Korkla smiled as he watched Michaela take in her surroundings. “This is the greeting room. When we have visitors, we entertain them here and occasionally the dining room.”
Michaela dragged her gaze downward to take in the furnishings. Loungers, couches, chairs, and seating cushions scattered the gleaming floor, their fabrics the hues of the pink and green beach outside. The tables and other furniture were at first glance very simple, but closer examination revealed the workmanship that made ponderous pieces seem light and delicate. Rich copper-colored rugs scattered across the floor, adding comfort to the luxury.
The room had splendor that managed to avoid being ostentatious. It was an amazing example of livable formality. Michaela felt she could flop on a seating cushion and sprawl when alone, but yet entertain a roomful of gowned and tuxedoed millionaires within the same space. She loved the room.
Fighting her way past the wonder of her – her! – new home, Michaela smiled at the three men. “It’s stunning. Let me guess; Raxstad this is your doing, right?”
Her Nobek snorted. Raxstad was not a man who looked precisely at home in the greeting room. Michaela thought the only setting that would truly suit him might be that of a medieval dungeon.
She couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Earlier she’d imagined Raxstad in a loincloth, swinging from trees. Now in her mind’s eye, he wielded a whip and carried chains.
I love that big lug. He gives me the best fantasies.
Korkla, a man worth quite a few fantasies of his own, said, “For the two public rooms, Clajak had his decorator do this as a gift to my clan. Our own tastes are rather simple, as you’ll soon see. Feel free to add your own touches to the rest of the home, my Matara.”
Michaela was glad to hear she could express her own tastes in the living space. Eager to see the rest of the home she asked, “What’s next on the tour?”
The men led her to the formal dining room, which was every bit as quietly grand as the greeting room. Michaela was delighted with the color scheme of blue and gold, with accents of the pink and green of the greeting room. The long table could have easily sat twenty people, thirty if guests didn’t mind being crowded.
“Do you often have big parties?” Michaela asked.
“Sometimes family,” Govi told her. “Most of the time these two rooms are used for state gatherings on the Crown Prince Clan’s behalf.”
“Especially when there is some question as to the intentions of the guests,” Korkla added. “It’s not a good idea to give others access to the royal suites.”
Michaela’s eyebrows rose at that snippet of information. “You mean some of the guests can be dangerous?”
“You can never be sure with ambassadors from other planets. Usually, however, trouble comes within the realm of extreme assholery,” Raxstad said. “If Bevau thinks someone is actually dangerous to his clan, he deals with it. That sort doesn’t come over for dinner, but I have seen him send them off to their funerals.”
Michaela guffawed. “Did you say assholery? I’ve taught you well, my Nobek. Go forth and mix with Earthers, especially the heads of the Church.”
Govi shook his head, but snickered. “I thought we agreed to only speak Kalquorian from now on.”
Raxstad shrugged. “English as spoken by Michaela offers some wonderful descriptions. I think we should add certain words to our everyday language.”
Michaela was outwardly amused over Raxstad adopting Earther profanity, but some of the other things he’d mentioned occupied her mind. The bit about Prince Bevau sending men to their funerals gave her pause.
Back on Plasius, she’d seen a side of the Kalquorian men that had never been hinted at before. When some of the marooned soldiers who were still loyal to Earth had attacked Michaela and Jessica, Clans Korkla and Clajak had come to their rescue. The Kalquorians had demolished the soldiers with a savagery that stunned Michaela. The Earther men had lived, but not because the Kalquorians had wished to spare them. Jessica’s life-threatening injuries had kept them from pursuing immediate revenge.
Having seen the vicious assault the Kalquorians had carried out on those Earthers, particularly Raxstad and Bevau, Michaela could well imagine the Nobek prince killing other men. His beautiful face and often-seen humor had disappeared behind the visage of a raging animal.
Raxstad had been even scarier. It was as if an ill-fitting veneer of civilization had been stripped from his face, leaving only the instinctive beast behind. A rabid, demonic, primitive beast. There had been no sanity left to Michaela’s massive clanmate. She was sure the only reason he had not succeeded in killing anyone was because he hadn’t been able to focus on who should die first. He’d gone from soldier to soldier, meting out massive injury to as many of them as possible until Clajak ordered him to stop.
He would kill for me without hesitation.
The realization scared Michaela more than it comforted her. She did not want to be the reason anyone died.
The men showed her their kitchen. Michaela was delighted to see the state-of-the-art facility, with appliances she’d never even seen before. She’d talked often on their trip to Kalquor about how much she wanted to cook for her clan, and it appeared she would have the opportunity to do so. The many dishes of her favorite Middle Eastern and Haitian fare danced before her mind’s eye.
“If I could just figure out what Kalquorian foods can be substituted for Earther, I’ll be in business here,” she enthused, opening doors, sliding out trays, and experimentally pushing buttons. “Any time there’s a shipment due in of Earther goods, I want to know right away!”
“It can be difficult, but I have some Adraf connections. They are ignoring the sanctions Earth has imposed on importing to Kalquor,” Korkla said.
“And charging a premium to do so,” Govi sighed. He smiled at Michaela. “Look how happy you are. I see you are already planning your first feast.”
She chuckled, overwhelmed by all the gadgets surrounding her. Now that her initial enthusiasm ebbed, the room looked more like an engineering nightmare than a kitchen. “I hardly know where to begin. I guess the first thing would be to figure out how to boil water in Mission Control here.”
Their next stop was in a second dining room. It was much smaller than the one designated for public functions, with hardly anything more than a low table and seating cushions to decorate it. Michaela barely noted the sparse furnishings, however. The large archway that led outside to the balcony captured her attention instead.
She hurried out to the ledge’s stone railing and gasped at the view despite having seen it earlier from the transport and the docking bay.
The clouds had dissipated, leaving a powder blue sky from which the golden sun beamed. Shuttles trailed overhead in complicated traffic patterns, spaced at equal intervals from each other. Michaela guessed that they were controlled somehow by a computer program; the distances between each vehicle were too perfect to be under manual control. Their metal hulls gleamed in the sunshine.
Below, the green sea washed against the pearlescent pink-sand beach. Michaela realized how high up she was because of the small figures that walked and jogged along the shore, and the ones that bobbed in the gentle surf. It made her a little dizzy, and she took a shaky step back from the railing.
“No leaning over,” she laughed in a breathless voice. “It’s a long way down.”
Korkla gathered her in his arms, making Michaela feel secure once more. “There is a safety field that activates if objects of a certain mass are detected falling from the cliff. It not only guards against accidental falls—”
“Or falls that aren’t so accidental,” Raxstad supplied in a ghoulish voice.
“—but also protects those below from dislodged rocks and the like,” Korkla finished.
Michaela shivered. “Good to know. I never knew I had an issue with heights until this moment.” She stared out at the seascape beyond, inhaling the salt tang of the ocean. “It is so stunning out here. To think when I lived in Haiti that the oce
an was only an hour away by electric car, and yet I never saw it. I’ve missed out.”
She looked around at the balcony itself. Carved out of the cliff face, it appeared at first glance to be like smooth marble. However, the surface beneath her feet had grooves, keeping it from being slippery. The railing was also carved from the stone, coming just beneath chest height to Michaela with oval openings one could peer through if seated on the scattered seating cushions. Tables dotted the balcony, convenient places to lay drinks, handhelds, and whatever else one might bring outside. There was even a long, tall metal table with racks for cups and bottles of liquor along one end of the balcony.
Michaela’s attention was caught by what she saw a few feet away. She frowned at a basin of water. “Tell me this is not the bathing facility out here for everyone to see.”
The men laughed at her sudden chagrin. Govi tugged at one of her curls. “No, we don’t take baths out on our balcony. It’s a heated whirlpool. It’s nice to sit and soak in for relaxation.”
“Wearing soaksuits,” Raxstad added. “Most of the time.”
“Govi has a habit of hopping in naked though. He’s something of an exhibitionist.” Korkla grinned at the Imdiko.
“I’ve never heard you complain.” Govi made a face at the Dramok.
“It’s only irritating when you start getting coms from the men who see you as their shuttles pass by and want to get to know you better.”
Michaela thought of relaxing in the whirlpool with a drink in her hand. She looked again at the amazing view of the beach and ocean. “I could live out here. Who wants to be indoors when you have this, plus a naked Govi?”
“My thoughts exactly,” Raxstad agreed. He grabbed a handful of Govi’s ass, making the Imdiko yelp with startled laughter.
The balcony stretched a long distance across the face of the cliff. Five more large arches carved in the rock led back into the home. Michaela felt a sense of shock
“Damn, boys. How many rooms does this place have?”
Govi grinned at her. “Plenty. More than we need, actually, but we moved in with the intention of clanning a Matara and having children. In the meantime, if you get sick of us you can escape for a little while.”
“But for not too long,” Raxstad was quick to add. “I hope any irritation you feel in regards to me is short-lived. But feel free to ignore these two in my favor.”
Korkla gave him a dark look. Govi punched his shoulder. He laughed at them both.
The Nobek led the way to the next portico. They re-entered the home.
Michaela stepped into a room that was mostly a wide-open space, much like a dance studio. Instead of mirrors and a barre, however, hand weapons both blunt and sharp hung on the walls. Besides those, several large man-shaped forms were scattered about. The dummies showed signs of great abuse between dents, holes, and slashes. Michaela once again thought of Raxstad among enemies, beating on helpless bodies. She swallowed. Here was her Nobek’s dungeon.
Her tone sounded strained as she said, “I think I know a certain warrior who spends his time in here.”
Raxstad nodded, looking at his abused dummies with affection. “I practice my martial arts in here.” He nodded towards a doorway opposite the archway that led to the balcony. “The next room is full of machines to build my strength for the competitions I take part in. I also have a home office and a meditation space.”
Michaela blinked, her more unhappy thoughts dissipating with surprise. “You have all those rooms just for your own use? This place must be bigger than I thought.”
Korkla chuckled. “Half the level belongs to us. Your own apartments already possess a dance studio, fitting the same specifications as the one Israla had made for you on Plasius. The sound system is nicer though, the latest model. The rest of your rooms still need to be furnished. We thought you’d like to do that for yourself.”
Michaela’s mouth dropped open. “You did that for me? You had a dance studio installed before we even got here?”
The Dramok looked at her as if the gesture was of no real consequence. “Of course. You did want one, didn’t you?”
Tears filled Michaela’s eyes. Her clan had not wasted any time in taking care of the needs they knew about.
Every time she thought she’d adjusted to being accepted by the trio, they did something that demonstrated she still was on shaky ground. Damn it, she knew they cared. She knew her intersex body was acceptable ... even desirable to the men. Yet each kindness only underscored how undeserving Michaela still saw herself as.
They aren’t stupid. They aren’t even desperate, not with their status. I must be worth something for them to care so much.
As always, they discerned the change in her mood. The three men gathered close.
Govi’s arm went around her shoulders and he smiled at her, making that handsome face even more so. “Whatever we can anticipate, we’ll provide. What we don’t, you have only to ask for. Just say the word and it’s yours.”
His sweetness only made Michaela more emotional. Tears streaked down her cheeks and she hid her face behind her hands.
She said, “Don’t look at me blubber. I’m ugly when I cry.”
Raxstad’s lips brushed against her ear. “My Matara, you couldn’t be ugly if you tried.”
They said no more, having learned to give Michaela room to absorb smaller upheavals when they occurred. Instead of trying to calm her down or glossing over the healing that took place, they gave her a safe place to deal with the emotional storm. Hands stroked her hair, back, and arms as Michaela fought to get herself under control.
At last she settled down once more. When Michaela emerged from behind her hands, she found Korkla, Govi, and Raxstad waiting patiently. She scrubbed the wetness from her cheeks and gave them an apologetic smile.
“Okay, I’m done with yet another episode of Michaela’s Self-Pity Party. On with the tour.”
The men chuckled. Not put off at all, they instead graced her with indulgent smiles and escorted her through the rest of Raxstad’s rooms.
Michaela thought the workout machines looked like torture instruments. She was more interested in the vid stills on the walls showing her Nobek clanmate demonstrating feats of strength before panels of judges. She was awed to see one of him in a rope harness, dragging a four-person shuttle down a stretch of beach, his muscles straining fit to burst from his skin.
There were awards as well. Michaela counted nearly thirty hanging on one wall. “How many of these are for first place?” she asked.
Raxstad grinned. “All of them. Kalquorian strength competitions do not give awards to anyone but the very best.”
“Damn. You are amazing.”
Michaela would have been impressed with far less. She eyed her Nobek with greater awe than before. Her blatant admiration made the big man flush, which got Govi and Korkla snickering. He made a rude gesture he’d learned from Michaela.
Pointedly ignoring his clanmates, Raxstad led the group through his private office, a tiny room with no more than a desk and computer, and an even smaller room with one seating cushion and what Michaela took to be an altar. Metal cylinders with igniters and scented oil, the Kalquorian version of candles, lay on the low table, along with a vid still portraits of Korkla and Govi.
As they moved into the home’s corridor, Raxstad told Michaela, “Even though we refer to these as my ‘private’ rooms, you are welcome to come in whenever you wish. My doors are never closed to you.”
Korkla took the lead. “That goes for all of us, I believe?” He gave Govi a questioning glance, to which the Imdiko happily nodded. “Good. Here are my rooms.”
They stepped into Korkla’s suite of rooms, entering first the Dramok’s home office. Unlike Raxstad’s cramped workspace, Korkla’s home office was huge. He had two desks on which sat three computers, two vids that he explained were always tuned into the news vids, and three com units.
“As Clajak’s personal assistant, I’m always on call,” he told Michaela.
>
Raxstad snorted. “The Crown Prince is high maintenance. Korkla spends as much time smoothing over the trouble Clajak has caused as attending to official duties.”
Korkla gave the Nobek a disapproving look. “Clajak is not nearly as hard to manage as he used to be. You have to admit, he’s getting better as he matures.”
“Yes, he is,” Govi agreed. He told Michaela, “When Clajak was younger, he used to constantly try to escape his responsibilities. He was forever running off to play on Plasius or Dantovon. It took both Korkla and Egilka to keep tabs on him back then.”
“He was a young man determined to have some fun. That was before Bevau came along,” Korkla said, looking at a still vid on the wall. In the picture, he and Clajak were laughing at whoever had taken the photograph, their arms slung around each others’ shoulders in apparent camaraderie. “When Clajak and Egilka fell for Bevau, we thought he would go a long way to calming Clajak down.”
“Then Empress Irdis was killed in that accident,” Raxstad said. His expression was somber.
“And Emperor Zarl nearly died too,” Korkla added. “It looked as if Clajak would have to assume the throne. He panicked because he felt he wasn’t ready for it.”
“He’s been trying to stave off taking rulership ever since,” Raxstad said, his tone disapproving. “Zarl’s health is going to continue to decline. His clan needs to step down, but Clajak is still running away.”
“That might have changed with them clanning Jessica,” Korkla said. “I can already see her influence is settling Clajak the way we hoped Bevau might. He spent a lot of the trip back from Plasius catching up with what’s been happening in both the Royal and Galactic Councils.”
“What’s that saying you told me once, Michaela?” Raxstad asked. “Hope springs eternal.”
The next of Korkla’s rooms was another with workout equipment. Korkla’s collection wasn’t nearly as torture-chamber scary as Raxstad’s, however. This room was as small as the Nobek’s office, with smaller machines.
Michaela Page 14
