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maderrFirst, image. By the lovely and wonderful ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
arinan. She sent it to me a few days ago, but I have been holding it until I had chapers to post along with it ^___^ It is of Pyotr painting Jade's nails!
And now the chapters ^___^
Chapter Fourteen
Planet 215414 (Tredad), Settlement Four
Pyotr wished his brooding had an off switch.
Of course, he'd been wishing that very thing for what seemed nearly all his life. There was no reason to think he might finally get it now.
He stared out the window at the blur of white. Experts across the stars had declared it was beyond their comprehension how a race had managed to come into existence in the unending bleakness.
Pyotr didn't think it was such a mystery. In his experience, trouble could exist anywhere and if people were anything, they were trouble.
Which brought him right back to brooding over the identity of his backstabber.
He was far from being the smartest man in the stars; he was not even close to it. His only talent was in somehow managing to get the smartest people to work for or with him.
Someone had betrayed him.
The thought cut deep, one more wound among dozens.
Who?
None of his specials. He refused to believe it. If his self-proclaimed 'Pets' had betrayed him, then he was done with all of it.
He swiftly turned away from that thought. It wasn't his to think, yet. There was still too much to do.
Top of that list was finding the traitor and ripping his cowardly heart out.
It fit, though. He'd already known that someone inside was involved, because only an insider would have been able to plant a bomb – bombs, actually – of such lethal ingenuity. The Shangri la's securities were of the highest levels and only four men in all the stars could initiate start-up sequences. None of those men would have betrayed him.
He hadn't thought any of his crew would, and wanted to keep believing it – which introduced a whole new set of problems.
The root, though, was that someone close enough and knowledgeable enough had set his ship to explode mid-light jump. It was the most effective way to get rid of him. Except, of course, for the part where he wasn't actually dead but unless Tau had figured something out Pyotr had to assume everyone believed him dead.
Off hand, he could think of a few possibilities. He didn't like that he could so quickly think of them, but he would not be in Internal Affairs – the Head of Internal Affairs – if he was not capable of such thoughts.
The problem, of course, came with what Jade had revealed.
Somehow, he had missed entirely that there was a soul farm on Haven.
More importantly, someone involved in the Draconis trials knew both about the soul farm and his own scouting of the planet.
That could only mean that someone on the planet had caught his scout, and reported back to the backstabber involved with the trials…who in turn was tied to Gory, which was the only reason Jade was involved at all.
Stars, this stuff always made his head hurt. But he could do it, he had unwoven knots at least as tangled as this for what seemed his entire life. Only one knot was beyond him, and he sensed even the stars themselves did not know how to untangle Jade.
Pyotr shifted through the lists of names in his mind, drawing lines, slowly weeding out possibilities, narrowing down the faces…until with sudden, painful, clarity, the pieces fell into place.
It was perfect. Eerily so. No wonder soul had been so hard for him to overcome, when he had been behind it the whole time.
Assuming he was right.
He knew he was, though.
His only shame was in never figuring it out. Everything made sense now. Painful, awful sense.
Stars, if he had already tried to kill Pyotr – and for the moment more or less had succeeded – then it would be as nothing for him to kill Tresnor and Wilbur. With the three of them gone, one of the most crucial parts of the plan would die with them. Not to mention how much damage would be done elsewhere.
Pyotr buried his face in one hand, calling himself every kind of fool. All this time and a stars damned colleague! They had eaten dinner together not long before his ship…
Balling his hand into a fist, it was all he could do not to slam it into the window.
The bastard would pay. They would all pay. At this point, Pyotr's only problem was which of his 'Pets' would be given the honor.
Stars above, how deep had the rot spread, if the trunk itself was rotten?
It made him tired in an all new way. He could not keep up with this. The problems in the stars were already too myriad, and while any government always had a few bad branches…at this level, he would be undoing the damage for the rest of his life.
He didn't want to that, Pyotr realized with sudden, painful clarity.
With a rough sound he shoved the thought away. It didn't matter what he wanted. He'd made his choice and it was too late to back out now. Besides, what else could he do? His entire life had been espionage, breaking the law to maintain. He wasn't fit for anything else. Moreover, what was there for him? His aunt and uncle of course, but…
Pyotr shook his head, banishing the thoughts. Dwelling on them was pointless, and he had more important things than his own selfish, useless desires to think upon.
He was mercifully distracted from his own thoughts when the door swung up and landed with a resounding bang on the floor. Standing, Pyotr moved to help Jade up, ignoring the smaller man's snarled protests.
Jade shoved him back, then locked the door and began to shuck out of his weather gear. Pyotr took up the bundles and packages he'd hauled back and began to put everything away. "How is your wound?" he asked.
"Fine," Jade said curtly.
Pyotr rolled his eyes and finished putting the foodstuffs away. From the corner of his eye he saw Jade wince slightly. "It could have waited a few more days. You're only going to—"
"Shut up," Jade interrupted. "I have been managing just fine on my own for most of my life. I hardly need you coddling me." He stalked across the room to hang his gear up where it would dry, then irritably moved to the bed, sitting down and slowly unwinding his hair.
Setting water for tea, Pyotr then strode across the room and snatched up Jade's hands, holding them so those nails could not inflict their lethal damage. "Stop it," he said. "I don't know why you're trying to kill yourself, but you keep going like this those wounds will never heal. You shouldn't have snuck out while I was asleep. That was low."
"It is not my problem you were too lazy to notice my departure," Jade retorted, struggling to get free.
Normally, Pyotr knew he would already be on the floor. He was strong, but he'd never been a fighter. Jade, on the other hand, might have spent his IG days looking like an idle courtier whose only weapon was his mind – but he was as true to the martial blood in his family as his Rehabber brother.
But Jade was injured, as hard as he was trying to pretend otherwise, and Pyotr knew that just this once his own strength would give him an advantage. "If you don't rest, and let your wounds heal properly, I will tie you to the bed."
"Stop pretending to care," Jade snarled, then his leg lashed out, knocking Pyotr off his feet.
He hit the ground with a pained grunt – but never entirely let go of Jade, who wound up tumbling down on top of him with a curse. Pyotr used the moment of disorientation to roll them, pinning Jade beneath him, keeping a firm grip on his wrists, all too aware of what those nails could do.
"Don’t," he snapped. "Don't you dare say such a thing, Jade. The words might be unspoken, but they are still there. I'm not pretending and you know it. I could have fled and I stayed. Remain silent all you like, we both made that choice, but don't accuse me of merely pretending. He tightened his grip and held tighter to the deceptively delicate wrists beneath his hands.
Amber eyes met his, deep and unfathomable. Anyone else in the stars he could read, more than a few he could anticipate to a degree that frightened people. Jade…he'd never been able to read or predict Jade. Always there was a mystery to the man he could not solve.
When Jade made no reply, Pyotr continued. "We both made our choices, we both chose our obsessions. We left the words unspoken. But unspoken doesn’t mean the feelings die. Don't accuse me of pretending."
"Yes," Jade said bitterly. "Obsession does not destroy everything, despite considerable effort."
Pyotr drew a sharp breath, startled beyond thought. It was the most direct response he'd ever given to the words neither of them would ever say. More than Jade had ever offered. "Jade…"
"Shut up," Jade said harshly. "Just shut up. There's no point in saying anything now."
Pyotr shook his head. "Why did you save me Jade? It would have solved most of your problems to let me die."
There was no reply, those amber eyes as implacable as ever.
"Must they remain unspoken?" Pyotr asked, voice low. "Is it always going to be this way?"
Jade gave another bitter laugh. "How could it be any other way, Petya? Are you going to give up trying to save the stars? Do you think I would give up Gory? Forget it. You're ten years older than me, you should know better than that." Another laugh, and it was disconcerting how Jade abruptly went slack beneath him, as though relaxing completely. "You were ever my role model for obsession. For hunting. Did you know that, Petya?"
Pyotr frowned. "What?"
"Ah, who better to imitate but the cool and remote Pyotr Kavalerov? Always watching, always plotting, always three steps ahead of the game. Time and again I watched you plot and scheme, and could always see when some incident had merely been the result of your machinations. Hmmm, much like the Draconis. Why so intent upon them, Petya?"
"They shouldn't have to die," Pyotr replied, still shaken by Jade's words. "You hardly ever needed me for a role model, Jade. Stars, I could take lessons from you even now. No one else has ever hidden from me for so long."
Jade smirked. "Minus a certain Auth Commander who has been hiding his soul trafficking right in front of your face."
Pyotr shook with rage and humiliation. "How did you figure it out?"
"I found it out looking for Gory," Jade said, and in any other man the undertone to his voice would have been gentleness. "I also tend to have less faith in my comrades than you, which is amusing given you are the head of Internal Affairs."
"That is no excuse," Pyotr said, hating himself all over again. "I should have known."
Jade smirked in a contemptuous way that had sent many a person fleeing in abject fear. "He's just past fifty, which means he's had even more practice than you at lying and cheating. I'm sure the fact he fucks an IG lawyer has only helped improve those skills."
Pyotr's shoulders sagged, and he suddenly felt every last one of his forty one years. He would never undo the damage wrought by such a deep betrayal. How had he never seen it?
"Ah, there is the Pyotr I have always known. Punishing himself for the world's crimes," Jade said in a cool tone. "You cannot save the stars, Pyotr. They are beyond saving."
"No," Pyotr said. "Not all of them."
Jade laughed bitterly. "Yes, they are. And saving all the other Pyotrs in the world will not change anything for you, will it.?"
Pyotr tightened his grip, growing angry, knowing Jade was doing it on purpose but not caring. "What of you, Jade? Do you think killing Gory will change anything? Will it ease your pain?"
"Oh, very likely," Jade said, his voice cool silk. "I got rid of Yurwa and felt much better. I disposed of Harren and slept much better. I would imagine getting rid of Gory would positively cheer me."
"W-what?" Pyotr asked. Those names…he had not heard them in years…only the fact that he rarely forgot anything allowed him to dredge them up. IG officials, councilors both. One had gone to Rehab for soul trafficking…the other had been killed when Auths had busted his slave trade and he'd been caught in the crossfire.
But they'd been arrested when Jade was still a young man…Yurwa had been arrested roughly a term after the death of the Alexanders, Harren two terms later. "What did you have to do with those?"
Jade laughed and turned his head, baring his long throat, letting strands of dark-gold hair tumble across his shoulder where it was not pinned beneath him. "I was a very pretty child, Petya. Yarwa offered me candy, if I would come to his office to get it. Harren tried to coerce me with toys. He liked to stroke my hair.
Pyotr trembled. "What?" he said, feeling stupid that was all he could manage. Those men? Had tried to do such awful… but there was guilt there, too, because hadn't he always thought the younger man heartbreakingly beautiful and utterly desirable?
But not as a child…
"Jade, why did you never say?"
"Mm, I told you, Petya. I have no faith in the IG." His mouth twisted bitterly. "Though I suppose there was one from whom I might have taken candy, once."
Pyotr frowned. "Jade—" He was cut off by the sharp, piercing whistle of the tea kettle and jerked his head up to stare at it.
Abruptly the world jerked and spun, and Pyotr was slammed up against the low bed, grunting in pain. Then he felt a sharp sting across one cheek. He pressed fingers to his cheek, unsurprised to see they came away bloody.
He watched Jade walk away, laughing ruefully that he had so underestimated how Jade's injuries affected him. "I'm glad you're human and not Danubien," he said, eyes locked on that elegant form.
Jade paused, and Pyotr could see the surprise ripple through him. Flexing his hands, Jade turned to look at him, the faintest glimmer of amusement in his face. Then it was gone, and Jade was reaching to turn off the kettle and make tea.
Chapter Fifteen
Planet 00000000 (Zero), the Palace of Eternity
"Objection! Supposition. He can't prove every magics capable human ever born was killed.
"Withdrawn," Baxter said smoothly, picking up his water glass and taking a small sip. "Presently, Sean Noor is the only known living magics capable human in the IG. That is one of a very great many, ladies and gentlemen. Mendel Ekard matched with him, despite documented exposure to plenty of other potential matches whose magics would have suited his. The chances of his meeting Sean Noor were one in billions. Yet here they are, presented to the court, a confirmed match."
"Coincidence," Cathartes interjected, standing up. "Nor is it particularly strange that a Draconis who is half human would match with a mutant magics capable human."
"Objection," Baxter said. "No one knows why Draconis match the way they do. Scientists have been studying the matter for years, and even the Coni are documented as saying what is happening has far exceeded the original specifications. To say it's only logical that Mendel Ekard would match with Sean Noor is conjecture."
The Grand Chancellor nodded. "Sustained."
Cathartes subsided, resuming his seat.
"I present to the court my next exhibit -- Jekandih M'karr and Meikilenfel Naguerd." Baxter waited while all the relevant screens were switched to display the people of whom he spoke. "I ask the court to please note that these two men regretfully died in action six months ago. Both were mercenaries working for IG-sanctioned crews."
Meaning, Val knew, that the IG infrequently employed them to go where non magics capable persons would not be welcome. The hardest part of having a government run entirely by non magics was that many of the magics capable did not trust them.
"Yes," the Grand Chancellor said. "That is unfortunate. We would have preferred to see them in person. However, the court extends its condolences on their loss."
Baxter nodded to acknowledge his words. "The court will please note the file of Jekandih M'karr, who is of the Avarri race. For those not familiar, the Avarri are an aviary race." He continued on, explaining the wings, telekinetic magics, and some of the culture of the Avarri.
Val didn't know how they did it. Give him a laboratory and experiments any day. Sitting here listening to the constant bickering, unable to tell who was winning – if anyone – was making him tense and anxious and tired.
He also wasn't looking forward to the day it would be his and Bikendi's turn to go up as exhibits. Watching Mendel and Sean endure the questioning had been painful enough – and while neither he nor Bikendi was a convicted criminal…he didn't think it would be any less strenuous, and unlike the others he wasn't good at all this stuff. If someone asked him a question like those they'd asked Mendel and Sean, he just knew he'd screw up and give the wrong answer.
His fingers twitched, needing something to do, but he wasn't allowed to bring his datapad here. There was nothing to do but sit and watch and listen. He watched the expressions on the faces of the council as they listened to Baxter go on about how utterly impossible it should have been for a Draconis to match with an aviary race from a planet nowhere near Coni and which was very rarely found in the stars. Avarri in general didn't like the constraints of space travel.
From the opposite side, Cathartes stood and launched into another protestation. Val cringed from it, hating how poisonous the man sounded about killing his race. He hadn't been able to bring himself to look up at the balconies, the hundreds of people observing the proceedings. Did they have the same awful expressions and thoughts?
He really didn't want to know.
"This is all irrelevant," Cathartes said at last. "The defense can present their exhibits but it is these oddities which the prosecution most fears. We have already discussed the fact that Mendel Ekard is a convicted murderer, and I have already submitted to the court the further list of charges."
The Grand Chancellor stirred. "We are aware of the charges against Mendel Ekard, and if the prosecution had further looked at his own list he would have noted that the IG has suspended sentence for various reasons, including his invaluable contributions to his race, his assistance in revealing and capturing IG officials guilty of cruelty against fellow man, and recent discoveries of unfairness at his trial. Has the prosecution anything further to add on the matter of Mendel Ekard?"
"No, Grand Chancellor," Cathartes said hastily, shifting his notes and moving on.
Val felt a shifting beside him, and turned to see Bikendi's eyes glittering with amusement. Then those purple eyes caught his, and he flushed and looked away. Since the other night when he'd gotten his new datapad and seen the answered questions, he hadn't been certain what to say to Bikendi, or what to do around him.
With the trials resumed, there wasn't even a chance to fall into the rhythms of the laboratory.
How was he supposed to talk to Bikendi now that the man knew he was obsessed? He didn't know how, could not think of a single thing to say. 'Thanks for indulging the fact that I was all but stalking you all these years?' No. 'Please could I give you more?' Definitely not. 'I'm glad you don’t hate me anymore.' No, no, no.
He was entirely too stupid, Val had decided, to ever manage to talk to Bikendi normally. Everyone else made it look so easy, but the moment he saw the man he only felt every bit of what he was – an eighteen year old freak who couldn't cross a room without humiliating himself in some fashion.
"What of Shatterstar?" Cathartes's voice boomed out, making Val jump, jerk back away from it – rock precariously in his seat. He gripped the table to steady himself, feeling hot with mortification as he felt eyes on him, ducking his head.
A hand settled on his shoulder and he slowly dragged his head up and around to look at Bikendi. "Are you all right, Val?" Bikendi asked, and Val couldn't take how nice he sounded when usually all Bikendi did was snap and growl. He nodded desperately and looked hastily away.
"I'm calling a halt," the Grand Chancellor said. "We have been in session eight hours and it is showing. Court resumes tomorrow at 08:00 hours."
Val fled, though he knew he should stay to get yelled at for being so stupid.
He reached the suite before anyone else and bolted for his room, tempted to lock the door but knowing it would only be fair if someone came to yell at him. Maybe they'd at least send Jundel, she was always nice.
Fumbling with his pad, he turned it on and began to flip absently from question to lecture video to notes, unable to settle on anything.
A moment later there came a familiar knock and Val cringed, dragging his feet to the door and opening it with a heavy feeling in his chest. He would never forget how angry Bikendi had been that first day, and wasn't looking forward to being the focus of that anger again.
"Val," Bikendi said.
Startled by the quiet tone, Val looked up.
Instead of angry, Bikendi almost looked…concerned. "Come with me," he said with a sigh, then turned and started walking away.
Blinking, Val scrambled to fetch his pad, shoving it into his pants as he chased after Bikendi.
He frowned in confusion as they turned in the opposite direction of the labs, mind whirling with questions as they left the palace entirely and headed…Val's eyes widened as he realized they were headed for the docks.
Only with effort did he bite back his questions, following silently as Bikendi led the way through the maze of the docks, silently awed at the securities he flashed as they progressed through the various levels.
He barely stopped in time as Bikendi drew to an abrupt halt. "What do you think?" Bikendi asked quietly.
Val stared up at the ship they'd stopped in front of. A custom class, too small to be anything else. Painted completely black, with a shine to it that made Val think of obsidian. He read the name of the ship, but did not get the reference.
Bikendi caught his frown. "From a book," he said. "About a scientist who did awful things." He led the way inside.
Custom Class star Ship 22932058, the Frankenstein
Inside the ship showed even greater evidence of being a custom class – those ships which did not fit certain specifications to be of the other primary classes, but still met regulations to be IG sanctioned ships. One of the biggest differences in custom class ships was the layout; in all the other classes the layout of the ship was strictly regulated. With combat, battle, and war class ships especially a controlled layout was necessary.
Bikendi's ship was arranged almost more like a leisure class, just severely reduced in scale.
"It's IA run," Bikendi said, stripping out of his white coat and tossing it over one of the chairs at a small dark table off to one side. The entire front area was one lounge area, and he could see doors leading off the rest of the ship…fascinating. Beautiful. It was all simply decorated in dark brown, splashes of color here and there…even a carpeted floor, which would never be seen on an IG issue ship.
Strictly private use, then. Which meant privately funded. This was Bikendi's personal ship. Val's eyes widened.
Bikendi smiled ever so faintly, looking around his ship – then he turned back to Val. "The IA running it might be less than is strictly legal, between you and me, but as I hardly have time to do it myself and would kill any crew I had to put up with…"
Val caught himself grinning. He could easily see where Bikendi would swiftly lose patience with having to work around even a small crew. Then he remembered that he was here, on Bikendi's ship, and didn't know why. "I-I'm sorry for messing up at the trial," he said, tripping over the words, looking at the ground miserably.
"You didn't mess up," Bikendi said, sounding confused.
Then Val felt calloused fingers on his chin as Bikendi tilted his head up. "I did, though."
"At least you are speaking to me again," Bikendi said.
Val flushed and tried to look away, but Bikendi kept too firm a grip on his chin. "T-thank you," he managed.
Bikendi grunted and let him go. "You should have asked them sooner, if you had them to ask. They were very sharp questions."
Val studied the carpet. "You hated me." Even now, the thought cut deep. On top of everything else, that the man he'd watched for so many years… He felt something snap inside him, the words coming before he even knew what he was going to say. "Everyone called me a freak and they never let me go anywhere and everyone wants us dead and I've never had magics and they said I'd never match—" His eyes stung and burned and he rubbed at them furiously. "And I always wanted to meet you and then we matched and you hated me and I didn't want to make it worse by asking dumb q-questions."
A hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing it gently, and without even thinking Val just moved forward into Bikendi, holding tight to him, wanting all his troubling thoughts to go away and Bikendi felt nice and warm and he smelled sort of sweet and tangy, and Val realized with a panic that he was hugging Bikendi and had started crying and oh stars how come he always had to look so stupid around Bikendi? "S-sorry," he muttered, jerking away, wiping furiously at his eyes and searching desperately for a way out.
"No," Bikendi said firmly. "You should not be sorry at all." He wrapped a hand around Val's arm and guided him to one of the deep sofas that were just as soft and comfy as they looked, the fabric something smooth and soft and warm. "Stay there," Bikendi muttered, and Val watched in miserable silence as he crossed to a small bar and poured a small glass half full, then carried it back. "Sip that," Bikendi said firmly as he returned, taking a seat on the low glass-top table in front of the sofa.
Val nodded obediently and took a careful sip, choking in surprise as the liquid burned. It was deep amber in color, with the faintest hint of pink in it. His eyes blurred as it burned all the way down.
Bikendi laughed softly. "Try another."
Not certain that was a good idea at all, but unable to resist the fact that Bikendi was laughing and not in a mean way, Val nodded and obeyed. The second sip wasn't nearly so bad as the first, and when he tried a third on his own he found the drink was actually pretty good.
Gingerly Bikendi took the glass from him and set it on the table. "Vrill brandy," he said. "Potent, but you looked as though you needed it."
"Sorry," Val said glumly. "I'm not very good at any of this, am I?"
Bikendi snorted. "I would say you are better than anyone has bothered to tell you, especially given all the pressure under which you've been forced to live." He frowned. "Have you no friends back home?"
Val laughed, suspecting it sounded more like he was crying again. "I'm a mutant freak who had no magics. No one knew what to do with me. I just…read and studied and watched." You, he wanted to say. From the moment he'd first discovered Bikendi, the man and his studies had practically become Val's entire world. "I always wanted to travel…I thought coming to Zero would be so exciting…but it's just the same…"
Surprisingly gentle fingers tilted his head up, Bikendi's dark purple eyes intent as they looked at him. "It is rare I owe anyone an apology, and even rarer that I'll concede it is owed. But I do owe you an apology, Val, and I give it now. It was not your fault we were matched, and I should not have taken it out on you. I am sorry I gave you the impression I hated you. I most certainly do not. My foul temper is only one of my flaws, and probably the biggest."
"Oh," Val said, startled. He wondered if he could have more of the Vrill stuff. "It-it's okay. I mean, I wouldn't have been very happy with me either, if I were you." He winced at how stupid he sounded.
Bikendi pressed the glass back into his hands, again cautioning only sips. "You're quite bright, especially for your age. Did anyone ever tell you that?"
"I've always been told I was an exceptional student," Val said with a shrug.
A familiar contemptuous sneer marred Bikendi's features. "That is hardly the same thing, and only a bunch of arrogant, self-absorbed fools would let your talent rot on that backwater planet instead of putting it to real use."
Val took another sip of the Vrill brandy. It really did taste good, once you got used to it.
"So did you like your answers?" Bikendi asked.
Choking, fumbling with the glass, Val nodded furiously. "I did. You didn't have to…"
"They were astute questions," Bikendi said, carefully taking the glass away again. "I thought you would have more."
Val flushed, thinking of all he'd added. "I didn't want to bother you."
Bikendi sighed again. "You are not a bother, Val."
"But—you live alone. You didn't want a match. You—"
"Didn't want to accidentally kill anyone," Bikendi cut in, "and as you've noticed, I do a better job scaring people with my temper than my magics."
Val smiled weakly, and was grateful when Bikendi let him have the glass again, daring to take two hasty sips. He coughed at the burn.
"That's enough, I think," Bikendi said with a hint of a smile, setting the glass down on the table. "The very last thing we need is you going back to trial hung over, and I am already getting enough sly remarks about what I should take you back to my ship to do."
The words took a moment to register, and when they did Val wanted to die of embarrassment. His own mind didn't help one bit, supplying all sorts of traitorous images and thoughts. He was not supposed to be thinking that sort of thing about Dr. Bikendi. "Why would they think you want to do that?" he managed.
Bikendi made a strangled noise. "Are you hungry, Val?"
Val nodded, and stifled a sudden yawn. "Sorry," he muttered. Then he blinked, realizing something. "Why did you bring me here?"
"Because I recognize the signs of 'enough is enough' and figured you could use the quiet," Bikendi said. "The rest of those idiots get on me for being a bastard, but they're not exactly perfect themselves. Rest a bit, Val, while I call for dinner."
"Okay," Val said quietly, slumping back in the sofa, feeling dizzy from pretty much everything. He felt too warm and sleepy and Bikendi was…
arinan. She sent it to me a few days ago, but I have been holding it until I had chapers to post along with it ^___^ It is of Pyotr painting Jade's nails!And now the chapters ^___^
Chapter Fourteen
Planet 215414 (Tredad), Settlement Four
Pyotr wished his brooding had an off switch.
Of course, he'd been wishing that very thing for what seemed nearly all his life. There was no reason to think he might finally get it now.
He stared out the window at the blur of white. Experts across the stars had declared it was beyond their comprehension how a race had managed to come into existence in the unending bleakness.
Pyotr didn't think it was such a mystery. In his experience, trouble could exist anywhere and if people were anything, they were trouble.
Which brought him right back to brooding over the identity of his backstabber.
He was far from being the smartest man in the stars; he was not even close to it. His only talent was in somehow managing to get the smartest people to work for or with him.
Someone had betrayed him.
The thought cut deep, one more wound among dozens.
Who?
None of his specials. He refused to believe it. If his self-proclaimed 'Pets' had betrayed him, then he was done with all of it.
He swiftly turned away from that thought. It wasn't his to think, yet. There was still too much to do.
Top of that list was finding the traitor and ripping his cowardly heart out.
It fit, though. He'd already known that someone inside was involved, because only an insider would have been able to plant a bomb – bombs, actually – of such lethal ingenuity. The Shangri la's securities were of the highest levels and only four men in all the stars could initiate start-up sequences. None of those men would have betrayed him.
He hadn't thought any of his crew would, and wanted to keep believing it – which introduced a whole new set of problems.
The root, though, was that someone close enough and knowledgeable enough had set his ship to explode mid-light jump. It was the most effective way to get rid of him. Except, of course, for the part where he wasn't actually dead but unless Tau had figured something out Pyotr had to assume everyone believed him dead.
Off hand, he could think of a few possibilities. He didn't like that he could so quickly think of them, but he would not be in Internal Affairs – the Head of Internal Affairs – if he was not capable of such thoughts.
The problem, of course, came with what Jade had revealed.
Somehow, he had missed entirely that there was a soul farm on Haven.
More importantly, someone involved in the Draconis trials knew both about the soul farm and his own scouting of the planet.
That could only mean that someone on the planet had caught his scout, and reported back to the backstabber involved with the trials…who in turn was tied to Gory, which was the only reason Jade was involved at all.
Stars, this stuff always made his head hurt. But he could do it, he had unwoven knots at least as tangled as this for what seemed his entire life. Only one knot was beyond him, and he sensed even the stars themselves did not know how to untangle Jade.
Pyotr shifted through the lists of names in his mind, drawing lines, slowly weeding out possibilities, narrowing down the faces…until with sudden, painful, clarity, the pieces fell into place.
It was perfect. Eerily so. No wonder soul had been so hard for him to overcome, when he had been behind it the whole time.
Assuming he was right.
He knew he was, though.
His only shame was in never figuring it out. Everything made sense now. Painful, awful sense.
Stars, if he had already tried to kill Pyotr – and for the moment more or less had succeeded – then it would be as nothing for him to kill Tresnor and Wilbur. With the three of them gone, one of the most crucial parts of the plan would die with them. Not to mention how much damage would be done elsewhere.
Pyotr buried his face in one hand, calling himself every kind of fool. All this time and a stars damned colleague! They had eaten dinner together not long before his ship…
Balling his hand into a fist, it was all he could do not to slam it into the window.
The bastard would pay. They would all pay. At this point, Pyotr's only problem was which of his 'Pets' would be given the honor.
Stars above, how deep had the rot spread, if the trunk itself was rotten?
It made him tired in an all new way. He could not keep up with this. The problems in the stars were already too myriad, and while any government always had a few bad branches…at this level, he would be undoing the damage for the rest of his life.
He didn't want to that, Pyotr realized with sudden, painful clarity.
With a rough sound he shoved the thought away. It didn't matter what he wanted. He'd made his choice and it was too late to back out now. Besides, what else could he do? His entire life had been espionage, breaking the law to maintain. He wasn't fit for anything else. Moreover, what was there for him? His aunt and uncle of course, but…
Pyotr shook his head, banishing the thoughts. Dwelling on them was pointless, and he had more important things than his own selfish, useless desires to think upon.
He was mercifully distracted from his own thoughts when the door swung up and landed with a resounding bang on the floor. Standing, Pyotr moved to help Jade up, ignoring the smaller man's snarled protests.
Jade shoved him back, then locked the door and began to shuck out of his weather gear. Pyotr took up the bundles and packages he'd hauled back and began to put everything away. "How is your wound?" he asked.
"Fine," Jade said curtly.
Pyotr rolled his eyes and finished putting the foodstuffs away. From the corner of his eye he saw Jade wince slightly. "It could have waited a few more days. You're only going to—"
"Shut up," Jade interrupted. "I have been managing just fine on my own for most of my life. I hardly need you coddling me." He stalked across the room to hang his gear up where it would dry, then irritably moved to the bed, sitting down and slowly unwinding his hair.
Setting water for tea, Pyotr then strode across the room and snatched up Jade's hands, holding them so those nails could not inflict their lethal damage. "Stop it," he said. "I don't know why you're trying to kill yourself, but you keep going like this those wounds will never heal. You shouldn't have snuck out while I was asleep. That was low."
"It is not my problem you were too lazy to notice my departure," Jade retorted, struggling to get free.
Normally, Pyotr knew he would already be on the floor. He was strong, but he'd never been a fighter. Jade, on the other hand, might have spent his IG days looking like an idle courtier whose only weapon was his mind – but he was as true to the martial blood in his family as his Rehabber brother.
But Jade was injured, as hard as he was trying to pretend otherwise, and Pyotr knew that just this once his own strength would give him an advantage. "If you don't rest, and let your wounds heal properly, I will tie you to the bed."
"Stop pretending to care," Jade snarled, then his leg lashed out, knocking Pyotr off his feet.
He hit the ground with a pained grunt – but never entirely let go of Jade, who wound up tumbling down on top of him with a curse. Pyotr used the moment of disorientation to roll them, pinning Jade beneath him, keeping a firm grip on his wrists, all too aware of what those nails could do.
"Don’t," he snapped. "Don't you dare say such a thing, Jade. The words might be unspoken, but they are still there. I'm not pretending and you know it. I could have fled and I stayed. Remain silent all you like, we both made that choice, but don't accuse me of merely pretending. He tightened his grip and held tighter to the deceptively delicate wrists beneath his hands.
Amber eyes met his, deep and unfathomable. Anyone else in the stars he could read, more than a few he could anticipate to a degree that frightened people. Jade…he'd never been able to read or predict Jade. Always there was a mystery to the man he could not solve.
When Jade made no reply, Pyotr continued. "We both made our choices, we both chose our obsessions. We left the words unspoken. But unspoken doesn’t mean the feelings die. Don't accuse me of pretending."
"Yes," Jade said bitterly. "Obsession does not destroy everything, despite considerable effort."
Pyotr drew a sharp breath, startled beyond thought. It was the most direct response he'd ever given to the words neither of them would ever say. More than Jade had ever offered. "Jade…"
"Shut up," Jade said harshly. "Just shut up. There's no point in saying anything now."
Pyotr shook his head. "Why did you save me Jade? It would have solved most of your problems to let me die."
There was no reply, those amber eyes as implacable as ever.
"Must they remain unspoken?" Pyotr asked, voice low. "Is it always going to be this way?"
Jade gave another bitter laugh. "How could it be any other way, Petya? Are you going to give up trying to save the stars? Do you think I would give up Gory? Forget it. You're ten years older than me, you should know better than that." Another laugh, and it was disconcerting how Jade abruptly went slack beneath him, as though relaxing completely. "You were ever my role model for obsession. For hunting. Did you know that, Petya?"
Pyotr frowned. "What?"
"Ah, who better to imitate but the cool and remote Pyotr Kavalerov? Always watching, always plotting, always three steps ahead of the game. Time and again I watched you plot and scheme, and could always see when some incident had merely been the result of your machinations. Hmmm, much like the Draconis. Why so intent upon them, Petya?"
"They shouldn't have to die," Pyotr replied, still shaken by Jade's words. "You hardly ever needed me for a role model, Jade. Stars, I could take lessons from you even now. No one else has ever hidden from me for so long."
Jade smirked. "Minus a certain Auth Commander who has been hiding his soul trafficking right in front of your face."
Pyotr shook with rage and humiliation. "How did you figure it out?"
"I found it out looking for Gory," Jade said, and in any other man the undertone to his voice would have been gentleness. "I also tend to have less faith in my comrades than you, which is amusing given you are the head of Internal Affairs."
"That is no excuse," Pyotr said, hating himself all over again. "I should have known."
Jade smirked in a contemptuous way that had sent many a person fleeing in abject fear. "He's just past fifty, which means he's had even more practice than you at lying and cheating. I'm sure the fact he fucks an IG lawyer has only helped improve those skills."
Pyotr's shoulders sagged, and he suddenly felt every last one of his forty one years. He would never undo the damage wrought by such a deep betrayal. How had he never seen it?
"Ah, there is the Pyotr I have always known. Punishing himself for the world's crimes," Jade said in a cool tone. "You cannot save the stars, Pyotr. They are beyond saving."
"No," Pyotr said. "Not all of them."
Jade laughed bitterly. "Yes, they are. And saving all the other Pyotrs in the world will not change anything for you, will it.?"
Pyotr tightened his grip, growing angry, knowing Jade was doing it on purpose but not caring. "What of you, Jade? Do you think killing Gory will change anything? Will it ease your pain?"
"Oh, very likely," Jade said, his voice cool silk. "I got rid of Yurwa and felt much better. I disposed of Harren and slept much better. I would imagine getting rid of Gory would positively cheer me."
"W-what?" Pyotr asked. Those names…he had not heard them in years…only the fact that he rarely forgot anything allowed him to dredge them up. IG officials, councilors both. One had gone to Rehab for soul trafficking…the other had been killed when Auths had busted his slave trade and he'd been caught in the crossfire.
But they'd been arrested when Jade was still a young man…Yurwa had been arrested roughly a term after the death of the Alexanders, Harren two terms later. "What did you have to do with those?"
Jade laughed and turned his head, baring his long throat, letting strands of dark-gold hair tumble across his shoulder where it was not pinned beneath him. "I was a very pretty child, Petya. Yarwa offered me candy, if I would come to his office to get it. Harren tried to coerce me with toys. He liked to stroke my hair.
Pyotr trembled. "What?" he said, feeling stupid that was all he could manage. Those men? Had tried to do such awful… but there was guilt there, too, because hadn't he always thought the younger man heartbreakingly beautiful and utterly desirable?
But not as a child…
"Jade, why did you never say?"
"Mm, I told you, Petya. I have no faith in the IG." His mouth twisted bitterly. "Though I suppose there was one from whom I might have taken candy, once."
Pyotr frowned. "Jade—" He was cut off by the sharp, piercing whistle of the tea kettle and jerked his head up to stare at it.
Abruptly the world jerked and spun, and Pyotr was slammed up against the low bed, grunting in pain. Then he felt a sharp sting across one cheek. He pressed fingers to his cheek, unsurprised to see they came away bloody.
He watched Jade walk away, laughing ruefully that he had so underestimated how Jade's injuries affected him. "I'm glad you're human and not Danubien," he said, eyes locked on that elegant form.
Jade paused, and Pyotr could see the surprise ripple through him. Flexing his hands, Jade turned to look at him, the faintest glimmer of amusement in his face. Then it was gone, and Jade was reaching to turn off the kettle and make tea.
Chapter Fifteen
Planet 00000000 (Zero), the Palace of Eternity
"Objection! Supposition. He can't prove every magics capable human ever born was killed.
"Withdrawn," Baxter said smoothly, picking up his water glass and taking a small sip. "Presently, Sean Noor is the only known living magics capable human in the IG. That is one of a very great many, ladies and gentlemen. Mendel Ekard matched with him, despite documented exposure to plenty of other potential matches whose magics would have suited his. The chances of his meeting Sean Noor were one in billions. Yet here they are, presented to the court, a confirmed match."
"Coincidence," Cathartes interjected, standing up. "Nor is it particularly strange that a Draconis who is half human would match with a mutant magics capable human."
"Objection," Baxter said. "No one knows why Draconis match the way they do. Scientists have been studying the matter for years, and even the Coni are documented as saying what is happening has far exceeded the original specifications. To say it's only logical that Mendel Ekard would match with Sean Noor is conjecture."
The Grand Chancellor nodded. "Sustained."
Cathartes subsided, resuming his seat.
"I present to the court my next exhibit -- Jekandih M'karr and Meikilenfel Naguerd." Baxter waited while all the relevant screens were switched to display the people of whom he spoke. "I ask the court to please note that these two men regretfully died in action six months ago. Both were mercenaries working for IG-sanctioned crews."
Meaning, Val knew, that the IG infrequently employed them to go where non magics capable persons would not be welcome. The hardest part of having a government run entirely by non magics was that many of the magics capable did not trust them.
"Yes," the Grand Chancellor said. "That is unfortunate. We would have preferred to see them in person. However, the court extends its condolences on their loss."
Baxter nodded to acknowledge his words. "The court will please note the file of Jekandih M'karr, who is of the Avarri race. For those not familiar, the Avarri are an aviary race." He continued on, explaining the wings, telekinetic magics, and some of the culture of the Avarri.
Val didn't know how they did it. Give him a laboratory and experiments any day. Sitting here listening to the constant bickering, unable to tell who was winning – if anyone – was making him tense and anxious and tired.
He also wasn't looking forward to the day it would be his and Bikendi's turn to go up as exhibits. Watching Mendel and Sean endure the questioning had been painful enough – and while neither he nor Bikendi was a convicted criminal…he didn't think it would be any less strenuous, and unlike the others he wasn't good at all this stuff. If someone asked him a question like those they'd asked Mendel and Sean, he just knew he'd screw up and give the wrong answer.
His fingers twitched, needing something to do, but he wasn't allowed to bring his datapad here. There was nothing to do but sit and watch and listen. He watched the expressions on the faces of the council as they listened to Baxter go on about how utterly impossible it should have been for a Draconis to match with an aviary race from a planet nowhere near Coni and which was very rarely found in the stars. Avarri in general didn't like the constraints of space travel.
From the opposite side, Cathartes stood and launched into another protestation. Val cringed from it, hating how poisonous the man sounded about killing his race. He hadn't been able to bring himself to look up at the balconies, the hundreds of people observing the proceedings. Did they have the same awful expressions and thoughts?
He really didn't want to know.
"This is all irrelevant," Cathartes said at last. "The defense can present their exhibits but it is these oddities which the prosecution most fears. We have already discussed the fact that Mendel Ekard is a convicted murderer, and I have already submitted to the court the further list of charges."
The Grand Chancellor stirred. "We are aware of the charges against Mendel Ekard, and if the prosecution had further looked at his own list he would have noted that the IG has suspended sentence for various reasons, including his invaluable contributions to his race, his assistance in revealing and capturing IG officials guilty of cruelty against fellow man, and recent discoveries of unfairness at his trial. Has the prosecution anything further to add on the matter of Mendel Ekard?"
"No, Grand Chancellor," Cathartes said hastily, shifting his notes and moving on.
Val felt a shifting beside him, and turned to see Bikendi's eyes glittering with amusement. Then those purple eyes caught his, and he flushed and looked away. Since the other night when he'd gotten his new datapad and seen the answered questions, he hadn't been certain what to say to Bikendi, or what to do around him.
With the trials resumed, there wasn't even a chance to fall into the rhythms of the laboratory.
How was he supposed to talk to Bikendi now that the man knew he was obsessed? He didn't know how, could not think of a single thing to say. 'Thanks for indulging the fact that I was all but stalking you all these years?' No. 'Please could I give you more?' Definitely not. 'I'm glad you don’t hate me anymore.' No, no, no.
He was entirely too stupid, Val had decided, to ever manage to talk to Bikendi normally. Everyone else made it look so easy, but the moment he saw the man he only felt every bit of what he was – an eighteen year old freak who couldn't cross a room without humiliating himself in some fashion.
"What of Shatterstar?" Cathartes's voice boomed out, making Val jump, jerk back away from it – rock precariously in his seat. He gripped the table to steady himself, feeling hot with mortification as he felt eyes on him, ducking his head.
A hand settled on his shoulder and he slowly dragged his head up and around to look at Bikendi. "Are you all right, Val?" Bikendi asked, and Val couldn't take how nice he sounded when usually all Bikendi did was snap and growl. He nodded desperately and looked hastily away.
"I'm calling a halt," the Grand Chancellor said. "We have been in session eight hours and it is showing. Court resumes tomorrow at 08:00 hours."
Val fled, though he knew he should stay to get yelled at for being so stupid.
He reached the suite before anyone else and bolted for his room, tempted to lock the door but knowing it would only be fair if someone came to yell at him. Maybe they'd at least send Jundel, she was always nice.
Fumbling with his pad, he turned it on and began to flip absently from question to lecture video to notes, unable to settle on anything.
A moment later there came a familiar knock and Val cringed, dragging his feet to the door and opening it with a heavy feeling in his chest. He would never forget how angry Bikendi had been that first day, and wasn't looking forward to being the focus of that anger again.
"Val," Bikendi said.
Startled by the quiet tone, Val looked up.
Instead of angry, Bikendi almost looked…concerned. "Come with me," he said with a sigh, then turned and started walking away.
Blinking, Val scrambled to fetch his pad, shoving it into his pants as he chased after Bikendi.
He frowned in confusion as they turned in the opposite direction of the labs, mind whirling with questions as they left the palace entirely and headed…Val's eyes widened as he realized they were headed for the docks.
Only with effort did he bite back his questions, following silently as Bikendi led the way through the maze of the docks, silently awed at the securities he flashed as they progressed through the various levels.
He barely stopped in time as Bikendi drew to an abrupt halt. "What do you think?" Bikendi asked quietly.
Val stared up at the ship they'd stopped in front of. A custom class, too small to be anything else. Painted completely black, with a shine to it that made Val think of obsidian. He read the name of the ship, but did not get the reference.
Bikendi caught his frown. "From a book," he said. "About a scientist who did awful things." He led the way inside.
Custom Class star Ship 22932058, the Frankenstein
Inside the ship showed even greater evidence of being a custom class – those ships which did not fit certain specifications to be of the other primary classes, but still met regulations to be IG sanctioned ships. One of the biggest differences in custom class ships was the layout; in all the other classes the layout of the ship was strictly regulated. With combat, battle, and war class ships especially a controlled layout was necessary.
Bikendi's ship was arranged almost more like a leisure class, just severely reduced in scale.
"It's IA run," Bikendi said, stripping out of his white coat and tossing it over one of the chairs at a small dark table off to one side. The entire front area was one lounge area, and he could see doors leading off the rest of the ship…fascinating. Beautiful. It was all simply decorated in dark brown, splashes of color here and there…even a carpeted floor, which would never be seen on an IG issue ship.
Strictly private use, then. Which meant privately funded. This was Bikendi's personal ship. Val's eyes widened.
Bikendi smiled ever so faintly, looking around his ship – then he turned back to Val. "The IA running it might be less than is strictly legal, between you and me, but as I hardly have time to do it myself and would kill any crew I had to put up with…"
Val caught himself grinning. He could easily see where Bikendi would swiftly lose patience with having to work around even a small crew. Then he remembered that he was here, on Bikendi's ship, and didn't know why. "I-I'm sorry for messing up at the trial," he said, tripping over the words, looking at the ground miserably.
"You didn't mess up," Bikendi said, sounding confused.
Then Val felt calloused fingers on his chin as Bikendi tilted his head up. "I did, though."
"At least you are speaking to me again," Bikendi said.
Val flushed and tried to look away, but Bikendi kept too firm a grip on his chin. "T-thank you," he managed.
Bikendi grunted and let him go. "You should have asked them sooner, if you had them to ask. They were very sharp questions."
Val studied the carpet. "You hated me." Even now, the thought cut deep. On top of everything else, that the man he'd watched for so many years… He felt something snap inside him, the words coming before he even knew what he was going to say. "Everyone called me a freak and they never let me go anywhere and everyone wants us dead and I've never had magics and they said I'd never match—" His eyes stung and burned and he rubbed at them furiously. "And I always wanted to meet you and then we matched and you hated me and I didn't want to make it worse by asking dumb q-questions."
A hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing it gently, and without even thinking Val just moved forward into Bikendi, holding tight to him, wanting all his troubling thoughts to go away and Bikendi felt nice and warm and he smelled sort of sweet and tangy, and Val realized with a panic that he was hugging Bikendi and had started crying and oh stars how come he always had to look so stupid around Bikendi? "S-sorry," he muttered, jerking away, wiping furiously at his eyes and searching desperately for a way out.
"No," Bikendi said firmly. "You should not be sorry at all." He wrapped a hand around Val's arm and guided him to one of the deep sofas that were just as soft and comfy as they looked, the fabric something smooth and soft and warm. "Stay there," Bikendi muttered, and Val watched in miserable silence as he crossed to a small bar and poured a small glass half full, then carried it back. "Sip that," Bikendi said firmly as he returned, taking a seat on the low glass-top table in front of the sofa.
Val nodded obediently and took a careful sip, choking in surprise as the liquid burned. It was deep amber in color, with the faintest hint of pink in it. His eyes blurred as it burned all the way down.
Bikendi laughed softly. "Try another."
Not certain that was a good idea at all, but unable to resist the fact that Bikendi was laughing and not in a mean way, Val nodded and obeyed. The second sip wasn't nearly so bad as the first, and when he tried a third on his own he found the drink was actually pretty good.
Gingerly Bikendi took the glass from him and set it on the table. "Vrill brandy," he said. "Potent, but you looked as though you needed it."
"Sorry," Val said glumly. "I'm not very good at any of this, am I?"
Bikendi snorted. "I would say you are better than anyone has bothered to tell you, especially given all the pressure under which you've been forced to live." He frowned. "Have you no friends back home?"
Val laughed, suspecting it sounded more like he was crying again. "I'm a mutant freak who had no magics. No one knew what to do with me. I just…read and studied and watched." You, he wanted to say. From the moment he'd first discovered Bikendi, the man and his studies had practically become Val's entire world. "I always wanted to travel…I thought coming to Zero would be so exciting…but it's just the same…"
Surprisingly gentle fingers tilted his head up, Bikendi's dark purple eyes intent as they looked at him. "It is rare I owe anyone an apology, and even rarer that I'll concede it is owed. But I do owe you an apology, Val, and I give it now. It was not your fault we were matched, and I should not have taken it out on you. I am sorry I gave you the impression I hated you. I most certainly do not. My foul temper is only one of my flaws, and probably the biggest."
"Oh," Val said, startled. He wondered if he could have more of the Vrill stuff. "It-it's okay. I mean, I wouldn't have been very happy with me either, if I were you." He winced at how stupid he sounded.
Bikendi pressed the glass back into his hands, again cautioning only sips. "You're quite bright, especially for your age. Did anyone ever tell you that?"
"I've always been told I was an exceptional student," Val said with a shrug.
A familiar contemptuous sneer marred Bikendi's features. "That is hardly the same thing, and only a bunch of arrogant, self-absorbed fools would let your talent rot on that backwater planet instead of putting it to real use."
Val took another sip of the Vrill brandy. It really did taste good, once you got used to it.
"So did you like your answers?" Bikendi asked.
Choking, fumbling with the glass, Val nodded furiously. "I did. You didn't have to…"
"They were astute questions," Bikendi said, carefully taking the glass away again. "I thought you would have more."
Val flushed, thinking of all he'd added. "I didn't want to bother you."
Bikendi sighed again. "You are not a bother, Val."
"But—you live alone. You didn't want a match. You—"
"Didn't want to accidentally kill anyone," Bikendi cut in, "and as you've noticed, I do a better job scaring people with my temper than my magics."
Val smiled weakly, and was grateful when Bikendi let him have the glass again, daring to take two hasty sips. He coughed at the burn.
"That's enough, I think," Bikendi said with a hint of a smile, setting the glass down on the table. "The very last thing we need is you going back to trial hung over, and I am already getting enough sly remarks about what I should take you back to my ship to do."
The words took a moment to register, and when they did Val wanted to die of embarrassment. His own mind didn't help one bit, supplying all sorts of traitorous images and thoughts. He was not supposed to be thinking that sort of thing about Dr. Bikendi. "Why would they think you want to do that?" he managed.
Bikendi made a strangled noise. "Are you hungry, Val?"
Val nodded, and stifled a sudden yawn. "Sorry," he muttered. Then he blinked, realizing something. "Why did you bring me here?"
"Because I recognize the signs of 'enough is enough' and figured you could use the quiet," Bikendi said. "The rest of those idiots get on me for being a bastard, but they're not exactly perfect themselves. Rest a bit, Val, while I call for dinner."
"Okay," Val said quietly, slumping back in the sofa, feeling dizzy from pretty much everything. He felt too warm and sleepy and Bikendi was…
no subject
Date: 2007-06-21 03:18 am (UTC)1. I really, really admire the wide range of your characters. You show "attractive" in so many personalities, ages, and appearances, going both with and against American sensibilities. It's incredible.
2. "I present to the court my next exhibit -- Jekandih M'karr and Meikilenfel _______." <--- Did you miss something?
no subject
Date: 2007-06-21 04:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-21 09:39 am (UTC)Oh, you have to worry about it. I can't believe I forgot to fill in the blank! *headdesk* Secretary!!!