by Diana Palmer
“Jeans and a shirt and boots?” she asked. “That’s Western American clothing. It’s the fad right now with designers. Nobody knows what they really wore, but handed-down documents mentioned boots and jeans, which we assume were pants made of some coarse fabric, and shirts that button up.”
“Western American.” He sighed. “I shall have to go to the virtual library.”
“Not to worry. Daddy has a book on it.” She laughed. “He has a book on everything!”
“A paper book.”
She looked worried. “It would offend you to touch it,” she guessed.
He glanced down at her. “Jasmine, a paper book is already a dead tree,” he pointed out. “I only take issue with trees on my own world being used for such a purpose, which would never happen. The process of other cultures is their concern.” He leaned down, his eyes searching hers. “I’m not offended.”
“Oh.” She was looking at his mouth. It was beautiful. Chiseled, the upper lip thinner than the lower one, wide and masculine. She’d never been kissed. She wanted to be.
He read that in her face and almost groaned. There were people everywhere.
It was too soon. He kept telling himself that as he pulled her slowly by the hand to a hidden alcove that was, temporarily, unoccupied.
“This is too soon,” he said aloud.
“I don’t care...!”
She reached up as he reached down. Her mouth was soft and sweet, nectar itself. He groaned under his breath as he fought not to crush her against his body. It truly was too soon for that sort of intimacy. He framed her face in his big, warm hands and drew his lips tenderly against her soft mouth, drowning in frustrated passion, hungry for far more than this.
He drew back to see her reaction. Her eyelids were half-closed. She looked at him with something akin to awe.
He bent again, parting her lips softly this time before he possessed them. She moaned and pressed close to him.
He didn’t dare take the invitation. The dravelzium was already wearing off. He’d have to make sure he kept a supply with him. He couldn’t bear to hurt her.
But her mouth was intoxicating. He got drunk on the taste of her. He whispered to her in High Cehn-Tahr, the Holy Tongue that only his Clan and a few members of the kehmatemer could even understand.
“What?” she whispered dizzily.
“Synthale.”
She drew back a breath.
“You go to my head like spirits,” he translated.
“You go to mine,” she whispered shakily. Her soft arms reached up, but he caught them and pulled them gently down.
“Too soon,” he whispered. He felt unsteady on his feet. “Some things must not be rushed,” he added.
She smiled stupidly. “Okay.”
He chuckled. She looked as intoxicated as he felt.
“Nobody ever kissed me before,” she confessed, shocking him. “I wasn’t sure how it would feel.” She flushed. “It’s very...nice.”
“Very nice, indeed.” He was immensely flattered. He would be her first, in every way. He had heard that some humans were very promiscuous, especially in the outer colonies. He was delighted to find her as chaste and discreet as he, himself, was. The Cehn-Tahr were pristine in their mating habits. Once bonded, they never strayed. Bonding was for life.
“So. Tomorrow after luncheon.” She looked up at him.
He nodded slowly. “After luncheon. I’ll see your father after breakfast.”
She cocked her head and smiled. “Is it a cultural thing that you don’t eat with other cultures?”
He smiled. “I’m afraid so. Our choice of cuisine is quite different from yours and might be offensive to your olfactory processes.”
She blinked. “We might not like the smell?”
“Exactly.”
She searched his eyes, so far above her own. “I can get used to anything,” she said softly. “And I mean anything, if it means being with you.”
He caught his breath. It was the way he felt, too.
He bent, helplessly, to her soft mouth. This was unwise. The dravelzium was wearing off. Contact with her mouth, without the protection of nanobytes, which also wore off, could trigger the mating cycle. She knew too little about him, about what he truly was. It would be unfair to expose her to something she might not be able to accept.
He kissed her very softly and drew back before she could reciprocate. “Slowly,” he said.
She managed to smile through her excited disappointment. “Slowly,” she replied.
He touched her soft hair where it draped around her shoulders in a beautiful, curly curtain. “Your hair is magnificent,” he whispered.
“I thought you might like it better if I wore it loose, like this.”
“Yes. I do.” He chuckled. “My own hair is even longer...” He stopped suddenly at her look of surprise.
He ground his teeth together. It was a bad slip. “I mean, I used to wear it long,” he said, shaking his head. “You see? You intoxicate me so that I can’t say what I mean.”
To his relief, she laughed. “I wonder what you’d look like with long hair,” she said aloud.
“I’ll grow it out, just for you,” he promised.
She smiled. “Will we be able to do things together, when we get to Memcache?” she asked worriedly. “I mean, will your family mind?”
“My Clan won’t mind,” he replied. “My parents are long dead. I have many cousins, but no close family anymore.”
“Sort of like me,” she said. “All I have left is Daddy.”
“I like your father,” he told her. “He is unique.”
She smiled. “Yes. I love him very much.”
He brushed her hair away from her face. “I want children,” he said huskily.
She felt a wave of hunger so sweeping that it almost staggered her. “I want them, too,” she whispered.
They stared at each other hungrily until a passing couple noticed them and called a greeting.
They shook themselves mentally, moved apart and called back the greeting as they proceeded toward the cabin Jasmine shared with her parent.
“I have never enjoyed anything as much as this evening,” Mekashe told her softly. “It has been one of the happiest days of my life.”
“Of mine, as well,” she replied, searching his eyes. “I’ll look forward to tomorrow afternoon.”
“As will I.” He smiled tenderly. “I will carry this memory of the way you look until I die...” He hesitated. “Is it permissible, for me to capture you like this?”
“Of course,” she said at once.
He produced a small photographic device the size of a thumb from his jacket and captured a photograph of her.
The door opened just after he shot it.
“Daddy, would you capture us together? Is it all right?” she asked Mekashe.
“Certainly!” he said, handing the device to her father. “If you wouldn’t mind?”
He chuckled. “Not at all.” He triggered the device, three times. “I made multiples, in case the first didn’t take.” He handed it to Mekashe. “Might better check and make sure.”
He did. He looked at the portrait of the two of them and sighed inwardly. They looked perfect together. Her fairness, and his black hair and light gold skin, seemed to complement each other.
“May I see?” she asked, and leaned on Mekashe’s arm to look over it. He was far too tall for her to look over his shoulder. “It’s perfect! Can you share it with me, on the Nexus?” she asked.
He wouldn’t dare. No holos of him or any member of the Imperial Guard or the Holconcom were permitted.
“I can do much better. I’ll bring you one of these with the capture in it tomorrow. Will that suffice?” he teased.
“That would be wonderful!” She looked up at him delightedly. “And you�
�ll teach me to use it, yes?”
He nodded. “Yes, I will.”
“We’re going to have a picnic in the forest in a holoroom,” she told her father. “So I’m afraid you’ll have luncheon alone,” she teased.
Mekashe frowned. “A picnic involves food?”
She looked at him. “Well, usually.” She flushed. “Sorry, I forgot. I’ll have lunch with Daddy, and we’ll have a foodless picnic,” she added with a grin.
He chuckled. “Very well. I’ll see you for chess in the morning, then, Ambassador,” he told her father.
“I’ll look forward to it. Good evening.”
“Good night,” Jasmine added.
He gave her a lingering smile. “Sleep well.”
He walked away. Jasmine stared after him for a minute before she went inside with her father and closed the door.
Ambassador Dupont looked at her worriedly. “You know,” he began, “their culture isn’t the same as ours. It’s very different, from what I’ve heard.”
She smiled. “Then I’ll learn as I go along. He’s...incredible. Tender and funny and smart. Smarter than me.”
“Smarter than me, too, I’m afraid.” He hesitated. He’d just had a virtual briefing with the head of the diplomatic department on Terravega. It included top secret information about the true form of the Cehn-Tahr and cultural differences that were unknown to most humans. Jasmine had never seen a true alien. The Altairian she’d discovered on the ship was quite human looking, except for his blue skin. The Vegans, though more alien, were mostly humanoid. But the Cehn-Tahr were very different. Not only that, they were far stronger than humans.
Jasmine was hungry for Mekashe and the reverse seemed equally true. It was more dangerous than she realized, but he’d never seen her so animated, so very happy. Was it fair to destroy her illusions? After all, it might be just an infatuation, the lure of the unfamiliar. If that were true, it would seep out on its own accord and he wouldn’t have to hurt her by imparting unpalatable facts. Like the fact that Cehn-Tahr ate their food whole and raw. He understood now why Mekashe wouldn’t dine with them.
Their cultures were radically different. He knew that two members of the Royal Clan had human consorts, but there were deep secrets about the bondings. He didn’t know what Mekashe’s Clan affiliation was. There were rumors from HQ that some clans had accepted genetic enhancements that made them extremely dangerous to humans.
Well, he could certainly discount that after tonight, he told himself, amused. His daughter looked slightly disheveled, but there was no bruising and certainly no broken bones. So perhaps Mekashe’s Clan didn’t have those enhancements. Perhaps the cultural differences wouldn’t matter.
Still, he worried. Jasmine was so unsophisticated, and so very young. He watched her go back to her room, her mind far away on the handsome stranger from Memcache. And he hoped against hope that he wouldn’t regret his silence.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE NEXT MORNING, Jasmine was almost floating on a cloud, anticipating the afternoon with Mekashe. She went through her closet, looking for something pretty enough to wear for him that was also casual.
She could have gone to the boutique for another outfit, but she hesitated to run her parent into more debt, especially in the early days of his new, lucrative profession. So she settled for a pair of long pants, jeans they were called, in some knotty fabric that was wispy and cool, and a button-up blouse with short sleeves. The jeans were blue, a dark color, and the blouse was white with a blue pattern. The well-fitting garments gave her an even more youthful look, especially with her hair down, but age had never been a problem with Mekashe. She supposed it didn’t matter to him, any more than his, whatever it might be, mattered to her. At that, he looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties. Older than her, but not by that much. Feelings, she decided, were far more important than minor details.
She relived those kisses all night long and barely slept. She loved the warm, hard touch of his mouth, the hunger and passion she sensed in him. She wondered what would come next in their relationship. Whatever it was, she knew that it was leading to something permanent. He’d mentioned children, not something a man with a casual passion in mind would care about. She thought of children with black hair and eyes that changed color to mirror moods, and she was fascinated. Her children would be unique.
She knew that Dr. Madeline Ruszel had bonded with a Cehn-Tahr and had two children. She wished she could access more information about the woman on the Nexus, but it was impossible. Apparently the Cehn-Tahr were secretive about any part of their culture. Mekashe had told her as much.
She laid out her outfit and wished she had an excuse to crash the chess match, to see Mekashe again. But it would look contrived. No, best to let him have his time alone with her father. It was important that they liked each other.
* * *
AMBASSADOR DUPONT WAS distracted as they played. Mekashe wondered why. He was reluctant to bring it up, but it concerned him.
“Jasmine is looking forward to the picnic,” the older man said with a smile, melting his companion’s concern. “She’s spending the morning picking out just the right clothing to wear.” He glanced up from the chessboard. “She said that you were less than enthusiastic about the swimming party.”
Mekashe grimaced. “We consider such things indiscreet.” His solemn blue eyes met those of the ambassador. “Our culture is quite pristine.”
“I know.” The other man hesitated. “The head of our service shared a few facts with me, about your culture, things he thought were important enough to tell me before I arrived on Memcache.”
Mekashe sat back. His eyes studied the other man. “That was wise. It will help you to adjust. But it may be more difficult for Jasmine, especially since she has been so sheltered from alien races.”
“My fault. And I wish there were time to remedy it.” He sighed. “There were no holos, you understand. We aren’t permitted to share such things on the Nexus, even in our diplomatic service. I know that the Cehn-Tahr are even more careful about such things than we are. That was why you offered to give Jasmine the capture on a device, rather than flash it to her for the Tri-D reconstituter, yes?”
“Yes.” He reached into a pocket and handed the capture device to the ambassador with a smile. “I will let you keep it for her, until we return from the holoroom.” He didn’t add that the giving and acceptance of a gift was a notorious trigger for the mating cycle. It was much too soon for that to happen.
“I’ll do that.” The ambassador pocketed it. “The differences between our species seem wider than I first realized.”
“I’m afraid they are.” Mekashe’s face was solemn. “And we are careful about any information we expose on the Nexus. We never publicize details of our political, military or religious protocols, much less the names of those who serve.”
The professor hesitated over a move. He still looked troubled.
Mekashe didn’t need to read his mind to understand why. “You were told that we are not quite as we appear in public,” he said after a minute.
The ambassador’s hand jerked just faintly, the only outward sign of his concern. “Well, yes.” He looked up. “Is it a great difference, or are you allowed to tell me even that much?”
Mekashe smiled. “Your status allows you to know more than a private citizen. I cannot elaborate. But, yes, the differences would be apparent, especially to a sheltered female.” He frowned. “I would hope that it wouldn’t matter a great deal.”
“You don’t have tentacles or two heads...?” It was a joke.
Mekashe chuckled. “Certainly not.”
The ambassador sighed. “I don’t mean to pry,” he told his companion. “It makes no difference to me. I’m quite familiar with alien races through my research. My daughter, however, has never even seen a Rojok up close. They’re said to share some traits with Ceh
n-Tahr, but they’re very human looking.”
Mekashe was solemn. “I’m afraid that we are far different than Rojoks.” He glanced at the human. “I would never harm her,” he added quietly. “She has already become...precious to me.”
Ambassador Dupont smiled faintly. “I believe that feeling is very much reciprocated. Inevitably, however, you will have to tell her the truth.”
“I realize that.” Mekashe’s eyes had a faraway look and he frowned. “But we have still a long voyage ahead of us,” he said finally, smiling, “and the need for total honesty is not yet urgent.”
Ambassador Dupont nodded. His smile was nostalgic. “I found my wife wandering in a garden on Trimerius, when I was in military intelligence,” he said, smiling at the memory. “She was enthusing over a sunflower plant to a very bored young man. I stepped in and marveled at the flower and she found an excuse to send the other man back to his command.” He chuckled. “I’m no fan of flowers, but I learned to love them as much as she did.” His face saddened. “She’s been gone for five years, and I still grieve. She was fragile. I didn’t protest when she wanted to go on a rescue mission with a group of other physicians. The transport crashed and all hands were lost.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So was I. Jasmine took it very hard. It’s just the two of us. I have no other family and Martha was an only child, as well, of older parents who predeceased her.”
“Your bonded consort was a physician?”
He nodded. He studied the alien curiously. “Do you have family? Or am I permitted to ask such a personal question on such short acquaintance?”
“My family is sparse,” Mekashe replied. “My father was career military. My mother was in diplomatic service. They were lost in...” He started to say “in the Great Galaxy War,” but that might shock the human, who had no real concept of the life span of the Cehn-Tahr. The Great Galaxy War ended decades ago. “They were lost in a regional conflict,” he amended. “I have cousins, and what you would call a great-uncle.” He meant the emperor, but he couldn’t tell that to an outworlder. “But no close family.”