by Celeste Raye
His words held a ring of something she understood. Anger. She tilted her head up so she could look into his face. “You don’t like the Federation.”
Renall said, “I think having laws in place is a good thing. But the fact is the Federation interferes too much. It’s like your own government. They know the past, and they are afraid of repeating it. They created laws to make sure that it didn’t get repeated. But when the law disregards the beings it is supposed to serve, it isn’t very just.”
Clara’s heart throbbed painfully. “I have to admit, that about sums it up.”
He asked, “Why did you break the law knowing the consequences?”
The past was hurtful, but she could see that his was as well. He had opened up to her about it too. How could she do any less? “I suppose when I was a child it didn’t occur to me that there might be consequences. I mean, yes, they told me. I knew we lived differently and that things were dangerous. I saw neighbors being taken by the Capos. But as a child, those stories of what happened to the criminals felt like stories, you know?
As I got older, I understood the consequences a lot more. The difference then was clearer, however. Our tables kept us from starving. Old Toronto is built above and below, that was a holdover from the ancient days when they built underground for pleasure I think. Anyway, those who lived under, we didn’t have the things that we needed. We were not able to grow, so we had to buy. Those above who could grow were regulated and watched, but there were many who were able to grow extra foods, fruits, and grain that they could and did say had gone bad from blight or drought or the acidic rainfall. They’d send it under, and only those with coin or credits could buy it.
“And my family didn’t just buy for ourselves. In the under, everyone shares so nobody starves. You have to. If you don’t, those who are hungry will turn you in for the rewards and bounties. I once saw a man executed because he refused to share a handful of muskies with a neighbor. The neighbor was hungry, of course, but it was not just hunger that drove him to report.”
She fell silent, sure Renall would never understand. He did though, as his words showed clearly. “It was the muskies themselves then? They were not something the neighbor could walk away from.”
“Exactly. We lived on protein discs and carb-wafers. Anything fresh was rare and precious and getting that stuff risky and dangerous—and expensive. So when we could get it, we shared. Not just because it made us better neighbors, but to make sure we didn’t go to serio-max for having them. And because,” she paused. “Because everyone should have had that stuff in the first place, not just the very rich who could afford to live above.”
Renall said, “Your government mostly lives above?”
Resentment kicked in as it always did when she thought of those things. “Of course. There was an old man who lived below who had found a stash of forbidden history books. He read them to us sometimes. Once upon a time, the government was in charge because people put them in charge, and they worked for the people. But then the government stopped caring about the people and only cared about themselves. They always put themselves first, and the people last.”
“I will not do that when I buy that planet.”
The words jolted her brain into the present. “Oh?”
Renall said, “We, my siblings and I, intend to live in a simple way. To protect our resources by not using them up.”
She groaned. “You’re building a new Orbitary?”
Renall laughed. His chest vibrated below her cheek, and she lifted her head again. His mirth changed his whole face again, and once more she found herself staring at the lightened visage so close to hers. Who was he, really? He was stern and businesslike, but he was also very passionate and kind, when he was not masking those things.
His fingers stroked along her arm. “No, nothing like this. Orbitary’s a planet run by a committee made up of too many beings who have been raised on planets plundered for their resources. Or heard of that. Or saw the after effects of it. I realize that there are too few resources left in the galaxy. I want a home, and I want one I can pass down to my offspring, but I don’t want to so tightly regulate the whole thing that nobody can find any real enjoyment in the place.”
“I see. That makes sense. Orbitary is beautiful, but it is hard to relax and enjoy the beauty of it when everything incurs a credit charge. Do you know that the other day I was caught on a surv-cam walking in the park and breathing too deeply and they sent a credit-bot to demand a hundred credits from me?”
Renall burst into more laughter. “You sound outraged.”
Her lips pursed. “I am.”
Renall said, “You should be. They built the parks and put it out that they have such beauty and natural setting so people will come. Then they charge for it. In a way it makes sense; it keeps beings from trying to take too much I suppose, but I think it also keeps out those who would enjoy it but cannot afford it.”
He was going to be a good ruler on his planet. A new thought came to her. “How many people are going to be on your planet?”
He said, “It’s very small. A quarter of the size of Orbitary and very primitive. We have decided to not populate heavily. Just take those we trust and who will help us to build but not on a large scale way. So not many.”
“That’s going to leave you open to plunder.”
The words had come out of her mouth before she could stop them. His body tensed. His face changed, went grim. He said, “Yes, and that is why I have to wed Laria.”
He spoke as if he were talking to himself but she saw the change, felt him withdrawing from her in a way she could not hope to reel him back from.
That point was driven home when Renall suddenly stood, his long and powerful body flexing. He began to dress. Clara sat up, the coverings of the bed tangling around her limbs. He said, “Clara…”
Tears came but did not fall. “I won’t speak of this.” The wooden words fell from her lips, which had gone numb. “I understand you can’t afford this.”
How many other females had he slept with just to tell that female that he was not available, that they were just a momentary distraction from his future and his wedding—the wedding that was the alliance that would help protect the one thing in the entire world that mattered more to him than anything else.
Of course it did. He had been homeless and for so long. He had spent centuries of his long lifetime building his fortune and the fortunes of his siblings so that they could have that planet, that home that they all longed for. A new question came. “Why do you not just return to your home planet?”
His eyes were bleak. “Because it was destroyed in the Crater Wars. My people took up homes in other systems but none really ever thrived there. My father and others were ship dwellers because there were so few planets on which we could live due to our anatomy. In most aspects, we are like you humans. We can live on other systems but only with gear and equipment and so forth. Our bodies change in those systems, however. Most of my race is dead. Only a handful remains, and the children born on other systems do not thrive. They usually die.”
Oh no. It hit her then. He had to have that planet not just because he needed a home; he had to have that planet in order for his entire race to continue. She knew the rest of it, even if she did not want to. “Your betrothed is from your race?”
“Yes. She is one of the few pure-blooded females of my kind in the entire galaxy.”
And he wanted a pureblooded offspring. He wanted his race to continue, to have their own planet. She looked away. “I see.”
Renall spoke softly. “I am glad that you do.”
How could she tell him that regardless of what he had agreed to, she wanted him, and how could she burden him with that?
Renall spoke again. “Clara, I could still—you could become my mistress. I would care for you until the end of your days. You would want for nothing.”
Clara blinked. Had she heard him right? “I beg your pardon?”
He looked uneasy. “I coul
d place you on the planet nearest the one I shall live on. I could not have you on that one, of course, out of respect to my wedded. But…but I could still…”
She shouted, “You want to keep me but not wed me! You want it all! How selfish of you! How dare you?”
She was not just angry. She was pissed off and indignant. That indignation grew when Renall said, “It is the most logical course to take.”
“Fuck your logic,” she snarled at him. “You are asking me to accept a life where I would be alone most of the time. Where I would be unable to wed because I would be obligated to you. A life that would be nothing but endless waiting for you to arrive and wondering if I had fallen out of your favors. No thank you. You find that logical? It is. For you. Because you get the best of all of it.”
Renall pondered that. “I see I have upset you.”
“Oh, you think?” She tugged at her hair. Her anger deflated fast, leaving her tired and saddened. “Renall, let’s just pretend this never happened. Let’s just act as if we never made love and that you never suggested that. Okay?”
He left. Clara climbed out of the bed and began to dress slowly. She was restless and upset, but she was not in the mood to spend a lot of credits just to go outside. She stood at the window, staring at the vistas of greenbelt and sun. When she had lived below, the risk in going above to see the sunlight, the sunlight that could kill if not properly filtered, had been one she had had to take several times a year. Her body cried out for that light, and for the sight of greenery and streets that opened up to long avenues where houses sat on lawns that had grass, precious and rare as the fruit that the occasional rich gambler would bring below for a table’s ante.
How many credits would she need to have to go to back? To get a genetic lift that would fool her government into not knowing who she had been? To get a home above and stay there in the light?
Too many. But if she had the opportunity to do so, she would. She would, and she would not think twice about it either. With her mother there and then her father and brother, she could earn plenty. Orbitary would provide them with credits, and then they could go back and live above.
And she would forget all about Renall and Brian too.
Brian. A spike of pain hit again, but it had nothing to do with the skull scraping.
Betrayal was what males seemed to be the most adept at.
And there was another problem. If she and her family went back, no amount of credits could protect them from betrayal. She would never be able to fall in love with any man, not really, because to do so she would have to trust him, and how could she trust anyone given what Brian had done?
And now to complicate things, she seemed to have tied her emotions and her heart into a being who could not ever be hers. Renall was quickly winning her heart, but it was clear that he did not want it.
Chapter 9
Renall strode to his chamber, his body tingling and his brain whirling. He’d made love to Clara! The long seated ache he had felt for her had not abated either. If he had not left when he had, he might very well have made love to her yet again!
What the hell was I thinking? I can’t stay with her, not without breaking that pact. Not without putting everything we have all worked so hard for at risk. His mind tussled with that, and his heart plummeted as a new thought occurred to him.
He didn’t want Laria. He wanted Clara. He was emotionally entangled with Clara, something he had not expected and something that was true and had been true before he had made love to her.
He felt nothing for Laria, and he doubted very seriously if she felt anything for him either. Other than duty and her obligation to her father.
Her father.
Renall realized that it was growing close to the time for that interface meeting. He quickly stripped and bathed then donned a fresh tunic and trousers. He didn’t bother with boots, just sat in front of the module and waited for the call. His mind kept going back to Clara though. To her ability to listen to him talk. To his willingness to talk to her about his past. To the way her skin had felt below his fingers and along his flesh.
The interface crackled. He took a deep breath then answered, “Hello, Morilan.”
Morilan frowned at him. He spoke without preamble. “Laria has stated that she has already told you about the temple costs.”
“She has.” His leg tightened, the muscles flexing hard. “I feel as if…” He paused. What did he feel?
Nothing. Not for Laria. Not for that far too expensive temple. Was that alliance truly worth the staggering amount of credits and, what was more, was it worth the cost of having to live with a being who saw him simply as a convenient piggy bank to redeem the temples on her home planet?
No, think. What you are really buying is the military mettle and might of their planet.
Morilan grunted. “You stopped speaking.” The implication that he clearly thought that Renall had stopped thinking was clear. Renall wasn’t thinking. At least not of the situation at hand. He was thinking of Clara.
The conflict just grew with each passing second.
He cleared his throat. “Forgive me. I seem to be overly tired. We had a problem with a Terestrial attacking one of my dealers.”
A dealer I feel strongly about and would not see harmed. A dealer, a carder, who makes me want so much more than the bargain I signed onto with you and your daughter.
Morilan grunted again. “I need at least a one hundred and twenty thousand credits to begin the work.”
Renall blinked. “To begin it?”
Morilan looked very pleased. “It will be the finest temple in all the system. That means it will be the costliest as well.’
It’s not worth it. Renall tried to tamp that thought down but couldn’t. Instead, he said, “I fear we have an issue. You see, I am already coming up short on purchasing the planet, even though all of my brothers and myself are combining our coffers. We will, of course, need a vast amount of credits even after the purchase. To keep spending in such a way, well. I fear I may not be able to afford the temple of your dreams.”
There was a warning in Renall’s voice when the words were spoken, but there was a larger one in Morilan’s. “Oh? Then perhaps we should rethink how soon you might purchase the planet.”
Renall’s anger rose. “I can’t. You see, the planet is highly coveted. It is but one of four remaining unsold private planets in the entire galaxy.”
And the others were not only not suitable for his race, but also expensive beyond his means. Not to mention he would have to do atmosphere work in order to live there if he did get one of them. Which would prove even more expensive.
“I do not understand why you are balking.”
Renall’s brows drew together at Morilan’s words. He spoke without thinking. “I am sure you do not. However, if I wish to have a planet, which I do, and must in order to keep faith with the pact I made with you, then I must have credits. I cannot give you any more for the temple.” A vein beat in his forehead. Rage spiked upward, heating his already volatile emotions. “I will not give you any more money for that temple. I agreed to three hundred thousand credits. You have exceeded that by three hundred percent as it is, and now you wish more?”
Morilan’s eyes narrowed, a sure sign that he was angered by Renall’s words. He said, “I do. I offer you my daughter. My army. Yet you balk at a small sum?”
“Small sum? We’re past a million credits now.” His anger kept his tongue moving long after he knew it should have halted. “I am not able to keep funding your temple.” A thought came. His breath hissed inward. Why had he not seen it before? He added, in a low and deadly voice. “I would hate to think that perhaps you have been storing my wealth away in the form of the temple, and in an effort to enrich yourself at my expense.”
Morilan recoiled, and in that instant, Renall knew that that was exactly what was happening. The planet was small and poor, and the people, while capable of great warfare, not part of the outer systems moneyed Federations. Morilan was
obviously socking away the funds. So why?
Renall asked, in a sotto voice. “Are you unhappy with our pact, Morilan?”
Morilan’s lips compressed. His face paled. “No. I have but one daughter, however. She is worth much to me.”
The bastard. Renall said, “She may be less valuable to me.”
He hated negotiations, especially after a deal had already been struck. Morilan had changed the terms one time too many, and now Renall was considering life with Laria, and finding it to be a less than pleasant idea.
Morilan said, “The temple has no roof.”
“Then I would suggest you get your people to build one out of respect for your deities.”
That sentence resounded with finality. Renall meant every syllable too. He was not about to dish out a single credit more for that temple or for Laria. He was seriously tempted to tell Morilan that he had to break the pact, but he did not know the consequences of such an action and his mind was already weighing the risks and finding them unacceptable.
He’d lose a million credits. He’d lose an ally. It was one thing to refuse to renegotiate yet again. It was wholly another to refuse to wed Laria.
But how he wished he could do just that.
Morilan said, “I see. I understand, of course. The original agreement was rewritten so…”
“Several times. You cannot continue to garner my goodwill in such a way. I could break our pact for your failing to hold to the agreement, demand all my credits be returned, or that the temple be removed from your planet and placed elsewhere. It would have to be torn down and reconstructed, but it could be done.”
Morilan had obviously not expected that. He spoke quickly. “I understand. I see I have angered you. I did not assume you would balk so.”
No, you didn’t. Renall was angry, but mostly with himself. He had allowed Morilan to feel as if he could continue to keep taking credits from his coffers without concern. “I have to go.” He flicked off the interface before he could lose his temper and speak the truth.
