“Be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and others have greatness thrust upon them.”

―William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night

“And some are simply not great.”

—The Princess, muttered during breakfast

The heavy stillness was broken by one of the Jeans, who, having moved passed the gallery of Korean art and into the domain of Martian wedding masks had noticed an embarrassing symptom of disrepair. “Von Schmidt, is this pipe supposed to be oozing revolting filth onto this lovely Turkish carpet? If it is, I will concede it is a most bold artistic statement.” The smugness of his smile felt like something that, if it wasn’t already illegal, should definitely become so soon.

“No,” Von Schmidt said, “but I do not have the spare parts to fix this contraption at the moment and, quite honestly, it doesn’t interfere with the viewing pleasure unless one goes out of one’s way to look for it and then express one’s indignation at finding it!”

“But,” Jean persisted, “it is quite clear that this coolant leak is likely a symptom of a radiation leak. It is not good for the cells. I also think that this is what drives the little pet wild and agitates la petite princesse.”

The last comment could actually be true, proving that even a broken, lying, and sniveling clock is correct once before it’s executed. Sniffers are trained to detect radiation as well as poisons, diseases, and threatening body language. The Princess examined the offending pipe and found the whole setting odd. It was the only area of the exhibition hall where there were no cases, as well as the only carpet in the hall. More importantly, this was the only exposed pipe she had seen in this hall or, indeed, anywhere in Von Schmidt’s mansion. Certainly, a man who could afford even a single item the Princess had witnessed since her arrival at the mansion could also afford serviceable internal plumbing.

Von Schmidt’s snappy reply did little to alleviate her suspicion. “Unless you spend an entire day basking in the damnable ooze, the radiation dose that you will absorb in several hours of exploring the hall will probably be less than eighty rad, which is not enough to cause even minor discomfort. Everyone present has taken a radiation pill. Those who didn’t would quite frankly do well to remove themselves from humanity’s gene pool in general and aristocratic circles in particular. Now, to fix the problem, one would have to go into the power plant on the other end of the wall, which guarantees a deadly dose of radiation within seconds, pills and shields notwithstanding. With that in mind, may we kindly proceed toward more interesting artifacts than a cracked pipe?”

Earlier that day, Von Schmidt was so distraught when a drop of sauce fell on the table that he instinctively wiped it off himself, betraying his lowborn origins. This was not a man who would so casually ignore an aesthetically offensive malfunction in his exhibition hall. However, it didn’t matter what Von Schmidt’s plans for the broken pipe were. The only matter of importance was what advantage the Princess could gain from it. She wasn’t quite sure yet what form exactly this advantage would take, but she was quite sure, as well as hopeful, that someone would be hurt in the process.

“I think it would be, as the British say, no biggie for Professor York. I hate to blow his trumpet,” the Princess was interrupted by giggling from Ivan and the Jeans, though she wasn’t sure on what account, “but it does seem he can easily repair the damage with no protection or tools.”

“Well, old girl, it seems you’re in luck, what with a chap such as yours truly being here for the occasion,” Professor York nodded. “I could hop in for a spell and fix the old problem before you can say ‘jabberwocky.’ We wouldn’t want this naughty little ferret to damage the pristine product and all that, would we now? The little bleeder seems rather intent on having a bit of a nibble on our young friend over here, what?”

“Really, my dear professor, there is absolutely no need—” Von Schmidt began.

“Oh no, it’s not a spot of trouble at all, old troll!”

“What our host is trying to say is he doesn’t want you to get a lethal dose of radiation, make scene choking and dying … is undignified,” Ivan suggested.

“Now you’re just being a fathead, old sport! The only object more resistant to radiation than myself is … why, there’s positively nothing more resistant to radiation in the system!”

Von Schmidt rolled his eyes. “Fine … follow me, gentlemen.”

“He’s really just doing this to boast of his body, you know …” Jean whispered into Ivanov’s ear. The Princess thought the whisper was followed by a quick lick, but she could have been wrong. At least, she rather hoped she was wrong.

“Of course, is English. Always think he superior in everything. But on Triton, the sacrifice of the Russian muzhiki defeated English arrogance,” Ivanov said.

“Indeed, old sport, your willingness to lose two million men to gain possession of a useless rock with a nice view of Neptune is an inspiration for us all. Tell me, are you still liberating the Neptunians, or have you killed all the poor blighters by now?” York retorted.

“Now, now, gentlemen,” Von Schmidt interrupted. “Nothing any of us can do about the war at the moment. Let it not tarnish the evening’s entertainment. Professor York, do keep your cool as the task you’ve volunteered yourself for is one that might vex even an advanced being such as yourself.”

“I sincerely doubt it, old chap. But please, do carry on.”

The group followed Von Schmidt toward the control center of the northeastern wing. As they walked, every member of the group caused the rest to halt at least once. For Professor York it was a caged alien reminiscent of a colorful spiral that undulated in a manner that suggested a violation of the common laws of physics. For the Jeans it was … well, the Princess wasn’t quite sure what it was, but it had caused her to blush considerably and avert her eyes, which, in turn, caused her to halt. On a far wall there was a picture of her parents and her uncles having a picnic by the riverside with Von Schmidt, who wore the dress uniform of a colonel of the Old Brigade. By his side was a young, sickly thin woman dressed in brooding storm clouds, which had been quite fashionable in the previous decade. Several babies were crawling around, and the Princess strongly suspected that she was one of them. There was an inscription under the picture, but the Princess was too far away to read it and she couldn’t afford to lag behind the tour group. Instead, she made a mental note to tell her father what a fool he was for not allowing her to install an ocular camera like all her friends had, on account of the device being a potential security threat and the former statement about her friends being an utter lie.

Ivanov stopped, and had to be pulled away by the Jeans, in front of some piece of military hardware. Tanaka’s trap was a bloody handkerchief. The Princess knew the story behind that artifact as her cousin twice removed, who served for several years as her father’s ambassador to the Mikado’s court, was rather fond of telling it at parties.