Burning for Love

by Evangeline Anderson

  “The Royals of the Very First Family of Regalia have what they refer to as ‘Fire Blood’,” Commander Sylvan explained. “Once a year, starting around the age of twenty-five years old, they enter what is known as a ‘Heat Cycle.’ At that time, if they don’t find a mate, their blood can get so hot that they actually do self-immolate or experience spontaneous combustion.” He shrugged. “At which point, they burst into flames and burn so quickly, there’s no saving them. In a matter of moments, I’m told, there’s nothing left of them but a pile of ashes.”

  “That’s not good,” J-8 said blandly.

  “I believe that’s the worst understatement I’ve ever heard,” Commander Sylvan remarked, frowning. “It’s horrible to think that a promising young female could suddenly burst into flames and die—or that she could be assassinated in her own home. But then…” He sighed. “I know you Dark Kindred have no emotions, even about the most tragic events—you keep a cool head no matter how extreme the circumstances. That is, in fact, one reason I think you’d be perfect for this assignment.”

  “I believe my ‘cool head’ may be attributed to the fact that five percent of my DNA is Z’ngu, as much as the fact that I am a Dark Kindred,” J-8 said.

  The Z’ngu were a reptilian race who were able to control their body temperature, no matter what the climate. The Tolleg scientist who had mixed J-8’s DNA had believed it would help him keep from overheating in the middle of battle—which, as it turned out, was perfectly true. He was able to cool his entire body at will.

  The only other traits the Z’ngu DNA gave him was a perfect sense of pitch—(the Z’ngu were a musical people, who communicated through song)—and pale, metallic blue eyes that seemed to flash menacingly when they reflected any light source. They also glowed in the dark and gave him superior night vision.

  J-8 had never had cause to use his sense of pitch on Zeaga Four, because it was believed that music would cause emotions and so it was forbidden. And other than his eyes, he looked perfectly Kindred, which was the other ninety-five percent of his genetic makeup.

  He was seven feet tall and heavily muscled—standard for his race—with black hair which he kept short, and a neatly trimmed black beard. J-8 had never been allowed to have facial hair when he lived on Zeaga Four. He had tried it out as a novelty once he moved to the Mother Ship and decided to keep it—mostly because it was easier to trim a beard than to shave his entire face every day.

  “Ah, well, Z’ngu DNA aside, I’m still certain you’re perfect for this assignment,” Commander Sylvan said.

  “What exactly is the assignment, though, Commander?” J-8 asked, frowning.

  Commander Sylvan leaned forward. Planting his elbows on his desk, he steepled his long fingers in front of him.

  “I need to assign a warrior to be Princess Ka’rissa’s bodyguard and Constant Companion at the High Court until she finds a mate,” he said.

  “A bodyguard at the High Court?” J-8 raised his eyebrows. “Forgive me, Commander Sylvan, but I’m not very well suited for any kind of diplomatic mission,” he pointed out. “Most of my assignments in the Elite Espionage Corps so far have been covert operations—assassinations and the like.”

  “Don’t worry, you won’t be required to talk much,” his commander promised him. “And it’s good that you’re a deadly assassin and a skilled warrior. If anyone can keep the Princess safe, it’s you, J-8.”

  “Thank you for that assessment.” J-8 nodded his head, acknowledging the compliment. “But there are many, many warriors in the Elite Espionage Corps that can claim the same skills I have.”

  “Yes, but none of them are Dark Kindred,” Commander Sylvan pointed out. “They all have emotions. You, I believe, are still dampening yours?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at J-8.

  “Yes. Yes, of course I am,” J-8 said—perhaps a bit too quickly.

  In fact, he had been planning to go see Yipper, the Tolleg surgeon, for a routine check-up of his emotion damper very soon—he just hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

  Lately he had been having thoughts that were a bit out of the ordinary. They troubled him. Or rather, they were different from what he was used to, J-8 amended to himself. So a check-up was in order. But surely he could get that done before he had to go on this mission, so there was no point in bothering Commander Sylvan about it.

  “I have no emotions,” he said, as much to reassure himself as Commander Sylvan. “Feelings are nothing but a distraction—a liability during a mission.”

  “I wouldn’t agree that’s always true, but it certainly is with this mission,” Commander Sylvan said seriously. “You see, the Regalians are extremely strict about sexual purity before Joining. A young woman—especially in the upper echelons of their society, must be above reproach in every way. And I must therefore assign a guard who is above reproach as well—one who will protect her chastity without any desire to ‘deflower her’ or ‘slake her Heat’ as the Regalians say.”

  J-8’s frown deepened.

  “But Commander, no Kindred warrior would take a female against her will. Even I, a Dark Kindred with no belief in the Goddess or her ways, would not do such a thing. We are genetically incapable of harming a female in such a way.”

  “Of course we are,” Commander Sylvan said gently. “You and I know that, J-8. But the Regalians have a more difficult time understanding and believing it. I think that by sending you to the Steward—who is the one who requested a Kindred guard for the Princess in the first place—they will see an emotionless robot who would never even think of laying a finger on her sexually. Not that I’m comparing you to a robot,” he added quickly.

  “I am not offended by the comparison.” J-8 shrugged, his broad shoulder rolling beneath the metal of his exoskeleton. “Though it would, perhaps, be more accurate to say that I resemble what I have heard Earthlings call a ‘cyborg’—half organic and half-enhanced—due to my many modifications and enhancements.”

  “The point is, your, er, enhancements make you seem more robotic and less humanoid—thus less prone to any kind of sexuality,” Commander Sylvan explained. “The Princess can be alone with you without a chaperone present with no damage to her reputation because it will be well-known that you have no sexual interest in her—though you will be a deadly threat to anyone who tries to harm her,” he added.

  J-8 nodded, again, completely un-offended by his commander’s words.

  “It is true, my emotion damper represses my sexuality and any urges I might have of that nature, along with all my other emotions,” he acknowledged.

  Though to be perfectly honest, he had tried visiting the Pleasure House, where the Pairing Puppets were located not that long ago, just to see what all those “urges” were about. He had gone out of pure curiosity—which didn’t really count as an emotion—and had found the encounter with the semi-sentient doll he had been paired with no more than mildly pleasurable.

  It was certainly not an experience he was aching to repeat, J-8 thought. His emotions and urges were, as always, well-contained and he could certainly be trusted to guard the Regalia Princess without being tempted to despoil her in any way.

  “I accept this assignment,” he said formally to Commander Sylvan. “When do I leave?”

  “At once, I’m afraid.” His commander frowned. “Every moment Princess Ka’rissa is without a Kindred guard, her danger grows. And hopefully you won’t have to be there long—just until she finds the proper suitor and mates with him,” he went on. “Once her Heat is slaked by the correct male, she will ascend to the throne and she will then be granted certain safeguards that only the legitimate ruler of Regalia is given, as I understand it. After that, you can consider your mission complete and come home to the Mother Ship.”

  “Understood.” J-8 nodded again and rose from the chair. “I will pack immediately.”

  Commander Sylvan rose as well, but put out a restraining hand.

  “Before you go, there are a few things you must do to make yourself more acceptable t
o Regalia society.”

  “Oh?” J-8 frowned, looking down at himself. “Is there something wrong with my appearance?”

  “Not exactly but I’m afraid they won’t take well to your armored suit,” Commander Sylvan said.

  “You want me to shed my exoskeleton?” J-8 lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “But it has many of my best weapons. Do I also have to ask Yipper to remove my enhancements?”

  He had several, including the ocular scanner, the metallic strength and dexterity enhancements in his right hand and arm, and the bionics implanted in his legs. They were as much a part of him as his metallic eyes and his perfect sense of pitch. Losing them would make being an effective guard very difficult—though not impossible—he thought.

  But Commander Sylvan was shaking his head.

  “No, you can leave your enhancements on,” he promised. “It’s just the exo-skeleton that has to go. You’ll be required to wear Regalia appropriate clothing—especially when appearing in the High Court at the Princess’s side.”

  “Very well, I can do that.” J-8 felt a small tickle of relief at the thought that he wouldn’t be required to strip himself of all enhancements—and then suppressed it fiercely. Not that it was actually an emotion—it was just a good thing that he wouldn’t be required to change too drastically in order to fit in during his new mission—that was all, he told himself.

  “Good,” Commander Sylvan said. “And there’s just one other thing you need to change before you go—your name.”

  “My…name?” J-8 looked at him in confusion.

  “Your designation,” Commander Sylvan said. “’J-8’ isn’t a name that will work in the highly formal setting of the Regalia High Court.”

  J-8 shook his head, honestly bewildered.

  “Well…what is a good name, then?” he asked.

  “I’ve actually prepared a list of names that might work for you,” Commander Sylvan said, pulling out an info-pad and tapping on its surface. “My wife, Sophia, helped. She said these would work in either the High Court or any period piece she’s ever seen. Look, here—you can pick one of them.”

  J-8 took the info-pad from him and scanned it rapidly.

  “Edward, John, Fitzwilliam, Matthew…” he read aloud, frowning. Finally, he found one he liked. “That one,” he said, tapping the screen. “I will be ‘James’. It sounds similar to my old designation, at least. So it won’t be too much of a change.”

  “James it is,” Commander Sylvan said, nodding his approval. “And now, I’d like you to go to Regalia as soon as possible. I’ve had a long-range shuttle stocked and prepped for you and the Steward is expecting you for tonight’s ball.”

  “Ball? As in…dancing?” J-8—or James, as he must now be called, he reminded himself—frowned in consternation. “As you may know, Commander, dancing and music were forbidden activities on my home world so I have never learned how to dance.”

  “I don’t think you’ll be required to dance, J-8, I mean, James,” Commander Sylvan said to him. “You’re just going to be formally introduced to the Princess so you can guard her. You’ll attend the ball as her bodyguard, not her escort.”

  “Very well.” James nodded. “Then I will go at once.”

  After he made a small side trip to visit the resident Tolleg surgeon, Yipper, he told himself. It wouldn’t be a good idea to start such an important mission without having his emotion damper checked.

  Not a good idea at all.

  2

  “I’m sorry, but Yipper is in the middle of a very important surgery,” he was told, when he went to visit the little Tolleg. “He’s not expected to be finished for hours. Would you like to come back later?”

  “That will not be possible.” James shook his head. He had to get to the Docking Bay as soon as he could. Already Commander Sylvan was probably wondering why he wasn’t there yet. He had promised to have the Mother Ship fold space for James at once, and it took an immense amount of power to keep a fold in space open for any length of time.

  I’ll just have to go without a checkup. I’m fine, anyway, he told himself, as he thanked Yipper’s assistant and turned away. After all, he’d been living without emotions all his life and these small changes he’d been detecting lately were probably no more than tiny glitches in the software of his emotion damper.

  Tiny glitches? Is that why you had the urge to visit the Pleasure House and try out a Pairing Puppet? whispered a little voice in his head. Or what about the way you’ve been taking an interest in what you eat lately? Protein paste isn’t good enough for you anymore—you’ve been going out almost every other night to try new restaurants and different cuisines.

  But that was just curiosity, James argued with himself. It had nothing to do with the fact that he had noticed, quite suddenly, recently, that the complete nutrition protein paste he had been eating for years was unbearably dull.

  Well, what about the way you’ve been listening to—and enjoying—music? the voice demanded. You notice the background music in everyplace you eat at. And what about the concert you attended in the Common Area at the center of the ship last week?

  More curiosity, James told himself. Curiosity could save a warrior’s life. One had to be ever vigilant to the details all around—there was nothing wrong with wanting to know more about one’s immediate surroundings.

  Besides, his perfect pitch allowed him to critique the music he heard, which was an excellent analytical exercise for his brain and kept his mind sharp. Hadn’t he heard it said that music and mathematics were related? And math had never been forbidden on Zeaga Four—it was certainly not capable of causing strong emotions.

  I’ll be fine, he told himself firmly, as he turned and headed towards the Docking Bay at a brisk pace. There’s nothing wrong with my emotion damper. And even if there was, I have no interest in anything other than doing my job.

  He would acquit himself, as he always did, with passionless resolve and he would do an excellent job fulfilling the special mission Commander Sylvan had entrusted to him.

  There would be absolutely no problems, James promised himself. No problems whatsoever at all.

  3

  “So you’re to meet your new bodyguard tonight, Your Highness. You must be so excited—I hear he’s a robot or some such thing.”

  Lady Mildew’s voice had a stiff, disapproving tone but then, her old chaperone’s voice always sounded like that when she spoke about anything new.

  She’s just jealous that I won’t need her anymore—that she won’t be constantly at my side, poking and prying into every little bit of my business all the time! Rissa thought. Aloud, she said,

  “It is not so unusual, Lady Mildew. Many of the first families have adopted the practice of buying robots to serve them. Why should we, at the royal palace, not do the same?”

  “Because it’s unnatural, that’s why!” Lady Mildew snapped. “There—get out and let me dry you off—it’s time to get you dressed for the presentation before tonight’s ball.”

  Rissa sighed and stepped out of the wide, oval tub, which was filled with icy water. Anyone else would have shivered at the thought of soaking for hours in such frigid conditions, but lately, as she had entered her first Heat Cycle, it was the only kind of bath Rissa could take. In fact, it was not only necessary but a blessed relief, she thought, as she allowed the older woman to briskly towel the droplets of icy water off her body.

  Not that she needed much toweling—the droplets were already evaporating from her creamy, light brown skin, which was as warm to the touch as though she had a fever. Worse, her nipples—or ‘points’ as they were more politely called—had gone from their normal dark berry color to a glowing pink.

  Between her legs…well, Rissa wasn’t sure about that area, because she wasn’t allowed to touch or examine herself and never had been. She had tried once—but that had been a long time ago. And she could feel the heat growing there too, despite the solid hour she’d spent soaking in the icy tub.

  She padded acr
oss her vast bedroom, the pink, Te’lishian fur rug tickling the bare soles of her feet, to stand before the mirror. Its silvery surface reflected the opulence of her room with its large, four-poster bed hung with rich, rose and gold brocade curtains and the diamond chandelier hanging from the ceiling. These were her mother’s old apartments, which Rissa had been moved into at the start of her Cycle, and they were much more luxurious than the smaller, plainer rooms she’d grown up in.

  But it wasn’t the opulence behind her that interested her, it was the sight she saw in the mirror.

  She saw a girl with creamy brown skin that had a pearlescent sheen, which denoted Royal blood flowing through her veins. Her curves were full—perhaps too full to be fashionable—but her mother had been full-figured too, Rissa remembered.

  The girl in the mirror had an abundance of thick, curly hair that hung in lush ringlets all around her face. It was light brown shading to blonde at the ends and there was so much of it, she had great difficulty in fitting it under the formal, styled wigs which were the fashion of the Court.

  Lady Mildew had opined more than once that she ought to have her hair cut or even shaved all the way off—the better to slip into her wigs more easily. But there, Rissa had put her foot down. She refused to be bald just to serve fashion—she liked her long, curly locks and secretly thought they looked prettier than the huge, heavy, powdered wigs she was constantly forced to wear.

  She had an all right face, she thought—not beautiful, but pretty. Her features were well-molded with high cheek bones and a dimple on her right cheek which winked fetchingly when she smiled. Her best asset was probably her large, starry eyes which were a warm amber-brown.

  But it wasn’t her eyes or her hair that anyone would have noticed about her now. Her points were glowing dull red with heat and between her legs…well, Rissa shifted uncomfortably, wondering if she was glowing there too. She would never know, as she was forbidden to part her nether lips and find out.