Once nonessential personnel were banished to their quarters and locked in “for a safety alert,” Alys and her assistants waited well away from the disc.
At precisely five minutes after the com went silent, the air shimmered over the black disc. The white glyph filled with pale-pink radiance. A dot of darkness in midair swelled to a vertical black disc. Its edge, rimmed with brilliant magenta energy discharges, came to an inch above the black tiles.
A slim humanoid shape stepped through but kept one gray-gloved hand on the rim of the black portal, holding it open. The visitor was swathed in a gray hooded robe, her face concealed by a gray gauze veil. “Hello, Alys,” she said in fluent Terran Standard marred only by a slight hiss.
“Hello, Jumay.”
The visitor shook her head. She tugged down her face veil with her free hand. Dark eyes gleamed in a pale, elegant face. Short wisps of ice-blonde hair framed her features. “Neither Jumay nor a social call, I’m afraid.” Hot-pink sparks glimmered in her pupils. “Much as I’d like, I don’t have time for dalliance.”
Alys felt Cama’s territorial fury like a growl throbbing along her nerves. Cama liked the Sonta woman Jumay. Not so much, the other presence in the veiled body.
“Ksala Tena,” hissed Alys, stepping backward, the smile leaving her face. She bowed warily. “Welcome, star-eater. My wife and my Patrona extend courtesies on your visit. Where are your retainers?”
“Some of them think I’m sleeping. Jumay created a convincing illusion in our quarters,” said the visitor. “She was terrified for you. She gave me control of her body so I might escape to warn you. Our councils are still arguing what to do. How many Camali are on this planet?”
“Only sixty-five Camalians,” said Alys. “All in Cedar-Saba, and most working in the embassy. Why?”
“You’ve fourteen hours to get them off-world. Even better, out of this solar system. Do it quietly but fast. Certain diplomatic issues may devolve into war. Consider evacuation from all other League planets as well. Camali citizens may not be safe if the Terrani single you out for reprisals.”
Alys’s stomach knotted. Camalians considered themselves human. Much of the Terran League didn’t. One of the many reasons Leaguers distrusted Camalians were the latter’s close ties with the mysterious and feared Sonta. “What happened?” she asked.
“Normal Sonta politics. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me,” said Alys.
“The Ksala Aiyon has baited the Ksala Aksenna with claims that the Terrani of Cedar have stolen Aksenna’s property and technology. Aiyon has no love for either Terrani or Camali, so he did not bother to warn you. I think Aiyon probably started it just to cause a war. He’s been sulking that he didn’t see open conflict between Sonta and Terrani a hundred years ago.”
“A family spat between the Sonta’s most prized tame star-eaters? Jumay warned me to stay away from Aiyon or any of his folk.”
“Aiyon?” whispered one of Alys’s assistants.
The star-eater’s magenta-glowing eyes darkened to sullen reddish purple. “Do you teach these cubs nothing, Alys?” At the ambassador’s wince, the Ksala shook her head. “Attend, infants. You will likely see more Sonta than Terrani in the future. Look for eyes of colored fire, and be on your best behavior when you see them. Those will be Vessels containing the minds of harnessed star-eaters. The Sonta have enslaved dozens of us inside mortal flesh. We are the sun-devourers, the Ksaloni, and in our true shapes, we can destroy whole solar systems in a moment. But there are only three of us you need to remember and fear. Danil, who burns with turquoise fires. Aiyon, who shines cold purple. And Aksenna, who blazes with hot orange-pink light.”
“Begging your pardon, my lady, but there is also Tena, whose ill temper glows magenta,” said Alys. “And you are not weakest among those four.”
Tena nodded, her eyes paling to a wintry pink. “Yes, but I happen to cherish my chains, my mortals, and my allies. I am disturbed how well Aiyon played this game under my nose, and I knew nothing of it until now. Aksenna fell perfectly into his plots. She lost her temper and nearly attacked his Vessel. Aiyon was laughing when he left her. And now her ships are coming here.”
“No,” Alys whispered, a new gulf of horror opening in her mind. She felt Cama’s beloved presence soothing her, but the link went both ways, between the Camalian ambassador and her symbiont. Cama the elemental, the immortal trickster, the player of games, was now more nervous than angry. Even the most mind-dulled Camalian had to feel it! “No,” said Alys again. “Those worldships are powerful, but even they cannot destroy an entire planet.”
“They are only escorts for Aksenna herself, a star-eater in her rightful body.”
Alys swore she heard Cama yelp somewhere deep inside her. She sat down on the nearest chair, not caring when she heard the dress rip a little more. “A star-eater in Terran League space! How do they hope to contain her?”
Energy-based elementals living inside planets and stars were one thing and documented in the person of Cama herself. The Ksaloni were said to be born with the universe itself or from certain titanic black holes. Instead of anchoring the hearts of galaxies or drifting mindlessly through the space between them, the star-eaters had movement, intelligence, and endless hunger. Their favorite food was each other. They’d make do with stars and whole solar systems.
The Sonta had learned to tame some of them for power sources, with varying success.
Tena chuckled. “The look on your face, Alys! Never show fear to one of Aksenna’s people, or they’ll get ideas you won’t enjoy. Her Sonta shepherds have bargained with her. She will behave right up to their arrival on Cedar. If their judgment goes against the Terrani, they’ll let her eat the planet. Officially it’s a mission of goodwill into the League, so Aksenna may clean up any leftover nuclear waste and industrial poison from any planet wishing it.”
“I’m sure,” Alys snorted. “How noble of the Sonta to peacefully show off their greatest weapon while it refuels. Have the Leaguers reacted? Most of them think the Sonta a myth, let alone a star-eater. I knew nothing of this a few hours ago with the Cedar premier.”
“The official messages have just gone out in the last minutes.”
“What did the Terrani do?” Alys asked.
“Aksenna Sonta operatives have been seen on remote Terrani colonies for almost a decade. At the same time, Aiyon’s people were appearing on densely settled League worlds. One hour ago, Aiyon told Aksenna that a stolen kinsman of hers was on Cedar, in the hands of a Terrani slaver. I suspect Aiyon was hiding it from her all along. You can imagine her reaction.”
“Could we stall her? We Camalians have a long history with the Sonta,” began Alys.
“You have a relationship with me and my Sonta. The rest of the Sonta consider you distant cousins at best. Another form of Terrani vermin at worst. Aksenna will not stay her rage for your sake. Jumay thought your only choice was to run.”
“May I speak to Jumay?”
The visitor shook her head again. “My Vessel must sleep. The moment she wakes and regains control of this body, she will be held responsible for my escape. I cannot do that to her. I must return to my Sonta on my own. But I will share your greeting with her.” She grinned, showing strong white fangs, and moved forward, lifting her face only slightly to brush her lips across Alys’s. “Tell your wife and your Patrona they are very, very lucky I let you come home from that diplomatic mission. Jumay wanted to keep you. Farewell, Alys, and good luck!”
She stepped back through her black gate, which vanished with a snap of inrushing air.
Alys stood, blank-eyed and breathing hard, communing with the reluctant symbiont within her. Cama was worried but still evasive.
One assistant whispered, “That was an elf-woman.”
Another said, “She wasn’t afraid of Cama’s Touch!”
“Do not ever call a Sonta an elf to his or her face. Once they understood the translation, many of them considered it a gutting offense. They always
carry blades. Besides, Cama wouldn’t dare infect a Sonta. There’s nothing to colonize. Their star-eaters’ infections already sleep within them.” Alys glared at her assistants. “You heard the Ksala Tena. Recall our citizens to the embassy. Tell them to bring children and pets. Of possessions, only what they can carry. Abandon the rest. Objects can be replaced. Lives can’t. And find Valier!”
Fourteen
MORO SWIPED THEIR highest-value stolen credit chip over the door lock. A small display on the chip read its shrinking balance.
“At least we have thirty-eight hundred credits left,” said Val as he stowed the cycle in its locking bin outside the narrow door. With a hum, a jointed metal plate slid down, hiding the cycle. A translucent white quartz panel lit up on the door. “Pardon me, thirty-one hundred,” he added, looking at the display.
A control panel activated beside the lock, displaying a large menu of text and pictures. Moro quickly and expertly selected items from the list.
“Two thousand credits left?” Val asked. “They charge extra for pillows? I don’t even want to know what a ‘Sting Burst SK 5’ is, do I? My friend, you do know your sleazy motels.”
Moro couldn’t stop his laugh and barely noticed the resulting tremors. “Ch-charge f-f-for ev-ev-everything. Aut-automated. P-p-private.” His post-match assignations on twenty planets had taken him to flophouses as well as palaces. This was not so bad.
He felt Val’s gaze linger on him and looked down. Another blush crossed the youth’s cheeks. “You’re not dim at all, are you?” Val murmured. “My mystery Moro of few words.”
The door opened on a small windowless room ten feet on a side.
The control panel beeped. A bin opened below it and shot something into Moro’s hand. “What just cost another four hundred?” Val asked as Moro pulled him back out of the doorway, tossed in a small plastic grenade, and partially closed the door. Moro dragged Val to one side, facing the featureless hallway, just as blue-white light seared out of the room. The glow lasted for a full minute.
“A UV bomb?” Val whispered. “Please tell me that was the Sting Burst?”
Moro shook his head and led Val into the room.
“Well,” said Val, looking around. He got a quick glimpse of robotic arms placing objects and then retreating into sliding wall panels. “I’ve seen more romantic hospital rooms.”
Moro didn’t waste breath explaining this was a room for sex, not romance. He looked around, confirming his requests had been met by the auto-room’s robots.
One plastic-covered foam platform, scarcely qualifying as full-sized. One fabric sheet. Two flat fabric-covered pillows. One wedge-shaped foam pillow. One plastic-screened corner contained a combination shower, recessed sink, and pull-down toilet. One blank gray holo panel filled the wall opposite the bed. Another covered the ceiling. One small table held bottles of purified water and nutrient fluids, shampoos, cleansers and lubricants, several types of painkillers, and an assortment of sexual aids. Everything not plastic or spun cellulose was fireproof steel, glass, or white ceramic. Light came from another white quartz plate set into the wall above the headboard.
“Moro,” Val whispered, turning back toward the door. “This is sordid. You deserve better. Especially if it’s your last time.”
Moro recognized the other man’s incipient panic. He stood behind Val, wrapping his arms around him, until Val’s own shaking eased. “W-w-we ha-have this,” Moro whispered into one bronze ear.
Val twisted in the embrace, turning his face upward. Those extraordinary gray-gold eyes blurred with tears. “I just found you. I don’t want to kill you.” He lifted his hands to Moro’s shoulders. His lush lips remained half-open.
Moro’s mouth still stung from the first match, when Meng’s flying elbow had made Moro bite the inside of his cheek. Stimulant spray had healed the outer injury but not the inner.
The next move in this dance was Moro’s, something as simple and as potentially lethal as stepping off a skyscraper. Moro bent and kissed the Camalian youth, slipping his tongue past Val’s lips and murmured denials. Val tasted faintly of good beer. Moro couldn’t imagine how bad he must taste, but Val didn’t balk. He moaned, and the sound made Moro’s knees tremble.
Moro was an expert at ignoring pain by now. Pain was only a distraction. The ache in his mouth, the deeper ache between his legs? They meant nothing compared to this new heat.
His and Val’s tongues met in growing urgency, coiling around each other, tracing teeth, lips, and the little swollen wound inside Moro’s cheek.
Val broke away, gasping. Moro dipped lower, mouthing Val’s neck under the feathery curls of gold hair. He sucked hard, tasting sweat-salted skin. Val’s male musk hit olfactory nerves leading straight to Moro’s cock. For whatever reason, for however long, fate had given Moro this impossible little man. He meant to make the most of the Camalian’s sweetness.
“Oh,” said Val when he felt Moro’s erection surge against him. “You really do want this. Is that you? Not conditioning?”
“Y-yes,” Moro growled ambiguously and pushed Val down to sit on the bed. What did it matter anymore, programming or free will? Moro knelt on the floor, his gaze holding Val’s while he undid the remaining buttons on the amber silk tunic.
Val played with Moro’s hair, pulling filthy black tresses from under the jacket collar. Kott had not been the only one thus fascinated. But this hesitant scrutiny felt so different. Moro realized why in the pause between one button and the next. Val was his lover, not his client or conqueror.
Moro opened the catch on Val’s bulky black belt. He let it fall behind them on the bed. He pushed the soft tunic open but did not remove it or the long gray coat.
Val mirrored him, sliding golden-brown hands into the jacket and stroking Moro’s collarbones outward from the hollow of his throat.
The younger man’s torso was compact and well defined. His brown skin glinted with fine gold hair along his arms, the center of his chest, and down his abdomen. His nipples were small, taut, a darker rose than his mouth. Moro kissed each one. When Moro cupped Val’s erection through the fabric, he felt the Camalian’s response throb against his palm.
“Ah,” Val said, fingers clenching and unclenching on Moro’s shoulders under the jacket. “I’m going to be terrible at this, Moro. I’m twenty-three. My first and last real lover was a Guide of Cama, before I left for school six years ago. I have problems.”
Moro leaned in and nibbled Val’s lips until they opened to let him in once more.
“I’m babbling, aren’t I?” Val asked when he could speak again.
Moro nodded. Under his hands, the trouser front was warmer and damper. He undid the trousers and urged a hand under Val’s buttocks. The youth raised enough for Moro to push the fabric below Val’s knees.
Val’s white briefs stretched taut over his erection, the thin knit cloth damp and translucent.
Moro bent, first breathing in the scent of arousal, then sucking at the damp spot. Val gave an undignified squeal. Moro lifted off instantly and held the youth’s hips steady until Val regained control.
“Ah,” Val gasped. “Sorry. Too close to an old fantasy, I’m afraid.” He visibly restrained himself, biting his lower lip in concentration.
My last lover, Moro thought. He deserves to be driven a little mad for his trouble. Moro licked Val’s lips and tongue, letting the youth taste himself, and then leaned down to suck Val’s cockhead through the wet briefs.
“Moro,” Val groaned.
“Hmmm?” Moro hummed as innocently as he could.
“I want your mouth. Please?”
Oh, to be asked, thought Moro, easing away. He hooked his thumbs on the waistband, grinned at the frail cloth, and twisted. Cotton and elastic ripped.
“Vandal,” Val said. “You don’t have to tear off my clothes.”
Yes, I do, thought Moro, hating his brain’s crippled speech centers. I want to see all of you. I want you to come from just my voice. My real voice! But I’ll settle for
making you scream.
Moro folded down the rags of Val’s underwear. The trail of white-gold hair widened over Val’s flat, bronze-skinned belly to a nest of pale curls at his groin. As Moro watched, the sizable balls pulsed. The purple-brown cock stiffened into its full, graceful curve. Moro pulled back, considering the disheveled male loveliness in front of him. The blush really did go all the way down.
Difficult to believe this trembling sprite carried a lethal, legendary infection.
Moro bent to worship Val’s cock, mapping its slender shaft with tongue, teeth, and fingers. The circumcised head was narrow, slightly pointed, but the base felt satisfyingly thick. And his heavy testicles fit into the curve of Moro’s hands as if begging to be rolled, tugged, and lightly pinched.
Moro braced himself on one elbow and folded his lips carefully over his teeth. He sucked just the lily-bud tip into his mouth, probing the slit for more of Val’s salt. He slid his mouth down and back up the shaft, tracing patterns with his tongue.
Val’s hips moved to the smooth rhythm of Moro’s mouth, and his warm tenor voice responded instantly to Moro with wonder-struck curses, murmurs of praise, endearments, gasps, and groans.
Moro greedily drove him beyond words.
When the gold-furred balls shrank tighter and harder, Moro judged the moment right. He took Val’s cock deep into his throat. Powerful suction held the shaft, and Moro allowed a hint of teeth to scratch the base. Val answered with a rising sob. His fingers tightened in Moro’s hair. Moro wished he could see his lover’s face in the moment just before release.
Val cried out, hips jerking as he came in four long, luxurious spurts.
Moro pulled back a little, lapping gently at the pulsing cockhead. Val’s semen tasted clean, healthy, somewhat of salt and wild mushrooms, somewhat of a faint bitterness. The plague? Moro made certain it swirled across his wounded mouth and then swallowed. He let Val’s cock, not quite limp, ease from his lips. Liquid still gathered in a bead at Val’s slit. Moro licked it away.
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