Ann Wilson

“ And one of her own favorite touches was the Anthem; every government seemed to need one, so why not do as Emperor Chang had, and take an instrumental piece already titled "Imperial Anthem" from a classic late-twentieth-century entertainment tape? "Oh," she went on, "he never let it interfere with serious business—but why not take what enjoyment you can, after all?" ”

“ Donal saw the entreaty in her eyes, and nodded. Empress or no, she was a woman, a crashed pilot, who had just lost a friend. "As you wish, lass. We've enough good whiskey for a proper wake, and a hangover cure for the morrow."
Susan smiled in real gratitude. "Thank you, Donal. Now I think we'd best rejoin the others."
"Aye, lass."
When they went back to the party and Donal explained that their guest had just been told about the death of a close friend, Susan was surrounded by suddenly-commiserating people, one of whom pressed a drink into her hand. ”

“ The reminiscences continued as she was kept supplied with smoothly-potent whiskey, and she was fully aware that she was well on the way to being thoroughly drunk. That was all right; the Palace Guards, who would be the first to arrive, knew their Sovereign was quite human. And, being Marines, their medikits held sober pills she could use if she had to.
Roughly two hours after her phone call, Susan and the rest of the partiers were startled by the sound of a lander's null-grav engines, then by the first notes of the Imperial Anthem sounding from the almost-forgotten holoset. ”

“ The woman hesitated, hiding it with another sip of whiskey. They hadn't identified her from her uniform; should she ... no. See what they were really like, first. "Lindner ... Sue Lindner. My plane went down, and when I made it ashore, I saw your lights." She turned to the old man Geordie had called Uncle. "I'm sorry to be a bad omen, sir, but it may be I won't be that bad."
"Ach, lass, I'm the one to be sorry," Geordie's uncle replied. "'Tis superstition, I know, but 'tis tradition as well. It's rest you should be getting." ”

“ Tara—Sue guessed her to be Donal's wife—called across the room. "Geordie, some music!"
Sue felt herself relaxing as warmth crept back into her, and she automatically evaluated her surroundings. They were nothing like what she was used to: a small living room, festively decorated but obviously not rich—more homey, she thought, than anything else. Bookshelves lined one wall almost completely, their ranks broken only by two small windows and a holoset—on, but being ignored; she couldn't tell what the program was. A five- or six-person table held food and drinks ”