Smithton couldn’t remember when or how he ended up on his feet. He and Addie walked toward the door to the corridor, where the Monral stood, seeming distracted.
“Is your wife all right?” he asked.
The Monral shifted his attention to Smithton. “Forgive me,” he said in English. “I cannot think a polite way to say it. There is an odor from your clothing. It made her ill.”
Addie gasped beside him and sniffed at her sleeve. “It must be from the cleaning process. We can’t smell it. I’m so sorry. Is she going to be all right?”
He waved a hand, his impassive expression back in place. “The apothecaries will inform me. Come.”
* * *
The Monral led his human guests to the common room, where tea was laid out for them. It appeared that the humans were sense-blind. That suggested intriguing possibilities for manipulating them. They would see ... only what he wished them to see. Keeping his face expressionless, he stifled amusement. This was going to be entertaining.
The smell of their clothing was an unexpected complication. It was strong enough to make the eyes water, but if the female was to be believed, they could not smell it. He’d cut the audience short because some of the guards were on the verge of dropping out of camouflage. They were forbidden to reveal themselves while the humans were visiting – the ability to disappear at will was not one he wanted to make known to them just yet.
As a servant poured tea, he probed the woman. Very guarded, and very alert: she was a skilled observer. It was evident she had more real power than the Ambassador, and just as evident she was concealing it. Very dangerous to her own kind, he decided. Very dangerous indeed. He wondered what her purpose was. To observe him? Or to observe the Ambassador? A little of both, perhaps. Central Command appeared to have little trust in its diplomats.
As he reached for his tea, the woman pulled a small device from somewhere in her clothing.
“This will tell me if the drink is safe,” she said.
A sensible precaution, the Monral thought. He decided to let them believe he misinterpreted it. “You think I will poison you after I pledge my life to your safety?” he asked, straightening in his chair and letting a dangerous tone creep into his voice.
Her reaction was delicious. Eyes wide, she held up her hands. “Forgive me, high one,” she said. “I meant no offense. Despite appearances, we are different species. Just because we look like you doesn’t mean we can eat your food or drink your beverages without taking harm.”
He settled back, allowing himself to appear mollified. “Proceed,” he said.
“Thank you, high one,” she replied, relaxing a little and giving him a relieved smile. Then she thumbed a button on the device.
He nearly startled at the sound the little device emitted. His guards all did, and now they were struggling to remain camouflaged. The guard near the door was flickering, but the humans had their backs to him. He gestured a signal, and the unfortunate guard fled. He would have to make sure that one stayed away from the humans.
So. Their hearing was as dull as their sense of smell.
The little device flashed a green light. Much to his relief, she thumbed the button again and it fell silent.
“It’s safe,” she announced with a bright smile.
He nodded, sipping his tea and studying them. They both sparked with enjoyment when they tasted the tea. He affected to relax a little. Let them continue to think they had almost offended him. He wanted to keep them off-balance. They would look back on it later and realize they were outmatched. It would undermine their confidence.
* * *
Smithton was exhausted when the Monral showed him and Addie to quarters in the guest wing several hours later. They collapsed into chairs in the spacious sitting room and stared at each other.
“Good God,” Addie breathed when they were alone. “Either that man is the most inept politician I’ve ever seen, or he’s a certifiable genius who played us both like violins.”
“I can’t decide which,” Smithton muttered. “But I’m ready to hit the sack.”
“You and me both.” She dragged herself out of the chair and headed into the ‘sleeping room.’ She gave the mat in the middle of it an evaluating look. “What do you think, Smitty? Can you sleep on this?”
“I’ll have to,” he grunted, loosening his collar as he brushed past her. He grabbed the nightshirt out of his travel bag and kicked off his shoes, too tired to think. The verbal sparring with the Monral had drained him. He stripped and hung his clothes on hooks in what looked like a closet.
“Ooh, this is comfy,” Addie purred.
Smithton turned to look at her. She hadn’t bothered with her nightie, but had merely flounced onto the sleeping mat wearing nothing but a smile. His face relaxed into an appreciative grin. Damn but she was beautiful. His body responded to her invitation.
“It’s not often you get to be the first ones on an entire planet,” she said, beckoning with a finger. “Come here.”
* * *
When the Monral left the quarters occupied by the humans, he made a casual gesture to the camouflaged guards indicating they had his permission to leave. It would be cruel to force them to endure the olfactory onslaught represented by his guests. One brave individual remained. The other two made a hasty retreat. In the fresher air of the corridor, he realized his skin was crawling. He pulled his tablet out of a pocket and made a note to reward the guard who agreed to remain behind, then headed for his quarters to bathe. He wanted to see Sharana, but he could not risk exposing his beloved to even a secondhand dose of the chemicals in the humans’ clothing.
He wasted a few moments in regret that his bond-partner, with her delicate empathy, would be unable to accompany him during his discussions with the human ambassador. Her insights were always very useful, but her condition precluded any risk. When she had reacted to the humans’ clothing, there was no longer any possibility of allowing her to observe the talks.
He pondered the problem. He would have to manipulate the humans into returning to their ship in the morning. He made his way to the ornate, carved door of his private quarters and headed to his bathing area without touching anything, stripping off his robe and trousers as he walked. As he loosened the knots in his long hair, he began to smile at thoughts of the demands he could make that would send the humans scurrying back to their ship to confer with their government. He would make them pay dearly to build a station in Tolari space.
* * *
The morning brought the Monral another surprise: very little of the food served at the morning meal was safe for the Ambassador and his bond-partner to eat. They were able to consume some of the rolls and a few of the fruits, but nothing else. It seemed the rest of the foods laid out by the kitchen staff were laced with substances toxic to humans.
It was just as well, he decided, watching them eat. He’d not expected their presence to be difficult to tolerate. He found himself grateful for the advisor who’d suggested their quarters be made as primitive as possible, as a precaution should unforeseen complications prevent a satisfactory conclusion to the talks. The servants had replaced any art in their sitting room not comprised of natural materials. They’d also replaced the necessary with chamber pots and the bathing area with large basins, which they would fill with warm water when the Ambassador and his bond-partner were ready to bathe. It amused him to inconvenience them, but he also wanted Tolar to remain safe from scrutiny by the humans until he was ready.
Ambitious, the Monral was. A fool, he was not.
* * *
Smithton spent another hour after breakfast – the morning meal, he corrected himself – sparring with the Monral, while Addie watched. He was making little, if any, progress. The Monral maneuvered, manipulated, and danced with words. It was frustrating, and Smithton couldn’t seem to corner the man into any kind of admission of what he wanted. No, the Monral wasn’t inept, as he had thought last night. He was a genius, and Smithton suspected that if he himself gained a
ny ground, it was because the Monral allowed it.
He wondered why the Tolari ruler was doing this. The Monral had contacted the Bellerophon, not the other way around. The Monral had extended the invitation. Then he had played an infernal game of words, as if he had no real intention of negotiating. What was he playing at? Was there more at stake than permission to build a station?
Finally, the Monral suggested Smithton consult with his government. Tired of the game, he agreed without hesitation. It cut the visit short, but it was promising to be a hungry one, to judge by the dearth of Tolari food that was safe for human consumption. The Admiral seemed surprised when Smithton contacted him with a request to be phased up to the ship.
“Hell’s bells, Smitty, what did you do?” the Admiral asked. “You haven’t even been down there a full day. I wasn’t expecting you to call before Friday.”
“Talks are going around in circles,” he said. “I need to get in touch with Central Command. We’re invited to come back down in a few days, when he’s got his roof repaired. Are you going to phase us up or not?”
“Cool your heels, Smit, we’ll have you up here shortly. The techs have to lock on to your locater chips. Hold on to your stuff and stay put.”
“Yes sir,” Smithton snapped in mock-military tones.
The Admiral laughed. “Howard out.”
* * *
When the humans phased up to their ship, a burst of interference caused the Monral’s tablet to stop functioning. He frowned. Another unexpected drawback to working with the humans: their technology leaked. He powered down his tablet, then reactivated it. The display was an explosion of rainbow static. He suppressed a scowl. If he was going to deal with humans, then tablets would need to be shielded from their sloppy technologies. To judge by the currents of reaction tickling his senses, every tablet in the stronghold was damaged. He was beginning to wonder if getting rid of the Sural was worth the trouble represented by dealing with odalli.
Of course it was. Unseating the Sural was worth any amount of trouble.
The Monral turned his thoughts back to the tasks at hand. He needed to get a working tablet so he could finish reading the provincial reports, if there was a working tablet to be had. Were the console interfaces were damaged as well? If so, there went all the morning reports. He grunted. The consoles were the first order of business. The tablets came second.
He reached for his tablet on reflex, intending to transmit an order to his engineering section, then scowled at the static on the display. What irritating guests these humans had proven to be. He called a servant to send for his senior engineers.
Shaking his head, he left his sitting room and checked the console in the desk of his private study. He gusted a sigh when it came to life, unaffected by the interference that had damaged the more lightly shielded tablets. That lack would have to be remedied. A great deal of work needed to be done.
* * *
It took most of two days to get shielded tablets distributed to those who needed them most. Some of the tablets damaged by the human phase technology could be repaired. The rest were replaced.
The Monral’s tablet had proven reparable. He stood leaning against the windows in his study while he read a summary of the morning status reports. The city grain stores were low, but the spring harvest was starting and would soon remedy that. A child of extraordinary sensitivity had been identified at the common school outside the stronghold walls. Excellent. Perhaps she could be trained as a political advisor. A laborer with cora reaction had been brought to the stronghold apothecaries during the night. That must have been the tall man he’d seen at the morning meal, sitting with the laborers engaged in repairing the roof. There was something familiar about him, but perhaps he’d seen him working the fields. A man of his height was hard to miss.
He blinked. Cora reaction? Were the farmers spraying cora seed oil to combat spring blight? He made a note to look into it. The blight had defied all efforts to exterminate it for thousands of years. If it proved to be a bad year for the blight, the farmers would need larger stores of the oil.
The Monral turned his mind to more immediate concerns. He wanted his engineers to work on shielding the quarters set aside for the humans. He transmitted orders to get them started.
The shielding was in place by morning of the following day. The roof was not only repaired, but reinforced, and the reinforcement had been made to look primitive. He went up to the roof to inspect the work himself. It was clever. The difference between the repaired area and the rest of the roof could only be detected during daylight if one knew to look for it. At night, it would be invisible. He made a note to reward the laborers.
It was time to contact the human ship.
* * *
The same pilot, the same rough ride, the same profuse apologies.
“There’s just nothing I can do about this angle of descent,” the pilot said through gritted teeth as he fought the controls. “If they had a phase platform this wouldn’t be necessary.”
Adeline tried to make light of it. The man took obvious pride in his skill and seemed mortified at the degree to which she and Smitty were being bounced and jolted.
“I’m grateful it’s you at the helm, Commander,” she said. “A lesser pilot would have us in a spin.”
“You should listen to Addie,” Smitty added. God bless him. “She knows what she’s talking about.”
She flashed a smile at her husband. The tightness at the corners of the Commander’s mouth loosened a little. Yes, she did know what she was talking about. Her father was a pilot, though Smitty didn’t know that. She’d made sure he didn’t know just how humble her origins were.
The ride smoothed. They were over Monralar and leveling out. The shuttle descended to a gentle landing on the stronghold roof. Adeline heaved a sigh of relief and grabbed her bag as the craft settled.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” the commander told her as he released the hatch.
She giggled as she followed Smitty between the two marines in the back of the shuttle.
Marines. Her husband hadn’t been able to talk the Admiral out of it this time. Armed marines, carrying assault rifles. What in the name of all that was holy was John thinking? Was he trying to insult the Tolari? She’d been present when Smitty called and tried to explain. The Monral took offense at first, though he didn’t seem to hold it against Smitty. She had studied the Tolari ruler’s face as her husband cajoled him into accepting the presence of the marines. All she saw was slow acceptance. She’d shaken her head. The man was brilliant.
The fresh air was warm and fragrant as she stepped onto the roof, and she took a deep breath. After spending so much time breathing canned air on ships and stations, this planet smelled good. With any luck, so did they. The ship’s laundry had deodorized their clothes – she hoped. The Tolari’s sense of smell had to be exquisitely sensitive for them to be so affected by the faint traces of cleaner on their clothing.
The young Tolari prince appeared from the stairwell and greeted them. Adeline smiled and bowed when her husband did, but she understood little. Instead, she studied Farric as he led them down the stairs and toward the audience room. It wasn’t just any man who could pull off wearing pale lavender, but both he and his father wore it well. Manly men, she thought with a silent giggle. Farric glanced at her and smiled, as if he knew what she was thinking. She shot him a friendly grin.
When they reached the audience room, Smitty was gruff with the marines. “Stay just inside the door,” he grumbled. “And don’t even think about using those.” He gestured at the rifles they carried.
“Yes sir,” they both replied, and then Farric was motioning them all into the room.
To her surprise, Farric remained in the corridor. She glanced back at him, but then Smitty pulled her along. They stopped at the dais and lowered themselves to the matting. Smitty had trouble again sitting on his heels. He’d practiced it on the ship, but he just wasn’t flexible enough. He fell onto one hip again. We
ll, there were worse poses.
The Monral made them wait, staring at them with a face made of stone, while Smitty started making occasional small movements indicating he was growing physically uncomfortable. She was pretty sure the Tolari ruler could see it too. Finally, the Monral uttered a word she didn’t understand.
So, no English this time.
She focused on the Monral as Smitty spoke. There was something about the set of his shoulders that gave her the impression he was amused. God, the man was a bastard, making Smitty wait again. A tiny twitch of a cheek muscle caught her eye. Yes, he was amused. After a pause so long she began to wonder if he would just stare at them the rest of the evening, the Monral spoke, and she couldn’t have been prouder of Smitty for keeping the discomfort out of his voice when he replied.
The Monral took a breath, assumed an air of superiority, and continued.
A giant of a man, wearing a pale blue robe covered from collar to hem with white embroidery, burst into view out of thin air, standing in front and to one side of the dais. She nearly jumped out of her skin, falling backward with an involuntary cry, her concept of reality turning on its head. Smitty gave a violent start, and the Monral too jerked in surprise. She didn’t have time to process that improbable event when lavender-clad Tolari began popping out of nowhere along the walls of the room, all of them staring at the blue-robed intruder, ready to attack. The unmistakable click of assault rifle safeties being disengaged sounded behind her. She’d almost forgotten about the marines.
The Monral scowled and made a gesture, and the Tolari along the walls – disappeared. Her mouth fell open.
“Stand down!” Smitty barked at the marines.
They lowered their rifles with obvious reluctance. Adeline breathed a sigh of relief and craned her neck to look up at the man who’d so impossibly burst out of thin air. Then she forgot to breathe. The man was stunning. Good God, she thought. Michelangelo would weep to sculpt this man. The heavens should part before him. She tore her eyes away from him and glanced at the Monral. The expression on his face could have killed. She shuddered. The Monral looked like he hated the gorgeous giant with every fiber of his being.
Into Tolari Space (Tales of Tolari Space) Page 2
