The two men were silent while Tullamarran poured amber liquid into stemmed goblets. Ravindra lifted his glass. "To Morgan."
Makasa smiled and joined him. "To Morgan."
***
Morgan strolled past the human troopers guarding the airlock hatch where Makasa's shuttle was docked. They'd obviously not been on duty long, looking alert and tense. She gave them a grin, and received a nod in return. They knew who she was.
Ravindra called her before she reached the lift foyer. She answered with her implant. "Srimana?"
"We need to talk."
She pressed a lift button. "I expect we do. Where's Makasa?"
"Freshening up. Come to my apartment. Immediately." He was abrupt, very definitely in admiral mode.
His apartment. Not our apartment. Huh. She’d moved in with Ashkar completely, so that Makasa could use the guest quarters she usually used. Ah well, that wasn’t going to change Ravindra.
Ravindra was waiting for her in the sitting room, standing with his legs apart, looking absolutely delectable in his white dress uniform. He sent shivers right through her, even now, after all these years. She would have fun helping him out of the uniform later. For now, though, he looked dark and troubled.
"What’s wrong, Ashkar?" She dropped onto the sofa, and put her feet on the low table. Ravindra didn't even react to that blatant provocation.
"Makasa’s here." He jerked a thumb. "Over there in the state room."
Well of course he was. Why tell her that? "Yes. I’ll be sure to advise him that I’ve had to bunk in with you, while he’s here."
At least he grinned. Just a little. "So good of you, my dear." He examined his hands for a moment and then sighed. "I have a small problem and I’d like your advice."
Now? He only asked for her advice about technical problems. She lifted her hand. Carry on.
Ravindra turned on the portable HD in the centre of the table, a human model, smaller and more compact than the equivalent Manesai technology. Makasa must have brought it with him. An image rose, a perfect miniature representation of two women. If miniature was the right word. They were both young, both attractive, with carefully coiffed black hair and black skin. Jewelry sparkled at their necks, their wrists and fingers, and the gowns they wore were clearly expensive. Two beautifully turned-out young women who were both enormously fat. Not much doubt about who their parent might be. Makasa’s features had translated fairly well to the female form. But not daughters, surely not. Unless he’d married yet again.
"Makasa’s granddaughters?" A squirm of unease began to uncoil in Morgan's stomach. "What’s this about?"
"I have to marry one of them."
"What?" This time Morgan’s jaw dropped. He had to be joking. Didn’t he?
Ravindra scratched an eyebrow. "Our president has discussed the matter with their president. It was deemed appropriate that this new accord between our two long-separated species should be cemented with a suitable marriage. And it has been decided that, since I’m… available, I should marry a woman of a high-ranking, human military family." He turned his head to stare at the bulkhead.
"But…" Morgan searched for words. Married. Of course she’d always known he’d marry again. It wouldn’t matter, he’d still be with her. "They can’t just tell you to marry somebody."
"I suppose I could refuse but…" He shrugged. "It seems the matter has been discussed with the Minister for Foreign Affairs, the Minister for Defense and the Head of Fleet. They all agree it would be a good idea. Once I'm suitably married, I'll be promoted to grand admiral."
"Well…" What could she say? "They didn't discuss it with you?"
"I think they thought it best to present me with an ultimatum, as it were. I am expected to do my duty." He raised his arms a little, then dropped them against his thighs. "So. Which one should I choose? I can show you their profiles."
Morgan stared at him. Ravindra didn’t want to do this, not for a moment. She could hardly blame him, getting tied down to some woman he’d never even seen. If he refused, he’d jeopardize his own position. That’s how they did things here. He’d hardly known his first wife when they married. Besides, he wanted that promotion, she knew. And he deserved it. She ought to be happy for him. She was happy for him.
"Are they here, these women?" she asked.
"No. I’m supposed to choose, based on this presentation." Ravindra waved a hand. "Just help me to pick the one who’ll stay out of my way most easily. It won’t make any difference to us. You know that, don’t you?" He leaned forward, gazing into her eyes, earnest and serious.
Morgan's heart went out to him. For a moment he almost looked young and vulnerable, being forced into something he didn’t want. "Yes. Yes, of course I know that."
He sat down on the sofa beside her and switched on the presentation.
The first girl appeared, almost life sized, in a room decorated in red and gold, and overstuffed with furniture, probably part of Makasa’s palace. The style reeked of the man. A few of the Vesha nobles she’d come across here would have loved the place.
The woman spoke well. Educated and competent, she explained about her background and skills, her ability to run a house, look after children.
Ravindra grunted. "At least that’s something I won’t have to bother about. Just as well. I’d probably need a step ladder to mount her."
Morgan shot him a look. "She could lose weight." In Manesai society, where nobody was fat, she’d have to, to fit in, to avoid being a freak.
Ravindra shrugged.
The girl finished her spiel, explaining she’d be happy to do her duty for her family and hoped she could make her prospective husband happy. The second woman, a little younger, not quite so fat, replaced the first, in the same setting. Her presentation was much the same, a list of accomplishments. She seemed tougher, but just as willing to give herself to the cause.
"I think the first one," Ravindra said. "Less likely to argue." His tone was morose.
Morgan stared at him. He’d marry her, and then ignore her. Completely. It wasn’t fair. Not for him, and especially not for this poor young woman, dumped in this totally alien environment to suit her tyrannical grandfather. Anger bubbled. Men. Typical. Well, she’d see about that. She leaped to her feet. "I’ll go and talk to Makasa."
The door to what had been her apartment slid open at her touch. She stepped inside, and stared straight into Makasa’s startled eyes. He sat in the hover chair she'd procured for him, one leg crossed over the other, a glass of liquor at his elbow.
"I must have missed your knock." He lifted the glass and sipped.
"What’s this about?" Morgan said.
"Charming as ever, my dear. It’s so nice to see you again." He waved a fat hand. "Do sit down."
She folded her arms. "I'll stand. What’s this wedding rubbish?"
Smiling, he gazed for a moment into his glass. "Hardly rubbish, Morgan. It is a well-established means of symbolically joining two societies together."
"It means nothing. It just means you’re forcing two people who don’t like each other into a ridiculous relationship."
He chuckled, sending his jowls wobbling. "You can’t be sure they won’t like each other. However, it hardly matters."
He didn’t care; he hadn’t given the consequences a nanosecond’s thought. "So you’re just going to dump one of your granddaughters here in Manesai space? What do those two girls think of this?"
Makasa’s face hardened. "They will do their duty."
"Duty? To marry a man twice her age, who will dump her on an agricultural planet, and spend his nights with… with…"
"With you? Yes, I know." He lifted a shoulder. "It does not matter. The formal union is important."
Morgan ran her fingers through her hair. "I don’t believe this. She’ll be all alone in a totally alien world. She’ll have to learn a new language, new customs. She’ll have to lose half her body weight to avoid being branded a freak. And she won’t be able to have children."
> Makasa looked up from examining his nails. "Yes, that last is unfortunate. Even so, she will do her duty to her family, and in this case, to her species. It’s decided." He shifted his weight in the chair. "Besides, you were all alone in an alien world. You seem to have done quite well for yourself."
Fury bubbled up like lava, bringing with it all the grievances she’d buried so long. Morgan leaned over him, her finger jabbing. "I’m a fucking Supertech. I’ve been a stranger in my own world all my life. Coming here wasn’t so very different. Your granddaughter is just a woman."
Eyes narrowed, Makasa tilted the chair, and stood, towering above her, a solid wall of flesh. "It is decided. All it requires is for Admiral Ravindra to make his choice, and I will have her sent for."
Bastard. He'd tried that intimidation trick a few too many times before. It hadn’t worked in the past and it wouldn't now, but he'd made his point. There had to be a marriage.
"What if he marries me?" she blurted.
"You?" He stepped back, brows furrowed, considering.
She hadn’t even remembered thinking the thought. The words came out unbidden. But then… things had changed, hadn’t they? "Me. I’m human. Not from a military family, but the next best thing, surely? They all know about me."
"Perhaps." Makasa fingered his chin. "But… no." He shook his head. "It’s not the same."
"Come on, Admiral. Think of it from the Manesai point of view. The Mirka Darya families won’t be too thrilled he hasn’t picked one of their women, but they’ll prefer me to a complete foreigner." She swallowed a smile, remembering the look on Admiral Ghosen’s face when Ravindra had turned down his granddaughter. Sour-faced bore.
Makasa eased his bulk back into the chair, and rested his chin on his fist. "But would he agree?"
"He’s asked me. Several times." This was going well. She could almost hope she’d persuaded him.
"Yes." Makasa pursed his lips. "I had heard that. And you'd refused."
"Of course I fucking refused. It's the same thing the other way round, he's supposed to be married to the daughter of a Darya family. Not an… alien. It was pretty clear he wasn't going to make grand admiral with me as his wife. But it looks like that's changed."
Makasa signed, shaking his head. "Morgan, Morgan. You are not an alien, just a cyborg."
Gosh, that sounded better. Not. "You know what I mean. Anyway, that would be acceptable, surely?" If he had to marry an alien, it might as well be her. They were practically married, anyway, except they hadn’t gone through the ceremony. And if she could save those poor girls from this situation, she’d have done a good thing.
"I had hoped you would return to the Coalition with me," Makasa said, eyeing her.
Morgan snorted.
"Is there nothing we could offer? Name it. Anything. I had hoped that in time you would take over my job."
Her eyebrows shot up. "Your job? Which bit? Above board logistics chief or underhand intelligence manipulator?"
Makasa frowned. "You can be low, Morgan, you really can. Both can be yours. Including the admiral's stars if you want them."
Oh, man. In her cadet days, those stars would have been the rainbow's end. But that was a long, long time ago. "Everything I want is here."
The big man sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I can’t say I’m surprised, but I had to ask. Well… But he would have to agree."
"Fine," she said, her spirit light as a cloud. "Let’s ask him. Now."
Ravindra was still in his quarters when she called. "Admiral Makasa would like a word."
Morgan opened the door for him, and he stepped inside, brow slightly puckered, his eyes flicking between them.
"Morgan has pointed out how difficult it would be for my granddaughters in your society. They are both admirable women, you understand, but I concur that a new life would not be easy for them."
"So. No marriage?"
"As has been discussed, a marriage is a wonderful, symbolic gesture of the reunion of our two races." Makasa cleared his throat. "Morgan has proposed a compromise. She is prepared to step in and marry you. If you are agreeable."
Ravindra scooped her up into his arms, and kissed her hard enough to almost hurt. She melted against him, arms around his neck, tongues entwined, until Makasa cleared his throat. Loudly.
"I take it you agree, then, Admiral?" the fat man said.
Ravindra released her, his arm wound tight around Morgan’s waist, a grin splitting his face. "I do. An excellent suggestion, Admiral. Morgan is already well known here, and well-respected."
Well-respected. Sure. As a Supertech. But not as a marriage partner for the Union's most eligible bachelor. Oh, a few noses were going to be out of joint. What a shame.
"Yes. I should like to be present for the ceremony," Makasa said.
"Of course. It is our tradition that the most senior officer of a woman’s family hands her to her new husband. Perhaps you would be good enough to carry out that duty for Morgan?"
"Handed over? Now wait a minute." Nobody was going to hand her over like some sort of sacrificial lamb.
Ravindra squeezed her. "It’s our tradition. It will be expected."
She glared up at him. They'd see about that.
"It’s a political event, Morgan," Makasa said. "It’s important to follow the diplomatic niceties, if only for a few hours."
"I'll think about it. I have to go. I’m late for a meeting." She extracted herself from Ravindra’s arm.
"Tell them I kept you," he said.
"I will." She walked out into the corridor. Married. She was going to get married. To an admiral. And damn it, a very large slice of her was pleased. How things change.
***
Ravindra waited until the door closed behind Morgan, and then a few moments more. "Thank you. I am indebted."
"I would still prefer to take her back to the Coalition. But… if she stays, then you’re a good match for her." Makasa swirled the brandy in the glass, then drained the liquid in a gulp. "There is a certain irony in her marrying an admiral. I find it amusing."
"Did she really suggest herself as my marriage partner?"
"She did. You must have done an excellent job. She was steaming when she came in here."
"Diplomacy is not her strong suit." Ravindra found a second glass, splashed in a shot of brandy for himself, and refilled Makasa's.
Morgan joined them for dinner in Ravindra's quarters, the officer's mess having been deemed inappropriate for a man of Makasa's girth. The fat admiral enjoyed himself, entertaining them, and Captain Smith, the most senior man on his entourage, with stories from the Coalition. Ravindra made a few remarks of his own but largely listened. Yes, Morgan was right. Intelligent, charming, and devious. A dangerous man.
Morgan seemed introspective, joining in Makasa's stories every now and then. Once or twice he noticed her eyeing him. He winked at her, and she giggled.
As soon as the two human officers had gone Ravindra unfastened the high collar of his dress uniform. Morgan, sitting on the sofa, slid her tongue over her lips. She looked delectable in a silvery-blue dress that enhanced the color of her eyes and skin. He couldn't wait to peel it off her, slowly, kissing every inch of the way. His pants felt too tight.
"Bed time?" he asked.
She raised a finger. "Just one thing."
Here it comes. "Yes?"
"Have I been, ah, set up?" She smiled sweetly, Morgan at her most difficult.
He sat down on the sofa next to her. "Yes."
She rested her chin on her fist. "So there was no intention that you marry one of these women?"
"Oh, no. That was entirely on the agenda, and the original intention. I baulked at the suggestion, and argued my case to the High Command. They agreed you were a much more suitable consort." Agreed was probably not quite the right word. They hadn't been happy, not at all. But then, they hadn't been happy about the presidential directive telling them that he, Ravindra, must marry a human woman.
"Your promotion will still h
appen?"
"Yes." He'd received human support on that one, from Makasa himself. And, truth to tell, a number of the more progressive of his peers.
"Humph. You could have talked to me."
"I've tried, but you weren't listening, my love. We just showed you the situation from another point of view. And your brain went along with it. You offered yourself."
Morgan glowered in a half-hearted sort of way. "I don't like the sound of this ceremony. Being handed over like a trophy."
Ravindra laughed. "You are a trophy. To me." He slid an arm around her and pulled her in against him. Her warm, female scent filled his nostrils. "Think of it as a drill, an act, a show. For the Darya families here, and for the humans who will see the performance."
She huffed a sigh. "At least you had the sense to tell me."
He brushed her lips with his. "I'm not stupid."
"No." Her fingers stroked the side of his face. "Let's go to bed and consummate our new relationship."
He stood, pulling her with him. "What a good idea."
The End
About the Author
Greta van der Rol loves writing science fiction with a large dollop of good old, healthy romance. She lives not far from the coast in Queensland, Australia and enjoys photography and cooking when she isn't bent over the computer. She has a degree in history and a background in building information systems, both of which go a long way toward helping her in her writing endeavours. Find out more about Greta and her books at http://www.gretavanderrol.net
More from This Author
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MORGAN'S CHOICE
A VICTORY CELEBRATION
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THE IRON ADMIRAL: DECEPTION
THE IRON ADMIRAL
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BLACK TIGER
TO DIE A DRY DEATH
Morgan's Return Page 32