slender fingers in which she cradles her chin as she leans on the railing and looks down through the angled windows. Her dark hair is cut short but still somewhat unruly. The planes of her face seem somewhat sharp, almost sculpted, and her eyes are a piercing green. She's wearing tight, dark red, leather pants, a black turtleneck of some soft, cashmere-like material, and high-heeled black boots. It's pretty normal casual evening wear on Relay.

It might take you a minute to place her because you've only met Roz once or twice before. When Roz first came to the Progress she was given a formal audience and you probably saw her then. And you probably saw her again at the formal ball after she had walked the pattern. But after that you were no doubt absorbed in building the Kolvir while Roz left the Progress and has been gone for years. This is the first you've seen, or even heard of her. You probably had no idea she was on Relay.

She hasn't seen you so, if you're the paranoid type, you could avoid her now and check into why she's here and what she's doing. Or you could simply walk up and talk to her.

From an engineering perspective, though, the planet is just a necessity, a gravity well to hang satellites around. One of these satellites (a custom A-Grav works) has been refitted to work on the Kolvir, a project substantially larger than Relay's normal fare of information and light ultra-tech manufacturing.

Now I'm under the impression that it's this satellite, rather than the planet of Relay itself, where this scene is currently taking place. On an observation deck.

So, relevant features... it's a deck, not an enclosed space. The black void of vacuum just hangs out there, littered with stars. Air is held in a bubble over the area by a network of micro-pressors, the type of detail that only John worries about. The floor is metal, the railings likewise, and somewhat cold.

What with all the foreign travel, the local data ecology has been somewhat disturbed. A small school of lively infoglyphs darts around the deck, occasionally pushing a candidate forward to try to solicit John or Roz's attention for multi-galactic pyramid schemes, the newest recording of Jovian tone-poems or virtual constructs guaranteed better than reality.

It's a somewhat public space, but late at "night". There aren't any pressing crowds, but every few minutes a person or pair of people wander through on their way to somewhere else.

Okay, I think I'm tapped on generalities. Do you have any specific questions, or does this give you the feel?

He'll sidle up to the railing next to her, making no effort to be stealthy (and thus maybe actually get close for that reason). He cradles a steaming cup of coffee in his hands.

He'll wait for her reply, and then nod. "Sure.. I'll take you to where they have the Kolvir mounted for the tech teams to work on her. We're running all three shifts, and I'm just spot checking the evening crew." He takes a drink of his coffee. "Now you're sure I can't get you something to drink? It's not like we get together all that often.."

He shifts slightly to lean against the rail. "It's a monster of a ship- and it needs to be outfitted with a lot of modern amenities and hardware. You know, detailed work that just can't be done in Amber. It's intended to be used as living quarters across multiple shadows, and folks wanted to be able to capitalize upon the local environment whenever possible."

He'll walk her through the partially finished ship. It's a large vessel (but not a floating city).

"It's going to be quite opulent when it's completed," he points out where the plush furnishing and appointments will be stationed. "And capable of proving any amenities available in any given Shadow on the Progress route."

Outlining some of it's more unusual characteristics. "She will be able to fly, as well as remain moving without being dependent upon sail or the whim of the wind."

He shrugs casually, "It will be outfitted with some unusual defenses, but I'm not at liberty to release that information at this time. I hope you understand."

He brightens. "Mom would never forgive me if I let anything happen to him." His mother being Vialle..

He shakes his head with a good natured but rueful expression. "Of course I had to argue with him for months just to approve this much of an upgrade to the Progress."

He pauses to tilt his head to the right shoulder till his neck gives a quiet little 'crack', and then straightens it.

"This is my take on why he's so resistant to making it any larger or grander in scope. It's partially because he's trying to foster a sense of over confidence in them. Demonstrating that he doesn't believe that they'll ever attack him- by not bringing a larger fleet. Secondly, he believes that also fosters trust. That he has faith in the treaties and agreements that they've made with Amber. The more respect a man is paid, they become more respectable every day. And lastly, there is intimidation. If he's not fearful- then maybe there's a reason why."

Then her grin is back. "But that's for another day and a *much* more serious conversation."

"There are also some important external geostrategic issues at heart here, that we can't afford to ignore," Roz continues, "as well as what I see are critical matters of internal social stability -- " Roz stops herself and looks down at the deck with an embarrassed grin, "I'm sorry, John, I don't want to bore you with a lot of poly sci geekspeak. Once I get on this subject I can talk all night."

He grins. "Seriously! I don't really have it on me.. and not that horrible Robin Williams remake.. but polymer whose elasticity produces a greater potential energy in response to kinetic-"

She looks up at you, meets your eyes, and smiles. "Suffice it to say what you've shown me here and what you've described are everything I could hope for -- well, maybe not everything," she grins, "if I was designing this ship I would have made it even bigger and grander," she throws her arms out in a gesture that encompasses... well, a lot! "But then, I'm not the poor fellow who has to build the damn thing!" She laughs.

"You've done one hell of a job here," she says, sincerely, "I hope the King will be pleased."

No accountability when things go wrong or stop working, no personal responsibility...!

"On my home shadow we knew what craftmanship was! We made exquisitely crafted products of wood and leather that were in demand all over Xintai," Roz continues her tirade but pauses for a moment, "well, I didn't make them, but a lot of people did." As her tirade winds down she starts to look embarrassed again. "Oh, God, listen to me go on..." she puts a hand on her forehead in mock shame, "you must think I'm terrible."

He'll lean over and look at the broken heel. "I can probably get an epoxy and fix that for you, if you like..?"

"Now c'mon, why don't you escort me home so that I can change out of these blasted boots and then we can go out to dinner and have a proper drink." Roz takes John's arm. "So what do you say, Johnny, you tell me about yours and I'll tell you about mine -- " Roz arches one eyebrow suggestively... "hopes and dreams, that is." Roz winks at you. "Hopes and dreams for the future...."

"Well- that's the thing about hopes and dreams, Roz. They're always expanding and growing, just as we grow as people."

He chuckles, "Well-" he says quickly, "how about we get you home and changed- and get that drink?"

He'll escort her back to her home (quarters/apartment?). He'll wait patiently as she takes an opportunity to get ready.

'Make yourself at home' is easier said than done. Roz's apartment is not what one might call "homey." It's very neat, very orderly, and very sparsely furnished to point that it seems very... controlled.

In contrast to this is the art -- abstract paintings adorn the walls, obviously from widely different artists, and yet it all shares a sense of uncontrolled abandon, of wild, passionate emotion.

Standing in the center of the room it's almost as if one is surrounded by... well... temptation. While in the midst of the riot of colors all is monochromatic, minimalist frosted glass and stainless steel.

"I'm picking someplace with a diverse menu," he calls as she changes. "I'm partial to seafood, but you can't order anything bad at this place."

"Okay, let's go," Roz comes out of the bedroom having changed out of the leather pants and turtleneck and into a deceptively simple black dress gathered around the waist with a belt of sliver links. The thin fabric and low-cut neckline of the dress makes it clear that she's not wearing a bra. Her high-heeled black pumps don't look much more comfortable than the boots she was wearing. A small silver clutch purse completes the ensemble.

Roz is putting on a pair of long, platinum earrings as she walks up to you.

When she emerges, he is standing concentrating on several glowing luminescent displays that float around him.. on nothing at all. He 'waves' through the different screens as if doing tai chi very quickly. The passage of his hands manipulate the ghostly GUI's.

He looks up with a smile staring at through the ghostly colors of the phantom displays. He looks for more than a moment through the ethereal computer displays. Not a gawk, and not a leer. Just a look of admiration that lasts for a heartbeat longer..

"I've just reserved a table for two at the Xanadu. Didn't even have to hack- I just happen to have made the acquaintance of the manager when Relay won the Kolvir contract. Right in the atrium of the stars.."

With a shove in the air, he dispels the spectral screens.

Taking her by the arm, he walks her to the nearest turbo-walk.

"So what do you want to know, Roz? I'm not that complicated. I look like my dad, but take after my mother in many ways. I stay busy to keep myself out of trouble. I try my best to smooth things over between Rebma and Amber.. and I try to be happy."

As his retinas flash, the maitre'de rushes to greet them and to guide them to their table.

"To borrow a line from someone else- it's not having what you want, it's wanting what you've got."

After drinks are ordered, he'll remark casually, "I do okay in the happiness business. Especially considering everyone around me. Except my parents.."

He sighs. "I took a good look around me when I was young. I decided that the best way to stay happy around Amber was to avoid boredom. Finding people and things that I enjoy and cultivating them- never allowing my self-worth to become hinged on what I accomplished in relation to anyone else."

He gives a mild shrug. "Of course I have a half-brother with at least forty years on me, still going through teen angst giving me an example of how not to be."

He pauses. "You're of a different opinion clearly. I shouldn't have spoken out of turn when Martin isn't here to defend himself. I'll just drop it, okay?" He asks hopefully.

Roz puts her hand on John's for a moment to show that if John's not upset, neither is she. She smiles softly and then let's go of John's hand to pick up her drink again.

He uses the celery garnish to stir his drink. "Then again, perhaps Tempest is also merely misunderstood."

"Can I ask you something, serious?" Roz asks, her demeanor becoming more subdued.

His demeanor has changed. It is cooler than before.

He looks right in the eyes for an instant, and then look away, out over the stars.

"Yes," he sighs.

"It's only my opinion however, the dynamics between the two nations. Changing that would be easier said than done. If it could be done."

"Not that I mean that as a put down, mind you," he adds quickly. "I'm just so accustomed to political or business discussions disguised as something else, that when it happens when I'm not expecting it- I just get a little disappointed. Like being ambushed by a pyramid-structured marketing sales scheme."

"No, not you per se, Roz. You just have to realize that I get a lot of relatives who draw me into a seemingly relaxed conversations, and then with this reluctant air about them- suddenly lapse into politics. Almost like bait and switch."

"Except for Dad- he's pretty straight forward, but then I guess he feels he has that luxury."

He looks her back in the eyes once again. "Many people in our family, or it's attendant circle, claim not to have an interest in what they refer to as petty politics. I seldom believe that. I was brought up thinking there was always something more to everything being said. So, unless someone can truly say that they weren't raised in this or a similiar culture, I think we're all political animals at heart. I couldn't be anything less, as the son of the King."

"To get back to our earlier conversation, one way I keep my happiness is to seperate John from the Prince. Today I was just John, but a question about Rebma calls for the Prince."

He smiles faintly. "I guess I just didn't want to stand aside for his benefit, or share this evening with him. Make any sense?"

"Our homeland has serious problems and dilemmas ahead of it John. As members of the up and coming generation of the royal family it's eventually going to fall to us to face those dilemmas, solve those problems. I fervently hope that you and I will be able to work together to come up with solutions to our various challenges. But before we can do that we first need to be able to share our thoughts and ideas, ruminate over causes and effects, discuss theories and conjectures; and I don't see that as talking petty politics -- I see it as an intellectual discussion on matters of the deepest significance to two very intelligent people who respect and admire each other for their abilities."

"But if tonight you'd rather keep the conversation to more light-hearted topics, I certainly have no problem with that," Roz picks up her drink.

"But, Johnny -- the next time I want to know if I can ask you something serious, if you really don't feel like having a serious conversation, it's perfectly okay to just say so." She smiles and finishes her bourbon. "Let's get another round." She suggests. "We can talk about Amber and Rebma and what's gone wrong between them some other day." She tries to smile but it seems a little forced, perhaps even a little sad.

"For the good of the Kingdom," he sighs. "You asked a perfectly reasonable question. You're entitled to a fair answer... because I do believe you care for Amber."

"My theory isn't based upon a social or economic model, but I will tip my hat towards nationalism. Rebma is, if nothing else, just as much a monarchy as Amber. It's opinion is swayed by it's queen. Rulers and their people can be effected by pride, and I think that's an undercurrent here."

He clears his throat and becomes quite serious. He sits up in his chair.

"My father took advantage of an emotionally vulnerable young woman, who happened to be the Queen's only daughter. He used that vulnerability to have a sexual relationship, and get her pregnant. He then publically dumped her, shattered her self-esteem, which ultimately led to her suicide after the birth of my half-brother out of wedlock."

John taps the table with the end of his index finger. Hard. "Queen Moire realized she couldn't demand his life from my late Uncle Eric, so she demanded the next best thing. And that was being forced to marry someone who was a pariah, yet someone that the Rebman Court had a very real obligation to- and the person who fit that bill, was to the public, a cripple. This make sense? My father was never intended to be happy from this union. He was intended to be humiliated."

He exhales the breath he was holding. "But it didn't quite work out that way." He finishes the last of his drink. "When I put this all in perspective, I do have some sympathy for Martin. He is pulled between his grandmother and our father."

"Me.. I make Rebma my business because.. My grandmother is responsible for my coming into the world, Rebma has no choice but to make me welcome, sincerity notwithstanding. The fact that I try to be a good person only seems to rub salt in the wound."

"But my theory Rosalind is.. that Queen Moire and the people of Rebma are not satisfied that my father has been punished enough. His best revenge upon them was living well, and it galls them. This irritation breeds a sort of nationalistic pride, which breaks down communication. Jams everything else up."

John leans back in his chair. "But what is anyone going to about it? Presume to punish him and his family further? He'd be the first to tell you he's not proud about what he did."

He adjusts in his seat. "You may not agree, but that's just what I see. The average person doesn't act upon these issues, but if the leadership does not communicate well, and pride is fostered.. well there you go."

He looks at her frankly. "Have I given you something to work with?"

Roz looks down at the table. "I also feel guilty -- first I brought up Martin, then I brought up Rebma, I feel like I'm stumbling across all of your old wounds," she looks up at John. "You've been open and straightforward with me, I feel I owe you no less. Do you have a question for me, something that you would like me to answer? I know that my past is nowhere near as complicated as yours is, but I promise to be as open and straightforward with you as you have been with me."

He waves towards another a flesh and blood waiter, to signal for another drink.

"And really- I'm not that complicated. And I didn't tell you anything that isn't more-or-less public knowledge. Though somneone else might not agree that Moire setting a negative tone towards Amber has such a sweeping effect. But me? Really, I'm just one guy stuck in the middle."

He sighs and touches her hand gently so that she'll look up at him again. "See? Not so bad after all?" He'll remove his hand from hers once she isn't staring at the table. "Sorry I came down on you so hard. Maybe you can see that I do get involved with the political arena, but that's not the whole of my life. Sometimes I seperate John from the Prince. But I don't see one as just for fun, and the other one serious. They're both important. Keeping them seperate is how I keep my wits."

"But I think some others suffer so much from boredom, or even the fear of it."

He focuses back on her. "You know what my impression of him is.. and I've never met him, this is just an opinion formed on what I've heard, and from whom.. I think his detractors were in some respect afraid of him. Though not because he was a monster, any more than they were. I think he just intimidated them on some level they don't like to admit. Certainly his sharp critique didn't win him any friends, but I think they were all uncomfortable with his potential. Our Aunts and Uncles, especially Bleys and Fiona, are not comfortable with anything they can't control. Especially each other. Corwin always seemed to be too much of a wild card, and I think that is at the heart of their disdain. They tell themselves they should be able to, and he pulled them up on it at every turn."

"That is just my opinion, of course," he adds nonchalantly.

He smiles then. "But yes.. let us be friends then." He raises his glass in salute. "To new friendships, built upon old relationships."