Of LOVERS UNTRUE

By C. J. Merle

Chapter 1

“It is possible,” the Emperor Hazdel Toneki conceded. “It could work.” He was silent for a long moment, considering the matter further. “Kill Eivaunee and get the Dorlan Estates.” There was satisfaction in his harsh-edged voice, as well as a thread of uneasiness.

“It will work,” Aman stated firmly.

“It is possible,” the Emperor repeated coldly, looking down at his lover who lay gracefully on the large, ornate Imperial bed, his sallow skin highlighted against red silk

“Eivaunee will never marry your daughter, and you have pushed him as far as you legally can without producing a rebellion,” Aman’s voice was languid, but edged in mockery at the Emperor’s failure. His eyes were half-closed, hiding a dangerous glint. “Treachery is the only answer. I wouldn’t think you’d mind that. Think of those fabulously wealthy Dorlan Estates. You need that wealth to build your ships of conquest.”

“And you?” the Emperor returned coldly. “You hope for a Consenti title, no doubt, and Eivaunee himself. Shackled, I presume, considering what happened the last time you tried to rape him.” The Emperor wasn’t the only one who had failed in his desires where Eivaunee Dorlan was involved.

Aman bit back a terse reply. “One night is all I want.” He caressed the Emperor lightly. “It’s vengeance, not desire.” He only partially lied. “And you would be getting far more out of this than I would. The monies to build new battleships without having to get the approval of a majority of Consenti families. Your dreams on conquest depend on those ships.” Aman’s slight smile was cold.

“I’ll think about it,” the Emperor repeated. He reached for his favorite lover. “It is a good idea,” he added softly.

A very good idea. Aman, Duc of Enghien, hid his widening smile. You don’t know quite how good it is. It brings me more than a Consenti title, my Imperial lover. I will have your throne.

* * * * *

“You’re sure the voice print is a perfect match?” Baroness Yseu, Eivaunee Dorlan’s Official Mistress, asked. She tapped an expensively clad foot against fine marble flooring.

“It is Dorlan’s voice,” the fealty-bound retainer pointed out, looking up at Yseu’s classically beautiful face. “If it’s run through a sophisticated enough computer, the patching could be discovered. But it isn’t marked as a recording—that’s the important part. That’s what the Duke of Enghien said he wanted. The bigger problem is the lack of a signal code signet, but he said that wasn’t important.” The man spoke more bluntly than most of the Roythun retainers. He was one of Yseu’s lovers, and one of the few people more loyal to her than to the Baron.

“I wish I knew what Aman had in mind,” Yseu said with a sigh.

“The death of Eivaunee Dorlan I’d guess.”

“Yes, of course—but how?”

“He isn’t likely to say, Mistress. He’s paying a enough high price for the voice print.”

“Still, I wish I knew…”

“Would you tell Dorlan?”

Yseu’s laugh was brittle. “He hasn’t visited Haskin’s World in six months. I am expecting that soon I will be told officially that I no longer hold the title of his Official Mistress. There is no reason to protect him, but if I knew what Aman was planning, it would give me more leverage.”

“The Duc of Enghien is no fool, Mistress, nor is he a lover of women. I don’t see how you’re going to get any leverage with him.”

“Aman recently remarried,” Yseu pointed out, a speculative tone in her voice. “The daughter of a former Dorlan retainer. They say it was for the money.”

“It would have to be a great deal of money,” the retainer sniffed. “She was born into fealty to the Dorlans. Why would a Duc stoop so low…” Born into servitude himself, he was jealous of any who rose so far above their station.

“Considering the ‘accidental’ deaths of Aman’s last two wives, I’m surprised that anyone would take the risk—even for the title of Duchess.”

“You could bring the voice print to him personally,” the fealty-bound retainer returned to the more pertinent topic. “Even though he has no desire for women, you might be able to persuade him to tell you at least a little…”

“The Duc of Enghien said the voice print was to be sent by trusted courier. My appearance at Court would cause talk and Eivaunee would hear of it.” Not for the first time, Yseu regretted settling for marriage to a Provincial Baron; life at Court was so much more exciting. A moment later, a calculating look came into Yseu’s fine eyes. “As you say, though, Aman is no lover of women…”

The fealty-bound retainer waited to see if his Mistress would say anything more, but after a moment she simply nodded. “Yes, that is a possibility,” she said softly to herself. “That will be all,” she dismissed the young man.

Chapter 2

The Comveckt, flagship of the Klimar Empire, came out of the Jump precisely on target. Sitting in the center Command Chair, Eivaunee Dorlan looked at the two ships displayed on the large, forward viewing screen. A small trade ship and a larger pirate vessel. The Comveckt was responding to a distress call from the trade ship.

“Shields at full strength,” Zsar’t’lac, the alien warrior-messiah, said from his position as Weapons’ Officer. It had been five years since he had defected from the Norda Homelands. Five years that he had served Eivaunee Dorlan, the only human who knew the alien was the messiah of his people, and that he had defected from the Homelands to prevent interstellar war.

“A shuttle is leaving the trade ship,” Ques, the Scanner stated. “Good size one, probably from the pirate ship. Hold maybe ten people.”

“Validate exact number on board,” Eivaunee commanded.

“Yes, sir.” After a moment. “Six life forms on the ship. Pirate ship’s shields are at full now. They have us on their screens.”

“Ignore them for now,” Eivaunee commanded. “Status on the trade ship, Officer Sanqu? Any response to communications?”

“None, sir,” Devei Sanqu, the Communications Officer, and one of two fealty-bound Dorlan retainers on the ship, answered.

“The hull has just been breached, sir,” Ques spoke. “The trade ship is air blown.”

There was silence on the bridge. They all knew what that meant. No one left living on it. The last survivors would be on the shuttle.

“All right,” Eivaunee replied, his expressive mouth twisting down in disgust. “Destroy the pirate vessel, Officer Zsar’t’lac.”

The alien smiled at the command. “Fast or slow, my Commander?”

Eivaunee hated pirates, almost as much as his alien officer did. “Slow, Zsar’t’lac, destroy the ship slowly.”

Eivaunee Dorlan didn’t tell his Weapons’ Officer how to do his job. Zsar’t’lac was a Norda Hsassan; they were bred, raised, and trained to be the elite warriors of the Norda Homelands. When it came to weapons, or killing, or battle strategy, no human could match a Hsassan.

And Zsar’t’lac was more than just a Hsassan. He was the Hsassan Qtesark, the end result of twenty generations of breeding experiments to produce the ultimate Hsassan warrior, their genetic messiah. He had defected from his native Norda Homelands to the Human Lands to avoid breeding for the scientist rulers of the Homelands, and to place the desperately desired Qtesark gene pool in the line of fire in any battle between Norda and the Human Lands. It was difficult to say which infuriated the rulers of the Homelands most, his refusing to breed, or his stopping the war they so desired.

Zsar’t’lac had, for reasons of his own, chosen to serve with Eivaunee Dorlan, the wealthiest man in the Klimar Empire, and who was also, as his father had been before him, the Commissioner of the Provinces. Eivaunee Dorlan also commanded the Comveckt, the flagship of the Klimar Empire. The Emperor had been enraged when the Consenti family council had forced that on him.

Eivaunee watched as Zsar’t’lac, bit by bit, destroyed the pirate vessel. He was careful to leave the command center of the ship intact. The pirate ship desperately returned fire, but the Comveckt’s shields were more than adequate.

“Um, sir,” Officer Sanqu spoke up suddenly. “They - uh - would like to surrender.”

“Whatever for?” Eivaunee asked no one in particular. “I’ll kill them there, or I’ll kill them here. I don’t let pirates live. Space is dangerous enough without their kind.” A look of irritation passed over his handsome face. “Finish them off, Officer Zsar’t’lac.”

The alien’s long three-fingered hands changed position on his command board. He fired a qzaser bank at the pirate ship’s engine room and it exploded, a brief white ball of luminescence against the blackness of space.

“Put a grav beam on that shuttle, Officer Ques, and bring it in,” Eivaunee commanded. “Any survivors from the trade ship will be on that shuttle. Pirates always transport human cargo last.” He touched a button on his commsole. “Eivaunee Dorlan to Security. Teams One and Three to the shuttle bay. Team One to transport over to the disabled trade ship and check it out. Team Three to receive the shuttle craft coming in under grav beam.”

“As you will, sir.” The reply came back in standard form.

“Well, Officer Zsar’t’lac, shall we go and see what we’ve got?”

The Hsassan stood, a graceful uncoiling of a hard and powerful body.

“You have CommCent control, Officer Con Noate,” Eivaunee told his third-in-command. Eivaunee was tall and slender, with golden skin, pale blond hair, and cat-amber eyes. He was almost more beautiful than handsome.

“I appreciate your telling me about the pirates, Zsar,” Eivaunee said as they walked down the wide white hallways of the large, star-class battleship. “More interesting than the report I was writing to the Emperor.”

“When we got the distress signal, I thought you’d want to be in CommCent for this,” the alien replied in his gentle voice.

“Right, as usual.”

They entered the shuttle bay just as the shuttlecraft finished rotating through the airlock. The woman who headed security Team Three fired a stationary blaster cannon. It hit just above the door of the shuttlecraft. The small vessel rocked under the attack and debris rattled to the floor inside.

A warning shot. Eivaunee doubted it was necessary.

“You can come out—or we can come in. It’s doesn’t matter to me.” The security officer’s voice was casual. Clearly, she liked shooting the blaster cannon and hoped she could shoot it again.

Eivaunee and Zsar’t’lac stood inside the entrance to the shuttle bay, watching.

After a long moment, the door to the shuttlecraft opened and six people stumbled out. A young man and a slightly older woman left the ship, half-running, obviously frightened. Then four men, their hands held high over their heads, stepped from the craft.

“The first two are from the trade vessel,” Zsar’t’lac said softly to Eivaunee. “I believe brother and sister. The other four are pirates.”

The large alien was an emotional empath. A useful trait in any culture. Very few people knew of this particular result of the Hsassan breeding experiments. And none, other than Eivaunee, were human. Zsar’t’lac had spent five standard years in the Klimar Empire; he was very good at interpreting human emotions. Brother and sister bonding was an easy emotional read.

“All right. Let’s go take a closer look.”

Eivaunee and Zsar’t’lac walked down the ramp to the small shuttlecraft. The security team was scanning the six people for weapons. Several weapons were removed from the pirates. When the security officer was satisfied, she turned and saluted Eivaunee.

He nodded rather than return the salute. Saluting represented the military aspect of his command in the Provinces. Eivaunee preferred his additional, and more time consuming position, as Commissioner for the Provinces, which comprised almost a third of the planets in the Klimar Empire. The third the Emperor had no interest in other than as a source of income.

“These two are from the trade vessel, sir,” one of the security people said, pointing to the two Zsar’t’lac had already identified. “Brother and sister. It was a family ship.”

Eivaunee looked at them. The woman was older than her brother by maybe ten years. Eivaunee guessed her age in the early forties. Medium build, with shoulder-length light brown hair, tied back at the nape of her neck. Her green eyes were open preternaturally wide, the effect of fear and shock. She kept glancing left and right, as though she expected another attack, or maybe she was just looking for a place to hide.

Her brother was taller, with dark brown hair. He had himself under better control. The effect of what he had been through, though, was clear in the wary way he stood, his hands clenched tightly into hard fists.

“Pirates, sir.” The security officer in charge pointed to the other four.

It was an unnecessary designation. The four had restrainers looped around their wrists and ankles, and one of the security people had a hand blaster focused at them. Two of the pirates appeared to be brothers. They were both large, with similar facial features and dark brown skin. A third man was tall and lean; he catered to the latest style in shaved and tattooed skulls. The last pirate was the largest, taller than Eivaunee and more heavy-set. He had two long thick blond braids. The pirates stood in varying degrees of minor defiance, awaiting the execution they knew was coming.

Eivaunee turned away from them to the frightened woman. “You are safe now,” he said gently. “You are on the Comveckt. I don’t know if you saw it, but the pirate ship was destroyed.”

The woman stopped glancing around the shuttle bay long enough to focus fully on Eivaunee. Tall and golden, his pale blond hair cut short, his mouth full and sensual. A prince out of a fairy tale. In truth, he was a prince of sorts. Born to the wealthiest of the Consenti families, he served now in the Provinces as his father had before him. Most people in the Provinces thought of the Dorlans as “their Princes.” In particular, Eivaunee, whose mother had committed suicide, and who had been raised by the brutal Emperor while Tamsek Dorlan, his father, was forced to remain in the Provinces, was dear to the people of the Provinces. He was a prince, to her, and to all the Provinces. A powerful, but just man.

“You’ll be all right,” Eivaunee repeated, trying to reassure the woman.

“Thank you,” she returned vaguely. She stopped seeing Eivaunee Dorlan as the events of the

past couple hours crowded in on her. She shifted uneasily, side to side.

“What is the name of your ship?” Eivaunee asked. “What is your name?” The computer had the name of the ship that requested assistance, and the name of the owners, but Eivaunee knew that focusing on known quantities helped restore a sense of balance and security to victims of brutality.

The woman made no reply, her eyes returning to checking out the corners of the shuttle bay; her brother answered instead. “The ship is - was - Talgar’s Folly. We’re Franz and Saret Talgar.”

“What about them?” Saret Talgar asked suddenly, pointing to the four men from the pirate vessel. “They killed our father and our brother.”

“They’ll be executed,” Eivaunee answered, glad for her interest. “Would you like to decide how they die?”

“They took us because I’m a pilot and Franz is a navigator,” the woman continued, oblivious to Eivaunee’s question. “Maybe for other reasons as well,” she added, knowing it to be true. She shivered.

“How would you like them to die?” Eivaunee asked again. Sometimes letting the victim decide the fate of the aggressor helped. It made them feel more in control again.

“Worse way to go, by most judgements, is ‘spacing,’” he added. “Suit’em up and let them go with a hour or two of oxygen. Gives them a bit of time to think before they die. And the death itself is quite unpleasant.”

The woman shuddered. “No. Just execute them. Make sure they can’t kill anyone else.”

“Any suggestions, Officer Zsar’t’lac?” Eivaunee turned to his second-in-command.

All of the new arrivals had been occasionally staring at the alien. Zsar’t’lac was used to it. The only Norda in the Human Lands, and a Hsassan at that, humans couldn’t help but stare at first.

Zsar’t’lac was humanoid, taller than Eivaunee by a dozen centimeters, with long arms and legs. He had three fingers and toes and a long double-jointed thumb, all ending in retractable claws. His face was more angular than a human’s with high cheekbones, and a long bony nose; his ears were round and had ridged edges. But it was the eyes that made humans stare. They were large, round, and totally black, except when emotion made them flicker and flare with various shades of red. The alien’s mouth was different too, larger, with sharp, predatory teeth. Zsar’t’lac’s skin was a dark, almost metallic, bronze. The tall body was heavy with powerful muscles.

“I could gut them,” he offered in his gentle voice.

The idea had merit. Blasters would be too quick and clean, and the woman didn’t want them spaced. Truthfully, Eivaunee had some problems with that as well, although for pirates... Considering Zsar’t’lac’s dislike for pirates, Eivaunee was sure the alien would not make the guttings quick. Overall, a reasonable compromise.

“Fine,” he decided.

The four men said nothing. There was little they could say. They had been caught in the act of piracy and the penalty for that was death. They were realistically grateful for not being spaced.

“Computer, Official Action Notification.”

“Official Action section open and recording,” the ship’s system replied.

“I, Eivaunee Dorlan, Commissioner for the Provinces, under Emperor Hazdel Toneki, do sentence these four men, taken in the act of piracy, to death by gutting. Their executions will be carried out by Officer Zsar’t’lac. End of record.”

“Record complete, session ended. Official Action section closed.”

“All right, Zsar’t’lac; take care of it. I’ll take Saret and Fransi Talgar to their quarters.”

“As my Commander wills,” the alien replied quietly. There was neither pleasure nor annoyance in his voice or his face. It was a simply a command to be carried out. If it gave him more satisfaction than some, it wasn’t obvious.

Eivaunee could have turned over escorting Saret and Fransi to one of the security people, but he knew his presence was reassuring to people who were frightened, so he chose to take care of the matter himself.

“This way,” he pointed to the main exit out of the shuttle bay.

The woman nodded nervously, her eyes still looking around the shuttle bay. The young man’s hands released a little of their hard grip. As they started walking away, Saret turned to Eivaunee, her eyes still open wide. “What is going to happen to us? Where are you taking us? What about our ship?”

“The nearest settlement is on Askivera. We will take you there. Your ship is air blown, so it is subject to space treaty laws on salvage. Whoever salvages it first , it’s theirs.” Eivaunee’s tone was gentle. “If there is something you need to retrieve from the ship, let me know now, and I’ll have the security team bring it back.”

“The pirates already took everything back to their ship. We were the last trip,” the woman said softly.

“The pirate ship was destroyed, so everything on it is gone,” Eivaunee pointed out, his tone continuing to be gentle.

“But Talgar’s Folly is our ship!” the young man stated emphatically. “We need it!”

“It is air blown,” Eivaunee repeated firmly.

“But can’t you tow it? That’s what a salvage company will do,” Fransi asked.

“Askivera is a day away by Jump. We can’t Jump with a ship in tow. Without Jumping, and with a ship in tow, it would take a month to make Askivera,” Eivaunee pointed out the obvious.

“I understand,” Saret said softly.

“But that isn’t right! The pirates have taken away everything - our family - our livelihood!” Fransi was trying to salvage something out of the horror of the last hours.

“And they will die for it,” Eivaunee replied firmly. “And your whole family isn’t dead - you still have each other. You are alive; you have that.”

“And our mother. She wasn’t on the ship,” Saret spoke as much to her brother and herself, as to Eivaunee. “How will we tell her?” she ended softly.

No one answered her. They finished the walk in silence.

Eivaunee pressed his palm against the door panel to release it. “Reset,” he told the machine. “This will be your room, Saret,” he told her. She said nothing, staring ahead. “You need to reset the lock,” he pointed out gently. She placed her hand against the palm plate and waited for the soft tone that indicated the machinery had stored her palm print.

“You’re in the next room,” Eivaunee told Fransi. “I’ll send Officer Watii, our Medic, to both of you.”

“We don’t need a Medic,” Fransi stated for both of them.

“You will see him anyway,” Eivaunee commanded flatly.

“Fransi, please,” Saret said softly, placing her hand on her brother’s arm.

The young, angry man made no reply.

Eivaunee walked with the young man to the next doorway, and saw that lock was reset as well. After the two people entered their rooms, Eivaunee walked away. A short distance down the hall, he stopped and touched a communication console set in the wall. He ordered Officer Watii to attend the two young people. He paused for a moment after that. He knew what he wanted, but he wasn’t sure how Zsar’t’lac would feel about it. He decided it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

“Officer Zsar’t’lac,” he told the machinery. He didn’t know where Zsar’t’lac had taken the men for execution, but the computer would find him.

“Officer Zsar’t’lac here,” the reply came back quickly.

“Zsar, have you finished killing the prisoners yet?”

“I have killed three of them.”

“Would you mind if I watched you kill the last one?” Eivaunee asked, knowing that when Zsar’t’lac killed like this, he normally didn’t like an audience.

“No, my Commander, come and watch.”

“Where are you?”

“Gymnasium 3B, Room 4.”

One of the small gyms near the shuttle bay. “I’ll be right there.”

“As you will.”

Eivuanee stopped just inside the door. The room reeked of blood, sweat, and fear mingled together. Weapons Technician Janus was standing to one side of the room. The center of the floor was slick with blood. The bodies of the three men Zsar’t’lac had killed were pushed into a corner. Zsar’t’lac had several cuts on his arms, nothing major. Hsassan had excellent regeneration abilities; the wounds would heal within an hour or so. The remaining pirate was the large, blond-braided man. Zsar’t’lac’s eyes were flaring a steady dark red, the color of killing.

Eivaunee stepped further into the room, allowing the automatic door to close. He felt uneasy. Was he reaching a point where he enjoyed watching killings?

“There is satisfaction in killing those who deserve to die,” the alien said, answering Eivaunee’s unspoken emotion. “You have ordered it—why not watch it?”

“It’s a slippery road, Zsar,” the Commissioner for the Provinces replied. “Deciding who ‘deserves’ death.” “But you do decide, and there is no doubt with these, so what is the problem?”

Only with Zsar’t’lac could he have such an intellectual debate over the emotional aspects of watching an execution. “Satisfaction is one thing, Zsar, but—“

There was a softening around the mouth of the alien, his form of a smile when he was in his more Hsassan aspect.

“Are you afraid you’ll feel something more?” Zsar’t’lac asked. “You’ve ordered executions and watched them before.”

“Not like this,” Eivaunee returned. “Not with you.”

“No,” the alien agreed gently. “Normally, you execute people at the Emperor’s command, and the holo cameras are running. But frequently I am the executioner—or at least one of them.”

“This is different.”

“True,” the alien agreed. He picked up a long knife off the floor. “Smaller, more intimate, and more violent.”

“Exactly.”

The alien threw the long knife down on the floor by the tattooed pirate. “Don’t worry, my Commander, you are not the type to find pleasure stimulation in violent death, under any circumstances.” Zsar’t’lac’s black-bladed Hsassan knife was considerably shorter than the knife he’d thrown to his opponent. The alien’s claws were partially extended, digging into the black, organic hilt of the knife.

In their four years together, the alien had probed deep into Eivaunee’s emotions. Despite the many emotions Eivaunee had walled off, the alien understood him better than the golden human understood himself. They both knew this. Eivaunee accepted the alien’s judgement.

“Why give him a knife, Zsar?”

“I dislike killing anyone who is totally unarmed.”

Eivaunee nodded. He was a little surprised at the presence of Weapons Technician Janus, but recently Zsar’t’lac had taken a slight interest in teaching the young man, who so obviously hero-worshiped him, a little about the Hsassan way of life.

The last pirate reached down and picked up the long knife. His expression showed his thoughts: he had watched his companions die, and knew he had no chance against the Hsassan, but he could at least mark him. The pirate charged. Zsar’t’lac stepped to the side, knocking the long knife off target, and stabbing his shorter Hsassan knife hard into the man’s lower right abdomen. The man grunted in pain. Zsar’t’lac pushed him backwards, off his knife. The man stumbled a little, then turned, chopping downward. Zsar’t’lac turned away from the blow, but not quite far enough. The knife raked down his left arm. Zsar’t’lac ignored the wound and stabbed his opponent. This time in the lower left abdomen. The blond man gave a muted cry of pain and anger. The fight continued, close and brutal. Zsar’t’lac was cut twice more, once on his chest, once on his right arm. He ignored the wounds, as he ignored the earlier ones. He took care to place his knife exactly where he wanted, in deep stabbing wounds, exquisitely painful, but not immediately fatal. The large blond man stumbled and fell to his knees.

Zsar’t’lac grabbed the top of the pirate’s hair and pulled his head up. Turning towards his Commander, he asked, “Do you wish him to die now?”

“Yes. It is enough.”

Zsar’t’lac was right, Eivaunee thought; he felt no pleasure in this.

“As you wish,” the alien said gently, and quickly slit the man’s throat, dropping the body to the floor.

Eivaunee was watching the alien’s eyes. They were still a deep dark red. There were no light iridescence or light reds—the colors of pleasure—dancing in them. That was reassuring.

The alien raised a thin eyebrow at Eivaunee. “Worried about me now?”

“A little,” Eivaunee replied honestly.

“Don’t be.”

Eivaunee wanted to see the pirates die out of anger at what they had done. Saret and Fransi’s lives had been brutally altered; they would bear the emotional scars all their lives. Watching violence follow violence, though, gave him no real satisfaction other than knowing that these pirates wouldn’t kill again. It was something.

Eivaunee looked away from the gory mess. He wanted to return to something non-violent, something very mundane.

“Do you intend to eat at the first, or second, sitting, Zsar?” Eivaunee asked the most mundane question he could thing of.

Zsar’t’lac knelt to clean his knife on the dead man’s clothing. “When were you planning to eat, Eivaun?” he asked in return, using the familiar diminutive of his Commander’s name that he alone on the ship ever used.

“The first sitting, but if you can’t get cleaned up in time ...”

“I should be able to.” The dark red was beginning to fade from his large round eyes.

Eivaunee stood a moment longer, uncertain. The men hadn’t taken that long to die, he reminded himself; five minutes maybe. Their victims doubtless suffered longer. Eivaunee ended up wishing he had enjoyed watching the execution.

“I’ll see you then,” he said, turning to leave the gym.

“Soft,” Weapons Technician Janus declared as the door closed behind his Commander.

“Soft?” Zsar’t’lac questioned back. “I wonder if you are stupid?”

“Sir?”

“Killing is easy,” the alien replied. “Stopping the killing is far harder.”

“But you kill.”

“Yes, and there are times when I enjoy it,” Zsar’t’lac returned. “But if Commander Dorlan doesn’t like killing, it doesn’t make him soft or weak. Especially if he doesn’t like this type of killing; I find no pleasure in it either. There is no challenge in killing such as these. They have no strength—no honor.”

“The strength of your opponent gives you honor,” Janus repeated what Zsar’t’lac had taught him.

“Exactly,” the alien agreed. “And there are many types of strength, physical strength is the least of them.”

“What a bloody mess,” a new voice commented.

Zsar’t’lac had already mentally noted the arrival of his yeoman, Tamreh.

“A bit, yes,” Zsar’t’lac agreed, turning to look at Tamreh. “You remembered to bring clean boots. You are a jewel.”

Tamreh smiled. He had served a variety of officers during his years in Fleet service, but none as pleasant as the large alien.

“Janus, call someone to help you clean up this mess. I need to get showering if I’m going to make the first dinner seating.”

Tamreh followed Zsar’t’lac into the shower room, carrying his change of clothes. Zsar’t’lac stripped off his blood soaked uniform, leaving it lying on the floor. “Dispose of the uniform, Tamreh. The boots, I’m afraid, will have to be cleaned.”

“If I get to them before the blood dries, it isn’t that bad.” He had experience cleaning blood off of the alien’s clothing. “Anything else?”

“No. Thank you.”

The door closed behind Tamreh as Zsar’t’lac began washing. He didn’t like the smell of human blood. It had too warm a scent, a sweet, cloying smell. The scent of Norda blood was much better, cleaner and sharper, with a slight metallic edge.

Zsar’t’lac preferred to be alone at times like this—or at least have no humans around him. A few moments would be all he would need before going into dinner. Executing the four men concerned him not at all. It was something that needed to be done, and he had done it. He had left the large blond human until last because his emotional profile indicated he was the leader. There was also a sadistic aspect to his emotions. Zsar’t’lac wanted him to feel some of the pain he had given to others. The water fell over and around the alien, washing the human gore away. It felt good.

Zsar’t’lac stepped from the shower and toweled off quickly. He braided his long blue-black hair into a single thick braid in back. He paused for a moment more, settling his mind, before leaving the shower room and returning to a life surrounded by humans. They were a difficult species.

* * * * *

Zsar’t’lac walked into the green and gold Officers’ Dining Room. Eivaunee sat in the center of the Commander’s table. The seat on his left was vacant, reserved for Zsar’t’lac, his second-in-command. On Eivaunee’s right, sat Fransi Talgar. The sister wasn’t present. Zsar’t’lac scanned Fransi’s emotions. Mainly, he was angry, with the usual human corollary, he wanted to find someone to blame. As Zsar’t’lac seated himself, Fransi was stating his point-of-view.

“The Provinces need more patrol ships. This wouldn’t have happened if there were more patrol ships. The Provinces are one third of the Empire, but have less patrol ships that any of the Inner Colony groups. I don’t under that.”

The Emperor’s paranoia was part of the reason. “The whole Empire is short of money,” Eivaunee responded with a much more politically correct answer. “I have petitioned the Emperor for more patrol craft.” Small craft, useful for taking care of things like pirate ships. Small ships that would be realistically non-threatening to the Emperor, if it could be said that Hazdel Toneki could find anything non-threatening where Eivaunee Dorlan was involved.

“And when will we see these patrol ships? When the Emperor has no personal use for the credits?”

“You forget yourself,” Eivaunee stated with cold hauteur.

Fransi froze. In his anger, he had forgotten that whatever might be assumed about Eivaunee Dorlan’s personal opinions of the Emperor, the golden human always publicly supported him. He had to. Everyone in the Provinces knew that.

“I - it was - is - “

“—your grief speaking,” Eivaunee finished the sentence for him. “A certain amount of anger is natural given what you have been through. Past a certain point, however, discretion is necessary.”

Eivaunee, more than any other living human, knew that.

“How is your sister?” Zsar’t’lac asked, pointedly changing the subject.

“My sister?” Fransi echoed uncertainly.

“Your sister,” the alien repeated firmly, offering the subject as a support.

“The Medic gave her a sedative,” Fransi replied. “He said she’ll sleep until morning.”

Morning being a convenient time reference for beings with diurnal biological cycles. Even after years in space, humans needed the concept of days and nights. The ship’s lighting even dimmed a little at “nightfall.” It was one of the few human customs Zsar’t’lac liked.

Eivaunee steered the conversation towards more general concepts of space security and salvage laws. Fransi Talgar didn’t like what Eivaunee said, but the Commissioner for the Provinces kept the conversation under tight control.

After dinner, Eivaunee suggested that Fransi discuss of the ship’s recreational offerings with Officer Nque, who headed the recreational section.

Zsar’t’lac returned to the bridge to set up for the Jump to Askivera. Eivaunee went back to his quarters to continue a report to the Emperor. He would add another - no doubt futile - request for more small craft to patrol the Provinces. The Emperor didn’t care about pirates, only traitors and rebels; they might interrupt the income flow from the Provinces. There was a hard bitterness in Eivaunee.

* * * * *

It was late the next morning before Eivaunee got a chance to visit Saret Talgar. She was quiet, feeling the pain of her loss. Eivaunee repeated what he had told her brother the night before, discussing the options involved in salvage laws. He wanted to give her something to think about beyond the deaths of her father and brother. Her responses were soft-spoken and honest. Their financial situation had not been good before the attack. Now, with their cargo gone, there was no money left to have their ship salvaged.

Eivaunee left Saret’s room and went to one of the gyms to work out. He pushed his body hard, preferring physical stress to what he had in his mind and soul. He sent the ship’s psychologist to both of the Talgars and had a meeting with Zsar’t’lac on the status of the ship.

Saret Talgar, as well as Fransi, joined the Commander’s table for dinner that night. Talk was general and subdued. At one point Zsar’t’lac laid one of his long three-fingered hands over Saret’s. It surprised her, but it also felt good. She left her hand under the alien’s for the remainder of the meal. After dinner, the two guests retired back to their rooms to decide what to do when they got to Akivera.

Eivaunee returned to his office where a message from Jiti Dennyson, head of Military High Command, was waiting. Military Command was thinking of using the Comveckt in an exercise involving a new high-energy plasma cannon. The major problem was the Comveckt would have to go to the space docks at Asgar II to build in the cannon. The Comveckt would be out of commission for a couple of weeks. The final decision, one in which Eivaunee would have no say, would be made next month; Dennyson was just giving Eivaunee some warning.

Eivaunee appreciated Dennyson’s advance notice. Jiti Dennyson was an entitled Consenti, and the hereditary Commissioner of the Military, the person in charge of all military actions in the Klimar Empire. Jiti had been a close friend of Eivaunee’s father. Whenever possible, within the boundaries of his strict definition of neutrality, and his oath of fealty to the Emperor, Dennyson gave Eivaunee as much support as he could.

Eivaunee spent the next couple of hours reading the military files on this new plasma cannon. He routed the information to Zsar’t’lac, who was far more a weapons expert than Eivaunee, and who, moreover, would be the person more closely involved in testing it.

The door sounded. “Identify,” Eivaunee absent-mindedly. It was unlikely to be anyone but Zsar’t’lac or Con Noate. Eivaunee didn’t have many visitors. He preferred it that way.

“Am I - am I intruding?” a female voice asked.

Certainly not Zsar’t’lac’s or Con Noate’s voice. “Identify,” Eivaunee repeated.

“Saret Talgar.”

“Come,” Eivaunee released the door.

The small anteroom visitors entered when they first came into Eivaunee’s quarters had two doorways, one to his office, the other to his living room.

The slender woman stood hesitantly in the anteroom, uncertain of which way to go. Eivaunee left his office and entered the anteroom gesturing towards the door to his living room. “Come in. I was thinking of taking a break.”

“You’re sure I’m not intruding?” Saret had a frightened, tired look. It was obvious she’d been crying.

“You are not intruding,” Eivaunee said firmly. “I would enjoy some company. Would you like some wine—or something else?”

Saret was looking around the room. It seemed very strange for a battleship. She had never been in any house of the very wealthy, but she had seen holos. This was like one of their rooms, only smaller. The furniture was massive and made of real wood. The colors were strong, rich burgundy and dark blue, with real gold picking out the details of the carvings on the furniture. There were even carved moldings accentuating the tall ceiling. Across one of the wall there was a line of bookcases. She had heard of such things, but she had never seen a book except in a museum. No one she knew owned one; everyone had digital readers. The rug that covered the floor brought together all the colors in the room in an abstract, muted way. It was thick and soft and incredibly beautiful.

“The carpet is gorgeous,” she found herself saying. “This whole room is beautiful.”

Eivaunee looked down. He was used to the carpet now, but he remembered when it had first arrived, he had felt much the same way.

“Actually Zsar’t’lac designed it. This is his second attempt. The first was a little strong in color and the design was too complex for my taste, but we worked with it and he came up with this. I had it woven on one of my Estates.”

The idea of Eivaunee Dorlan, the wealthiest man in the Empire, and his alien warrior officer conferring over carpet design seemed more than a little unreal to Saret. Then so did much of the past two days. She wished—hoped—this was all some ghastly nightmare and that she would wake up soon and find herself safe in her sling bed on their little trading vessel. She wanted very much to believe that, but she couldn’t. Her father and her youngest brother were dead. Their ship lost to salvagers. And sometime in the near future she would have to tell her mother what happened. Her eyes began to fill with tears.

“Wine?” Eivaunee offered again.

Saret nodded, brushing away her tears.

“White, red, or blue?” he asked.

“White, please,” Saret answered. Then, looking for some safe conversation added: “I wouldn’t have thought you’d have blue.”

“My third-in-command, Con Noate, likes the instant manufactured stuff,” Eivaunee explained. “I keep some for him.”

“That’s very thoughtful,” Saret said quietly. Actually she was surprised at how different this low-key, considerate man was from his image on the news holos. There he always seemed proud and arrogant. Not surprising considering his wealth and that he was the second most powerful person in the Klimar Empire. A member of the Consenti he could do anything he wanted. Even kill at whim. Only the Emperor, or the Consenti Council, could discipline an entitled Consenti.

This person, though, wasn’t arrogant or proud. He was kind and considerate. She had heard that he was, but she always thought that was something people just said to be nice.

“Con Noate has helped me out many times, beyond anything required by his position. I can at least store some wine for him.” Eivaunee opened two demi-bottles, one a light, golden amber, the other a dark red. He poured the wine into two cut crystal wineglasses. He handed Saret the one containing the sweet, amber wine. She took the glass a little hesitantly as though afraid of breaking the delicate glass.

“Would you like to sit down?” Eivaunee gestured at two richly upholstered chairs, between them was a small inlaid wood table.

Saret sat at the edge of one of the chairs. “Fransi is still very angry.”

“Many people react to tragedy that way. How are you managing?”

“All right,” Saret replied, a little shakily.

“Have you decided what you will do when you get to Askivera?”

Saret nodded. “We’re going to work passage back. I’m a pilot; Fransi’s a navigator. It shouldn’t be too hard.”

Eivaunee sipped his wine and nodded his agreement.

Saret continued. “We decided we have to tell Mom this in person. She and Dad were close. She was always worrying something like this would happen. And Telmen was her favorite, her youngest, you know.”

Eivaunee said nothing; he simply listened.

“Mom had plans for him. He wasn’t going to be a trader. No, not her youngest.” Saret’s eyes filled with tears again; they spilled down over her cheeks.

Eivaunee let her cry, releasing her grief. After a few moments, she sniffed noisily. Eivaunee got her something to blow her nose on.

“I’m sorry,” Saret said softly.

“It’s understandable,” Eivaunee replied gently.

“I’m cold. I keep feeling so very cold.” Saret hunched her shoulders as though against a wind.

“I know the feeling,” Eivaunee said. He went into his bedroom and came out with his long silk robe and a blanket. He put the blanket on the back of the couch and handed Saret the silk robe that was lined with kalla. Saret had been raised in a trader’s house; she touched the kalla lightly. She could only guess at the robe’s worth. She had seen kalla lined mittens, and even those only the very rich could afford. A whole robe lined with the soft, silken fibers! She slid the robe on and rubbed her cheek against the turned-over collar. “Nothing feels as good as kalla.”

Eivaunee smiled, glad the robe had momentarily distracted her. He stretched his long legs out in front of the massive chair.

Saret looked up at him. The expression in her face told him what was coming next. He thought about how he wanted to handle the situation, then realized he had made the decision when he picked up the blanket in the bedroom. Female victims coming to his quarters for comfort was not particularly unusual.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” Saret said softly, wrapping the robe more closely around her. She was afraid and her brother’s anger didn’t help. This man, with his power and wealth, made her feel safe, and tonight she needed that. Needed that very much.

“The first couple of nights after a loss are always the worse,” Eivaunee said gently. “You never want to be alone.”

The very real compassion in his voice said he spoke from experience. Saret knew he did. He might not remember his mother’s suicide; he had only been three, but he had graduated from the Academy when his father’s ship blew up. Like most people, Saret had heard the rumors that the Emperor was responsible.

“You can stay here tonight,” Eivaunee said, shifting a little forward. “But there are two conditions.”

Eivaunee saw the slight increase in sadness in her face, and knew the reason for it. “The first condition is that there will be no sex; the second is that we talk about you, not me. I know about myself; I’d like to learn more about you.”

The first condition relieved Saret. She had thought he would say the reverse. Then she wondered, contrarily, if she wasn’t attractive enough to interest him. “Why no sex?”

Eivaunee raised a pale blonde eyebrow. “Do you really want that?”

“No,” Saret replied flatly. Any other time that answer would have been very different. He was the most attractive man she had ever seen, but this wasn’t any other time. “I just - wondered…”

Eivaunee smiled. This too was very common. “Shall I put it bluntly? The Comveckt hasn’t made planet fall in two months, and I have a rule against having lovers under my command, which includes everyone on this ship. Breathing and female would be sufficient for me just now.”

“Oh.”

“But I also have some compunctions about taking advantage of people.”

“Thank you,” Saret said softly, thinking he truly was like a prince from a fairy tale.

CHAPTER 3

The door sounded distantly in Eivaunee’s sleep. He woke groggily and in some discomfort. There was a weight lying against him. The door sounded again. “Come,” Eivaunee said irritably. It would be Zsar’t’lac or Podi Blinet, his personal body servant, the only other person on the ship, besides Devei Sanqu, in personal fealty to him.

Eivaunee opened his eyes to view the weight on his chest. Saret. Now he remembered. They had talked for quite some time before falling asleep. Eivaunee’s neck was stiff and sore. He tried rotating his head to ease the stiffness. Saret made a soft, sleepy sound.

“So the great man claims his reward,” a voice stated bitterly.

Eivaunee turned his stiff neck to see Fransi standing in the doorway.

“No wonder there aren’t more patrol vessels,” the young man continued, his cold tone. “You

don’t want anyone sharing the gratitude of the survivors.”

“Fransi! No!” Saret was wide awake now. “It isn’t—“

“Be silent,” Eivaunee commanded her curtly. They remained lying together on the couch, the blanket pulled over them.

“So your sense of honor is outraged.” Eivaunee’s voice had a dangerous softness, his amber eyes glittered angrily. He was stiff, tired, and sore. It made his temper distinctly shorter. “Just who do you think you are speaking to?” The arrogance, seen so often in holos, was clear now.

“No, please,” Saret said softly.

The door sounded again.

“Admission denied,” Eivaunee stated firmly. Whoever it was, they could damn well wait until he had settled this.

“Only so many allowances can be made for grief,” Eivaunee continued. “A touch of a whip can teach you now, or it could be your life, or your sister’s, later.”

Eivaunee threw back the blanket. Saret sat up, her eyes wide with worry. Eivaunee was fully dressed; he hadn’t even removed his Commander’s overtunic.

“I—“ Fransi began and then stopped; there was nothing he could say.

The outer door was heard to open and then the door to the living room. Zsar’t’lac walked in with a pot of coffee.

Saret and Fransi stared dumbfounded as the tall alien walked over the small serving area set in the wall on one side.

“I said admission denied.” Eivaunee’s voice could have cut steel.

“Yes, I understood that when the door didn’t open,” the alien replied calmly.

“Would you like the flogging I was about to order?” Eivaunee was furious with his officer’s action.

“Of course not,” the alien replied calmly. He poured a cup of coffee and turned to his commander. “One spoon of sweetener, or would you like two—to improve your mood?”

Calm, black alien eyes met glittering angry human eyes. After a moment, Zsar’t’lac’s eyes shifted to flick over the two other humans in the room.

“I think you’ve frightened him quite sufficiently,” the alien said. “But if you truly feel a flogging is necessary ... “

Eivaunee was far angrier with his alien officer now than with Fransi Talgar. His anger was made worse by knowing that was exactly what Zsar’t’lac meant to do.

“Leave, both of you,” Eivaunee commanded, his eyes not looking away from his officer’s.

The two frightened guests needed no additional prompting. A conflict, of whatever variety, between the Commissioner for the Provinces and his tall, powerful alien officer was not something either wanted to witness. The door closed softly behind them.

“You go too far sometimes, Zsar’t’lac,” Eivaunee said coldly.

“Do I?” the alien questioned back, his tone unconcerned. He handed his commander the cup of coffee. He had only put one spoon of sweetener in it. He turned away to pour himself a cup.

“Do you think I would never order you flogged?” Eivaunee asked, still quite angry.

“No,” the alien said gently. “But I doubt I would allow it.”

“Floggings aren’t allowed, they’re endured.”

“A human would have to endure it. I would have to allow it.”

“Shall we find out?” Eivaunee asked coldly, his coffee still untouched.

“Why?” the alien challenged back. He picked up his coffee and walked over to sit in one of the large chairs. “I wouldn’t think you are feeling that threatened by me. At least not at this point. Floggings between adult males are most often is an issue of dominance. I would think we have that settled enough between us.”

“Do we?” Eivaunee countered. “I think you sometimes forget who is in command.”

“No,” the alien disagreed gently. “You command this ship, and as much as the Emperor will allow you, you rule the Provinces.”

“Do I command you?”

The alien laughed softly, a gentle musical sound. “That is, of course, the crux of the matter. For the most part, yes.”

Eivaunee made an exasperated sound, part annoyance, part surrender. “Someday, Zsar’t’lac, I may order that flogging.”

“If it comes to that, my Commander, wield the whip yourself.”

Eivaunee finally picked up the cup of coffee and took a long sip. The hot beverage eased his mood a little. “Why?” he asked, his anger continuing to fade. He enjoyed probing his alien officer’s psyche.

“If anyone else did, I’d have to kill them. A matter of honor.”

“If I order it—“ Eivaunee’s anger began to return.

“Then take the chance yourself on how I’ll react.”

Hard winning an argument against an alien messiah, Eivaunee decided for the hundredth time. He wasn’t the only one to feel that way, human or Norda. He took another long drink of his coffee. “Why did you care if I flogged the young idiot?”

“Because you would. Later.”

“I’d have ordered a light sentence,” Eivaunee pointed out. “I meant what I said about it being time he thought beyond his anger. Askivera’s a rough planet. If that young man doesn’t start controlling his temper better, he will get himself, or Saret, killed.”

“Quite possibly true,” the alien agreed without much concern. “But I think you scared enough to start him thinking in those directions.”

Eivaunee finished his coffee and handed the cup back to Zsar’t’lac, who considered the matter for a moment before getting up and pouring his commander a second cup. No sweetener this time. Eivaunee only liked that in his first cup of the day.

“What actually brought you here this morning?” Eivaunee asked as he accepted the cup. “It isn’t exactly your habit to bring me my morning coffee.”

“No, and Podi Blinet will doubtless complain to you about it.”

“No doubt.” Podi Blinet, Eivaunee’s long-term body-servant was more than a little xenophobic, as well as jealous of the alien officer.