by E G Manetti
“Phantom servitors?” The spark of mischief in milord’s gaze is a clear indication he did not fail to notice her distraction.
“I beg pardon, milord. I know they are not truly phantoms. It is only that the effects of their labor are seen, but not the laborers themselves.” Do not inquire further. Adelaide, let him be distracted.
“I take your point.” Milord smiles. “It is an amusing thought. Tend to your comfort. I have summoned a meal for seventh bell.”
With that milord enters his chamber and recesses the door.
Gladly embracing milord’s instruction, Lilian puts the shower to the test. It may be small, but the water pressure is excellent, and there is no lack of warmth. Blessing Maman for the silky wrap, Lilian returns to the reception salon, where she curls up in a large, overstuffed chair to fiddle with her latest thoughts on a Bright Star code.
At the sound of milord’s chamber door recessing, Lilian rises immediately, her breath catching at the sight of milord stalking toward her, a predator’s grace in every step, and a dark gleam in his eyes. Is milord pleased?
What is she wearing? It is not a sarong. The sheer sea green covers but does not conceal. The veil is silky under Lucius’ hands as he runs them across Lilian’s shoulders and to her breasts, cupping and caressing. The thin fabric is sensuous but does nothing to mask the warmth of Lilian’s skin, the swelling of her breasts, and the hardening of the tips.
Lucius slides one hand inside the silk covering to explore naked flesh. The silk yields and with a gentle tug, Lucius pulls it free from the warbelt. Lilian is nude to the waist, breasts bared and waiting for his hands and lips. She is trembling lightly. Uncertain. It has been months since she has reacted so. Lucius wants the eager wanton, not the tentative apprentice. With a rough sound of desire, Lucius pulls Lilian tightly to him and captures her mouth.
Leaning into the kiss, Lilian’s arms twine about milord. His robe has opened, and she eagerly presses her breasts to the warm torso, tangling her tongue with milord’s. Hard hands are hot on her bottom through the thin silk of the wrap. They lift her and press her against the clear evidence of milord’s growing desire. The contact draws a moan of delight from Lilian.
Without a word, milord eases Lilian back to her feet and tucks two fingers into the warbelt to pull her with him into his bedchamber. At the foot of the bed, milord finds the trailing end of the wrap, unwinding it from her hips, pelvis, and legs, in a slow, sinuous caress. The sea-green silk forms a puddle on the floor, leaving Lilian nude but for her belt. Without a spoken command, Lilian lies back on the bed, her legs falling open in invitation. Desire thrums through her as milord discards the robe and comes to her.
Shrugging out of his robe, Lucius enjoys the vision of Lilian sprawled on his bed, her eyes heavy-lidded with arousal, her arms curled by her head, legs open and inviting. Leaving the scarlet robe atop the abandoned wrap, Lucius kneels between Lilian’s parted thighs, slowly stroking his fingers along her collarbone, and across her torso, pleased that her ribs are no longer unnaturally pronounced, as they were after her scourging.
As his fingertips trace the outer edges of her breasts, the pebbled peaks harden and elongate, eager for contact. Fascinated by the erotic response, Lucius samples one delicate peak, sweet and musky with citrus and Lilian. Savoring his possession, Lucius takes his time, building his desire and Lilian’s need.
Milord’s attentions are slow and deliberate, exploring every inch of her with hands, lips, tongue, and teeth. Languid pleasure turns to desperate need as the sensual contact drives Lilian wild. Reaching for milord, Lilian abandons restraint, returning touch for touch, and caress for caress. Milord’s tongue and teeth find and torment her inflamed jewel until Lilian is begging shamelessly for milord to enter her and give her release.
Lucius restrains himself for as long as he is able, enjoying Lilian’s wanton response. It is not very long before he yields to his desire and surges into the welcoming wet heat of her sex. It is not long before he brings them both to completion.
»◊«
Half sprawled on milord, Lilian lazily explores milord’s well-defined chest and shoulders. Near one nipple is a red mark that could have only come from her teeth. Repentantly, Lilian feathers a soft kiss on the spot.
“Did you find aught of interest in your explorations?” milord’s voice rumbles under Lilian’s ear.
Explorations? Of milord? Lilian’s wandering hands and lips cease. Has she overstepped? Raising her face, Lilian finds naught but indulgence in milord’s countenance. “Milord?”
“The Shimmering Horizon?” Milord cups her bottom and squeezes lightly to encourage a response.
Milord is pleased. “Yes, milord, I found the training facility, among others. The chief engineer’s assistant, Hannah, has an odd style of martial arts she refers to as free boxing. With milord’s permission, she has offered a match tomorrow at fifth bell.”
Lucius finds his smile broadening at Lilian’s eagerness to engage in violent combat. Pleased that her valor and courage are undiminished by her trials, Lucius is also familiar with free boxing, as his driver is expert in the practice. Curious how Adelaide’s Discipline will fare against such a rugged approach, Lucius agrees with a stipulation: “You will wear a face mask. I have witnessed this sport. Few who engage in it own a straight nose.”
At Lilian’s pleased, “My thanks, milord. Yes, milord,” Lucius rolls her briefly onto her back for a quick kiss before rising. “Come, drape yourself. By now the phantom servitors should have provided a meal.”
10. Free Boxing
Each of the Twelve Systems is laced with beacons that enable instantaneous communications among its planets. Each network ties into the larger network of the beaconed expanse, allowing communication among the systems. The better developed systems have larger, more robust networks and correspondingly stronger and more powerful beacons linking the networks. Communications among these systems require only minutes.
The less developed systems, and those farthest from the first Three Systems, are supported by a thinner network of less powerful beacons. Communications with these systems can take several periods. Interactive visual communications are not possible. ~ excerpt from Twelve Systems Commerce, an academy primer.
Sevenday 97, Day 2
Sound asleep on her narrow bunk, Lilian is lying on her stomach, her face turned to one side, her dark locks tumbling in waves down her back and across the pillow. The coverlet rests at her waist, baring the smooth skin of her back and a hint of glinting gold from her warbelt.
Lucius woke to the pleasant realization that he need not ignore his morning arousal. A quick call to the servitor’s chamber would address his desires. Except that it did not. After two more calls, annoyance mingling with lust, Lucius used the freshening closet to enter Lilian’s chamber, where he discovered his apprentice slumbering.
Deciding that she can awake with him inside her, Lucius pulls the coverlet free and drops it on the floor. Joining her on the bunk, he uses his hands and knees to part her thighs. Slipping one hand between her legs, Lucius probes Lilian’s sex, slipping a finger inside to lure forth moisture. Her skin is warm from sleep, her bottom enticing. Lucius fondles one mound with his free hand while the other teases moisture from her tight cleft.
Lucius knows the instant Lilian awakens under his intimate onslaught, her muscles tensing under his hand, her channel clenching on his exploring finger. With a little sound that is half moan and half sleep, Lilian rises, spreading her knees and bracing on her forearms. Moisture comes flooding and Lucius enters easily, penetrating fully. Leaning over her back, he speaks into her ear, “I called thrice and you came not. Now we are out of time. I will not wait for you.”
»◊«
“Do you always slumber so hard?” Lucius asks as Lilian dazedly swings her legs over the edge of the bunk. The pleasure of his release has replaced annoyance with indulgence.
Shaking her head in denial, color high with what Lucius suspects are equal parts emb
arrassment and frustrated arousal, Lilian replies, “I would not have thought so, milord. I beg pardon. I do not know how I failed to hear the call bell.”
“It is of no moment. You are the one who suffered for it.” Lucius slides his hand along her spine as he rises. “Ready yourself. Nickolas and Marco will be with us at eighth bell.”
Stretching his arms, Lucius’ gaze falls on Lilian’s pillow; beneath it is the hilt of her thorn. Pulling aside the pillow, Lucius regards the weapon. Apparently approaching Lilian in her sleep poses some unforeseen hazards. “Do you always sleep armed?”
“Yes, milord. Since my fifteenth year. I beg pardon, I had not realized.” Lilian’s voice trails off. The thorn has been under her pillow almost every night for a decade. A talisman against evil dreams. It never occurred to her that milord would enter her bed. There had been a moment before she was full awake when her hand had grasped its hilt in defiance of the tenth stricture. She is too mortified to glance at milord. “I will cease the practice.”
It is with considerable relief Lilian hears the door of milord’s freshening closet recess. After carefully stowing her thorn among her lingerie, Lilian checks the desktop panel, where the glow of a small blue light signals the Vistrite controller is functioning. The chime must have sounded. How could she have slept through it? Frustrated, she reaches for her slate, quickly skimming the stellar transit tutorial she skipped the day gone. The chamber settings are unfamiliar but simple and intuitive. She had no trouble with the lights or shower. Finding the command, she signals for a call chime. Adelaide’s Thorn! The odd rustling that emits from the desk console is not the insistent chime she selected. After a few more moments of investigation, Lilian cannot determine the source of the problem. Annoyed she had not thought to test the chime last eve, Lilian sends a maintenance request.
A glance at the time sends her scurrying into the shower. Thwarted passion is an unpleasant correction, but warranted. Milord will be far less forbearing if Lilian compounds her error by arriving late for the morning meal.
»◊«
“There is so little information.” Fletcher frowns at his slate. “A mere seven live who have ventured into the beaconless expanse.”
“Ventured and returned,” Nickolas corrects with a scowl. “And only the two from Ayres did so with intent.”
“I do not trust that the Ayres Group records are complete.” Fletcher distractedly runs his fingers through his hair. “What think you, Mistress Lilian?”
“Their claim to have been testing the reach of the Eleventh System beacon has long been distrusted,” Lilian agrees. “But the claim they used signal triangulation does match what we have from the others who found their way back.”
Lilian has searched throughout the Twelve Systems’ archives for any references to successful travel in the beaconless expanse. Although the Serengeti XII’s chain of mini-beacons should light the path to the Thirteenth System, there are many reasons a marker could fail. A candle lost along that fragile path. As part of her risk analysis, Lilian has identified every account of navigating the beaconless expanse, sifting legend from fact and seeking commonalities that could aid the SEV1 crew.
“I will feel more confident when we can verify these reports in person.” Nickolas leans back in his chair, stretching out his legs under the console table. The glass-walled chamber in the Shimmering Horizon archives is barely large enough for the three of them and the small console table.
“Two of the ten will meet with you on Fortuna.” Lilian nods, tapping her slate. Within a planet, visual communication is simple enough, and only mildly challenging between planets within the same system. However, visual communications between systems are extremely complicated and expensive. There are only narrow windows in each day where alignment of the planets and beacons permits the communication. A half-period conversation will not be sufficient to probe the details of these voyages. In-person discussion over several periods is far more desirable and well worth the cost of transport. “Three more will visit Crevasse City in the next season. The last two have not responded to Serengeti’s invitations.”
“Seigneur Trevelyan may need to send his operatives,” Nickolas suggests.
“Both have passed a century,” Lilian replies gently. “It is possible that you and Master Fletcher will need to go to them.”
“Of course,” Nickolas asserts, straightening in his chair. “If that is what is needed, I will even go to the Twelfth System and deal with those pirates.”
“I beg pardon, Master Nickolas,” Lilian says tentatively. “But free-traders are not pirates. They are governed by rules of commerce that are flexible, but the rules exist.”
“Truly?” Fletcher starts. “Then why the Matahorn supply depots? Are they not to keep the Eleventh and Twelfth System rogues contained?”
“It is more a matter of commerce. The Matahorn revenue from the import and export duties is substantial,” Lilian explains.
“Then why has Monsignor Lucius refused to allow the Mercium trade within those systems?” Nickolas questions.
“Not refused,” Lilian corrects, “postponed. Monsignor will be certain the security on the fabrication is inviolate before he allows Mercium into those systems. As I mentioned, their rules of commerce are flexible. They will not honor Blooded Dagger’s exclusive license to fabricate Mercium as confirmed by the Governing Council. If they can copy it, they will.”
“Sounds awfully close to piracy to me,” Fletcher chuckles, the sound echoed by a rumble from his belly.
“Hungry?” Nickolas teases.
“It is midday.” Fletcher flashes a grin.
“Lilian, is there aught more on navigating the beaconless expanse?” Nickolas asks.
“Not until we are able to interview the survivors.” Lilian closes her slate.
“A meal it is then.” Nickolas pushes out of his chair. “Lilian, will you join us?”
»◊«
The bustle of Serengeti Headquarters is undiminished by the absence of the preeminence and several of its most highly ranked seigneurs. At the sound of the midday chimes, Rebecca trips lightly across the threshold of Seigneur Trevelyan’s office. Laid out on the small conference table is an elaborate set of china and cutlery for the midday meal. Rebecca knows from experience that the portions will be small but the consumption complicated. Diction is not the only neglected aspect of Rebecca’s education.
As soon as the door recesses closed, Trevelyan rises and holds a chair for Rebecca. The courtesy is wildly inappropriate for an apprentice, but these lessons in deportment are essential to prepare Rebecca for advancement to an associate’s position when her bond proves. With the proper inclination of her head and a small smile of appreciation, Rebecca murmurs, “My thanks.”
“Very nice,” Trevelyan approves, taking his seat. “Start with the soup.”
Carefully placing the spoon, Rebecca pushes it across the surface of the liquid, gathering a small amount. Warily eyeing the steam, Rebecca blows softly before sliding the spoon into her mouth. The liquid is hot, but not scorching. Three passes later, she has successfully consumed the first course without dribbling the soup or committing the vulgarity of slurping. With relief, she picks up the salad fork, comfortable with the course.
“Tell me of the seer’s household,” Trevelyan commands, spearing greens.
Swallowing her mouthful, Rebecca nods her obedience until her mouth is free to speak. “When I arrived at seventh bell, Katleen and Lady Helena were in the kitchen, preparing for the evening meal. As we knew, Katleen is responsible for food preparation.”
In between delicate bites of salad, Rebecca reports on her first night in the house. The mealtime conversation focused on Katleen’s studies. After the meal, all three cleaned the kitchen, carefully sealing away both refuse and leftovers to avoid attracting vermin. “The controls for Vistrite-powered vermin repellant fields are in place, but not active. Except for essential functions, they do not use the Vistrite systems in order to save on the cost of fuel a
nd the replacement of the crystals.”
“The Vistrite in household systems is viable for at least a decade,” Trevelyan disputes.
“And the Vistrite in Katleen’s house is mostly that old,” Rebecca says disgustedly. “Remus Gariten lived in luxury on Socraide Prime while he let his wife and daughter’s house fall to ruin around them.”
“You mentioned the courtyard covers were in ill repair.” Trevelyan nods. “The rest of the house is in a similar state?”
“Yes, Seigneur.” Rebecca frowns at a crustacean and an odd pincer device that must be some type of utensil.
“Like this.” Trevelyan grasps the crustacean on his plate with the pincer.
Gingerly, Rebecca picks up the odd instrument and, after the second attempt, holds the shell firmly.
“Twist.” Trevelyan demonstrates, and the shell cracks.
With a triumphant smile, Rebecca follows suit. Pulling the meat free with her fork, she takes a tentative nibble. Finding it bland and little rubbery, but not distasteful, Rebecca swallows.
“They are not my favorite either.” Trevelyan correctly reads her expression. “But if they are served to you, it may be impolite to refuse.”
“It is better than hunger.” Rebecca shrugs.
At the reminder of the harsh conditions his apprentice once endured, Trevelyan’s lips thin. With an act of will, he releases his anger. There is no means to alter the past. The present and the future are what matter. “You were telling me of the decay in Lilian’s home.”
After three more little courses, Trevelyan has a clear picture of the overgrown gardens, the shuttered and unused rooms where water damage discolors ceilings and walls, and the spartan chambers that house the three women.
“Lady’s Helena’s chamber is as austere as all else?” Trevelyan wonders. The seer is under the care of Sinead’s Shrine, they should see to her comfort.