by E G Manetti
The production of Vistrite predates the Anarchy by at least a millennium. The Cartel’s control dates to the time of the Fourth Warrior, Jonathan Metricelli. The Serengeti Vistrite facilities are maintained at maximum efficiency and have been for eight centuries. Discovering a small deviation, Lilian checks her work. She checks it again. She verifies it. It is proven. There is a minor operational inefficiency somewhere in the refinery. Very clever Master Nickolas. It is a well laid trap for the unwary.
“Lilian, will you offer me another boon?” The pleasant voice drags Lilian from her analysis.
“What is it you wish of me Rebecca?” There is something about the beautiful blonde that lightens Lilian’s spirit, although she cannot fathom why.
“I wish assistance with Master Straus’ second interrogative, if you please. Truly, it‘s impossible,” the Cartel apprentice glumly replies.
“Peace Rebecca, in this I am able to offer aid.” At Lilian’s words, the glum expression is replaced by delight. A chirp from her slate alerts Lilian to the time. “I may not offer it now, I am expected elsewhere. Are you able to meet me in the Archives near third bell?”
“I’ll discover a means,” Rebecca acknowledges. As she speaks, her slate chirps. With a wry smile, she concludes, “As it happens, I’m also expected elsewhere.”
I am the sum of my ancestors. Milord is not angered.
I am the foundation of my family. I have milord’s pardon.
Honor is my blade and shield. There was naught of concern at eighth bell.
At the sound of the midday chimes, Lilian springs to her feet and across the scarlet threshold. Milord is seated at the conference table, jacketless, tunic shirt open at the throat. Halting inside the door, Lilian waits for instruction.
“Lilian, it is midday. You require neither slate nor jacket.” The even tones hold no hint of harshness.
Breathe. With a quick glance around, Lilian locates a table near the door. After carefully depositing the slate satchel, Lilian places her neatly folded jacket on top of the bag. Straightening, she waits. Honor acts as duty commands.
“Come here.” The soft command sets Lilian into motion.
This time Lilian knows what is expected and walks unhesitatingly between the spread legs until halted by the chair. Milord’s face is relaxed. Milord is not smiling, but milord is not displeased. One hand reaches out languidly to trace her left hip, her waist. One long finger slides in between the waistband of her skirt and the silk of her blouse. It traces a pattern across her suddenly tautened abdomen.
As Lilian’s breathing hastens, milord locates the fastening of her skirt. With his deft movement, her skirt drops to pool at her feet. Milord is focused on her mid-section, face hidden from Lilian. Milord’s hands skim her thighs then hips, catching on the cerulean blue silk. One hand lingers, exploring the space between the lace band and her skin. The other starts to work the fastenings of her blouse.
The cerulean blue is not a color Lilian would have chosen for herself. She had to acknowledge it suited her when she donned the lingerie that morning. The hand that has been exploring skin and silk, teases along her hip and waist. The light caress raises tremors.
Milord is playing.
The blouse joins the skirt somewhere on the floor. The hand not exploring her waist rolls the silk covered tip of one breast, teasing it into a point. The other nipple pebbles in sympathetic reaction. Milord grasps one buttock tightly while he leans in to capture a tightly pebbled nipple with his mouth. Heat sears through the thin silk.
The conference table is hard and cold beneath Lilian’s shoulder blades. Her legs dangle over the edge, her lingerie discarded by milord. Off balance, Lilian presses her hands to the table to retain her position.
Stepping between her thighs, milord grasps her hips and tilts her, widening her limbs. She is exposed, vulnerable. Milord’s tunic is abandoned. His trousers loose as his sex stands free. Milord’s eyes are almost closed, his lips parted. Milord’s shaft probes the entrance to her body. Milord has prepared her well. The long hard length slides in fully, deeply.
Milord leans forward, pulling her legs to his waist, “take me, Lilian. Take me deep.”
Complying, Lilian wraps her legs around milord’s waist, rising to meet the hard thrusting rhythm of milord’s desire.
»◊«
Lilian and Chrys regard the reviewer for a few moments. “Lilian, I know not which is the correct protocol. I promise, both toxin scrubbing technologies are not required.”
As agreed, Chrys is providing his technologistics expertise for her training assessment of the Desperation Refining operation.
“Know you which one is the most advanced?” Lilian inquires. Serengeti is diligent in maintaining the finest technology for the Vistrite.
“The vacuum version,” Chrys responds emphatically. At Lilian’s questioning glance, he gladly expands. “The sponge technology is not as efficient and the toxic sponges are difficult to recycle.”
They are seated in the Archives. The area around Chrys was clustered with associates when Lilian arrived. As soon as she settled next to Chrys, the two protégés immediately to the right made a point of moving away with an exaggerated display of distaste. Taking their lead from the protégés, the closest associates also moved away. Although the chamber is crowded, no one has moved into the vacated positions.
“I beg pardon for interrupting, may I have a moment?” Rebecca arrives with the third bell chimes.
“Master Chrys is Mistress Rebecca known to you? Mistress Rebecca, may I make you known to Master Chrys?” Lilian correctly introduces the two apprentices.
“Well met, Mistress Rebecca,” Chrys offers stiffly.
“Well met indeed, Master Chrys,” Rebecca returns with a dismissive attitude that startles Lilian as much as Chrys’ stiffness.
Before Lilian can explore the odd behavior of the two apprentices, Rebecca launches into speech. “Are you able to spare the time to help me with these financial interrogatives? I promise, I’ll return the favor when the topics require skill in Communications and Archiving. My area of excellence is data storage and encryption.”
“Certainly,” Lilian confirms. “Master Chrys and I have an arrangement to trade Analytics and Problematics with Technologistics. It might prove worthwhile to contract a similar arrangement. A skill consortium, if you will. What say you?”
They are regarding me as if I suggested we desecrate a Warrior Shrine.
“Is there something improper in my suggestion?” Lilian’s careful tones mask her inward confusion.
“No,” responds Rebecca drawing out the word, “not improper…” Rebecca casts an inquiring look at Chrys.
“Against custom, is more accurate,” Chrys explains. After an awkward pause, Chrys continues, “Lilian, it is appropriate for you and me to aid each other. We are of the same cartouche. Mistress Rebecca is not and well…”
“As a Cartel apprentice I have lower status than cartouche apprentices. It’s unusual for you to be willing to assist me at all,” finishes Rebecca.
Stunned, Lilian sits unmoving, desperately grappling with the astounding revelation. Madness. This is madness. I expected this would be difficult and strange. This is too strange, too outlandish. This day. There is only this day. Employ your wits.
Repressing her shock and bewilderment, Lilian carefully challenges her new friends. “I am new come to this, so please correct me when I mistake. Under the Governing Protocols apprentices own no status. None.”
Both heads nod. “So it is therefore both legally and logically impossible for any one of us to have more status than the other.”
There is more thoughtful nodding as both apprentices consider her words.
“The mutual assistance I am proposing pertains only to Cartel training exercises.” Lilian’s discourse gains confidence with the lack of challenge.
“And,” interjects Chrys, his quick mind catching up, “As the information is already known to all three cartouche; it does not violate privi
lege of any of the member cartouche. Nor are there any strictures that prohibit such interactions outside one’s cartouche.
“Mistress Rebecca, I am willing if you are.” Chrys concludes.
“I am willing Master Chrys,” Rebecca agrees. She is not quite prepared to yield, “Lilian, I don’t perceive the benefit to you. Two thirds of the exercises will include a financial or analytical component. You’re accepting twice the burden of either of us.”
“You will not need my aid for every interrogative. Many will be a variation on the same principles. I, on the other hand, would much rather learn what I require from the two of you than through time-consuming trial and error.”
Sevenday 1, Day 4
“You have completed a sevenday course of training in three days,” milord’s harshness is at odds with the approval Lilian expected.
Milord is displeased.
Mentally scrambling, Lilian seeks cause for censure. Productivity is commonly lauded. Until this moment, Lilian was pleased with her productivity. What to respond? Voice nothing. Milord will give you his will. Honor acts as duty commands.
First Day through Sixth, the commerce day stretches from eighth bell to sixth. Apprentices and junior associates take only a brief midday respite, using the extra time to execute their assignments. That milord has commandeered Lilian’s midday respite for the past three days is of no moment. She has no difficulty in completing her assignments. The work is interesting, but not challenging.
“The extent of your abilities is to remain hidden. Do not complete the training course in fewer than five sevendays.” The command is unmistakable.
“Yes milord,” Lilian acknowledges as her mind scrambles for purchase. She has erred. She did not know she was expected to mask her skills. She is not to presume to know milord’s will. Of course she is not allowed to inquire either. The hostile thought is firmly banished as Lilian concentrates on milord’s wishes. Is she already defiant? No harm. Only Chrys and Rebecca might know. Apprentice witness has no value. How to fill the extra periods?
Lilian expected to complete the Serengeti training course within four sevendays. Now she has sixty periods to fill. At the University there was always something new to investigate. The Cartel is vast. She will do the same here. Investigate any matter to which she has access.
“I will speak with Master Straus. We will find something to occupy you while you wait to complete the training,” Milord’s remarks, harshness absent.
Lilian is barely able hide her shock that milord read her mind. It is naught but a silly story. Forcing her mind blank, Lilian waits for further instruction.
“Attend me at midday.” Lilian is dismissed.
»◊«
“Lilian, were it not a violation, I’d embrace you,” the irrepressible Rebecca is grinning and clearly exercising every ounce of control she possesses.
“I am pleased you are able to restrain yourself, Rebecca. I wish not a caning.” Apprentices embrace none but their masters, regardless of sex. As Lillian resides with her mother and sister she has some latitude. Immediate family is exempt from custom and stricture in this.
Despite her repressive statement, Lilian is fascinated, “Why such exuberance?”
“Master Straus commended my work. It‘s only the first sevenday, and Master Straus commended my work.” Rebecca has good cause for her excitement.
The severe and diligent Associate Master Straus has a reputation for the highest of standards. He may not indulge his passion with any of the apprentices, so his judgment remains unbiased. It is a rare accolade to receive a commendation from the man.
“How does this give rise to embrace?” Lilian understands the reason for the blonde’s delight, but not Lilian’s role in it.
“The interrogative. Master Straus was impressed that I completed it correctly and had the resourcefulness to gain useful aid.” With a small wry smile, “I believe he challenged my work on the suspicion of fraud.”
Fraud and cheating are the same word within the Cartel. It is a serious contract violation. A transgression at any level of society, the penalties are extremely harsh for an apprentice. They are even harsher for a warrior. It was one of Remus Gariten’s myriad crimes. All assume Lilian shares her sire’s corrupt nature. Does Master Straus know of Lilian’s connection with Rebecca?
“When I succeeded with a different trial, Master Straus was pleased and commended my resourcefulness,” Rebecca concludes.
Dismissing her unlamented sire from her thoughts, Lilian is surprised by a stab of envy. Rebecca’s master does not chide her for well executed work. Repressing the unworthy emotion and the implied criticism of milord, Lilian responds, “I am pleased to have been of assistance. It was your own hard work and diligence that earned the accolade.”
»◊«
The Serengeti Training Facilities dominate the fourth storey of Serengeti Headquarters. Seigneur Thorvald, the dour Grey Spear warrior who controls both the Training Facilities and the Serengeti Militia, owns an excellent reputation. Lilian is looking forward to the exceptional Serengeti training protocols.
After the brief tour her respite allotment permits, Lilian exits the chambers tapping out her requests on her slate. With a light step she enters the riser carriage. Midday is approaching. Milord expects her.
I am the sum of my ancestors. Milord’s criticism of the morning remains with Lilian as she awaits the midday chimes. Milord’s will the prior midday was very much as Lilian expected First Day. Milord’s enjoyment was thorough and pleasant. Governed by anxiety, Lilian was unable to find her own release. It was of no moment. Milord enjoyed the interlude.
As the sound of the chimes, Lilian rises. I am the foundation of my family. Mayhap milord will dwell on yesterday’s satisfaction and not this morning’s annoyance.
As Lilian crosses the scarlet threshold, movement by the glazed corner alerts her to milord’s presence. As Lilian places her carefully folded jacket upon the slate satchel, milord speaks, “Join me. There is a storm gathering.”
The purple-black sky moves in from the north as milord pulls Lilian against his chest and negligently tosses her warrior queue over her right shoulder. The storms of the dry season are brief, violent and lacking moisture. This early in the season, the pyrotechnics will include some rain fall. The few puddles will vanish by evening. As the month advances, the storms will come less frequently, more violently and with less and less moisture.
“What think you, Lilian?” One of milord’s hands is running over the warrior queue, testing texture and weight. The other is snug around her ribs.
Milord cannot truly read my mind. Answer the question.
“Snow, milord, I was thinking of snow,” Lilian responds.
“Snow, Lilian?” The light puzzlement is replaced by awareness, “It would be snowing at the University, would it not?”
“Yes milord.” Lilian acknowledges. The storm is increasing in force. Jagged, red lightening lances from the clouds gathered over the Garden Center. The shadow is moving fast and will soon reach the Commerce District and Serengeti.
“Do you miss it?” Milord’s inquiry is coupled with exploration of her shoulder and arm. The light caress against her skin is distracting. The loose, sleeveless silk blouse allows milord’s hand to slip inside and explore her collar bone while Lilian crafts her response.
“No milord. Snow is wondrous stuff, but I was unable to become accustomed to being cold when I should have been hot.” True enough, as far as it goes. Do not. Do not. It is gone. It will not return.
The shadow has reached Serengeti. It darkens the windows, displaying a gossamer reflection of Lilian held in milord’s arms. The lightening will not be far behind.
“You did not return home during your advanced studies?” The mildly curious question is complimented by the curious hand now moving to work the closures of her blouse. Milord’s reflection reveals that his eyes are on their ghostly image and not the soon to break storm.
“I did milord, infrequently and not dur
ing the dry season.” Mulan’s Temple in the First System is almost a sevenday of stellar transit from Metricelli Prime and the Third System.
Releasing thoughts of the university, Lilian arches into the hands that have found her black silk encased breasts. Her head tilts to encourage the nuzzling lips that are exploring her neck as the awaited lightning strikes.
The brocaded fabric of the chair is slightly rough under Lilian’s clutching hands. You are as milord wishes you. Do not move. I am the sum of my ancestors.
Kneeling on the soft, silk rug, braced against the chair, Lilian desperately desires to move against milord’s shaft as is it drives into her. To improve the angle and discover that perfect spot where the increasingly powerful movements will bring her to ecstasy. She must not. Milord has her as he wishes her.
Lucius returns to awareness and does not discover what he expected. First Night he roused to discover Lilian’s form slack. Her hands clinging to the headboard while all else was limp. At a gentle tug, her hands slipped from the carved wood as she sprawled boneless on the bed.
The woman in his grasp is thrumming with tension. There is naught of relaxation in her posture. It had been so the previous day. His apprentice was obedient, compliant. There was no indication of wantonness. The gray eyes had not darkened. She had no release.
Confused by his ire, Lucius stalks to the freshening closet.
Milord had his pleasure. Lilian leans her face against the rough brocade as she attempts to control her unruly form. She is as milord left her. She will not move until instructed. She is aroused and unfilled. Toy. Plaything. Reconcile to it. He has not hurt you.
The sound of the freshening closet door heralds milord’s return. “Correct your disarray.”
Lilian’s blouse and skirt are by the windows. Her lingerie is more difficult to locate. The black silk bra is discovered on an occasional table. Its companion piece is finally found under the chair where Lilian was kneeling. Swallowing her aching need and an unjustified sense of humiliation, Lilian enters milord’s freshening closet. With the aid of a packet and the steamer, she sets her appearance to rights.