by Neal Jones
"And how will you answer the critics who will want to know why we took so long to reveal the truth about the Graavis sector? It will be obvious that you're using this as a diversion from your conflict with the senate."
"That will be obvious only to the senate," Erengaar replied as he refilled his wineglass. "They're not going to broadcast to anyone their plans of a tribunal. Until this progress is over, they're going to keep busy with the new legislation I have signed off on. As for the people, we will give them the truth: we needed time to learn the identity of the Dominion's new ally. I will emphasize in my speech that we did not want an all-out war with the Dominion, nor do we want one now. But if the Khazar do not immediately withdraw from the Graavis sector, we will go to war to get it back."
"Are you sure that's wise? Thanks to your new financial reforms, the empire's coffers are nowhere near full enough to support a war just now. Nor do we have enough ships or soldiers."
"Not presently, no. But it could be several more months – or possibly a year at least – before the time comes when it's necessary to declare war. By then, I hope, Vuil'SN will have provided us with more cloned soldiers and perhaps even some technology that will allow to enhance our warships. The timing of all this will be rather tricky, but if we play it just right, we might be able to learn the identity of the Khazar's ally while also preventing the senate from forming their little tribunal." He spat the last word, and then pushed away his empty plate. "First thing tomorrow, while I am revising my speech, I want you to meet with Ranunt. Tell him the plan, and then tell him I want updated reports on the strength of all fleets. If it does become necessary for me to divert legions to the Khazar border, I want at least forty ships available at a moment's notice."
"Understood." Ryomekk wiped his mouth and then laid down his napkin. "There's one thing that I find very puzzling in all of this."
"What's that?"
"When I told you about the senate's plan for a tribunal, you seemed genuinely surprised and shocked by the news. That means that Dakkahr did not inform you of this. Is that correct?"
"Yes. I have not received any dispatches from him since we've begun this progress."
N'Ro's frown deepened. "He carries the title of Lord's Hand. He has served that position for longer than any of the senators have served theirs in the Hall of State. Farran informed me that Ossias and V'Ruk were being very careful to keep this plan a secret from Broen. But I find it very difficult to believe that Dakkahr would know nothing of this. If that's true, then he is the most inept Lord's Hand I have ever witnessed."
"Yes," Erengaar agreed somberly. "Perhaps Farran is misled. It's possible that Dakkahr does know, but that he's been pretending otherwise."
"For what purpose? I believe that Farran is right. The other senators know perfectly well where Broen's loyalty lies. They know that if he even suspects something he will inform you immediately. Obviously, they didn't want you to know anything about this until we arrived back at homeworld. Farran says that this matter was discussed several days ago at a dinner party at Ossias' estate. Dakkahr has been the Lord's Hand now for almost thirty years. If he was truly a master of his position, he would have learned of this plot within two days of that party, probably sooner. So either he's incompetent, or he's duplicitous. I'm not sure which is worse."
"We don't know anything for certain," Erengaar protested. "But you're right, that is puzzling."
"With all due respect, lord, I fail to see why you didn't appoint a new Hand as soon as you ascended the throne. Dakkahr has done nothing to prove his loyalty to you, and, as I reminded you several months ago, Broen had a close friendship with Doctor Rimshar. It stands to reason that if one was capable of treason, so is the other."
"Dakkahr was loyal to my father. He would never have conspired against him."
"Precisely my point. For all we know, Dakkahr may suspect that you were the one responsible for killing Emkai. His death was the result of poisoning, after all."
"I had nothing to do with that!" Erengaar bristled.
"Yes, that's true. But Dakkahr may believe otherwise. If he does, he has probably been waiting for a year for an opportunity like this to move against you. We need to find out for certain if he is our enemy."
Erengaar scowled, nodding. "There's a simple way to do that. Tell Farran to 'let slip' this news to Dakkahr tomorrow, before the end of the day. Then we wait and see how long it takes Dakkahr to tell one of us."
"Yes," N'Ro smiled thinly. "That's what I was thinking as well." He stood. "Is there anything further you require of me tonight?"
"No. But I am curious: how long has Farran been one of your spies?"
"Ever since I discovered a few years ago that he enjoys a certain pleasure house in Garbane, one that caters to those with...deviant appetites. It seems that Farran prefers the company of young boys."
"Oh," Erengaar grimaced. "That works out quite well for us, I suppose."
"Yes, it does." N'Ro smiled thinly. "He has been quite helpful to me these past few years. Evening star, lord."
"You as well."
After the door closed behind the director, Erengaar summoned the servants to clear the table and clean up the mess he'd made on the nearby wall and carpet. The lord emperor entered his bedroom and stripped on his way to the bathroom. He turned on the shower and then summoned L'Damia to his bedroom, instructing her to wait there until he was done. When he emerged from the bathroom, naked, she was waiting for him on the edge of the bed. He stood in the doorway, gazing at her with lust in his eyes. She smiled, rising to meet him, unfastening her silk robe as she walked.
He grasped one of her breasts, running his thumb over the nipple, making it hard, and she gave a small gasp of pleasure. His skin was still moist from the shower, and she traced his vein-like markings with one finger, starting at his neck, teasing him with her light touch all the way down the side of his chest and stomach. With his other hand, he rubbed her soft, full lips, and she sucked on his finger.
He pushed her down, shoving his cock between her lips, and she sucked hungrily. He was impressed with her skill, for she knew how to tease him in this position as well, and, when he finally came, she swallowed every drop. She stood, smiling and licking her lips. He pointed to the chair next to the bed. "Sit. Pleasure yourself."
L'Damia was only too happy to comply, dipping a finger into her wetness and rubbing it around her nipples and her lips. Erengaar smiled, and, when she had dipped her finger again, he snatched her hand and licked every inch of her finger, relishing the tart sweetness. She did this for several minutes, until he was hard again, and then he lay back against the pillows and rubbed himself while watching her do the same. She climaxed just before he did, bucking her hips and moaning wildly, and the sound of it made him spray his milky seed all over his chest. There wasn't as much of it as before, but he stood so L'Damia could lick him clean. He then knelt to give her the same courtesy, lapping up the wetness between her thighs, and then he gathered her robe from the floor.
"Has my lord been pleased?" she asked.
He smiled, fresh lust in his gaze. "Yes. Evening star."
"Evening star," she murmured, fastening the robe.
After she was gone, Erengaar laid down on the bed and rubbed himself once more, closing his eyes, dreaming of those crimson, supple lips, the sweet taste of her still on his tongue.
Chapter 13
____________________
( 1 )
"Mom, can I please go to Tjase's tonight? I promise I'll be home by twenty-two hundred."
"Oh, really? I thought you and Tjase weren't hanging out anymore." Mariah stood in front of her mirror, adjusting the front of her dress uniform.
Josh fidgeted, scowling at the floor. "I didn't say that. We just..." He sighed. "Can I go or not?"
"May I go? And no, you may not. You have a math test to study for and a book report due tomorrow. I want to read it when I get home tonight."
"I already studied for the test." His mother threw him a sidewa
ys glance. "I did. I promise!"
"And the book report?"
"I started it."
"Good. Have it ready for me to read tonight."
Josh gave a disgusted noise and stomped out of the bedroom. Mariah followed, tugging at the ends of her sleeves. "I've left a credit chip on the coffee table for pizza if you want it."
"When are you going to be home?" Josh flopped onto the couch, sulking.
"No later than twenty-three hundred, I hope." She glanced over her shoulder. Her son had turned on the HT. "I'm serious, Joshua. I want that report done tonight."
"Yes, I heard you the first time," he replied irritably.
Mariah opened her mouth to reprimand him for his tone, but then decided the ensuing argument wasn't worth it. She turned and walked out of their quarters, adjusting her collar as she went.
( 2 )
Edmond Brouchard, vice president of the Interstellar Federation, stood at the window behind his desk, admiring once more the view of Exxar-One that was afforded him by the vantage point of being docked at port five. The graceful curve of the station's primary hull sloped majestically downward, its symmetry interrupted only by the other two upper pylons that stood between Brouchard's viewport and the spherical hull. Something that Brouchard had always enjoyed about vistas such as this was the mechanical "ballet" of maintenance bots, hull scrubbers, and other various support craft that constantly moved about the larger starships and the station. Edmond watched the scene with a sense of detached calm, the same feeling that most people got from watching exotic fish in a tank. This was his first visit to Exxar-One, and he was looking forward to the guided tour that Henri had arranged for him.
But, first, there was the formality of the state dinner with the various delegates that had arrived to commemorate the beginning of the new peace talks between the Chrisarii and the Federation.
"You're going to be late." Cynthia Brouchard regarded her husband with mild amusement.
He turned, smiling. "It's quite a view, isn't it?"
"You're not wearing that shirt, are you?"
"I need to finish my speech."
She shook her head. "Come here." She led him into the bedroom and opened the closet. "I've read your speech. It's good. Not too long and not too heavy on the details. You'll do fine. Here. This one."
"I don't like this color," he demurred.
"Gray is your color. How many times have we had this argument?"
Edmond started unfastening his shirt. "You're sure it's not too long? My speech, I mean."
"No. I think it's just right. Why are you so worried about it anyway? This isn't the first time you've addressed a crowd like this."
"No, but this time there's an Elzrai and a Tiralan here, for christ's sake!" He fastened the new shirt and then held out his wrists so Cynthia could attach the cufflinks.
"Ed, this is me you're talking to, remember? You just don't like all this ceremony and grandstanding."
"Well, that too." He shrugged into his coat and then stood in front of the mirror. Cynthia straightened and smoothed it for him, and then leaned her head on his shoulder, her arm intertwined with his.
"You look very handsome, sir."
He smiled and turned, leaning down for a kiss. "What would I do without you to dress me?"
She shook her head, smiling. "Come on. We're going to be late."
As they returned to the front room, they were greeted by Henri Comstock, Brouchard's chief of staff, and his press secretary, Derisha.
Der handed Edmond a compad. "Your speech. I tweaked a couple lines in your closing paragraph, but other than that it was good. Hello, Cyndi."
"Der. Henri."
They fell in step beside the couple as they left Brouchard's quarters. A pair of soldiers outside the door came to attention as the party passed. "Sir," Henri said, "we've received a reply from the Morth regarding Yutta. They don't want him on the committee. They don't like his voting record."
"That's no surprise," Edmond shrugged. "We knew they'd reject our first choice."
Henri nodded. "I've already sent communiqués to Klaye's office, but I doubt the Morth will approve him either."
"Uh-huh. Anything else?"
"Don't forget about the conference call with M-P Sertbak first thing tomorrow morning, and your tour of the station is scheduled for ten-hundred hours."
"Excellent." Edmond turned to Der. "I assume you're already working on a glowing report of tonight's dinner?"
"My camera's already activated and orbiting that deck with the others. Just don't forget to smile, and don't rush your speech. Oh, and if you could get a photo-op with either of the Chrisarii councilors and/or the Tiralan representor – or both – that would be great."
"Of course," the vice president replied dryly, "I'll do my best."
( 3 )
"You look bored," Sikandra whispered, leaning close to Kralin.
"I am," he murmured.
She smiled, just as the rest of the senior staff – along with the dozen other delegates – applauded the vice president as he descended the stage at the front of the quarterdeck.
"Excellent speech, mister vice president," Gabriel congratulated him, shaking Brouchard's hand.
"Thank you, and please call me Edmond. I'm very much looking forward to my tour tomorrow morning."
The two of them began walking towards the long, wide table that had been set up in the center of the room. The other guests and officers began taking their seats while the servers appeared from all sides to begin pouring drinks and pass out platters of appetizers.
"Is there any part of the station in particular you want to visit?" the commodore asked. "My usual route includes OpCon, the observation dome, the promenade, the medical sector, central engineering, and primary shuttledock. I can also arrange a flyby from one of our hornet squadrons if you'd like."
"No need for a flyby, but the rest of it sounds very appealing." He looked up and around, craning his neck to look over his shoulder at the towering wall of steel and glass that made up the front of the quarterdeck. "I am simply amazed at the size and grandeur of this starbase! It's incredible."
"Indeed, vice president," Ambassador Zar replied, seated to his left, opposite Gabriel. "I am very humbled by what we have accomplished here with this project. I only hope," she continued, turning to Ambassador Morryn on her left, "that this new round of talks will be as fruitful as those that led to Exxar-One's creation."
"Ah, ah," Brouchard replied, wagging his finger in a grandfatherly gesture, "you, too, must call me Edmond. I've never been one who has appreciated titles. They're such mouthfuls, aren't they? I think we are all equals here."
Taelon smiled, nodding, and raised her glass. "To new beginnings."
"Here, here," Brouchard echoed, raising his.
The various conversations up and down the table ceased as others became aware, and soon everyone's glass was raised and clinked with the ones next to it. The servers arrived with the first course, and the deck soon echoed with the clink-chink of silverware against plates and the buzz of murmured voices and occasional laughter. The orchestra – an even mix of civilians and officers – began playing a selection of chamber music from old Earth's classical era.
Sikandra, seated across from Morryn, swallowed her bite of syn roast and leaned forward. "Ambassador, how was your trip?"
"It was quite well, thank you," he rumbled, motioning for a nearby waiter to refill his wineglass. "I'm sorry, lieutenant..."
"Sikandra. I'm Exxar-One's chief tactical officer."
"Yes, of course. Forgive me. I have always had trouble with names, though you would think in my profession I would have overcome such a liability long ago."
"I don't think it's a liability, ambassador," Zar replied. "The only name you need to remember is the one who is sitting across from you at the negotiating table."
He smiled, nodding. "You're right. Yours is an easy one, Taelon."
Decev, who was at Sikandra's right, leaned forward to catch the attent
ion of the Elzrai, who was seated next to Morryn. "Excuse me, Mister Lanoth?"
"Yes?"
"Is he going to stand over there the whole time?" She nodded in the direction of the far corner where Oryakk had taken up residence as soon as he and Lanoth had arrived.
"Oh, yes? The Tiralans do not eat or drink like most humanoids, and they rarely have need of the type of social interaction that takes place at functions such as these?"
"Ah, ok. So...why doesn't he just remain in his quarters? I don't mean to sound rude, but my impression of the Tiralans has been that they use you – the Elzrai – as their representatives for events like this."
"Yeah, that's what I thought too," Navarr chimed in from Decev's right.
"Yes, you are correct?" Lanoth replied. "However, there are exceptions to every rule?"
"I suppose there are," Decev admitted, glancing curiously at Oryakk once more. "So...if you don't mind my asking, what do the Tiralans eat?"
"They eat many of the same foods that you and I eat, but consume them in a different way? It is very complicated? Not appropriate for this table?" The attendant smiled, revealing two rows of tightly packed, narrow, sharp teeth. The expression was more creepy than genial.
"Oh. I see." Decev turned to Navarr as Lanoth bent over its plate to shovel a large forkful of baked salmon into its narrow mouth. "Hey, I hear that you're meeting Sam's parents next week?"
"Oh, don't mention that," Sikandra warned. "She doesn't want to talk about it."
Navarr shook her head, giving a rueful chuckle. "No, it's fine. I'm not sure why my relationship is so fascinating to everyone, but what the hey? Yes, as a matter of fact, his parents will be in here in a couple weeks, and no, I haven't had a chance to talk to him about it. He's been working nights this week."
"So, he hasn't told you they're coming?" Decev snagged a piece of roasted chicken from a passing tray.
"Oh, no, he told me a few days ago. He said it very matter-of-fact, as if it wasn't any big deal."